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cover and the ‘It’ player had to locate them. Playing that version taught the youngsters the value of concealment and how to be patient, staying perfectly motionless for long periods despite all discomforts. The knowledge Loncey gained playing Nanip’ka would save his life on more than one occasion in the years to come.
    When not commandeered by the older boys, Loncey’s group played the game among themselves and he developed an ability second to none at locating the hidden players.
    One day soon after his eleventh birthday Loncey stood on a slope as ‘It’ in a game of Nanip’ka . So engrossed did he become that he failed to notice his grandfather close behind him and watching every move he made. Time after time Loncey pointed, called a name and location and brought one of his companions from the place in which he located the boy. At last only Loud Voice, no mean hand at Nanip’ka himself, avoided detection.
    For almost fifteen minutes Loncey raked the ground before him with keen-eyed attention. He examined every bush, rock, tree and depression without result. Overhead a hawk made a leisurely circle in search of food. After glancing at the bird, Loncey brought his eyes hurriedly to earth. In a moment he found the cause of the slight movement which drew his attention from the hawk. Sliding through the grass, a king snake made its way towards a small clump of mesquite. It moved at speed, not caring for the open nature of the surrounding land. Instead of darting into the shade and security of the mesquite clump, the snake swung away and wriggled rapidly up the slope to disappear beneath a rock.
    Loncey noted the snake’s actions, also that the hawk did not drop down and take advantage of the easy prey. As neither creature behaved in a natural manner, he studied the mesquite once more. Previously he passed over the clump as being too small to hide anything larger than a jackrabbit.
    ‘Loud Voice!’ he called, taking a chance. ‘Behind that small clump of mesquite close to the two small rocks.’
    A laugh greeted his words and Loud Voice emerged from the hollow he dug behind the mesquite. Behind Loncey, Long Walker nodded approvingly. It had only been a few seconds earlier that he located the hidden youngster. Stepping forward the chief asked Loncey how he found Loud Voice’s hiding place.
    ‘You did well, tawk ,’ Long Walker declared after hearing Loncey’s explanation. ‘Come back to the village with me.’
    While walking back to the village, the chief repeated the story of how he made peace with Plenty Kills of the Kiowa.
    ‘We each cut our wrist and mixed blood, tawk , swearing an oath to Ka-Dih that each and the family of each had the right to ask and receive of the other. Remember that well, Loncey.’
    ‘I will, tawk ,’ promised the boy.
    The day would come when Loncey visited the camp of Plenty Kills and made use of the blood oath.*
    Back at Long Walker’s tepee, the boy sat eating a hearty meal and listened to his grandfather’s tales of great and daring deeds. When the meal ended Long Walker rose and entered his main tepee. On his return, he held out the sheathed Green River knife to Loncey.
    ‘Tomorrow we hunt, tawk ,’ the chief said.
    Letting out a whoop of delight, Loncey bounced to his feet. Then he caught hold of himself. A man of eleven summers did not act in such a manner, especially as he was being taken on his first real hunt in the morning.
    Unlike when going to war, hunting did not call for a man’s best clothing. Long Walker left his war bonnet in the tepee and dressed in a plain buckskin shirt and fringeless leggings. A tomahawk rode in his belt slings, balanced by a James Black bowie knife, while a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder. While he owned a Mississippi rifle, the chief did not use it for hunting. He could shoot with accuracy, but found a bow more suited to his needs.
    Made of Osage orange, the bois d’arc of early French explorers, the bow in Long Walker’s