Cogewea, the Half-Blood by Mourning Dove

It's like a tale from long ago, / And far across the sea -- / Could that land be the land we know? / Those roving riders we? / Badger Clark

The bunkhouse and shed-barns of the Horseshoe Bend ranch, looked as though they had been thrown promiscuously from the sloping hillside to their present site on the lower grade. The dwelling was a large, old fashioned log building with a massive stone chimney at one end. Although constructed on allotted Indian lands, it was typical of the pioneer homes of certain parts of the West, and at one time traceable across the continent. The large airy rooms gave to the interior a pleasant homelike appearance. The living room was commodious, with leather upholstered chairs and divan. The floor was bare, save for the buffalo, bear and mountain lion skins scattered about. The great open fireplace with its tall brass andirons, was piled with rustic wood. A case of books, and a center table with lamp, composed the furniture. The walls were decorated by a few paintings portraying wild life, several antlers of deer and elk, while above the bookcase leaned the mounted head of a mighty buffalo bull. Cogewea never looked upon this trophy without a pang of regret. The fixed glassy eyes haunted her, as a ghost of the past. With her people had vanished this monarch of the plains. The war-whoop and the thunder of the herd were alike hushed in the silence of the last sleep -- and only the wind sighing a parting requiem.