An' as nothin' but feathers, blankets, an' breech-clouts goes at a war-dance--the same bein' Osage dress-clothes--Bill shucks his paleface garments an' arrays himse'f after the breezy fashion of his ancestors.

Bill attends the war dance an' shines.

Also, bein' praised by the medicine men an' older bucks for quittin' his paleface duds; an' findin' likewise the old-time blanket an' breech-clout healthful an' saloobrious--which Bill forgets their feel in his four years at that sem'nary--he adheres to 'em.

This lapse into aboriginal ways brews trouble for Bill; he gets up ag'inst the agent.
"It's the third day after Black Dog's war-dance, an' Bill, all paint an' blankets an' feathers, is sa'nterin' about Pawhusky, takin' life easy an' Injun fashion.

It's then the agent connects with Bill an' sizes him up.
The agent asks Bill does he stand in on this yere Black Dog war-dance.
"'Don't they have no roast dog at that warjig ?' asks Dan Boggs, when I'm relatin' these reminiscences in the Red Light.
"'No,' I says; 'Osages don't eat no dogs.' "'It's different with Utes a lot,' says Dan, 'Which Utes regyards dogs fav'rable, deemin' 'em a mighty sucyoolent an' nootritious dish.