At the same moment,
Zeezeewin came out to meet her with both
babies in her arms.
"Mechinkshee! meechinkshee! (my sons,
my sons!)" was all that the poor mother could
say, as she all but fell from her saddle to the
ground. The despised Long Ears had not be-
trayed her trust.
VIII
THE WAR MAIDEN
The old man, Smoky Day, was for
many years the best-known story-teller
and historian of his tribe. He it was
who told me the story of the War Maiden.
In the old days it was unusual but not unheard
of for a woman to go upon the war-path--per-
haps a young girl, the last of her line, or a
widow whose well-loved husband had fallen on
the field--and there could be no greater incen-
tive to feats of desperate daring on the part of
the warriors.
"A long time ago," said old Smoky Day,
"the Unkpapa and the Cut-Head bands of
Sioux united their camps upon a vast prairie
east of the Minne Wakan (now called Devil's
Lake). It was midsummer, and the people
shared in the happiness of every living thing.
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