Cogewea, the Half-Blood by Mourning Dove

Go not eastward, go not westward, / For a stranger, whom we know not! / Like a fire upon a hearth-stone / Is a neighbor's homely daughter, / Like the starlight or the moonlight / Is the handsomest of strangers! / Hiawatha

Cogewea sat squaw-fashion on the bearskin in Stemteemä's teepee, her daily visit with hot food for the old grandparent. She was telling her of the riders; jokes played, of the horses and dogs, nor did she forget the children. She was awaiting Densmore, who was to join them for the promised story. At last he came and called: