Cogewea, the Half-Blood by Mourning Dove

Filled the red-stone pipe for smoking, / With tobacco from the South-land, / Mixed with bark of the red willow, / And with herbs and leaves of fragrance. / Hiawatha

The hot, sweltry days of August were closing. The tenth of September, which marked the opening of the great fall roundup -- when the riders of the H-B would remain in the saddle from morning till night -- was drawing near. It was Sabbath, and the ranch home was almost deserted. The boys, arrayed in brilliant shirts, with flaming silk handkerchiefs knotted loosely about their necks, had departed early; some going to Polson to play monte with the Kootenais, while others headed for Sloan's Ferry, a favorite resort of the rangers some miles down the river.