“The owl in the forest, the birds from the northland; all living things were rendered inanimate by the wrath of the Ice-god who ruled the plains that winter.
“When the early spring should have caused the sap to run in the trees, making ready to burst forth the tiny buds, still nothing stirred. Even the sun was implacable, withholding its warmth and brightness from the pleading earth.
“Day was as night, with the dark clouds hiding the blue of the heavens and the mantle of white still draping the whole world beneath.
“Death, stark and grim, hovered over the wigwams of the red men and the cabins of the white man. Suffering, sorrow and hunger were everywhere, recognizing no creeds nor classes.
“Then, when the spring was late and his purpose accomplished, this harbinger of all that was Misery and Gloom, stole subtly away into the night, giving way to a day that brought sunshine and new hope.
“On that day a band of braves were returning to the lands of their fathers, having wearied of waiting for the ice to break and had ventured forth to hunt. Turning back with much rejoicing and provisions, they hurried homeward. Thankful, they were, these warriors of the Cheyennes, that the God of the Sun was shining once more upon their people.
“Their leader, in the course of their journey, sighted a lone tepee standing in the heart of the prairie wilderness.
“Bold and brave though they were, the scene that they beheld upon entering the wigwam caused them great anguish. A scene of past suffering and desolation it had been.
“In the center of the lone tepee sat an Indian chief attired in his full splendor. Kneeling, as in an attitude of prayer, his squaw, her head resting in his lap and her hands clasped before her, was found. They had either frozen or starved to death.
“While deploring this tragedy, they heard a faint cry and found a tiny cradle with a girl babe inside, just on the borderland. They fought for many hours to keep the spark kindled, and after hope was almost gone—it came back—to live.