“Then I laughed and said I talked to Tashina because I used to be her horse, and she wasn’t like other girls anyway. I was just telling her about the things we were going to do. And he _yah-yahed_, making forked fingers at me. Then I was angry, and I said: ‘You have been sneaking around in the brush after that Shyela girl again, haven’t you?’ Then he was angry too, and left me, and I rode home. “All the rest of that day I was angry at High Horse; but when I awoke in the morning, I thought of him the first thing, and I was not angry any more at all. I was sad, and I got sadder and sadder all that day. So I rode out on a high hill and sat there thinking about how we had said we were twins, and we had found each other at last and we would never be apart again, and we would be brother-friends and do great deeds and everybody would praise us. And when I looked around at the sky and the prairie, it was big and empty, and I was all alone in it and nothing cared about me. So I sat there and wept a long time. “Next day I was sadder than the day before, and I thought I would go and see High Horse again. Maybe he was sad too and would not be angry at me any more. So I started towards the Miniconjou village, riding slowly because my mind was still forked; and all at once there was a horseback coming slowly out of the brush up there. When I saw it was High Horse, my heart drummed; but when he came close I could see that it was bad with him. ‘_How, Kola_,’ he said; and his voice was low and weak, as though he might be getting ready to die pretty soon. And I said, ‘What is wrong with you, brother-friend? Are you sick in your belly?’ And he groaned and said, ‘I am sick all over, brother-friend, and you must help me, for if nobody helps me I think I shall die.’ Then he groaned some more; and I said, ‘You know I will help you, for we are twins and brother-friends, and if you die then I must die too.’ “So we got off our horses and sat together in a clump of brush where nobody would see us, and High Horse said, ‘My brother, it is true. I have been talking to a Shyela girl and her name is Wacin Hin Washtay Win [Good Plume].’ When he had said that he muttered the name to himself for a while--like singing to yourself under your breath. Then the sickness went out of his face, and it was all shining when he looked at me and began telling me about Good Plume and how beautiful she was. It made me sad again to hear him, for I thought he was going crazy the way he told it, all out of breath. Then all at once the sickness came back in his face again, and he said, ‘Brother-friend, I want her so much that I cannot eat and I cannot sleep, and if I do not get her, maybe I shall just starve to death.’ ‘I will think,’ I said, ‘and we shall see what we can do.’