“Quick! quick! get down!” exclaimed Lester in a loud whisper, as he dropped into the gully of the old abandoned wagon-road.
Warren and I followed hastily, pulling the tall grass over us. We heard the footsteps of the horse come nearer and nearer to our hiding place. It stopped and reached its head down, and began to nibble the grass under which I lay concealed. I looked up through a slight opening, and, behold! there on the horse sat Brush with one leg thrown over the pommel of the saddle, busily reading a book. I could see the boy’s eyes and his lips moving as he read, and at times it seemed as though his eyes were looking right into mine. I was in great suspense while the horse stood there, but at length Brush picked up the rains and urged Dolly on. As soon as he disappeared at the bend of the road, we rose and darted across and ran down to the ravine.
We entered the big village of sod houses through which we had to pass. Here, too, we felt the sense of desolation that pervaded even the hills around. Somewhere from the midst of these peculiar dwellings came the doleful howl of a stray dog, the only sound that broke the stillness of the place. What sensations my companions experienced upon hearing the melancholy wail of that deserted beast I do not know; but, like the rapid advance of a fire over the prairie, a thrill that made the very roots of my hair creep vibrated through my body. Involuntarily we paused to listen; the long-drawn moan came to a close, and the ghostly echoes carried on the sound as though to mock the lost creature.
“Let’s run!” exclaimed Lester, in a frightened tone; “let’s get away from here!”
And so we sped on until, all out of breath, we were far beyond the limits of the village.
The shadows of the hills and the trees were beginning to grow long as we reached the foot of the bluffs where lay the village of the Wood-eaters. We followed a narrow but well-beaten path, wending our way among the tall trees. Suddenly a dog, with tail rigid and erect, and hair bristling, came barking at us with savage fury.
“ ’Shta-du-ba! ’Shta-du-ba!” called Lester, as he came near. “It is I, don’t you know me?”
The dog, on hearing his name from a familiar voice, relaxed his aggressive appearance and assumed one of joyous welcome. He jumped upon us, licked our hands, wagged his whole body as well as his tail, and preceded us with leaps and barks of delight.
We came to a clear space, and there before us against the deep shadows of the woods stood a solitary sod house, the smoke lazily ascending to the sky from the top of the dome-shaped roof, making a picture of simple contentment. In the projecting doorway stood a man looking intently in our direction. The serious expression of his face changed to one of pleasure and amusement as he descried the three schoolboys. When we were near enough for him to fully recognize us, his smile burst into a mirthful laugh in which we could not help joining, though to us our business was full of seriousness.
“Woo-hoo!” he mildly exclaimed, “what important thing is it that has brought you here at this time, when all are about going away? Your mother left yesterday,” he said, addressing my companions, then turning to me remarked, “Your father must have gone today.”
“We ran away from school because we want to go on the hunt,” explained Lester. “I know my mother has gone; but my uncle has not left yet, so we are going to him.”
“He is still here, we all go tomorrow morning early; but you should have stayed at the House of Teaching; you would get more good there than by going on the hunt. You know the way to Me-chahʻ-pe’s house, just follow that path.”
We trudged along to Me-chahʻ-pe’s house. The family had gathered about an outside fire, and were eating their supper in the dusk. Upon our coming into the light of the fire we were recognized; the mother and grown daughter greeted us with exclamations of surprise and sympathy; while the father and the two sons glanced at each other with expressions of amusement. A place was assigned us in the circle, and soon we were busily engaged with the simple fare placed before us by the good and hospitable mother.
“Why do parents when they go away leave their children at the House of Teaching, I wonder?” commented the woman, as she apportioned the food for us. “Some people show no signs of affection for their sons and daughters until they sicken and die; then they tear their hair and rend the air with their loud wails. It is well enough while the parents are at home that they should place the young ones in the care of the White-chests; but, when going on a long journey like this, they should take the children with them.”
By the side of every Indian house stands a raised platform made of poles, elevated upon posts, some seven or eight feet high, planted firmly in the ground. This platform is used for drying corn and squash, at the time of harvesting; but, through the summer when the people are at home, the young men and boys take possession of it, for sleeping in the open air. As weariness began to be felt, one by one, the family arose, and, without formality, each sought his place of rest. We schoolboys and the sons of Me-chahʻ-pe repaired to the platform, climbing the “stairs” made of a single log, with notches cut in it for steps.
This was the first night I had ever spent out of doors. The novel experience, and the excitements of the day, filled my mind with strange speculations, and I lay awake long after my companions had gone to sleep. Now
