“The worst kind of ghosts are the ‘haunting spirits.’ I have always been afraid of them. They prowl around at night and try to harm people. They are unhappy in the spirit world and envy the living. They are the ones who use the ghost arrows, which bring sickness and death. Outside in the dark, they shoot at people. Sometimes they strike people on the head and make them crazy; they paralyze the limbs of people and make their faces crooked. Some ghosts don’t like to see people eat in the night, so they punish them by pulling their mouths crooked; and sometimes they kill people that are ill. “I have heard ghosts make a noise at night by striking the lodge-poles; sometimes they make a queer sound like whistling, overhead in the smoke-hole of the tepee, and sometimes they laugh. But they never come inside if a fire is burning; and they are always afraid of the smell of burning hair.” Here Onesta stopped abruptly. Just outside the bright circle of our firelight, we heard something moving through the grass. It sounded like an animal walking stealthily. Little Creek seized his rifle and was ready to shoot. This “thing” glided slowly along and into a thicket of willows. Onesta said it sounded like a cougar. But Strikes-on-Both-Sides said it acted like an Indian who came to watch our camp. Then they all agreed it was a ghost. And next morning, when we went back to see the widow, Katoya, in her tepee, she confirmed that belief. For she said: “Last night I could not sleep. I lay awake thinking of the happy days of the past. Just before dawn, the ghost of my dead son came to see me. He has been my protector for many years and often visits me at night. Last night he was hungry. After I gave him food, he said: ‘Mother, there are strangers here. Be not afraid; they are good people and will do you no harm. This night I watched their camp. I saw Little Creek, Onesta, and White Weasel. They were seated beside a fire. I went too close and they heard me. Little Creek was going to shoot. I was afraid this might frighten you, so I came away. Then I met the ghost of my father coming down the hill from his grave. He said he was coming to watch over you because of strangers. But I told him to go back to his grave and rest in peace. I promised him no harm would come to you.’” After that the old woman bowed her head and sat in silence. So we went away and left her to the companionship of her ghostly dead. Then came one of those violent changes in the weather, which are common on the high plateau country of the northwest. Dark clouds came down from the north and settled over prairies and mountains. We broke camp in a hurry, and got under way before the storm set in. A bank of angry clouds advanced rapidly over the prairie; from it extended curving black streaks, moving in waves downwards toward the earth—the sign of a severe hail storm.