THE WRITING STONE.
Under the shadow of the Rocky Mountains the wandering tribes of Bloods and Blackfeet roamed free and happy in the days of yore. The prairie gods looked down and smiled upon the dwellers in the painted lodges, and the smiles brought peace and plenty to their dusky wards. Over the prairie lay the huge stones, remnants of the mighty rock which in the distant past had chased the Old Man of the Mountains, determined to punish him for his cruel ways. The strangely-shaped trees that fringed the river, the lonely mounds that stood as sentinels on the prairie, and these large rocks were now the stopping-places of the prairie gods. To these sacred relics the pious natives oftentimes repaired, and with earnest supplications made sacrifices to their spirit friends.
Mastwena, an aged warrior, on bended knee besought help for his kindred in a time of sorrow. As he laid his gifts upon the ground and prepared to depart, there came a voice that spoke of woe in the land of the south. Silently he arose and went toward the lodges, with downcast head and troubled breast.
It was dark when he entered his lodge, and his friends saw not the sorrow that clouded his face. The moments were few which he spent in slumber. Long before the sun had risen Mastwena left his couch and sought again the sacred spot. As his lips parted once more in earnest prayer, the voice again was heard telling of desolation and woe. With a heavy heart he left the place of sacrifice and wandered out upon the prairie, dreaming of the coming sorrow that should visit the people of the plains. There came no messenger to relieve him of his grief. The day wore on, and evening found him again among his people. Four days he repeated his visit to the Stone of Sacrifice, only to hear the spirit prophet repeat the revelation so full of mystery and darkness to his soul.
The lodge fires were burning brightly upon the evening of the fourth day, as with song and dance the hearts of both young and old were filled with joy. The quick beating of the medicine drums told that the young men were amusing themselves at some of their native games, and the gambler's laugh was occasionally heard as he gathered in the prizes he had won. In one of the lodges a band of men and women were celebrating a tea dance. Half intoxicated with the large quantities of tea which they drank, they were singing and shouting with savage glee. The old men were relating their war-like deeds, and the young men were passing jokes upon each other. The whole camp indeed was full of life, for they had abundance of food and clothing, and the prairie gods had smiled upon them, bringing health and peace to young and old.
In the midst of this jollity a young man, haggard and weary, came running slowly into the camp. As he made toward the lodge where the aged Mastwena dwelt, he fell to the ground from sheer exhaustion.
Mastwena was standing near, confidently waiting for the approach of some messenger who should unravel the mystery of the Stone of Sacrifice, and as the young man fell he knelt beside him, raised him gently in his strong arms, and carried him into his lodge.
He bade his wife and daughter tend him, and as they nursed the young man back to life again, and beheld the strength and color of youth returning, they rejoiced exceedingly. Mastwena said little but gazed often upon the countenance of the young man, and his eye sparkled as some new thought flashed upon his mind. Anxiously he watched and waited to put questions to the invalid youth, but betrayed no signs of his uneasiness.
One evening as the old man sat quietly in his lodge, conversing with his wife and daughters, the patient looked up as if desirous of speaking.
"Speak, young man," said Mastwena, "our ears shall listen patiently to all you have to say."