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Updated: May 20, 2025
Over the coals was hanging a pot of cooked meat; beside the fire were the pipe and the pouch of red-willow smoking tobacco, just as left by Wongatap. Amidst the dusk Mahtotohpa ate well of the cooked meat; and filling the pipe, smoked calmly, half lying down, on one elbow. "Who is that man, who enters our lodge and eats of our food and smokes of our tobacco?" he heard Wongatap's wife ask.
Then he uttered the Mandan scalp-halloo, and dived for the door. There he paused, for just a second, to look back, that the squaw might see his face and in the glimmer of fire-light he noted a feather from the lance sticking in the hole in Wongatap's side. So back he darted, plucked the feather, and carrying it in his left hand, that the Great Spirit might help him, he ran hard.
Wongatap's wife was shrieking; all the village heard and answered, and the warriors streamed out of the lodges. The whole night Mahtotohpa ran, while the Arikarees vainly searched for his trail. This day he hid, in the brush along the Missouri River.
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