Chapter 3 No.3

Southward, nearer to the gorges

Whence the sudden warm winds blow,

Shaking all the pine's huge branches,

Melting all the fallen snow,

Dwelt the Séksika, the Blackfeet;

They whose ancestor, endued,

With the dark salve's magic fleetness,

First on foot the deer pursued.

Gallantly the Braves bore torture

While their Sun-dance fasts were held,

While the drums beat, and the virgins

Saw the pains by manhood quelled.

As each writhing form triumphant

Called on the Great Spirit's might,

On his son, whose voice in thunder

Summons airy hosts to fight.