And these, as in a dream, saw the red sunlight kindle a buckskin war-shirt, the blithe wind streaming with a warrior's eagle plumes, a chief out of their great past, riding down from Dreamland.
Men sighed and women whimpered as they saw that.
But now the warrior from Dreamland reined his horse, dismounted, took cover, and with a little glittering revolver—
Then they remembered! At this very place had Charging Buffalo killed the champion rifle-shot of the Blackfoot nation, and saved Rain the sacred woman from being murdered!
At their shout of welcome I swung astride my horse to give them the signs of peace, of greeting.
Then, from their midst, bidding them halt, a woman rode forward alone, dropping the blanket from her shoulders, tidying her hair with little pats and strokes, greeting me in her shy sweet English, and with mocking, derisive eyes.
"So," she said, "you come!"
"Rain!"
"My dream—he say you come."
"Rain! Rain!"