Fox was already looking at the child, or, rather, at its head, which was all of it that could be seen. It was wrapped around and around, arms and all, in several bandages of soft cloth, and then laced into a cradle, the back of which was a piece of rough-hewn board. The lacings held the roll of him flat against it: he could not move hand or foot, or his head either, except for an inch or two to the right or left. Altogether, in his odd wrappings and lacings, he looked like a little mummy from the tombs of the Egyptian kings. The cradle was propped up at the foot of his mother's couch, so that he rested in an almost upright position. The mother, half sitting up against a willow slat back-rest, gazed across the length of the couch at the round little face, and there was a world of love shining in her big dark eyes.
The baby's face, as well as its short, thin hair, was of a red bronze color. It had a funny, tender little mouth, and its eyes were very bright. All at once it began to pucker its mouth and make a queer little cry.
"There! there! mother," the chief said anxiously, "it is crying; maybe it is sick. Oh, what if it should get real sick and die? Do something at once for it, woman. If you don't know what to do, I'll get some wise old women to come in."
"There is nothing wrong with it. All babies cry a little," said the mother. And raising herself, she caught hold of the bottom of the cradle and drew it to her. There was no more crying, and the chief was happy again.
Presently an old, old medicine man, or sun priest, came in, followed by a number of warriors and women, all of them relatives of White Wolf or of his wife. They were made welcome, and filling and lighting his great stone pipe the chief passed it to the man nearest him, and then it went clear around the circle, each one of the guests taking a few whiffs of smoke.
After the smoke several women of the lodge passed around the feast, giving to each guest a wooden dish containing broiled buffalo tongue, dried camas root, and fresh, puckery berries of the red willow. There was much talk and laughter. The women passed the baby from one to another, kissing it, saying how much it looked like its father, and talking foolish little words to it just as white women do to a baby of their kind.
The feast was soon over. No one was really hungry and only a very small portion of the food was eaten. The old medicine man, I-kus-kin-i, or Low Horn, by name, had brought his own pipe, and now filled and lighted it and passed it around. He knew why he had been invited to the lodge, but for all that it was White Wolf's duty to tell the reason for the gathering of relatives, and so the chief made a little speech.
"Relatives and friends," he said, "soon after the sun came in sight this morning, he looked down and saw my new-born boy. Before he goes out of sight to his lodge to-night, I think it right that he should know the new-born's name. So it is that I have asked you all to gather here. I call upon our old friend Low Horn to say what the name shall be, and I now make him a small present: Low Horn, in my band of horses grazing out yonder on the plain is a certain four-year-old black-and-white pinto. I give him to you. A white three-year-old, a roan four-year-old with a split ear, and a gray five-year-old, well broken and a swift buffalo runner, I also give you. Let us hear the name."
"Yes, yes!" every one exclaimed; "let us hear the name, O wise one."
There followed a long silence. The old medicine man sat bowed over in deep thought. In his hands was a small buckskin sack ornamented with bands of colored porcupine quill embroidery. Presently he laid the sack on the ground, straightened up, and said:—
"We all know that the naming of a new-born boy is an important matter. Some names bring good luck, some bring bad luck. I am going to try hard to give this little one a name that will please the gods, and cause them to favor him.
"Listen! It was long ago in my young days. One winter day I took my bow and arrows and walked up on the plain to hunt buffalo. I saw a large band of them on some far hills and started out that way toward them. The day was cloudy and before I left camp people were saying that more snow was about to fall. After sighting the buffalo I hoped that a storm would come, for in the thick of it the animals would be easily approached. I walked on and on as fast as I could, for the herd was a long way off. When I was out in the middle of the great plain, Cold-Maker suddenly came out of the north. As always, he hid himself in the thick snowfall, which he drove in all directions with fierce cold winds. No one has ever seen the shape of him because of that. The stinging snow beat against my face, then at my back, then swirled around and around me. I could not see the distance of twenty steps in any direction, and knew not which way was the river and camp. I was lost and beginning to freeze. I prayed the gods to have pity; in some way to show me the way to the river.
"Then out of the awful swirling and drifting snow came a little creature with head down and drooping tail. It was a Sinopah. [The "swift" or "kit" fox of the North-western plains.]
"It passed close to me, showing no fear, just looking up once at me, its black eyes shining strangely, deep down in its snow-caked hair: 'Oh, little brother,' I cried, 'you are going to the sheltering timber of the river. Do not haste; guide me thither, else I die.'
"Sinopah was almost out of sight then, although so near. But when I asked for his help, he stopped and looked back, as if waiting for me. I walked toward him as fast as I could, holding my robe close against my face so as to shield it from the stinging snow. Sinopah waited until I was within ten steps of him, then pushed sidling on against the drift until nearly out of sight again, when he stopped as before, as if waiting. And so we went on and on. Sometimes the wind was in my face, sometimes beating against my side or back, but I knew that that was a trick of Cold-Maker. He wanted to confuse me; to make me think that I was going now in one direction, and again turning another way. He wanted me to go around and around in a circle until he could kill me with his freezing winds.
"Through it all I had faith. I believed that the gods had heard my prayers; that Sinopah had been sent by them to save me. Sometimes, when it seemed as if he certainly had turned and was going straight back the way we had come, doubts for a moment filled my mind, but I thrust them out. The cold grew more and more bitter; the snow rushed and whirled into deeper and deeper drifts. I became weary; I wanted to lie down and sleep; and at the last it was all I could do to struggle on. I could not have traveled much farther when suddenly we began to descend a steep hill, and I knew that we were leaving the plain and going down into the river valley. It was so. We soon got to the bottom and went on through the tall sagebrush of the lowlands. And then, seemingly very far off, but really only a few steps distant, the naked branches of cottonwoods appeared in the thick, driving snow, and I could hear the wind crying through them. I hastened then, as fast as I could, and soon stood in the shelter of the timber bordering the river. Right in front of me was a dead, bent old tree that I remembered having seen before; the camp was just a little way up from it. 'Little brother,' I cried, 'you have saved me.'
"But Sinopah was gone. I could not see him anywhere about. I went on and soon came to the camp and to my own lodge. I was saved. Sinopah had led me straight home. There and then I made a vow: ever afterward, when passing the dens of the Sinopahs, if I had meat I dropped a piece of it for them and their young."
"Ah, hah, hai!" all the guests exclaimed. "How wonderful. Great medicine was Sinopah."
"Pass me the new-born one," said Low Horn.
A woman placed the laced little form in his hands and he looked long and kindly down at the round, smooth face. Then, taking sacred, dull-red paint from a little buckskin sack, he carefully rubbed it on the baby's forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin. Lastly he held the child face upward toward the sun, and said: "O all-powerful Sun, and you, Nap-i (Old Man), Maker-of-the-World: behold, I have painted the new-born one with your own sacred color, and now I name him. I give him a name for his young days. A name to last until he becomes a warrior and makes a name for himself. I call him Sinopah.
"Have pity on Sinopah, O you great ones. Make
