In our prairie camp, my lodge stood a short distance from Mad Wolf’s, but so close to Little Creek and his wife I could hear what they said. They were fond of each other and did not bicker or quarrel. Like most Indian parents, they indulged their children and rarely punished them. Sometimes they warned them to be quiet; but, as a rule, the children ran wild and acted as they pleased. For games they had follow-the-leader, hide-and-seek, stilts, and jumping rope. Boys had shooting contests with bow and arrow, spinning tops, hunting small game and horse racing. They were trained to hunt and fight and the care of horses and cattle; to have self-control and be firm and brave. Girls had hobbyhorses and play-tepees with dolls; and little camps with miniature robes and blankets and cooking utensils. They were trained by their mothers in the dressing of skins, making of clothes, care of the lodge, and preparation of food; to be helpful and kind and virtuous; and to believe that a woman who was false to her marriage vow was a disgrace to all her relatives. Small Otter, a boy of six and a grandson of Mad Wolf, was the favorite of our camp. He had a sunny nature, round face, bright eyes, and hair hanging in little braids over his shoulders. He liked to play at warfare with bow and arrow, and hunted for wild birds, rabbits, and ground squirrels. But his favorite sport was to ride bareback his grandmother’s old saddle horse. She and Small Otter were inseparable companions. I often saw them together on the prairie, he holding her tightly by the hand, skipping and jumping and pulling her about, until weary she sank to the ground and watched him proudly, her face in her palms, while he hunted squirrels with bow and arrow. One night I helped Little Creek when he was suffering from pain. He wakened me by his groans. With my medicine case I went to his lodge and gave him a remedy. In the morning he had recovered; thus I gained a reputation as a doctor. I cut a barbed fish-hook from the hand of their daughter Anatapsa, a girl of fourteen. She came to camp with the hook imbedded so deeply they could not get it out. The women wailed and moaned at the sight of my knife. I dressed the wound with an antiseptic. It healed quickly and she had no pain. She showed her gratitude by giving me a piece of sweet-scented wood and a necklace of blue shells with little animals carved from stone. Then her mother, Strikes-on-Both-Sides, brought a medicine bag with painted designs and long fringe hanging down. She called it the “Iniskim” (Buffalo Rock Bundle). It was sacred and contained pieces of flint which resembled miniature buffalo. She told me the following story of its origin: