When we had withdrawn to a distance where we were sure our noise would not disturb the mourner, one of the boys called out, "Let's play Oo-hae'ba-shon-shon!" (Tortuous path). Years after I learned that this game was played by the children of the white people, and that they called it, "Follow my leader."
We graded ourselves according to size, the biggest boy at the head as leader. Each one took hold of the belt of the boy in front of him, and then we started off at a rapid jog-trot, keeping time to this little song which we sang at the top of our voices.
Yo hay yo ae ha ra o ha.
Ya hay yo ae yo ha o ha.
Whatever the leader did, all were bound to do likewise. If he touched a post, we touched it too; if he kicked the side of a tent, all of us kicked it; so on we went, winding around the dwellings, in and out of vacant lodges, through mud puddles and queer, almost inaccessible places, and even entering the village, where we made the place ring with our song.
At last, tired out, the boys broke line and scattered to their homes. It was then that I suddenly realized the lateness of the hour, and remembered my promise to Brush. I ran to the house, took a hurried leave of my parents, picked up the package of buffalo meat my mother had prepared for my schoolmate, and fairly flew over the hill between the village and the Mission.
As I came running down the hill to the school I saw Lester, Warren, and Edwin sitting in a row on the fence.
"Hello!" I shouted, "what you sitting on that fence for, like a lot of little crows?"
No answer came, nor did the boys move. I began to wonder if they were displeased with me, although I could not think of anything I had done to give them offence. As I drew near, I noticed that the expression on their faces indicated alarm rather than displeasure, and, becoming anxious in my turn, I hurriedly asked, "What's the matter; what's happened; where's Brush?"