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XX

THAT WAGON 1840

CHIEF YELLOW SERPENT, old Pio-pio-moxmox, sat on a buffalo-robe at the door of his tent, smoking his calumet and watching the horses. Far out as the eye could see the hills were covered with horses, coal black, cream white, spotted white and roan and bay, Cayuse horses, well-knit, deep and wide at the shoulders, broad-loined, fleet-footed. At the slightest hint of danger the wild beauties would lift their heads with a shrill neigh, dart in air their light heels, and speed with horizontal manes and tails across the hills.

The young men had gone to hunt the buffalo far away. Out in the meadows the Indian women, with long crooked sticks, were busily digging the camas, the queen root of the Columbia, and tossing the bulbs into baskets slung on their backs. Some were baking them into figs to pack away for winter use. Others pulled the conical kouse, the biscuit root, to bake into sweet little cakes for the winter's bouillon.

As the old chief sat there he heard a sound unlike the hum of insects or the whir of grouse. 'Twas not the bleating of the kid nor the plaintive call of the fawn. Far out beyond this city of conical teepees something was following the horse-trail through the grass.

Yellow Serpent turned and bent his eye upon the approaching wonder. Some of his people were gath