After the feast they smoked a large pipe of polished redstone, which was handed stem first to each person. Then they talked, speaking rapidly, in guttural voices that were not harsh, and making graceful gestures with their hands. The Indian named Grasshopper had a reputation as a wit. He kept them laughing—all but Thunder Chief, who was head man and had his dignity to maintain. Grasshopper wore a coyote-skin cap with the tail hanging down behind and an eagle feather on top; slung over his shoulder was a polished buffalo horn. He had beaded moccasins and leggings, and a blanket coat with bright stripes. After we had eaten, he turned to me and said with a laugh: “You look like an eagle. You sit straight and with your head up. Now is the time to shake your tail feathers, like an eagle after it eats.” This was Indian humor and made the others laugh. Grasshopper was the life of the party. He said his parents died when he was small. He was raised by a chief named Red Crow, who had started many boys in life; he had become a successful man, because he followed the advice of his adopted father. Grasshopper was pleased when he saw me recording his conversation in my notebook. He said: “Now I am going to tell you some stories.” I sat waiting, but he did not begin; so I said: “Go ahead; I am ready.” To make the others laugh, he held out his hand saying: “How much do you pay?” I took his outstretched hand, shook it and said: “That is what I pay.” Then every one laughed, even the dignified head chief joined in. They liked the repartee and wanted more. Grasshopper said: “Well, instead of paying he only shakes.” He turned to the head-chief and said: “This white man is a great traveler. I like him and want him for my partner. We had better keep him here with us.” And then he said to me: “Why don’t you join our tribe and stay with us? You could take an Indian wife; you could hunt and trap and make a good living.” That evening we sat outside the lodge and watched the sun go down fiery red, with its glow reflected in a near-by stream. Then the moon, nearly full, rose over the distant hills of the prairie, like a ghostly phantom in the twilight. Then by the lodge-fire the Indians told stories of their hunting trips and war expeditions of former days. They talked far into the night, and next morning we saddled our horses early and rode back to Montana. CHAPTER V STORIES BY THE SCOUT’S MOTHER-IN-LAW One day Two-Bear-Woman, mother of the scout’s wife, came to our ranch. She pitched her lodge in the meadow, not far from my bed on the river bank. After dark I watched it, glowing with yellow light from an inside fire. And, when the dying fire made shadows dance on the lodge wall, there was an air of mystery about her tepee. At night I heard the old woman praying and chanting weird songs of old days, in a quavering voice and beating on a tom-tom. The sound was mournful and made me feel sad; I lay awake and listened until late in the night.