“On a day when One Horn was visiting in the Crow chief’s lodge, this man was one of the guests. The talk was of war, and after many there had told what they had done, he said that, with a friend, he was approaching the Blackfeet camp, and they were discovered and surrounded by all the warriors of the tribe. His friend soon fell, as full of arrows as a porcupine is full of quills, but that he, charging this way, that way, shooting arrows fast and killing many Blackfeet, made them give way before him and he escaped from them, although wounded in the back. Later on, when safe from pursuit, he had drawn out the arrow, and still had it, proof enough of the truth of his tale.
“This man then turned to One Horn, and said, by signs, of course, ‘We have all of us here told about our fights, and now it is your turn: tell of your brave deeds.’
“‘I have nothing to say that will interest you; mine have been just the common experiences of those who go on raids. No, I have nothing to say,’ he answered.
“‘But you must tell us one great thing that you have done,’ the River Crow insisted.
“And again One Horn answered: ‘What I have done would not interest you. I have nothing to say.’
“The man then turned to the Mountain Crow chief and said: ‘This is a poor kind of a friend for you to have! He has done nothing; he is no chief, he is a woman!’
“‘I do not know for sure, but I think that he is a chief, that he has a big war record,’ the host answered him.
“And then the guests went their several ways, the River Crow laughing shrilly, contemptuously, as he left the lodge.
“It was not long after this that the River Crow came over again from Little River, and again was one of a party of guests in the lodge of the chief of the Mountain Crows. Once more the talk was of war, and when it came this man’s turn to talk, he drew an arrow from his quiver, laid it on the ground in front of him, and said: ‘There! No one here, nor in the camp of the Mountain Crows and the camp of the River Crows, has ever equaled what that stands for. That is the arrow that I drew from my back after my partner was killed, and I fought my way single-handed through the hundreds of Blackfeet warriors, killing many of them, and so frightening them that they dared not pursue me.’
“One Horn leaned over, looked at the arrow, and gave an exclamation of disgust: ‘That is my arrow,’ he signed. ‘I know this man now. At dawn, one morning, I discovered him and his partner asleep near our camp. I crept up to them and shouted, thinking that they were our horseherd watchers, and when they sprang up, I saw that they were enemies. I shot one of them dead. This man turned and ran, never even firing at me, and I shot an arrow into his back, but he kept on going and escaped from me in the brush! Yes. That is the very arrow I shot into him!’