Then there was great mourning.  The relatives of the old women who had been killed, cut their hair and cried.  The man, too, cut off his hair and mourned.  He knew that his wife was not killed, but he felt very badly because he was separated from her.  He painted himself black, and walked all through the camp, crying.  His wife had many relations, and some of them went to the man and said:  “We pity you very much.  We mourn, too, for our sister.  But come.  Take courage.  We will go with you, and try to get her back.”

“It is good,” replied the man.  “I feel as if I should die, stopping uselessly here.  Let us start soon.”

That evening they got ready, and at daylight started out on foot.  There were seven of them in all.  The husband, five middle-aged men, the woman’s relations, and a young man, her own young brother.  He was a very pretty boy.  His hair was longer than any other person’s in camp.

They soon found the trail of the war party, and followed it for some days.  At last they came to the Big River,[1] and there, on the other side, they saw many lodges.  They crept down a coulee into the valley, and hid in a small piece of timber just opposite the camp.  Toward evening the man said:  “Kyi, my brothers.  To-night I will swim across and look all through the camp for my wife.  If I do not find her, I will cache and look again to-morrow evening.  But if I do not return before daylight of the second night, then you will know I am killed.  Then you will do as you think best.  Maybe you will want to take revenge.  Maybe you will go right back home.  That will be as your hearts feel.”

[Footnote 1:  Missouri River.]

As soon as it was dark, he swam across the river and went all about through the camp, peeping in through the doorways of the lodges, but he did not see his wife.  Still, he knew she must be there.  He had followed the trail of the party to this place.  They had not killed her on the way.  He kept looking in at the lodges until it was late, and the people let the fires go out and went to bed.  Then the man went down to where the women got their water from the river.  Everywhere along the stream was a cut bank, but in one place a path of steps had been made down to the water’s edge.  Near this path, he dug a hole in the bank and crawled into it, closing up the entrance, except one small hole, through which he could look, and watch the people who came to the river.

As soon as it was daylight, the women began to come for water. Tum, tum, tum, tum, he could hear their footsteps as they came down the path, and he looked eagerly at every one.  All day long the people came and went,—­the young and old; and the children played about near him.  He saw many strange people that day.  It was now almost sunset, and he began to think that he would not see his wife there. Tum, tum, tum, tum, another woman came down the steps, and stopped at the water’s edge.  Her dress was strange, but he thought he knew the form.  She turned her head and looked down the river, and he saw her face.  It was his wife.  He pushed away the dirt, crawled out, went to her and kissed her. “Kyi,” he said, “hurry, and let us swim across the river.  Five of your relations and your own young brother are waiting for us in that piece of timber.”