Mad Wolf, my Indian father, and his wife were the givers of a Sun Dance. One day in the early summer, I rode Kutenai, my saddle horse, across the prairie to attend their opening ceremony. When I came to a long ridge-like summit that led down to his camp, I dismounted to rest and view the landscape. In the wide and grassy valleys were herds of fat horses and cattle. Sharp against the western horizon stood the snowy peak of Divide Mountain, where two continental divides meet, and the rocky summit of a mountain called “Chief” by the Indians, because it stands apart and is higher than the other peaks. It was evening and the hills and mountains were bathed in the rosy light of sunset. On all sides I heard the sweet sounds of prairie birds—the Western meadowlark and lark sparrow and the serene and exalted song of the willow thrush. But the dogs of Mad Wolf’s camp soon broke the spell; they got wind of the approaching white man and began an incessant barking. So I leaped into the saddle and rode down to his camp. When I entered the lodge, the chief and his wife Gives-to-the-Sun were seated together at the back, their heads bowed in prayer. He looked at me with his keen glance, then shook hands and, directing me to a seat on a couch, said: “I am glad in my heart that you have come to our Sun Dance. Ever since you went away, I have prayed to the Sun for your safe return. Now you can see our ceremony. I shall tell you everything and you can explain it to the white men; for I believe you are straight and will tell them the truth.” I asked Mad Wolf how it happened they were giving a Sun Dance, and he replied: “Last winter, at the time of the second big blizzard, Small Otter, our youngest grandchild, was ill. Snow lay deep over the prairie; it was cold and for many days the sun did not shine. The doctors, White Grass and Ear-Rings, came. They gave root medicines; they danced and sang and beat upon their medicine drums. But our child grew weaker; they said he was going to die. “One evening the clouds broke and the sun shone through. My wife went outside the lodge; she looked up to the Sun and prayed: “‘Sun, have pity! I am praying for my grandson, The one that is dying. May he get well! Sun, you must listen. I swear I am pure. All my life I lived straight. Sun, I promise to give your ceremony, If our child gets well. We shall call in all the people. Sun, have pity and hear my prayer.’ “Then she went to the bedside of Small Otter and said: ‘Rise up, my child, and get well; for your sake I have vowed to give a Sun Dance.’ “After that my wife went to see Bull Child, the medicine man, and told him of her vow. Next morning they stood together facing the rising sun; and Bull Child prayed: