All summer long, and all through the many moons of winter, the little Sinopah remained laced against his cradle-board the greater part of the time. The object in keeping him in such a position was so to shape the bones of his body that he would grow straight. Straight as an arrow, instead of round-shouldered and bent, as so many white children are allowed to take shape by careless or ignorant mothers. The close confinement in the cradle did not hurt him at all; but sometimes the one position grew irksome and the baby fretted. Then the mother would take him out of the cradle and let him roll naked on her couch until he tired and fell asleep, when back he would be put against the cradle-board.

When summer came again, Sinopah was a year old, and from that moon of his first birthday he spent less and less time in the cradle, and more and more time in creeping about on his mother's couch, or near her out on the clean, short grass. Then, along in the autumn, after many attempts, he toddled on uncertain legs from his mother's to his father's knee as the two sat a few feet apart in the lodge. That was a great day for White Wolf. Straightway he gave a feast and summoned all the relatives, that they too might see his young son walk. Uncles and aunts, they all loved the child and were proud of him; and his old gray-headed grandfather, Mik-sik-um, or Red Crane, was his almost constant companion as soon as he began to creep.

On this day the little fellow wore for the first time the suit of war-clothes his mother had been long in making. The clean, white, fringed buckskin shirt blazed with bright embroidery work, of dyed porcupine quills. The breech-clout of red cloth was held in place with a beaded belt. The fringed buckskin leggings were painted with small diagonal stripes of yellow and red ochre. The dainty little moccasins were embroidered with a solid mass of fine, glittering beads in the symbol of the sun. Very quaint and brave he looked in all his finery, and his infant mind and eyes were pleased with it all. He crowed and gurgled and laughed, and, with many a fall between, went from one to another of the admiring circle of guests.

Once he fell and struck his head against his father's tobacco-board. All present there held their breath, anxiously watching to see what he would do. But he did not cry: he sat up quickly, made a wry face, rubbed the bruised spot for a moment, then got up and lurched on to his mother's arms.

"Oh-ho-hai!" every one exclaimed, clapping hand to mouth; "he heeds not pain; he perseveres; he will become a great warrior."

"I give him a yellow pinto mare and a brown mare," cried an uncle. "White Wolf, come and get them out of my band to-morrow and put them with your herd."

Then up spoke one after another of the guests, each making a present of one or more animals. In a few minutes the little Sinopah became the owner of thirty-five good, young mares: "Oh-ho-hai!" the old grandfather quavered, joyfully smiling and rubbing his wrinkled hands together, "think of the colts that will be coming every spring. Before ever Sinopah is able to go to war, he will be rich."

Up to this time Sinopah had been bathed in tepid water in the lodge. His father now took him in hand and upon arising every morning carried him to the river for a quick dip in the cold water. It was cold, the autumn frosts having already begun, but, though the little fellow's tender flesh shrank from contact with it and he gasped, never a cry came from his firm-set lips. Day after day the weather grew colder. Winter came and the streams and lakes froze over, but the morning bath was continued just the same, holes frequently having to be chopped in the ice in order to get into the water. And no matter how cold it was, Sinopah went naked in his father's arms from the warm bed out on the snapping, groaning river ice, and into the water without a murmur. Afterward, following a rub before the fire, he felt so strong and lively that he couldn't sit still a minute, and while his mother cooked the morning meal, White Wolf sat on watch to keep him from tumbling into the fire. The early morning bath was taken by all the Blackfeet, young and old, every day in the year. They believed that it enabled them to hunt on the plains in the very coldest weather, without freezing, and they were right. I have seen them cutting up game with bare hands when the weather was so cold that I did not dare take off my gloves for even a moment; and yet not even their finger tips were nipped by the cruel frost.

Sinopah had no other food than his mother's milk until his teeth were well grown. After that time he lived almost entirely on the meat of buffalo and other game, with sometimes a few berries and roots, fresh or dried. Fat buffalo meat was very nourishing. The women broiled or boiled it, and when great quantities of it were brought in by the hunters, they cut it into thin sheets and dried it in the sun for future use. Sometimes they pounded the dried meat into particles as fine as meal, and made pemmican of it. This was done by mixing the pounded meat with marrow grease; that is, grease taken from the bones of the animals. When mixed, the stuff was put into bags of freshly killed hide, and then the mouths of the bags were sewed up. As the hide became dry it shrank tightly around the pemmican and made a very solid and heavy package. One of these, not larger than a half-bushel measure, weighed more than a hundred pounds. The grease preserved the meat, and the hide pretty well kept the air from it. The mixture was always sweet and good for many months, and was so very rich that a half pound of it was enough for a meal for a big, hungry man. All the Blackfeet women kept a supply of pemmican constantly on hand. It was considered a great delicacy, and was most often used for a part of a feast or gathering of the people.

When Sinopah was three years old, his father brought him one day a fuzzy, gray-haired animal which he had captured out on the plains. It was a "swift" or "kit" fox not more than a month old. "There, my son, is a pet for you," he said; "and now we have two Sinopah young ones in this lodge; one with two legs, and one with four."

Sinopah was not old enough to understand that, but he reached out for the funny little animal and held it tight to his breast. It did not offer to bite him, and was still too small to have any fear of man. It did fear the dogs at first, but soon became accustomed to them. Sinopah's mother fed it all the meat it could eat every day, and it became very tame and playful. It loved the boy best of all the people in the lodge, and at night always slept beside him, curling up in a little fluffy ball on the pillow. It never made any noise during the daytime, but at night, if alarmed by anything, it would rouse up and bark in the oddest kind of a way. The noise it made was very hoarse and rasping and muffled, as if it were trying to bark with its mouth full of food.

White Wolf owned several hundred horses. They were allowed to graze out on the plains during the daytime, but at sundown they were all driven into camp and the leaders of the herd and the valuable buffalo runners and war-horses were picketed close to the lodge, to prevent the enemy stealing them. The Blackfeet were always at war with the Sioux, Crows, Crees, and other tribes, and parties of these warriors were always prowling around.

One bright moonlight night, after the fire had died out and every one was sound asleep, the little fox gave a couple of hoarse, low growls that awakened Sinopah's mother. The moonlight was streaming straight down through the smoke-hole of the lodge, making everything inside as plain as day, and she could see the little fellow sniffing the air with its slender, black, keen nose, and working its big, long ears nervously as it cocked its head to one side and another, listening intently. "What hear you, little wise one? What is it outside, O keen smeller?" she whispered, reaching over and patting him on the back.

Her caressing hand gave him courage; he got up and sneaked out of the lodge, crouching so close to the ground that his belly fairly touched it. The lodge skin was always kept raised a few inches at one side of the doorway so he could go and come whenever he chose to. This time he was gone no more than a minute. Back he came on the run, barking hoarsely, all his fur stiff on end, and climbed onto the couch, snuggling close to his best friend, Sinopah.

"Wake up! Wake up," the mother whispered, bending over White Wolf and shaking him. "Awake! the little fox has been outside and has returned terribly scared."

No sooner were the words spoken than White Wolf was out of bed and making for the doorway of the lodge with gun in hand. Kneeling down he drew the curtain slowly aside and looked out: not ten steps away a man was untieing the rope of his best buffalo horse from the picket-pin. As quickly as possible he poked his gun out, took aim, and fired. Bang it went, and following the report the man gave a piercing scream, leaped high in the air, and fell, never to move again.

At that the whole camp was awakened. Men rushed out of their lodges and began shooting at a number of the enemy, some running away on foot, others riding off on horses they had already loosed from the pickets. Some of the women in the lodges cried wildly in their terror; children yelled; dogs barked and howled. But in White Wolf's lodge not a sound was to be heard. Little Sinopah waked up, heard the shooting and yelling and confusion of noise, and began to cry, but his mother quieted him at once: "There! there!" she said, putting him back in the bed and covering him up; "it is nothing; only some men come to steal horses and father is driving them away."

But for all her brave words her heart was full of fear. The enemy was shooting back at the men of the camp; one of their bullets might make her a widow and Sinopah an orphan. She began praying the gods to bring White Wolf safely back. Shivering from fright the little fox stuck his nose under the robe covering of the couch, then wriggled down beside the boy and growled occasionally. The mother sat waiting and watching. The old grandfather had been fumbling back of his couch for his bow and quiver case. He found it now and went hobbling out of the lodge on his rheumatic legs, muttering what he would do to the enemy if he could get within bow-shot of them.

Soon after the old man went out, the shooting and yelling ceased, and in a few moments the frightened women and children became quiet. Then, away out on the plain, faint at first, but growing louder and louder, was heard the victory song. All knew what that meant: the men of the camp had killed some of the enemy and were returning. At that the people began to pour out of the lodges, each one joyfully shouting the name of husband, brother, or son who had been in the fight.

Sinopah's mother gently lifted him from the couch and hurried out with him in her arms, crying: "White Wolf! My man White Wolf! He has fought the enemy and returns victorious; a great chief is my man White Wolf."

Close in front of the lodge a crowd of women and children was gathering, and she edged her way into it. There in their midst lay a man stretched out on his back, his wide-open, glassy eyes staring straight up at the moon; but the light had gone out of them forever.

Old Red Crane was bending over the body examining it: "'T is a Crow warrior," he suddenly shouted, "and 't was my son who killed him. Great is White Wolf, the chief."

"True! True!" everyone cried. "White Wolf is a chief."

The old man looked around, saw Sinopah, and took him from his mother's arms: "Look, little one," he said: "See what your father has done. He has killed an enemy. That is a Crow warrior; your father killed him."

Sinopah, looking down, clapped his hands and laughed. "Crow enemy," he lisped. "Father killed him."

And then he saw a necklace of big, long grizzly bear claws around the man's neck: "Give me! Give me!" he cried, motioning at it impatiently with his little hand. "Sinopah wants bear finger necklace."

"Yes, yes. You shall have it," old Red Crane answered; and stooping over he cut the string, then retied it and slipped the necklace over the boy's head.

Sinopah shook it and the hard claws rattled against one another; that pleased him and he laughed.

Again Red Crane called his attention to the dead enemy and quavered: "When Sinopah grows up he must be brave and kill many Crow men."

The boy laughed and answered: "Sinopah kill many Crows."

Meantime the men of the camp, some on horses and some on foot, were coming closer, and still singing the victory song. At last they came into the camp bringing the scalps and weapons of five Crows they had overtaken and killed. True, the Crows had managed to take a few horses and get away with them, but that did not matter; there were plenty of horses. The whole camp went wild with joy over the killing of the enemy. All the rest of the night there was feasting, singing, and dancing, and over and over the men told how they had pursued the enemy and fought them.

All of this made a deep impression upon Sinopah. In a way his child mind grasped the fact that to kill an enemy was the greatest thing a Blackfoot could do. All through the excitement Red Crane was by his side pointing out how the people praised his father, and making him repeat after them: "White Wolf! A great chief is White Wolf."

When daylight came the old man led him out for another look at the dead Crow in front of the lodge, and the boy had no fear of the cold, still form. That was what the old grandfather wanted: to impress upon him the fact that a dead enemy was something to make the heart glad.

It was later in the day that Sinopah's mother told how the little fox had been first to discover the enemy and give the alarm. The story soon spread through the camp, and as owner of the pet, the boy came in for a share of the praise that was given it.

Among others, the old medicine man Low Horn came to the lodge. After a smoke, he made those present a little speech: "I can see that this little Sinopah is going to have great luck," he said. "Surely the gods favor him. It was their will that he should have the pet fox that saved us some lives and our horses last night. My medicine tells me that this boy is to be a great warrior; that he will live long; that he will be full of pity for those who mourn, and generous to the aged and the widows and orphans."

"That is what we all pray for," said the old grandfather. "I hope that the gods will spare me a little while longer. I want to help White Wolf teach the boy. I want to be here to see him returning proud and successful from his first war-trail."