The boys also had a curious arrow game, in which they shot at a stake, trying to hit it, or to come as near as possible. If the second in turn were doubtful whether he could shoot better than the first, he went to the stake and danced for power to win, beating time with his arrow on the stake and singing: “I am the one who can hit the stake arrow first.” If the second player made a good shot, the third danced at the stake to beat him, and so on. Women had a game of throwing arrows at a target, also a four-stick gambling game, using marked buffalo bones. The favorite gambling game with young men was to roll a small wheel over a smooth stretch of ground. Two players followed it, trying to throw, so that the wheel would not fall on their arrows. Their comrades held the stakes and kept score. Whenever a play was finished one side would shout: “Give us one point”; or the other side: “We get two points.” If a player gambled away all his possessions, he was said “to walk the prairie.” Near sunset I left the valley and climbed Lookout Butte, a high hill where Brings-Down-the-Sun was accustomed to go to meditate and dream. Its summit was covered with wiry grass in bunches, and creeping cedar which grew in great clumps, forming mats with branches growing close to the ground. From the top of the butte I had a broad view of the Rocky Mountains, the pine forests on the Porcupine Hills in the north, and the surrounding plains for miles. There I waited for the sun to set. Soon vapors formed along the river valley and shadows extended over the plains. The air was so clear it was long after sunset before darkness fell and the stars came out. In the valley at the foot of the butte were clusters of white Indian tepees, nestled among the trees and glowing with firelight. The night wind from the mountains, blowing softly over the valley, brought the faint tinkling of horse-bells and the rhythmic beating of an Indian drum. As I sat on that solitary hill and felt the deep peace that comes from close communion with nature, a doubt came into my mind, whether white men with all their striving, their wealth, and material success, have attained as high an average of happiness, contentment, and loyalty to community interest, as was attained under the simple and natural life of the average Indian family before the coming of the white man. One could look in vain among Indian camps near the foot of the Rockies and by the streams and rivers of the plains for the misery and discontent, which involve masses of people in our great industrial cities. CHAPTER XXVIII ONESTA GIVES HIS CROW WATER CEREMONY Our camp-ground under the cottonwood trees was covered with a deposit of sand and fine loam, which got into our food, our blankets and clothes. The Indians noticed me scratching and had a joke at my expense. Little Creek said to Onesta, so that I could overhear: