“The narrow valley, where the grass was deep and green beside the running water and the trees made pleasant shade, lay waiting there until two moons had grown and died above it. And when the thin third moon hung low above the sunset, the place was filled with happy voices. On one side of the sweet running water the Chickasaws had pitched their tepees, and on the other side, Shyelas; and their ponies knew each other, feasting together, muzzle deep, as the peoples feasted. And the steep sides of the valley laughed and sang. And because all hearts were strong with kindness, there was a big giving-away until no one had anything left at all that had been his or hers; but everyone had plenty. Even the little children gave their playthings to each other. Men who had been strangers gave themselves and were brother-friends. And their sisters became sisters, and the father of each became the other’s uncle, and the mother of one the other’s aunt. From that day to this no Shyela has ever harmed a Chickasaw, no Chickasaw a Shyela. “And this was all because two boys had trouble with their sisters!” XI _Helping a Brother-Friend_ When I arrived next morning, the fifing of wagon tires in the subzero hush of the creek bottom yonder proclaimed a family fuel shortage belatedly acknowledged. Not only was the son-in-law up and doing with the blanketed sun; but the old man himself, bent to the horizontal from the hips, his thin hair whiter than the snow, his sharp face frosted with his breath, plied an ax among the gnarled remainders of the woodpile. “_Lela oosni!_” he remarked, smiling brightly up at me and panting. “You see I can get my own wood.” Yielding the ax to me with some reluctance, he shuffled towards the tepee, apparently unaware of the ragged moccasins that gave no protection to his heels and toes against the searing snow. When the fire was going merrily and the tepee was snug with heat, I said: “Grandfather, I have brought you a present.” With something boyish shining in his face, he made a high prolonged nasal sound of pleasure and surprise as he watched me unwrap the sheepskin slippers I had brought him; and when he held them in his hands, he giggled like a youngster. The business of getting the slippers on the old man’s feet became something like a catch-as-catch-can wrestling match, for in choosing the size, I had not allowed for the cozy fur inside. He lay in his bed chuckling while I held a long skinny leg under my arm and wrestled with the foot. When the business was finished, he sat up, placed an arm about my shoulder, and pulled me close. Then, as though he were making an announcement to the universe in general, he said: “This is my grandson! _Dho!_ This is my grandson!” When we had smoked awhile in silence, I asked: “And did the story of the two boys make you hungry?”