A shed like a high table by every little log or frame house, here hangs the corn, long yellow fringe, the husks are only loosened but still clinging to the cob, the stalks braided, very picturesque. Susette asked Wajapa to sing as he drove. Shortly after we entered the Reservation. Wajapa pointed out the plateaus where, when he was a boy, the Omahas camped. While there, there came a fearful storm, the creek raised and the water rose to the top of the hill, fifty feet.
Buffalo grasses are scarce, the bluejoint crowds it out.
Wajapa says it seems as though after the white men came in two years the buffalos were gone. Wajapa says that the Indians call the bluejoint, Red Grass. It comes where the white people are while the other fine grass follows the buffalo. He thinks the white race may have sprung from Red grass, there is such an affinity - believes the white people are this grass. Over sandhills, desolation let loose.