That evening the chiefs of the tribe held a council and decided to move camp from the Marias River, where they then were, out to the Sweet-Grass Hills. These are three lone buttes about one hundred miles east of the main range of the Rocky Mountains, and right on the line separating Montana and the Canadian province of Alberta. There were then, however, no monuments to mark the boundary of the two countries. The line had not yet been surveyed. When the Blackfeet were told that the Americans—Long Knives—owned the country to the south of the Hills, and the English—the Red Coats—the land north of them, they only laughed, and said: "That is a mistake. Neither the Red Coats nor the Long Knives own any of this country. Away back in the beginning of things our god whom we call Old Man, made the world, and the animals, and us. When he made this part of the world he saw that it was the best of all, and so he gave it to us. It is our land; the white people cannot have it."

When they said that, the Blackfeet did not know how many the white people were and how strong. Since that time their game has all been killed, and their lands have been taken from them by the white race.

But I must go on with my story.

Very early the next morning, the camp crier went through the great camp shouting that it was to be moved to the Sweet-Grass Hills. Almost as fast as he went the lodges came down behind him. The men drove in and caught the horses, the women packed them, and in a very short time the long column of riders, loose and packed horses was strung out, heading north across the big plain. There were so many people, so many horses, that the column was all of three miles long. Most of the men and women were splendidly dressed in buckskin clothes, beaded and painted and fringed; and then the trappings of the horses, the queer pouches, sacks, and parfleches they carried, were also painted in bright colors, so that the whole procession was not unlike a rainbow snake moving out across the brown plain. It was a romantic and barbaric pageant of shifting color.

On this morning there was something new in the column. Along in the centre of it, behind the horses that carried White Wolf's lodge and packs, and his family, walked the three dogs, one behind another, loaded with the play lodge and the little packs. Most of the children of the tribe had not seen them working the day before, and now they came crowding close on their horses, very much excited, and wishing that they could have such an outfit. Right behind the dogs were Sinopah and Lone Bull and Otaki on their ponies, and they were very much pleased at all this attention.

"You must come and visit us when we set up the little lodge," they kept telling the other children, and all promised that they would do so.

"But here are many hundred little ones," Sinopah's mother told him. "They can't all get into the lodge."

"Some can come in one time, and some another," he replied; "and it is nice just to stand and look at the outside of it."

Sinopah was getting wise.

There had been so much hunting near the river that the game had been driven far out on the plains, and that was the reason the chiefs had decided to move to another camping-ground, where meat could be more quickly and easily killed by the hunters. It was about thirty miles across country to the Hills. For half that distance only a few old buffalo bulls and two or three bands of very wild antelope were seen. But when about ten miles from the middle butte the people could see thousands and thousands of buffalo and other game close to the north, the east, and the west. Most of the men now rode ahead of the column to hunt. They could be seen chasing different herds of the buffalo on their swift, trained horses, and shooting them with guns and bow and arrows; and where they passed were left many of the big, brown, shaggy-haired animals lying dead on the plain, or standing all humped up on weakening legs, sorely wounded, and soon to tumble down and die. The sight made the hearts of the people glad; there would be plenty of fresh, fat meat, many rich tongues to roast for the evening meal; food for many, many days to come. The old men watched the chase with glistening eyes, and became so excited that many of them pounded their safe, slow horses with heels and quirt, forgetting for the moment that they could not be made to go faster than an ambling trot; and so they fell to talking of what big hunts they had made in their young days.

To the east the hunters who had gone in that direction rode out of sight behind a low ridge on the plain and chased a herd of several thousand buffalo. At first the animals ran eastward, but the wind was from the west and as they always ran against it, they soon circled and came thundering over the ridge and straight toward the long column of the moving camp. The hunters saw the danger in that, but could not turn them. The women and then the children began to shriek and cry, the old men to shout and try to drive a part of the column forward, the other part back, so as to save them from being gored and trampled by the frightened and wildly rushing herd. It was a terrible sight, that resistless mass of huge and sharp-horned animals coming straight for the centre of the column of traveling people. The leaders of the herd, the swiftest of the cows, had of course by this time smelled the riders, but they were now powerless to stop or to turn back, for the closely packed herd behind was pushing them; they had to keep going or be trampled to death.

The old men had now succeeded in dividing the column by a little gap, and were driving the women and children and the pack-animals to the north and to the south, crowding them and widening the gap as fast as possible. The confusion increased. The horses squealed and kicked one another, and some of the frightened pack-animals ran away, scattering their loads along the plain. A few old women, regardless of danger, rode bawling after them in hope of recovering their little keepsakes and treasures.

When the column was separated by a clear space of several hundred yards, the buffalo began passing through it, on each edge so close to the people that the wind caused by their rush could be felt, and their black, angrily gleaming eyes could be plainly seen. The noise of their thudding and rattling hoofs and clashing horns was terrific.

Sinopah and his mother were right at the north edge of the gap. His little pony, always very gentle before this, now began to get frightened and show signs of running away; and before any one could prevent it, it bolted straight out toward the passing buffalo.

"Oh, my boy! My little boy! Save him!" his mother shrieked, and madly whipping her horse, and without thought of the danger, took after him.

Other women shrieked and called for help. The old men there yelled and followed after the mother, resolved to save her and the boy, and half crazed because of the slowness of their horses.

Sinopah never once cried out or looked back. The people watching saw his little mouth tightly shut, saw him gripping the saddle with both hands, and they yelled to him to let go; to fall off. And at the same time they knew that it was useless to shout to him, for even a clap of thunder would have been lost in the roar and clatter of the passing herd.

It was only a few yards across the clear space to the edge of the stream of buffalo. As the pony ran he seemed to go faster and faster. The people watching lost all hope, and so did the mother and the old men; but without a thought for themselves they only whipped their horses the harder and pressed on.

The pony now had only a few more jumps to make in order to reach the buffalo, but, excited as he was, still, from force of habit he was watching out for safe footing. So it was that when almost on the point of hitting a badger hole he suddenly jumped sideways to save himself; jumped as quickly as a cat could have done, at a right angle to his course. Sinopah was not prepared for that, he was only bracing himself for straight-ahead running, and so when the pony jumped sideways he was jerked loose from all holds. His little body actually flew out of the saddle, went spinning through the air, and down he came to the ground on his feet, then fell, and went rolling over and over on the short, thick grass, and almost into the stream of buffalo. The pony kept on. As he came to the herd the animals shrank and made way for him; he entered the gap and in an instant it closed and he was lost to sight.

Sinopah's mother reached him almost as soon as he stopped rolling. Jumping from her horse, she snatched him up from the ground and ran back as fast as she could go, thinking no more of the horse nor caring what became of it. One of the old men caught the animal and turned it over to her later. Just as she got back to the people the last of the long herd of buffalo passed, and the thunder of their hoofs soon died away. She set Sinopah down on his feet and looked at him, felt of him, all the men and women and children there crowding around. Sinopah was not crying, nor laughing: just then his father came up on a big horse all covered with foam, and he cried out to him: "Nina, awt-sim-o-ta no-tas. Nok-o-twe-in-is." (Father, my horse ran away. Go get him.)

HIS LITTLE BODY ACTUALLY FLEW THROUGH THE AIR

Every one laughed then, and White Wolf was quickly told what had happened. Very gently he reached down and drew Sinopah up on the saddle in front of him: "I am not surprised that the boy escaped," he said. "I feel that the gods are good to this son of mine. I am sure that they intend him to live to great age."