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I put the weasel-skin cap on his head

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I put the weasel-skin cap on his head.jpg As we two girls sat on the floor, with ankles to the right, as Indian women always sitThumbnailsA Buffalo HuntAs we two girls sat on the floor, with ankles to the right, as Indian women always sitThumbnailsA Buffalo HuntAs we two girls sat on the floor, with ankles to the right, as Indian women always sitThumbnailsA Buffalo HuntAs we two girls sat on the floor, with ankles to the right, as Indian women always sitThumbnailsA Buffalo HuntAs we two girls sat on the floor, with ankles to the right, as Indian women always sitThumbnailsA Buffalo HuntAs we two girls sat on the floor, with ankles to the right, as Indian women always sitThumbnailsA Buffalo HuntAs we two girls sat on the floor, with ankles to the right, as Indian women always sitThumbnailsA Buffalo Hunt

I lifted the skin door—it was an old-fashioned one swinging on thongs from the beam overhead—and entered the lodge. Hanging Stone sat on his couch against the puncheon fire screen. I went to him and put the weasel-skin cap on his head. The young man who was to be my husband was sitting on his couch, a frame of poles covered with a tent skin. Cold Medicine and I went over and shyly sat on the floor near-by.