A Blackfoot Camp on the Prairie (in color) 296 Ceremony of the Sun Dance inside the Sacred Tepee 302 Raising the Center Pole for the Sun Lodge 308 The Sun Lodge Finished and Ready for the Tribe 308 Twilight in the Circle Camp: Tepees illuminated by Inside Fires 314 OLD INDIAN TRAILS CHAPTER I MY INDIAN GUIDE It was an evening in early summer. The stars shone bright and our Indian tepee glowed with light from its inside fire. My guide, a famous scout of the Blackfoot tribe, smoked in silence; while I lay on my comfortable bed of robes and blankets, listening to the sounds from the forest—chirping of crickets, last songs of the thrushes and vibrating chant of an ovenbird. That night by our lodge-fire I said to the scout: “Tell me about your home.” And he replied: “On the prairie beyond the Rockies, I have a ranch with many horses and cattle. The mountains are near, the hunting good; our streams and rivers are full of fish. Come with me to my country, to my tribe, the Blackfoot Indians. In our valley the head men of the tribe live; you will meet there our leading chiefs.” For a moment I was silent. The plan of the scout accorded with my own desire. All my life I wanted to live away from the city, among the mountains and wilds. I was weary of the turmoil of the city, the dreary grind and slavery of business, from early morn until night in an office-prison; away from the sunlight and from birds and flowers in the spring-time. I wanted to shake off the shackles of social convention, to leave the worry and stress of the modern city, where business and the making of money are the chief end of man. I thought to myself: “If I go with my guide, I can live out-of-doors all day and all night. I shall become strong in body and mind and be happy. And, instead of striving for money, I will go on a quest. I will stay with the scout and visit his tribe, to find whether they are more happy and contented in their primitive life, than civilized people in great modern cities.” Now Indians have a way of masking their feelings; they never show enthusiasm. So I said quietly to the scout: “I want to go to your home and your Indian tribe.” This ended our talk for that night; but I had a keen desire to go. My guide was near middle age. He had the swarthy complexion, black hair and high cheek bones of an Indian; but he did not look like a full-blood. He was tall and slender, with an impressive manner; fluent of speech and polite and suave. His father was a white man named Jackson, an early pioneer, a Rocky Mountain hunter and trapper, his mother an Indian woman. The son was called Billy Jackson by white men and Siksikaí-koan (Blackfoot Man) by the Indians.