"You were going to tell me why you are called Dog Soldiers," Oliver
reminded him.
"Dog is a good name among us," said the old Cheyenne, "but it is
forbidden to speak of the Mysteries. Perhaps when you have been admitted
to the Kit Foxes and have seen fighting--"
"We've got a war of our own, now," said Oliver hopefully.
The Indians were all greatly interested. The painted Arapahoe blew him a
puff from his pipe. "Send you good enemies," he said, trailing the smoke
about in whatever direction enemies might come from. "And a good fight!"
said the Yellow Rope Officer; "for men grow soft where there is no
fighting."
"And in all cases," said the Dog Chief, "respect the Mysteries.
Otherwise, though you come safely through yourself, you may bring evil
on the Tribe. ... I remember a Telling ... No," he said, following the
little pause that always precedes a story; "since you are truly at war I
will tell a true tale. A tale of my own youth and the failure that came
on Our Folks because certain of our young men forgot that they were
fighting for the Tribe and thought only of themselves and their
own glory."
He stuffed his pipe again with fine tobacco and bark of red willow and
began.
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