A sacred praise I am making.
My nation, behold it in kindness.
The day of the sun has been my strength.
The path of the moon shall be my robe.
A sacred praise I am making.
A sacred praise I am making.’
“When I got off my horse at our tepee, the power left me, and my legs would not hold me. My mother and step-father held me up. When I was lying down inside, Blue Spotted Horse and Chagla came. The last I remember they were washing my body and dropping water and meat juice into my mouth. The people danced and feasted most of the night, but I did not hear them. In the morning, they ’woke me, and when I had drunk some water and eaten a little, I slept. That evening they fed me again and gave me water, and I slept. Next morning I was very hungry and thirsty. So I drank and ate all I wanted. I felt strong again, and my breast did not hurt. Blue Spotted Horse made it heal fast. Look. You can see it yet.”
With fumbling fingers the old man unbuttoned his shirt, exposing puckered scars on the skinny chest.
“Washtay!” he said, as he rebuttoned his shirt. “It was good. Wakon Tonka sent the people good days when I was young. The hoop was not yet broken, and the people had not forgotten all that is true.”
Eagle Voice seemed to have forgotten me suddenly. Gazing at the ground, he began blowing softly on his whistle. “Grandfather,” I said at length; “you still have your eagle-bone whistle; but where is the sacred quirt that Chagla gave you?”