But the Feather will not leave Strike Axe an’ go with Yellow Face, for Strike Axe is a big fighter; an’ moreover, he kills many elk an’ buffalo, an’ his lodge is full of beef an’ robes, an’ the Feather is no fool. Besides, at this time her heart is not bad, but only restless.

Then Yellow Face sees he must give her a bad heart or he will never win the Feather. So Yellow Face kills the Great Rattlesnake of the Rocks, who is his brother medicine, an’ cooks an’ feeds his heart to the Feather. Then she loves Yellow Face an’ hates Strike Axe, an’ would help the Yellow Face slay him. For the heart of the Great Rattlesnake of the Rocks is evil, an’ evil breeds evil where it touches, an’ so the Feather’s heart turns black like the snake’s heart which she swallowed from the hand of Yellow Face.

Strike Axe does not know what the Feather an’ Yellow Face say an’ do, for he is busy sharpening his lance an’ making arrows to shoot against the Pawnees, an’ his ears an’ eyes have no time to run new trails. But Strike Axe can tell that the Feather’s heart is against him; an’ this makes him to wonder, because he is a big fighter; an’ besides he has more than any Sioux, meat an’ furs an’ beads an’ blankets an’ paint an’ feathers, all of which are good to the eyes of squaws, an’ the Feather is no fool. An’, remembering these things, Strike Axe wonders an’ wonders; but he cannot tell why the heart of the Feather is against him. An’ at last Strike Axe puts away the puzzle of the Feather’s heart.

“It is a trail in running water,” says Strike Axe, “an’ no one may follow it. The heart of a squaw is a bird an’ flies in the air an’ no one may trace it.” With that, Strike Axe washes his memory free of the puzzle of the Feather’s heart an’ goes away to the big trees by the Yellowstone to hunt.

Strike Axe tells the Feather he will be gone one moon; for now while her heart is against him his lodge is cold an’ his blankets hard an’ the fire no longer burns for Strike Axe, an’ his own heart is tired to be alone.

It is among the big trees by the Yellowstone that Strike Axe meets Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, while Moh-Kwa is hunting for a bee tree. But he can’t find one, an’ he is sad an’ hungry an’ tells Strike Axe he fears the bees have gone far away to live with the Pawnees.

But Strike Axe says “No!” an’ takes Moh-Kwa to a bee-tree he has found; an’ Moh-Kwa sings in his joy, an’ climbs an’ eats until he is in pain; while Strike Axe stands a long way off, for the bees are angry an’ their knives are out.

Moh-Kwa is grateful to Strike Axe when his pain from much honey is gone, an’ says he will come each day, an’ eat an’ fight with the bees while there is honey left. An’ Moh-Kwa asks Strike Axe to remember that he is the Great Wise Bear of the Yellowstone, an’ to tell him what is evil with him so Moh-Kwa can do him good.

Strike Axe thinks very hard; then he tells Moh-Kwa how the Feather’s heart is against him an’ has left him; he would know what the Feather will do an’ where her heart has gone.

Moh-Kwa puts his paw above his eyes to keep out the sun so he can think better; an’ soon Moh-Kwa remembers that the wife of the Great Rattlesnake of the Rocks, when he met her hunting rats among the cliffs, told him she was now a widow, for Yellow Face had killed the Great Rattlesnake of the Rocks—who was his brother medicine—an’ fed his heart to the Feather.

Moh-Kwa tells Strike Axe how the Feather was bewitched by Yellow Face.

“Come now with me,” said Moh-Kwa to Strike Axe, “an’ I will show you what the Feather an’ Yellow Face do while you are gone. You are a young buck an’ a good buck, an’ because of your youth an’ the kind deed you did when you found for me the bees—to whom I shall go back an’ fight with for more honey to-morrow and every day while it lasts—I will show you a danger like a lance, an’ how to hold your shield so you may come safe from it.”

Moh-Kwa took Strike Axe by the hand an’ led him up a deep canyon an’ into his cavern where a big fire burned in the floor’s middle for light. An’ bats flew about the roof of Moh-Kwa’s cavern an’ owls sat on points of rock high up on the sides an’ made sad talks; but Strike Axe being brave an’ with a good heart, was not afraid an’ went close to the fire in the floor’s middle an’ sat down.

Moh-Kwa got him a fish to eat; an’ when it was baked on the coals an’ eaten, brought him a pipe with kinnikinick to smoke. When that was done, Moh-Kwa said:

“Now that your stomach is full an’ strong to stand grief, I will show you what the Feather an’ Yellow Face do while you are gone; for they make medicine against you an’ reach out to kill you an’ take your life.” Moh-Kwa then turned over a great stone with his black paws an’ took out of a hole which was under the stone, a looking glass. Moh-Kwa gave Strike Axe the looking glass an’ said, “Look; for there you shall see the story of what the Feather an’ the wicked Yellow Face do.”

Strike Axe looked, an’ saw that Yellow Face was wrapping up a log in a blanket. When he had done this, he belted it with the belts of Strike Axe; an’ then he put on its head the war-bonnet of Strike Axe which hung on the lodge pole. An’ now that it was finished, Yellow Face said the log in the blanket an’ wearing the belts an’ war-bonnet was Strike Axe—as Strike Axe saw truly in the looking glass—an’ Yellow Face stood up the log in its blanket an’ belts an’ war-bonnet, an’ made his bow ready to kill it with an arrow. As Yellow Face did these things, the Feather stood watching him with a smile on her face while the blood-hope shone in her eyes; for she had eaten the snake’s heart an’ all her spirit was black.

Strike Axe saw what went on with the Feather an’ Yellow Face, an’ told it as the glass told it, word for word to Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, who sat by his side to listen.

Then Moh-Kwa, when he knew that now Yellow Face with three arrows in his left hand was stringing a bow to shoot against the log which he had dressed up an’ named “Strike Axe,” said there was little time to be lost; an’ Moh-Kwa hurried Strike Axe to the round deep spring of clear water which was in the cavern, an’ told him to stand on the edge of the spring an’ look hard in the looking glass an’ take sharp notice just as Yellow Face was to shoot the arrow against the log.

“An’ you must dive in the spring when Yellow Face shoots,” said Moh-Kwa to Strike Axe; “you must dive like the loon dives when you shoot at him on the river.”

Strike Axe looked hard in the looking glass like Moh-Kwa said, an’ dived in the spring when the arrow left the bow of Yellow Face.

When he came up, he looked again in the glass an’ saw that Yellow Face had missed the log. Yellow Face had a half-fear because he had missed, an’ Strike Axe looking in Moh-Kwa’s glass could see the half-fear rising up as a mist in his eyes like a morning fog lifts up from the Yellowstone. Also, the Feather stood watching Yellow Face, an’ her eyes, which were grown hard an’ little an’ bright, like a snake’s eyes, showed that she did not care what happened only so that it was evil.

But Moh-Kwa told Strike Axe to still watch closely, an’ would not let his mind pull up its pickets an’ stray; because Yellow Face would shoot twice more with the arrows which were left; an’ he must be quick an’ ready each time to dive like the loon dives, or he would surely die by the log’s wound.

Strike Axe, because he had eaten the fish an’ smoked, an’ had a full stomach an’ was bold an’ steady with a heart made brave with much food, again looked hard in the glass; an’ when the second arrow left the bow of Yellow Face he dived sharply in the spring like a loon; an’ when he came up an’ held the looking glass before his eyes he saw that Yellow Face had missed the log a second time.

An’ now there was a whole-fear in the eyes of Yellow Face—a white fear that comes when a man sees Pau-guk, the Death, walk into the lodge; an’ the hand of Yellow Face trembled as he made ready his last third arrow on the bow. But in the eyes of the Feather shone no fear; only she lapped out her tongue like the snake does, with the black pleasure of new evil at the door.

Moh-Kwa warned Strike Axe to look only at Yellow Face that he might be sure an’ swift as the loon to dive from the last arrow. Strike Axe did as Moh-Kwa counselled; an’ when the last arrow flew from the bow, Strike Axe with a big splash was safe an’ deep beneath the waters of the spring.

“An’ now,” said Moh-Kwa to Strike Axe, “look in the glass an’ laugh, for a blessing of revenge has been bestowed on you through the Great Spirit.”

Strike Axe looked an’ saw that not only did Yellow Face miss the log, but the arrow flew back an’ pierced the throat of Yellow Face, even up to the three eagle feathers on the arrow’s shaft. As Strike Axe looked, he saw Yellow Face die; an’ a feeling like the smell of new grass came about the heart of Strike Axe, for there is nothing so warm an’ sweet an’ quick with peace as revenge when it sees an’ smells the fresh blood of its enemy.

Moh-Kwa told Strike Axe to still look in the glass; for while the danger was gone he would know what the Feather did when now that Yellow Face was killed by the turning of his own medicine.

Strike Axe looked, an’ saw how the Feather dammed up the water in a little brook near the lodge; an’ when the bed of the brook was free of water the Feather dug a hole in the soft ground with her hands like a wolf digs with his paws. An’ the Feather made it deep an’ long an’ wide; an’ then she put the dead Yellow Face in this grave in the brook’s bed. When she had covered him with sand an’ stones, the Feather let the waters free; an’ the brook went back to its old trail which it loved, an’ laughed an’ ran on, never caring about the dead Yellow Face who lay under its wet feet.

Then the Feather went again into the lodge an’ undressed the log of its blankets, belts an’ war-bonnet; an’ the Feather burned the bow an’ the arrows of Yellow Face, an’ made everything as it was before. Only now Yellow Face lay dead under the brook; but no one knew, an’ the brook itself already had forgot—for the brook’s memory is slippery an’ thin an’ not a good memory, holding nothing beyond a moment—an’ the Feather felt safe an’ happy; for her heart fed on evil an’ evil had been done.

Strike Axe came out from the cave with Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear.

“You have given me life,” said Strike Axe.

“You have given me honey,” said Moh-Kwa.

Then Strike Axe was troubled in his mind, an’ he told Moh-Kwa that he knew not what he must do with the Feather when he returned. But Moh-Kwa said that he should make his breast light, an’ free his thought of the Feather as a burden, for one would be in his lodge before him with the answer to his question.

“It is the Widow,” said Moh-Kwa, “who was the wife of the Great Rattlesnake of the Rocks; she will go to your tepee to be close to the heart of her husband. In her mouth the Widow will bring a message from Yellow Face to the Feather for whom he died an’ was hid beneath the careless brook.”

Thus said Moh-Kwa. An’ Strike Axe found that Moh-Kwa spoke with but one tongue; for when he stood again in his lodge the Feather lay across the door, dead an’ black with the message of Yellow Face which was sent to her in the mouth of the Widow. An’ as Strike Axe looked on the Feather, the Widow rattled joyfully where she lay coiled on the Feather’s breast; for the Widow was glad because she was near to her husband’s heart.

But Moh-Kwa was not there to look; Moh-Kwa had gone early to the bee-tree, an’ now with his nose in a honey comb was high an’ hearty up among the angry bees.

There arose no little approbative comment on the folk-lore tales of Sioux Sam, and it was common opinion that his were by odds and away the best stories to be told among us. These hearty plaudits were not without pleasant effect on Sioux Sam, and one might see his dark cheek flush to a color darker still with the joy he felt.

And yet someone has said how the American Indian is stolid and cold.

It was the Red Nosed Gentleman, as the clock struck midnight on this our last evening and we threw our last log on the coals, who suggested that the Jolly Doctor, having told the first story, should in all propriety close in the procession by furnishing the last. There was but one voice for it, and the Jolly Doctor, who would have demurred for that it seemed to lack of modesty on his side, in the end conceded the point with grace.

“This,” said the Jolly Doctor, composing himself to a comfortable position in his great chair, “this, then, shall be the story of ‘The Flim Flam Murphy.’”