The wind whistled keenly round the bend of the river as the Dahcotah told the weeping girl to listen to him.
When had she refused?
How had she longed to hear the sound of his voice when wearied to death with the long boastings of the old chief.
But how did her heart beat when Red Stone told her that he loved her still--that he had only been waiting an opportunity to induce her to leave her old husband, and go with him far away.
She hesitated a little, but not long; and when Shah-co-pee returned to his teepee his young wife was gone--no one had seen her depart--no one knew where to seek for her.

When the old man heard that Red Stone was gone too, his rage knew no bounds.

He beat his two wives almost to death, and would have given his handsomest pipe-stem to have seen the faithless one again.
His passion did not last long; it would have killed him if it had.

His wives moaned all through the night, bruised and bleeding, for the fault of their rival; while the chief had recourse to the pipe, the never-failing refuge of the Dahcotah.
"I thought," said the chief, "that some calamity was going to happen to me" (for, being more composed, he began to talk to the other Indians who sat with him in his teepee, somewhat after the manner and in the spirit of Job's friends).

"I saw Unk-a-tahe, the great fish of the water, and it showed its horns; and we know that that is always a sign of trouble." "Ho!" replied an old medicine man, "I remember when Unk-a-tahe got in under the falls" (of St.Anthony) "and broke up the ice.