I agreed, and straightway made preparations for the night, by carrying my blankets inside and gathering a plentiful supply of firewood. That evening many people came to see me in the Thunder Tepee; the Indians of our party and North Piegans, too. They were a jolly crowd, as light-hearted and happy as children. After the feast of that day they were in a merry mood, chaffing each other good-naturedly and finding fun in everything—their old clothes and the holes in their moccasins, the children and dogs, and their own talk; they laughed and joked until they were tired. Then they asked me to sing Indian songs. I agreed, on condition that Running Wolf, the oldest son of the North Piegan chief, would sing a song for every one of mine. Quickly the news of our song contest spread through the camp and more Indians crowded into the Thunder Tepee. But Brings-Down-the-Sun did not come. He still held himself aloof. I was the first to sing and chose a night song—one used by young men and their sweethearts, when they rode together at night. In his turn, Running Wolf sang a song of war. He said: “In the old times our people had a custom. Youths who wanted to become warriors had to prove their bravery. They stood naked round a burning pine tree, holding hands and singing. Two warriors with long poles scraped the burning bark, making showers of sparks, which fell on the bare skin of the dancers. Those who had brave hearts kept on dancing and singing in spite of their burns.” After my dance song, Running Wolf gave a song used in an old game. He said: “Long ago our people played a game by going in single file. They followed a leader who carried two burning brands, holding each other and singing while he led them, his brands striking together and throwing off showers of sparks. They had to keep in line in spite of the sparks.” Then I sang a love song, which interested the women; they asked for it over and over. I learned it in the camp of my Indian father, from a young brave whom I heard singing to his sweetheart. Strikes-on-Both-Sides recognized the song and made known the name of the lover to the North Piegan women. Then the youngest daughter of Brings-Down-the-Sun came late, and they made me sing the love song again for her. Running Wolf sang the song of a maiden who was disappointed in love, with the words: “My lover looked like an eagle, When I saw him at a distance. But, alas! He came near, And I found he was nothing but a buzzard.” It was after midnight when that merry crowd broke up. Before Onesta left, he warned me of certain taboos for the Thunder Tepee—things to be avoided, lest they bring me bad luck. He said: “Be careful not to leave the door open, nor to lean a pole against the tepee; neither should you blow on the fire, or allow any dogs to come inside; keep the fire burning throughout the night; don’t let it die out. If you should neglect any of these things, trouble is sure to come.”