“I never heard of a wolf that did not wander. They raise their young in one place and then move on to another. They like to run all over the country. “My father’s first name was Running Wolf. His father, Little Mountain, gave him that name, because a wolf appeared in a dream and advised him, saying: “‘I am the head-chief of all the wolves and my name is Running Wolf. You often hear my voice; my tracks are everywhere and I shall always continue to wander. Name one of your sons after me; and if he has a son, let that name be handed down; all of your descendants who bear my name will have long life and good luck.’ “I have now the wolf-nature, because my father bestowed the name of Running Wolf upon me. Like the wolf I wander over the plains and through the mountains; I never like to stay long in one place. “Now I am going to tell you more about my father—how my grandfather, Little Mountain, happened to honor him with the name of Running Wolf, although he had two older brothers. “One day in early summer, when my father was only a boy, he saw a band of warriors gather near my grandfather’s lodge; he was then head-chief of the tribe. They were dressed for war and had their horses painted with war signs. They stood in a circle, holding a big rawhide between them, upon which they beat with sticks like a drum and sang a wolf song. They marched singing through the camp, saying farewell to friends and relatives; and then started south on a war expedition. “Now this was very exciting to my father; his two older brothers were among the warriors. He wanted to go too. But he knew they would not take him because he was too young. “After the expedition had gone, the boy ran into the lodge and took a bow and arrows. He told his father, the head-chief, he was going for a hunt; but he rode fast and overtook the war party. They tried to send him back. But one of his brothers said: “‘If he is so eager, let him come; he can look after one of the pack horses.’ Thus it happened that my father went with that war party. “One night, after they crossed the Yellowstone River, the boy was wakened by a noise. He scouted around and saw a band of hostile Indians coming into camp. They were some of the Snakes and he gave the alarm. The Blackfoot warriors made ready to attack, but waited until just before dawn. “In the fight my father made a wonderful shot and killed a Snake Indian. It was the only scalp they took on that trip. When the warriors came back to the Blackfoot camp, they waited on the summit of a hill, until a big crowd came out to meet them.