Cogewea, the Half-Blood by Mourning Dove

It looks a far and fearful way -- / The trail from Now to Then -- / But time is telescoped today, / A hundred years in ten. / Badger Clark

Cogewea stood on the veranda watching the dust-column approaching from the southeast. She was glad, in some ways, that the boys were coming home. The story of Green-blanket Feet had impressed her deeply. The tribal marriage! Why had Densmore insisted so strongly on this old rite; he a man of education and wealth with all the advantages of refined society? Jim, the rough, rugged breed of the range, had never intimated this form of wedlock. While it was true that she had spoken in defense of this ancient custom, it was in comparison with the manifest abuses of the nuptial relations as governed by the laws of the white man. She had not supposed that he would take her so seriously and with self-application. But perhaps things would adjust themselves. In the meantime the inevitable must be met -- Jim -- and the coming crisis.