The young men rubbed Nakpa down, and the
feather, marked with red to indicate her wounds,
was fastened to her mane. Shoulders and hips
were touched with red paint to show her en-
durance in running. Then the crier, praising
her brave deed in heroic verse, led her around
the camp, inside of the circle of teepees. All
the people stood outside their lodges and lis-
tened respectfully, for the Dakota loves well to
honor the faithful and the brave.
During the next day, riders came in from the
ill-fated party, bringing the sad news of the
fight and heavy loss. Late in the afternoon
came Weeko, her face swollen with crying, her
beautiful hair cut short in mourning, her gar-
ments torn and covered with dust and blood.
Her husband had fallen in the fight, and her
twin boys she supposed to have been taken cap-
tive by the Crows. Singing in a hoarse voice
the praises of her departed warrior, she entered
the camp. As she approached her sister's tee-
pee, there stood Nakpa, still wearing her hon-
orable decorations.
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