“Then we boys went around the hoop, left to right, beginning with the first old man who had spoken, and filled all the cups of the old people, Blue Spotted Horse’s last, with soup and tender meat. And this we kept on doing, until no more cups were emptied. Then we ate, and when we had eaten, the meat that was left we divided among the old people, and they went away with it, making songs about the brave young men who had fed them.” Eagle Voice sat silent for a while, his eyes closed, his hands on his knees. Emerging from his reverie at length, he fixed his crinkled gaze on me and smiled. “You can see,” he said, “that the Food was right when it talked, for I have come to where the cane is. Most of my teeth are uprooted, and I am wearing the wrinkled buckskin and the white war bonnet. When I was young and my head was full of brave deeds and horses and coups and scalps, I have heard old men say, ‘It is good to be young and die on the prairie for the people. It is not good to grow old.’ Maybe they wanted to make us braver. Maybe the black road made them tired where it steepens. When I am all alone, I think and think; and it is about going to visit my relatives in the world of spirit that I think most; but it is good to look back and remember.” “When you look back, Grandfather,” I said, “you see a girl’s road that you did not walk because you did not see it then. Do you wish you had seen it and walked it?” “There are many roads, Grandson,” he answered. “They all come together, and at that place there stands a three-legged old horse always looking for the grass that used to be.” The picture of himself, drawn once before, amused him, and he chuckled over it. “_Dho!_” he continued. “It was the road Tashina Wanblee walked that time, and I did not see it until I had walked across the world. “When the feasting was over, the bands that had come together for the sun dance were getting ready to scatter and go their own ways. Boys and men would be catching horses. Tepee poles would be clattering. Women would be scolding because the horses would not stand still while the drags were loaded. People would be visiting each other because maybe they would not meet again until next grass, or never. Maybe boys would be sneaking off into the brush to meet their girls, and maybe some boy would run away that night and follow the trail of a girl so that he could talk to her under the blanket once more.