Then they both lay down to sleep, but Mik-a’pi did not sleep.  Through the long night he watched for the first dim light, so that he might kill his enemy.  The Snake slept soundly; and just at daybreak Mik-a’pi quietly strung his bow, fitted an arrow, and, taking aim, sent the thin shaft through his enemy’s heart.  The Snake quivered, half rose up, and with a groan fell back dead.  Then Mik-a’pi took his scalp and his bow and arrows, and also his bundle of moccasins; and as daylight had come, he went out of the cave and looked all about.  No one was in sight.  Probably the Snake, like himself, had gone alone to war.  But, ever cautious, he travelled only a short distance, and waited for night before going on.  The rain had ceased and the day was warm.  He took a piece of dried meat and back fat from his pouch and ate them, and, after drinking from the river, he climbed up on a high rock wall and slept.

Now in his dream he fought with a strange people, and was wounded.  He felt blood trickling from his wounds, and when he awoke, he knew that he had been warned to turn back.  The signs also were bad.  He saw an eagle rising with a snake, which dropped from its claws and escaped.  The setting sun, too, was painted[1],—­a sure warning to people that danger is near.  But, in spite of all these things, Mik-a’pi determined to go on.  He thought of the poor widows mourning and waiting for revenge.  He thought of the glad welcome of the people, if he should return with many scalps; and he thought also of two young sisters, whom he wanted to marry.  Surely, if he could return and bring the proofs of brave deeds, their parents would be glad to give them to him.

[Footnote 1:  Sun dogs.]

II

It was nearly night.  The sun had already disappeared behind the sharp-pointed gray peaks.  In the fading light the far-stretching prairie was turning dark.  In a valley, sparsely timbered with quaking aspens and cotton-woods, stood a large camp.  For a long distance up and down the river rose the smoke of many lodges.  Seated on a little hill overlooking the valley, was a single person.  With his robe drawn tightly around him, he sat there motionless, looking down on the prairie and valley below.

Slowly and silently something was crawling through the grass toward him.  But he heard nothing.  Still he gazed eastward, seeking to discover any enemy who might be approaching.  Still the dark object crawled slowly onward.  Now it was so close to him that it could almost touch him.  The person thought he heard a sound, and started to turn round.  Too late!  Too late!  A strong arm grasped him about the neck and covered his mouth.  A long jagged knife was thrust into his breast again and again, and he died without a cry.  Strange that in all that great camp no one should have seen him killed!