He disliked being questioned, and in all my dealings with him he never asked me a question and never went directly to the point. He was moody, as sensitive as a child and easily offended. I never felt sure of him. To get on with him, it was necessary to gain his confidence. If I treated him familiarly, it put him on his guard and hurt his pride. He did not reason, but acted from impulse. Sometimes he got offended for no apparent reason. Then no explanation would satisfy. It was better to take no notice, to joke and be friendly and make him forget. Then his mood would suddenly change and he would feel light-hearted and happy. He had a certain kind of sentiment. He liked to talk over the good times we had together, and camps where he had been happy with his friends. Onesta was the owner of a sacred bundle called the Bear Spear. On our travels he always kept it near him and attended to it first, whenever we came into camp. By day it hung from a tripod in the sunlight; but he always took it inside the tepee at night. He never exposed it to storm, nor let it lie on the ground. Once, when he went away from camp, he asked me to look after the Spear. He said his wife could not attend to it, because women were not allowed to handle the Bear Spear. The day before we came into the country of the Blood Indians, Onesta and his wife Nitana gave a ceremony over the sacred Spear. They said it was necessary to do this, before approaching a strange camp, to protect our party from danger and to guard against any “bad medicine.” They put on their ceremonial clothes of yellow, the color sacred to the Spear. Nitana washed their small daughter, Yellow Mink, and dressed her in yellow. They sang chants together and burned sweet grass as incense and prayed for a safe and successful journey. I helped them with their songs, because Onesta said my voice added power to their prayers. Then he brought forth a minkskin and had another ceremony. He prayed over it and burned dried seeds for incense, which he got from the tops of the narrow-leaved puccoon. They painted their faces, and Onesta said to me: “Brother, you had better let me paint your face too, that the Bloods may know you have become an Indian; the paint will also so protect your white skin from the hot sun.” Nitana decorated my moccasins with paint, the way they did their own; it made them look better, she said. She was a good-natured woman and easy-going, but liked to bully her husband. Naturally timid and shy and inclined to stoutness, she lacked energy. But she had great respect for my Indian sister Strikes-on-Both-Sides and always followed her lead. That evening by our camp-fire, Onesta was in the mood for talking. He told us about the origin of his Bear Spear. LEGEND OF THE BEAR SPEAR