“‘The snakes have all of our young women. They take them by force and keep them in their lodge.’ “Smoking Star said: ‘Now you will own everything in that tepee.’ He walked into the lodge of the snakes and took a seat at the back. Soon the chief snake began to rattle, to rouse all the other snakes. Smoking Star took out his white-rock knife and waited. When the chief snake raised its head in the air, and was ready to strike, Smoking Star cut off its head. He killed all the other snakes and set the young women free; he walked through the camp and told the men to go after their wives. “Then Smoking Star started again on his travels. He came to a lake where a terrible water monster lived. He stuck it with his knife and made it crawl. He jumped on its back and rode it into the water. He made it swim to the middle of the lake, where the water was deep. He called upon the Thunder and a big storm came up. The lightning struck the monster and killed it. The water of the lake was scattered and was never seen there again. Nor did any one ever find the body of Smoking Star. He went back to the sky, and became a star. Sometimes we see him in the southern sky in the evening. It was the Smoking Star who drove the big snakes and bears from the prairie. Those he let live fled to the mountains. And now the dogs have separated, after having had their meal.” (The Indian way of saying—my story-telling is finished.) CHAPTER XIII MY NIGHT EXPERIENCE WITH A GRIZZLY BEAR When the leaves of the aspen and cottonwoods were turning yellow, the scout and I drove the herd into the corral and caught horses for a hunting trip to the mountains. That day a spirit of stubbornness possessed our horses. From the start we had trouble. Hard as I worked I could not hold them in line. Instead of following the scout, they hung back and wandered from the trail. They reminded me of people. Watching over them on the trail, they ceased to be mere beasts of burden, and became friends with individuality and characteristics of their own. Brownie, the most ambitious, was happier in the lead. Strong and energetic, he was fitted for the place. Our blue horse was a nonentity; conscientious, honest and slow, but by nature a subordinate. Old Pinto, with a coat of red and white, had great endurance. He gave the impression of wisdom and experience. We had a large bay horse with a roman nose. He was headstrong and fiery, afraid of rattling things and of ropes dangling about his heels; he carried our bedding. A sorrel named Dandy was nervous and shy, too timid to assert himself; he was imposed upon by the others. Baldy, my own pack horse, was small and wiry, sure-footed as a mountain goat, but lazy and with diabolical cunning. He was too careful of his own safety to fall or wear himself out; sometimes he pretended to be nervous. But in bad places he never stumbled or faltered.