Harpstenah, as she tried to sleep, fancied she heard the wild laugh of
the water spirits. Clouds had obscured the moon, and distant thunder
rolled along the sky; and, roused by the clamorous grief of the many
women assembled in the lodge, she heard from them of the dark tragedy in
which she had been the principal actor.
The murderer was not to be found. Red Deer was known to be far away. It
only remained to bury Cloudy Sky, with all the honors due to a
medicine man.
Harpstenah joined in the weeping of the mourners--the fountains of a
Sioux woman's tears are easily unlocked. She threw her blanket upon the
dead body.
Many were the rich presents made to the inanimate clay which yesterday
influenced those who still trembled lest the spirit of the dead
war-chief would haunt them. The richest cloth enrobed his body, and, a
short distance from the village, he was placed upon a scaffold.
Food was placed beside him; it would be long before his soul would reach
the city of spirits; his strength would fail him, were it not for the
refreshment of the tender flesh of the wild deer he had loved to chase,
and the cooling waters he had drank on earth, for many, many winters.
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