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He learned that his son had distinguished himself in the fight, and that his name was not mentioned among the brave dead. "And where, then, is he?" he asked, with unconcealed anxiety. "He left us three days ago to come in advance," they replied. "But he has not arrived!" exclaimed old Wezee, in much agitation.
"Mechinkshe! mechinkshe!" Old Wezee now stood on the threshold and sang the praise song for his son, ending with a warwhoop such as he had not indulged in since he was quite a young man. The camp was once more alive with the dances, and the dull thud of the Indian drum was continually in the air. The council had agreed that Antelope was entitled to wear a war-bonnet of eagles' feathers.
"He is a strange person," was the whisper among a group of youths who were watching the proceedings with envious eyes. The young man was strangely listless and depressed in spirit. His old grandmother knew why, but none of the others understood. He never joined in the village festivities, while the rest of his family were untiring in the dances, and old Wezee was at the height of his happiness.
It was true that in the dance his name was often mentioned, and at every repetition it seemed that the young women danced with more spirit, while even grandmothers joined in the whirl with a show of youthful abandon. Wezee, the father of Antelope, was receiving congratulations throughout the afternoon.
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