"So, before any knew, the white man had made Winnetkha his own, and took her to live in a real house, that he had made the Indians build for him, of straight ash logs, with bark peeled off and hewn on the inside, until the white wood glistened like silver. "That was the beginning of the breeds, and after that, many became crossed and have not stopped until recently; but Bettleyon and Stinking Eye never got over it, and when the pale face was spending his time herding the cattle that were now replacing the buffalo, they intrigued cruelly against him. "Winnetkha overheard their plan, and informed him when he came from the herd that night, and so he kept watch. They came late, with a band of picked men and loyal followers, and began at once to make war on the big house. All night they fought, but the Indians were shrewd this time, and fought from long range. They shot at the house with arrows that were heated red hot on the point, until at last they set it on fire. This, of course, drove the white man and his squaw out. They managed to escape and reached safety ere they were discovered. But the white man was angry, and he swore to have revenge, so, loading his rifle, he saddled his horse and came down single-handed on the Indians and killed many, and routed the rest. "He was not bothered any more for years afterward, but the Indian, you know, never forgets, so, one day, when he was grazing his herds near the top of the hill, he looked up to find himself almost hemmed in by the skulking red devils. He rushed to safety behind the rocks at the top, where you see them. Here he fought until his ammunition was exhausted, and he was without defense, with the Indians all about him. "And it was then that he looked about for other weapons of defense, and discovered a den of rattlers. Then, one at a time, he allowed the Indians to approach him, and as they did and went to look for him, they were struck in the face by a rattler. More than twenty were bitten, so 'tis said, and more than half died from the effects. And then they killed him. "Old Go-Catch-The-Enemy made war on them afterward and a reign of outlawry began; but to the white man, his son-in-law, he gave a great funeral, and did not bury him on a tree top, where buzzards picked the bones, as had been the custom; but the Indians preferred such a burial rather than that a coyote should dig them up from the earth. He was buried on the top of the little hill to the side, as you see, with stones arranged about him, and so deep in the earth, that the wolves never bothered. "So, that is the legend of those hills that you see, and they are the land mark. Those who live here will not soon forget it." They stood on the banks of the Ponca now, and listened to the happy birds that filled the air with music like thousands of little bells. As they stood, arm in arm, they appreciated all that life held in store for them.