Cogewea, the Half-Blood by Mourning Dove

I beheld too, in that vision / All the secrets of the future, / Of the distant days that shall be. / I beheld the westward marches, / Of the unknown, crowded nations. / Hiawatha

"This was long ago," began Stemteemä, "many many snows. It happened in the time of my grandfather, when he was a young chief of the powerful Schu-ayl-pk18 and the Okanogans. This story I am telling you is true. It was given me by my father who favored me among his many children. I was his youngest child from his youngest wife, who was cherished among his twelve wives. He told me the tales that were sacred to his tribe; honored me with them, trusted me. Treasured by my forefathers, I value them. I know that they would want them kept only to their own people if they were here. But they are gone and for me the sunset of the last evening is approaching and I must not carry with me this history.