Many races had been run when Panamida reached the dance-ground. He would not ride, though he had sung over his colt to make him fleet. Fragment-of-rock, his youngest brother, should ride, and he would bet. He would be chief when his father died: he must be dignified now. He sat beside Gathawinga and her mother, She-chews-men, who were weaving baskets. “The Navaho have come,” he whispered to Gathawinga, “I have given one a basket of shelled corn for his big blanket for you: I have his horse too, for two big buckskins and a little corn.” He went toward the visitors: “Well, you have only one knot in your string now; to-night we dance. Ten sleeps ago when you went to tell your chief to share our harvest bounty there were eleven. It is nearly sundown; the dance-boss has spread the meat and bread on a bed of willow leaves; guests must eat everything.”