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Updated: June 21, 2025
His place was with them, if they were still alive, and in the spring, when the doors of ice that closed the valley were opened, he would go, if he could. But the spring was long in coming. Xingudan himself could not recall when it had ever before been so late.
From the slopes also came fierce whines, and the old squaws, shuddering, built the fires yet higher. "Son of Inmutanka," said Xingudan at last to Will, "go to your lodge and sleep. You have proved anew that you are a man and worthy to belong to the great Dakota nation. The fires will be kept burning all through the night and see you, Inmutanka, that no one awakens him.
A few days later a warrior of the Sioux nation arrived in the valley, suffering from a wound and on the point of death from cold and starvation. He was put in one of the warmest lodges, his wounds were dressed carefully and when he had revived sufficiently he asked for the old chief, Xingudan.
Then all these memories and mental questions faded, as the life of the village became absorbing again. Frightened herds of elk and moose, evidently chased by the great carnivora or in search of food, came into the valley and the Indians killed as many as they needed. They might have killed more, but Xingudan forbade them. "Let them take shelter here," he said, "and grow more numerous.
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