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Title: Old Indian trails
Author: McClintock, Walter
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Old Indian trails" ***
OLD INDIAN TRAILS
BY
WALTER McCLINTOCK, M.A.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1923
TO MY MOTHER
CLARA CHILDS McCLINTOCK
PREFACE
In the spring of 1896 I went into northwestern Montana as a member of a
Government expedition which was appointed by President Cleveland to
recommend a national policy for the United States Forest Reserves and
to advise the Secretary of the Interior as to the reserving of certain
other forests.
Our expedition, which went in advance of the main Commission, was
composed of Gifford Pinchot, Chief of the Forest Service (now Governor
of Pennsylvania), and Henry S. Graves, later Chief Forester and Dean of
the Yale School of Forestry; I went as photographer and to help in the
forest surveys. We had two guides, William Jackson, an Indian scout of
the Blackfoot tribe, and Jack Munroe, a white man who was married into
that tribe.
We examined the forests in northwestern Montana, both on the eastern
and western slopes of the Rocky Mountains. We came into contact with
the natives of the region, both white men and Indians. We made surveys
in the country where the Flathead Forest Reserve was later established,
and in the region now known as Glacier National Park. Then it was a
paradise for hunting and fishing, a wild and unfrequented country,
visited only by Indians, trappers, and a few hunters of big game.
We made our last survey in the heavy forest on the western side of the
Rocky Mountains. Then Graves set out for Kalispell and civilization;
Pinchot, with Jack Munroe and our bear dogs, started south for Fort
Missoula; I was left alone with the Indian scout.
We crossed the mountains together and joined the tribal camp of the
Blackfoot Indians on the plains. There I met many of their leading men;
among them Chief Mad Wolf, who adopted me as his son, in ceremonies
lasting through two days, and made me a member of his tribe.
I maintained intimate associations with my Indian father and his tribe
through many years, keeping records of everything that I saw and
heard—their customs and legends and religious beliefs, our hunting
trips, and the flora and wild life of their country.
But into the region where we wandered civilization came with its
automobile highways and great modern hotels. The old generation of
Indians have died and their children are civilized. The Blackfoot are
no longer nomads and hunters, following the great herds of buffalo and
other game; they till the soil and live in houses like white men. Their
ancient customs and tribal life have passed away forever.
My purpose, therefore, in writing this book, is to record the results
of fifteen years’ close association with the old Blackfoot chiefs,
medicine men, and common people. I have retained the narrative form of
my original notes, in order to give as faithful a record as possible of
their character, environment, and family life.
W. McC.
CONTENTS
I. My Indian Guide 3
II. Crossing the Rocky Mountains 8
III. Our Camp near the Summit 15
IV. Home of the Scout 21
V. Stories by the Scout’s Mother-in-Law 32
VI. My Adoption by Mad Wolf 35
VII. Mad Wolf tells the Legend of the Beaver Bundle 42
VIII. I am given an Indian Name and made a Member of
the Blackfoot Tribe 54
IX. Home of Mad Wolf 68
X. Marriage Customs 80
XI. The Head-Chief and his Wife 85
XII. Legend of the Smoking Star 92
XIII. My Night Experience with a Grizzly Bear 100
XIV. Indian Summer 109
XV. A Frontier Dance 119
XVI. Hunting Rocky Mountain Goats 124
XVII. The Blizzard 130
XVIII. Snow-Bound 139
XIX. The Mad Indian 144
XX. Coming of the Chinook 149
XXI. Beginning of Spring 153
XXII. Our Camp in the Mountains 158
XXIII. Our North Expedition 166
XXIV. Onesta and his Sacred Bear Spear 174
XXV. Camp of the Blood Indians 179
XXVI. Country of the North Piegans 184
XXVII. Camp of Brings-Down-the-Sun 191
XXVIII. Onesta gives his Crow Water Ceremony 199
XXIX. The Rival Medicine Men 206
XXX. Brings-Down-the-Sun tells about his Father 210
XXXI. Brings-Down-the-Sun tells about Men’s Societies 219
XXXII. Brings-Down-the-Sun tells about the Birds and
the Stars 226
XXXIII. Legends of Star Boy and Scarface 232
XXXIV. Beginning of the Sun Dance 241
XXXV. Forming the Great Circle Camp 247
XXXVI. Life in the Circle Camp 253
XXXVII. Painted Tepees and Picture Writing 258
XXXVIII. A Native Doctor and his Patient 267
XXXIX. Dance of the Hair-Parters (Grass Dance) 274
XL. Society of Brave Dogs 284
XLI. A Medicine-Pipe Ceremony 289
XLII. A Sacred Ceremony in Mad Wolf’s Tepee 298
XLIII. The Tribal Dancing-Lodge 304
XLIV. End of the Sun Dance and Farewell of my
Indian Father 310
Appendix: Medicinal and Useful Plants of the
Blackfoot Indians 319
ILLUSTRATIONS
Sunset from Lookout Butte Colored frontispiece
A Small Lake on the Western Slope of the Rockies 4
Our Indian Tepee 4
An Old Indian Trail 16
Tribal Camp of Blackfoot on the Prairie 20
Mad Wolf 36
Mad Wolf praying 40
Mad Wolf’s Sacred Beaver Bundle 40
Woman under a Sun-Shelter: Bead and Quill Work; Meat
drying on Poles 70
Woman repairing a Tepee-Cover 70
Scaffold Burial 78
A Grave on a Hilltop 78
White Grass, the Medicine Man
Showing Interior Arrangement of his Tepee 92
Sunrise at our Hunting Camp in the Rockies (in color) 112
Onesta 154
Nitana 174
The Country of the North Piegans 186
Onesta entering the Thunder Tepee with his Sacred Bundles 200
The Crow Water Ceremony of Onesta in the Thunder Tepee 200
Brings-Down-the-Sun and the Author 210
Three Chiefs, Followers of Mad Wolf 250
A Line of Warriors with War Bonnets 250
Drying and Softening a Skin 256
Fleshing a Hide 256
Circle Camp of the Blackfoot 260
Inner Circle of the Tribal Camp, with Crow Tepee in
Foreground (in color) 264
Rattler doctoring Stuyimi 272
Elk Horn, Herald of the Brave Dog Society 280
Society of Brave Dogs marching through the Camp 284
Characteristic Costumes of Brave Dogs 284
Brave Dogs giving their Society Dance 286
Mountain Chief 292
Wolf Plume 292
A Blackfoot Camp on the Prairie (in color) 296
Ceremony of the Sun Dance inside the Sacred Tepee 302
Raising the Center Pole for the Sun Lodge 308
The Sun Lodge Finished and Ready for the Tribe 308
Twilight in the Circle Camp: Tepees illuminated by
Inside Fires 314
OLD INDIAN TRAILS
CHAPTER I
MY INDIAN GUIDE
It was an evening in early summer. The stars shone bright and our
Indian tepee glowed with light from its inside fire. My guide, a famous
scout of the Blackfoot tribe, smoked in silence; while I lay on my
comfortable bed of robes and blankets, listening to the sounds from the
forest—chirping of crickets, last songs of the thrushes and vibrating
chant of an ovenbird.
That night by our lodge-fire I said to the scout: “Tell me about your
home.” And he replied:
“On the prairie beyond the Rockies, I have a ranch with many horses and
cattle. The mountains are near, the hunting good; our streams and
rivers are full of fish. Come with me to my country, to my tribe, the
Blackfoot Indians. In our valley the head men of the tribe live; you
will meet there our leading chiefs.”
For a moment I was silent. The plan of the scout accorded with my own
desire. All my life I wanted to live away from the city, among the
mountains and wilds. I was weary of the turmoil of the city, the dreary
grind and slavery of business, from early morn until night in an
office-prison; away from the sunlight and from birds and flowers in the
spring-time. I wanted to shake off the shackles of social convention,
to leave the worry and stress of the modern city, where business and
the making of money are the chief end of man.
I thought to myself: “If I go with my guide, I can live out-of-doors
all day and all night. I shall become strong in body and mind and be
happy. And, instead of striving for money, I will go on a quest. I will
stay with the scout and visit his tribe, to find whether they are more
happy and contented in their primitive life, than civilized people in
great modern cities.”
Now Indians have a way of masking their feelings; they never show
enthusiasm. So I said quietly to the scout: “I want to go to your home
and your Indian tribe.” This ended our talk for that night; but I had a
keen desire to go.
My guide was near middle age. He had the swarthy complexion, black hair
and high cheek bones of an Indian; but he did not look like a
full-blood. He was tall and slender, with an impressive manner; fluent
of speech and polite and suave. His father was a white man named
Jackson, an early pioneer, a Rocky Mountain hunter and trapper, his
mother an Indian woman. The son was called Billy Jackson by white men
and Siksikaí-koan (Blackfoot Man) by the Indians.
But Siksikaí-koan was an unusual half-breed. He raised himself above
the popular prejudice against half-breeds. He was liked and respected
by both white men and Indians. Honest and industrious, generous and
kind, he was always ready to help any who came to his ranch. He stood
high in the councils of the Blackfoot tribe; and served honorably as
scout for Generals Custer, Miles, and Reno in the Indian wars.
The scout was a good guide in the wilderness; on him I could depend. He
knew the trails of the plains and mountains and handled with skill the
wild Indian horses. Self-reliant in time of danger, he had the quiet
manliness and courage that knew no fear; a keen sense of humor and a
wonderful knowledge of nature—information not gained from books.
He knew woodcraft; that moss generally grows on the north side of
trees, more on evergreens than on those which shed their leaves in
winter; that pines are more frequently struck by lightning than birch
or cottonwood; that the toughest side of a tree is to the north,
because the winter winds and cold come from that direction.
He knew Indian legends and traditions and stories of war and adventure.
He told me about a family of lost children who went to the sky and
became the constellation of the Pleiades, and the woman who left home
and children to live with the Man-in-the-Moon. He spoke English
fluently, also the Blackfoot, Cree, and Sioux tongues; and was familiar
with the ancient customs and traditions of his Indian tribe.
Our camp was on a small lake on the western slope of the Rocky
Mountains, in the region now known as the Flathead Forest Reserve. We
had a good “pack outfit,” a herd of fifteen horses, a comfortable
Indian tepee and plenty of food. Our government work was finished and
we were free to wander.
Next morning the mists were heavy over the lake, which lay like a
mirror beneath the surrounding mountains and forests. The sun came up
red and flashed bright shafts of light through the big trees; the
shadows from their branches made odd patterns on their smooth trunks.
Grass and undergrowth were wet with heavy dew and hanging cobwebs shone
like diamonds in the sunlight. By the time we broke camp and had our
horses packed, the sun’s rays were hot on our backs.
The scout led the way through the forest, while I followed and drove
the pack horses. How different they were from the horses of
civilization! They had learned to think for themselves and to rustle
their own food. On the trail they were always scheming; I had to watch
them and be on the alert. Their leader was a crafty mare with a bell
fastened to her neck. All the herd were devotedly attached to her. She
was a good baggage carrier and careful of her pack. She never let it
scrape or bump trees. But she knew how to make things easy for herself.
No matter how poor the feed, she was always fat and in good condition.
She took the lead and kept the other horses in order. If one of them
tried to pass, she met him with bite or kick and put him back in his
place.
All of our pack were gregarious by nature. My saddle horse was uneasy
whenever I dropped behind. He pawed the ground, whinnied and danced
until I started; then ran with delight to join the others. This feeling
held all of our horses together on the trail, and kept them from
wandering at night.
It was the beginning of summer—just the time for birds and wild
flowers. I saw fields of Indian basket grass with tall stalks and dense
caps of cream white flowers; along the trail were beds of yellow
adder’s-tongues, pink twin flowers, white lilies and flowering dogwood.
I heard the wild cry of a loon from a lonely lake and olive-backed
thrushes along the shores. In the deep forest were winter wrens,
golden-crown kinglets and myrtle warblers. Then, for the first time, I
heard the flight song of a Macgillivray warbler; and found his nest in
some blackberry bushes close to a lake.
Finally we entered the valley of the Flathead and camped in a grove of
larch and yellow pine. In that broad and fertile valley with plenty of
free sunshine, the yellow pine is a noble tree with symmetrical spire,
straight round trunk and slender shaft. The needles are long and yellow
green, the bark smooth with deep fissures and arranged in massive
plates.
There was plenty of good grass, a godsend to our horses after their
long stay in the forest. We removed packs and saddles, attended to sore
backs and picketed the bell-mare. It was our custom to keep her near
camp at night, that it might be easy to catch the rest of the herd in
the morning.
I slept outside under the stars, making my bed close to a thicket of
fragrant pines and masses of wild roses. It was one of those days that
come only with early summer. A crescent moon hung over the forest; from
a bank of clouds the first star shone. In the east, beyond an outer
range of forest-covered mountains, I saw a line of white, glittering
peaks, remote and ethereal, glowing in the soft tints of the sunset,
like the realm of another world.
Then the lure of the wild stirred my blood strangely. Again I told the
scout I wanted to stay with him. I had a new sense of freedom, as
though a load had been rolled from my back. I felt like a boy just
freed from school and longed to explore that mountain world, to
discover what lay beyond.
That night we sat by our camp-fire through the long northern twilight.
The scout smoked in silence, while I dreamed of mountain trails and
Indian camps and bright days ahead.
CHAPTER II
CROSSING THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS
We left the Flathead Valley and came to the South Fork of Flathead
River, entering a gorge, narrow and precipitous, where the river roared
and thundered against huge rocks. The current was swift, swollen by the
melting of mountain snows under a hot sun. On both sides of the gorge
were sheer cliffs, and, because of the rocks, it was hard and dangerous
going. We followed the river, seeking a place to ford, until we came
upon open flats, where the channel was wider; then with shouting and
shooting of guns, we drove the frightened horses across.
We camped near a band of Kutenai Indians. Their smoke-colored tepees
stood on rising ground. Near by was a grove of trees where a woman was
chopping, and a stream with groups of children swimming and playing in
the water. In a broad meadow many horses were grazing, men driving
picket pins and looking after their horses for the night.
The Kutenai were famed for their good horses. In former days they
brought them across the mountains to run buffalo on the plains and to
race with the Blackfoot. Whenever the scout visited their country, he
traded for horses and took them back across the Rockies to his ranch on
the prairies.
That evening I went with the scout to the Kutenai camp and saw the men
gathered in a gambling game. They sat in a circle, the players in the
center, surrounded by a throng of women spectators. It was a guessing
game, played with marked sticks of bone, with horses and blankets for
stakes. The players sang gambling songs; they joked and taunted each
other; they beat with sticks and drummed. The game came to an end, when
one of the sides which was led by the chief of the Kutenai lost all
their counting-sticks; and then the scout began to trade.
In the meantime, I was on the lookout for a good saddle horse. Near the
circle of gamblers I saw a fine bay tethered. He was a stocky horse,
built from the ground up, a four-year-old with a white star on his
forehead. He had a sleek and glossy coat, slender legs, and a beautiful
pair of brown eyes. He belonged to the chief of the Kutenai, the Indian
who lost the gambling game. He saw me looking at his horse and came
near. He wore a suit of deerskin decorated with colored beads, a beaded
necklace of many strands, white shell earrings, and his hair in long
braids over his shoulders.
We bargained in the sign language, and our trading was short. I asked
him “how much,” by holding out my closed right hand and opening the
fingers, one after the other. He sold me his horse for nine dollars.
And with the money he opened again the gambling game. This time he won
all the counting-sticks and the game was his, while I was the owner of
a fine saddle horse. I named him “Kutenai,” after his Indian tribe.
Then we entered a broad timber belt, where the forest was dense and the
trees large, for the most part giant cedar, hemlock, larch, white pine,
great silver fir and canoe birch. The forest floor was covered with a
thick carpet of moss and ground pine. Sun and wind did not penetrate.
Along the trail the light was dim and the air still. But overhead,
through the tops of the big trees, I heard the rushing of the wind.
We rode through glades rank with dense clumps of fragrant ferns and
grasses growing shoulder high, forded streams and passed foaming
cascades and chains of lovely lakes hidden in deep recesses of the
forest. On the western slope of the Rockies the vegetation is luxuriant
and the forests dense, because of the mild climate and abundant
rainfall. Just across the Continental Divide, on the eastern slope, the
climate is cold and dry, with extreme changes of temperature.
When the trail was blocked with fallen trees, the scout went ahead and
chopped our way through, while I followed driving the pack horses. He
had the marvelous instinct of an Indian for direction and keeping his
course. On the trail he was cheerful; he never disputed, found fault,
or cursed. He rarely said whether he liked or enjoyed anything. He was
courteous and had the quiet manners of a gentleman. If I made mistakes,
I found it was better to remain silent than to apologize, or try to
make excuses.
We camped near the forks of two streams, where a huge white pine
towered above the rest of the forest. I heard the ringing, rippling
song of a water ouzel, almost fierce in its wildness, as if sung by a
free and untamable spirit. So wild was he, and continually on the
alert, he reminded me of a watchful Indian. Springing from rock to
rock, he ran along the shore, filled with nervous energy, ever shaking
himself and bobbing up and down.
That night by our camp-fire Siksikaí-koan told about his life. Most of
his youth was spent north of the Line among the Cree Indians in Canada.
In those early days on the plains, he was daring and reckless, and
suffered permanent injuries. In 1874, he was scout for General Custer
on his expedition to the Black Hills of Dakota, and went with him
against the Sioux. He served under General Miles and General Terry, and
the Government of the Northwest Territories in the Riel Rebellion. Some
of his scouting companions in the Cheyenne Service were the warriors,
White Bull, Beaver Claws, Shell, Two Moons, and Brave Wolf.
On the day when General Custer and his battalion of the Seventh Cavalry
were cut to pieces by the Sioux, Siksikaí-koan was with Reno’s command.
With fifteen scouts he made a stand and tried to stop the Indians. In
that charge, all but two of those brave scouts were killed. Bloody
Knife and Siksikaí-koan alone were left. Then Bloody Knife shook hands
and said: “This is the last day I shall ever fight.” He rushed among
the enemy, killed two and was slain himself. But Siksikaí-koan escaped;
he hid in the underbrush, and lay in the river close to the bank. After
two days and nights of terrible exposure and without food, he made his
way with two white soldiers to Reno’s command on the bluffs above the
river. In the night, Siksikaí-koan led them past the Sioux sentinels,
through his knowledge of the Sioux language. [1]
We left our camp at the big pine in the early morning, when the mists
were lifting from the valley, and came that afternoon to a fine meadow
surrounded by the forest, where we camped because of good pasture,
grass in full seed and thistles, of which the horses were very fond. We
hobbled and tethered them, caught a mess of trout, and a grouse which
the scout killed by a skillful throw of a stone. The day was warm and
bright, and the trout were rising in the river. The scout used bait in
deep water and caught many fish. I stood on a high bank where the
facilities for fly-fishing were of the best. In the clear swift water I
saw many fish swimming over the gravelly bottom, but they scorned a
fly. Finally the scout called: “Try the white entrail of another fish.”
So I baited my hook and cast toward a place where the current eddied in
a deep pool. For a moment I let it lie. Suddenly there was a swirl and
a big form broke the water. I struck and saw a golden flash as he
sprang from the river. “Hold him fast!” shouted the scout. “Don’t
slacken your line.” The fish rushed upstream and across; he struggled
in vain. I reeled him in and pulled him to the shore, and the scout
landed him on the clean stones. He was a five-pound fish, the biggest I
had caught. The scout called him a bull-trout, but he is also known by
the name of “Dolly Varden” (Salmo clarkii). He had a large mouth filled
with sharp teeth, and was dotted all over with small black spots. The
upper half of his body was yellow, the lower half pink, and silvery
white underneath. He was good eating; we had him with the grouse for
our evening meal.
In the night I wakened to the sound of the ever-rushing river, and saw
the forest lighted by moonlight; it made shadows on the trunks of the
big trees and lay in patches on the ground. The air was fragrant with
the smell of leaves, the freshness of the woods and the subtle perfume
of the earth. At daybreak I heard the early chorus of the birds, and
went after our horses in the meadow, wading through masses of wild
flowers and tall grass growing in bunches. I felt in accord with the
world, as though I belonged to the forest. My heart was light; I was as
free as the air.
When I found Kutenai, my saddle horse, he gave a gentle whinny of
recognition and rubbed his soft nose against my hand. He was a good and
faithful companion, just the horse for the Indian country. He was young
and spirited, yet gentle and friendly; I could trust him, and rode him
without saddle or bridle.
Before the sun was high, we had our horses packed and were on our way
toward the Blackfoot country. Our trail led through a broad valley and
along the banks of a swift stream, where the current dashed against
moss-covered boulders. The peaks of the Continental Divide sparkled in
the sunlight, revealing snowfields and glaciers, which over-hung the
mountain sides like ice cataracts. Early in the day the water of the
stream was clear, but in the afternoon changed to a milky white, from
glaciers melting under a hot sun.
I saw a water ouzel dive fearlessly into the foaming rapids and flit
about in the spray. The more boisterous the water, the better he seemed
to enjoy himself. He sat on a rock in midstream and burst into a
cheerful song with delicate trills. Then flew like a flash to his
moss-covered nest on a ledge, so close to the rushing water it was
continually bathed in spray.
We passed through a forest of fir and spruce, the trees tall and
straight, and soon had high peaks and massive mountain ranges towering
over us. We rode along the base of a great mountain, which rose
precipitously several thousand feet. There were lateral valleys with
cirques, formed by the erosion of glaciers. Through each of these
valleys flowed a stream, which had its source in an overhanging glacier
at the head, pine forests sweeping upwards in long and gentle curves.
Finally we entered a great basin, a vast amphitheater. In the center
was a sparkling blue lake with wooded shores, surmounted by walls of
rock several thousand feet in height. The lake was fed by many streams
springing from glaciers and snowdrifts; they fell over high cliffs with
an incessant roar, which reverberated like thunder from the surrounding
walls of rock. We crossed high rock ledges, ravines and gullies, jumped
fallen trees, and forced our way through windfalls and thickets of
balsam and fir.
I marveled at the endurance and sure-footedness of our Indian horses.
In the worst places they rarely stumbled; I did not see one of them
fall. In emergencies they never lost their heads. They walked serenely
along the edges of precipices where I shuddered to look down. Steep
places did not bother them; they sat back on their haunches, bunched
their feet together and slid.
But we had one rattle-brained pack horse. If he happened to get in the
lead, he wavered and hesitated and held back the outfit; he wandered
from the trail to try fool routes of his own, and tore his pack against
rocks and trees.
Our last camp on the western slope of the Rockies was in a grassy park
surrounded by groups of tall firs, spruces and thickets of balsam,
close to huge banks of snow and the precipitous cliffs of the
Continental Divide. A stream of water, cold as ice, flowed through a
meadow of rich grass, fine food for our horses, tired and hungry after
their hard climb.
Hoary marmots greeted us with shrill whistles from the cliffs, and a
red fox barked sharply and ran into his den. We saw a herd of Rocky
Mountain goats feeding on a high shelf in an inaccessible part of the
mountain. They lay in the sunlight near a cavern in the wall-rock,
while their sentinel, an enormous billy with long white beard, stood
like a statue close to the edge of a precipice.
Then from a high elevation above our camp, where everlasting snowdrifts
lay under the shadow of huge rocks, we had a view of massive mountain
ranges, with fields of snow and ice glistening in the sunlight; great
valleys with sky-blue lakes and vast forests stretching toward the west
to meet blue and distant plains. Through a massive rent in the rocky
wall of the Divide, we looked eastward, toward the Blackfoot country
and the end of our journey—a view of plains so vast and distant they
looked like an ocean meeting the horizon.
North, lay Triple Divide Mountain, the Crown of the Continent, where
the watershed divides between the Pacific Ocean, Hudson Bay, and the
Gulf of Mexico. To the northwest was Mount Blackfoot and the Blackfoot
Glacier, a vast expanse of snow and ice; Mount Cleveland (10,438 ft.),
a lofty and massive dome; Mount Siyeh (10,004 ft.), named after the
Blackfoot chief who was to be my Indian father; and Mount Jackson
(10,023 ft.), named after my Indian guide Siksikaí-koan (William
Jackson), because he was the first to climb its steep and rocky slopes.
CHAPTER III
OUR CAMP NEAR THE SUMMIT
The scout said a big storm was coming. That day the sun went down with
a rayless glow and a warm wind sprang up from the south. But the sky
was clear and the night had a multitude of brilliant stars.
At dawn we broke camp and packed our horses. We hastened across the
Divide to the east side of the range, where we camped in a sheltered
place, between two small glacier lakes with banks of snow and ice along
their shores.
As we crossed the summit, I saw black clouds coming up across the
western horizon. They had an ominous look, extending into the north
like a great wall; they ascended towards the zenith and were advancing
over the entire sky. There was a strange stillness. The air was sultry
with no wind; birds and insects were silent. Then came a vivid flash of
lightning, a deafening peal of thunder, and after a stillness a second
peal.
Suddenly a strange moan seemed to fill the air. Sinister-looking clouds
swept down from the Divide. I heard a roar like ocean surf and the
tempest burst with hurricane force, bearing masses of rock and shale
and whirling the water of the lake into the air. A canvas pack cover
was caught by the wind and carried towards the sky. It soared over camp
like a monstrous bird, frightening our horses which stampeded through
thickets and snowdrifts. In spite of the gale our tepee held fast. We
anchored it securely by a lariat noosed round the apex of the poles and
made fast to strongly driven stakes; and weighted down the pegs and
sides of the lodge with stones. The bottom, too, was sheltered from the
wind by thickets of gnarled and stunted spruces.
For three days and nights a heavy wind with rain and sleet blew out of
the northwest. But our Indian tepee was a snug shelter. We lay by our
lodge-fire, cosy and comfortable. In my warm blanket-bed, I liked to
listen to the roar of the wind in the spruces, the creaking of the
lodge-poles, and the beating of rain and sleet. We had sumptuous meals
of trout, and tenderloin and heart of a Rocky Mountain ram, which the
scout had killed near the summit. He passed the time telling me about
his home and Indian tribe. He told about their ancient customs and
strange religious beliefs, Indian legends and tribal tales about the
very region where we were camped.
Now an Indian is generally slow to speak his innermost thoughts and to
talk about his religious beliefs. But during that big storm, the scout
was in the mood to talk. He said:
“The Sun is the Great Power. He is in the birds and wild animals, lakes
and streams, prairies and mountains. He brings the leaves in the
spring-time. He makes the grass and berries grow; and upon them the
birds and animals depend for life.
“The Thunder is a great bird. It flies with the clouds, and brings the
rain. From its eyes the lightnings flash.
“The blizzard is a person, who runs before the storm and shoots his
arrows.
“Long ago an Indian, who camped in this valley, saw the Wind Maker rise
from the waters of a lake. He was like a monster bull elk. When he
flapped his ears, the wind blew hard; and when he sank again beneath
the water, the wind went down.
“My people are afraid of spirits. We believe they are
everywhere—underground, in the air, in the forest, in rocks and
streams. We are afraid of ghosts which take the form of owls and come
in the dark to harm people; ghosts of disembodied relatives and friends
often come around. The Blackfoot are happy on the open plains. In the
mountains they are afraid; the forests are dark and gloomy and they
hear strange sounds.
“Last summer an Under-Water-Spirit took a child of Bear Paw. He is my
friend and lives near me on Cutbank River. One day Bear Paw went into
the mountains to cut lodge-poles. He camped at the edge of the forest,
near a bend in the river, where a big rock stood and the water was
deep. His wife went there for water and saw the rock move; and that
night she had a strange dream. The Rock stood over her and said: ‘Give
me your child.’ The woman was so frightened she went to the river and
sacrificed some of her ornaments; she threw them into the water close
to the Rock. Soon after that one of her children died. Now they believe
it was taken from them by the Spirit of the Rock.”
The scout related a story which Heavy Breast, another friend who lived
in his valley on Cutbank River, told him.
HEAVY BREAST AND THE GRIZZLY BEAR
“When one of my children died last autumn, I felt so badly I did
not want to see any one. So I went alone to the forest on the
mountain. It was dark and gloomy and I felt lonely. But the only
animal to be feared was the grizzly bear and I knew he would do me
no harm, because I am the guardian of the Bear Medicine. Through
its wonderful power I have cured many people.
“One night I came to a cave near the forks of a stream. It was
raining and I decided to stay there, because in the cave I would
have shelter from the storm. I built a warm fire and lay down to
sleep. When I awoke the sun had not risen, but, through the mouth
of the cave, I saw that day was beginning to dawn. I heard a noise
outside, like some animal sniffing the air. I thought one of the
dogs had followed from camp and was nosing around, trying to get my
scent. Then I heard heavy footsteps and knew it was a large animal.
So I was careful. I made no sound; I scarcely even breathed.
“My back was towards the mouth of the cave, so I turned my head
very slowly, very carefully, and saw close to the entrance a huge
grizzly bear. Then I said to myself: ‘If this bear is angry, he has
me caught in a trap.’ I have often laughed at animals in traps, but
I did not feel like laughing this time. Again I said to myself:
‘This grizzly can do me no harm; my Bear Medicine will protect me;
it has often helped me to cure the sick; besides I have always had
a friendly feeling for bears, as if they were my relatives; I must
be bold and make a strong talk; I must make this bear understand
that I am his friend.’
“Then I thought: ‘Perhaps he intends to play with me before he
kills me.’ And this made me feel very queer.
“Now, all this time the bear did not move. He stood with his head
down and gazed into the mouth of the cave. Oh! How big he looked!
He stood high in front and had a broad head; and his great feet had
long sharp claws. He did not make a sound, but I knew he was angry;
his hair stood straight up on his back.
“Then I remembered an old medicine man saying, that a bear never
harms a person who does not move and talks to him in a friendly
voice. So I lay with arms stretched out and head on my hands, like
a bear does. Thus I lay and looked straight into his eyes. And then
I began talking in a friendly way, using the softest and kindest
voice I knew. I flattered him the best I could. I said:
“‘Brother Bear, you are very good-looking; you have nice eyes and
white teeth; you are big and strong. I have never killed bears; I
do not care to hunt them. Yes! I have always liked bears. I look
upon them as my relatives.’
“While I talked, his hair began to flatten, so I talked again
harder than ever. I kept on flattering him; I told him some of the
secrets of my Bear Medicine. I saw that he liked my talk; he was in
a good humor; and then I began to pray, saying:
“‘Brother Bear, pity me! I am poor and in trouble.
Brother Bear, I am the keeper of the Bear Medicine.
Brother Bear, it is I who guard the Bear Secrets.
Brother Bear, I ask you to go away and to leave me in peace.’
“Now, the bear was no longer angry. The hair on his back all went
down smooth. Soon he turned and walked slowly from the cave; and
after that I saw him no more.”
Thus my guide, an Indian belonging to a tribe of the stone age of
thought, told me about their religious faith. They believed in the
power of the Sun, and that birds and wild animals were endowed with his
wisdom and supernatural power. They communed with the wild animals,
looking upon them as brothers; they believed they had tribes like men,
with head-chiefs, councils and dances; that they were friendly, and had
power to help people in trouble. Nor did they exclude the animals from
the spirit world, the place where they expected to go after death.
We were storm-bound in our summit camp for several days. But, on the
morning of the fourth day, we awoke to find the heavens a vast expanse
of blue. A foot of snow had fallen. The surrounding mountains were
covered with a white blanket. After the great storm, the air was
strangely clear and sparkled with myriads of shining particles. The
clouds had rolled away towards the east, revealing the entire chain of
Rocky Mountain peaks, their white summits glowing under the bright rays
of the rising sun.
Then we made ready to break camp and leave the snow and ice of the high
altitude for the milder climate of the valley; but the devil was in our
horses that day. It took many weary hours to catch the herd. We made a
series of corrals with lariats and pack ropes. By the time we had the
horses packed and ready to start, the sun had long passed the meridian.
The scout led the way down the mountain, while I followed on foot with
camera and tripod, driving the horses and leading my saddle horse
Kutenai, loaded with baggage, because one of our pack horses had
escaped us down the mountain. Then the contrary bell-mare ran into the
underbrush and bucked her pack loose, and the horse of the scout ran
away and threw him off. I found him lying senseless on the ground, with
blood flowing from nose and mouth. When he came to himself, he made
light of his accident; he said that he had been weakened by his former
life of exposure in the Indian wars.
We camped that night on the floor of the valley, in a park surrounded
by a dark forest of lodge-pole pine and spruce; the air was mild;
bunch-grass grew luxuriantly and many varieties of wild flowers—blue
camas, orchids with pale green flowers, and yellow columbine with
lovely pendant blossoms.
Our last day in the mountains, we followed a trail down the eastern
slope, a well-known Indian route across the Rocky Mountains, famous in
legend and war story. We passed through the long forest-covered valley
of Cutbank River, between two massive snow-covered mountain ranges, and
rode through the foothills with their lovely lakes and meadows, groves
of aspen and thickets of willows, crossing high grass-covered ridges,
closely following one another like great waves of the ocean.
Finally, from the crest of a ridge about twenty miles from the foot of
the mountains, we looked down upon a scene I shall never forget. On a
broad stretch of prairie and on the shore of a lake lay the tribal camp
of the Blackfoot; many hundreds of smoke-colored tepees, pitched in the
form of a great circle more than a mile in circumference. In an open
space near the center of camp was a throng of Indians, taking part in
the ceremony of the Sun Dance. The surrounding meadows were bright with
blue lupines, shooting stars, camas, and yellow sunflowers. Smoke from
the evening fires rose from the tepees. Many horses were feeding
contentedly on the hills. As we stood looking down at the great camp, a
light breeze carried distinctly the shouts of men and women, crying of
children, barking of many dogs, neighing of horses, and the rhythmic
beating of Indian drums in dances and ceremonial gatherings.
On that first night, we slept on the open prairie with only the sky for
a roof. Late in the night, I was wakened by Indian horsemen riding
through the camp, singing strange melodies, giving at intervals shrill
war whoops, jingling bells keeping time with the slow and measured trot
of their horses. Their songs had a lilt and wildness, and were sung
with a vigor and enthusiasm that made me long to record them.
Excitement was in the air. Flaring inside fires lighted up the lodges,
casting weird shadows of the inmates on the outside coverings. I heard
the booming of drums, shrill cries and shouts of dancers, laughter and
cheers of the crowds. From the center of camp came a solemn chanting of
many voices, accompanied by heavy beating of rattles on the ground. At
intervals the low monotone of men singing in unison, united with the
shrill voices of women. Then the mysterious chanting died away and I
fell asleep.
CHAPTER IV
HOME OF THE SCOUT
Next day the scout took me to the lodge of the head-chief White Calf
and his wife Catches-Two-Horses. These were the givers of the Sun Dance
ceremony. We talked with the venerable chief Running Crane, and saw his
wife who was fasting, because of a vow to the Sun. We went to the
tepees of the war chiefs, Little Plume and Little Dog, and smoked a
friendly pipe, also with the judges, Shoots-in-the-Air, Curly Bear and
Wolf Plume, and the medicine men, White Grass and Bull Child. In this
way I met some of the head men of the tribe, and among them chief Mad
Wolf, an orator of renown and the owner of the ancient Beaver Bundle,
an important religious ceremony. This was the beginning of a
friendship, unusual between an Indian and a white man. It lasted as
long as Mad Wolf lived, and had a strange influence upon my life in the
years to come.
When the Sun Dance came to an end and the big camp broke up, I went
with the scout to his ranch on the prairie, in the valley of Cutbank
River, near the homes of the chiefs, White Calf and Mad Wolf, and of
the medicine men, White Grass and Ear-Rings.
The scout had a cabin built of pine logs from the mountains, with
sod-covered roof and clay-chinked walls, also corrals and low-lying
sheds, a garden, and herds of cattle and horses. His wife was an Indian
woman named White Antelope, and they had a family of four children.
She was young and good looking, but had a high temper. She liked to
take things easy, to dress in Indian finery and go visiting, leaving
ranch and children to the care of the scout. But he was patient with
her; he was kind-hearted and always tried to keep things smooth. She
cooked and waited on the table, when she felt in the mood; she and the
children ate after the men. If she was moody, the scout prepared the
meals.
Their family all slept in one room and I in another. My bunk of rough
boards was built against the walls. But, in good weather, I slept
outside the cabin and under the stars, on the grassy bank of the river,
with a shady grove of cottonwoods near by, and a lovely landscape of
meadows and distant snow-capped mountains.
Siksikaí-koan was a good friend, honest and trustworthy. He stood high
in the councils of his tribe and was liked by all the people. He was
always ready to help any who came to his ranch, to advise his people in
their struggle towards civilization. Through him, I met Indians both
old and young. I made friends with them, and tried to understand them
and to see things their way.
Every morning before sunrise, the scout wakened me to go into the
hayfields. He mowed while I drove the horserake; and then came days of
pitching and stacking. Then every part of me seemed sound and sane; I
was light-hearted and happy, untrammeled and free. On those broad
prairies were no worries nor pessimists, no laws nor creeds, nothing
but a wonderful peace and contentment; something I had longed for all
my life.
The west wind blew fresh from pine forests on the mountains, from
meadows with odors of wild flowers, sweet grass, and ripe strawberries.
Bees hummed in the air, western meadow larks sang on the prairie,
willow thrushes and white-crowned sparrows in the river valley.
But the scout could not stand heavy work in the hayfields. He suffered
from the hardships of his former life on the plains, from an injury by
a wild horse, and wounds received in the Indian wars.
Then Yellow Bird came to help in the haying. He was a relative of the
scout, a young half-breed of my own age, strong, full of life, and a
good worker when he felt like it. But he was wild and could not be
depended upon. Like young men of the Blackfoot, he wanted to be gay and
craved excitement. He liked to wander, to hunt, to rope cattle and ride
wild horses, to see friends and visit new places, to be always on the
move; he liked jolly companions and people who gave him a good time;
but he loved to go with girls best of all.
He took me to Indian camps to dance and see the girls. On our way home
at night, he liked to gallop past ranches where they kept packs of
ferocious dogs. They rushed after us and he had the fun of riding at a
mad gallop, yelling and shooting at them on the run. He was thrilled at
the idea of being chased by their angry owners, and of hearing bullets
whizzing harmlessly in the dark.
We attended a meeting held by a white missionary in our valley. I led
the singing and sat in the front row with Bear Chief and Eagle Child,
who were prominent Indians. They listened gravely and attentively but
understood not a single word. They were broad-minded chiefs and came as
an example to other Indians; to show they approved of the missionary
and of his religious ceremony.
Thus with Yellow Bird I entered into the life of the people. I wanted
to see them natural and without restraint. With them I talked not of my
life in civilization, but of things of their everyday life, of horses
and cattle, hunting and wild animals, dancing and ceremonies. In this
way I became one of them, and they saw I was not critical of them nor
of their ways.
After we stacked eighty tons of hay at the scout’s ranch, Yellow Bird
and I rode the range after stray horses and cattle. We skirted the base
of the mountains, along the foothills and edge of the forest, until we
came to a well-worn trail, which led to an open park far back in the
mountains. Many cattle were there, seeking refuge from the swarms of
flies and mosquitoes on the grass-covered prairies. Then we found a
herd of mares and geldings. Their leader, a fiery young stallion, tried
to drive us off. But we rounded them up with the cattle and drove them
back to the ranch, feeding them salt, that they might not again stray
away.
When we wanted to break a new team for the wagon, we drove that wild
herd of range horses into the corral and lassoed a roan and a
three-year-old sorrel. We tied them with ropes while we put on the
harness, then hitched them to the wagon and took blankets and
provisions; we knew not how far they might run.
At the start the broncos bucked and plunged; then ran and tried to tear
themselves loose from the rattling wagon, bounding over rocks, swinging
as though it would turn over. After running many miles, our broncos
broke into a stampede so wild that Yellow Bird turned them up a butte
and put the brakes on hard. They galloped up one side of that steep
butte and down the other, our wagon plunging over ruts, stones, and
badger holes, and into a swamp in the valley of a stream, where they
sank deep into soft muck and the wagon went down over the hubs. But
they soon freed themselves, and, with their sides covered with foamy
sweat, they pulled us through to firm ground. Then they ran again and
did not stop, until we were far out on the open plains. That night we
tied up our wild team and slept peacefully under the wagon, twenty-five
miles from the ranch.
Sometimes in the evening, after our work at the ranch, we saddled our
horses and rode down the river to see two sisters who were home from
school, Katoyísa and Nínake. Their father, Lone Wolf, was dead, and
they lived alone with their mother, a quiet, pleasant-faced woman.
Their log cabin of three rooms had low ceilings, and walls of hewn logs
chinked and plastered, all whitewashed and clean. The floor was
spotless and covered with skins of wolf, bear, and mountain goat; in
the windows were grasses and ferns and wild flowers, and a dish of
fragrant red apples on a table.
Nínake, the younger sister, was the favorite of Yellow Bird. She was
lively, a great talker, and gave him a good time. But I liked Katoyísa
better, a quiet bashful girl of nineteen, with shapely head and good
features. Her black hair hung in two heavy braids almost to her knees.
She wore homemade cotton gowns of thin material which showed her
slender graceful form. From the look in her eyes and expression of her
face, I knew she had courage and character. In her was the stuff of our
bravest pioneers.
After we had finished with the hay of the scout, Yellow Bird and I went
to their ranch to help with their crops. The girls cooked and gave us
good food, fresh vegetables from their garden, beef, bread and butter
and milk.
Many years have passed, but they have not dimmed the memory of those
happy days without a care in the world, the primitive simplicity of
that family, and the way they made me one of them. We both enjoyed our
work, we were near the girls from morning till night, and that kept us
in a good humor.
Then the scout wanted timber from the mountains, so we took two teams
and made ready the wagons. We threw off their beds and placed the
wheels far apart by means of a long reach, to hold the heavy logs.
Yellow Bird drove one wagon and I the other. For me it was a new thing
to drive a team of broncos. I sat on the reach, on a gunnysack stuffed
with hay. I had to wield a whip with a long lash, and had a heavy chain
for binding the logs together.
We left the ranch soon after sunrise and went to a burned stretch of
timber on a slope of the Rockies. We felled only trees that were sound
and well-seasoned, cutting them into logs and snaking them down the
forest trails to be loaded on our wagons.
At first it was hard to chop hour after hour with an axe. I blistered
my hands and was drenched with sweat; my arms and back ached; I felt
weak in the knees and had a consuming thirst. Then I became accustomed
to the work and had a feeling of exhilaration. I liked the fresh odor
of the wood, the ring of my axe and the feeling of a good stroke, to
know my sharp blade was cutting deep.
There was always danger of being cut with an axe, from felling trees
that had lodged, and from Yellow Bird; sometimes his trees fell
perilously near. Once I was nearly struck by a pine that let go at the
roots; I heard a sharp crackling, saw it coming towards me and jumped
just in time.
But for me the hardest work was the loading of the wagons. The heavy
logs were twenty-five feet long and from one to two feet in diameter.
The roads were steep and rough and our brakes would not hold. But we
always joked about hard work and danger, and had to look out for
ourselves.
Soon Yellow Bird tired of ranch work and wanted a change. He proposed
that we ride across the Montana line into Canada, to visit relatives in
a camp of Blood Indians, a northern division of the tribe. So we
rounded up the wild herd of range horses and drove them into the
corral. We each chose a saddle horse, Yellow Bird a brown with silvery
mane and tail, I a powerful sorrel. My gentle horse, Kutenai, I left to
graze at the ranch.
In handling horses that ran wild on the range, we were always ready for
trouble. To control them was a question of mastery; they took kind
treatment as a sign of weakness. When I tried to saddle my sorrel, he
rose on his hind legs and with forefeet high in the air tried to bring
them down on my head. In mounting, I held his bit in one hand, the
pommel with the other, and made a flying leap upon his back. Before I
was in the saddle, he sprang forward like a race horse at a desperate
gallop. He had an easy motion and I kept my seat; but to stop him
baffled all of my endeavors.
We went north across the open plains, without fences or roads to bar
the way. Our horses ran like the wind; we gave them free rein and held
on. I rode Indian fashion, letting myself go freely with the motion of
my horse and kept a firm grip with my knees.
The first night we stopped at the cabin of a squaw man, near a rocky
peak which rose abruptly out of the prairie, standing apart from the
main range of the Rocky Mountains. Our host was a white man with an
Indian wife and four half-breed children, the oldest a girl of
seventeen. She and Yellow Bird were sweethearts; and while they made
love by the river, I went into the meadow to help the old man with his
hay. He was one of those pioneer settlers of early days, short and
sinewy in stature, and with a heavy beard. His life had been filled
with hardships, toil, and little pleasures. He was suspicious by
nature, and liked to talk about free silver; but at heart he was a good
fellow, resolute, brave, a hard worker and hospitable. His Indian wife
was a laughing, broad-faced woman, good-natured and lazy. Their cabin
was dirty and swarmed with flies. The second daughter was strangely
pretty, with flashing black eyes, jet black hair, and marvelously clear
olive skin. She had a pet colt which followed her like a dog. He came
into the cabin for supper. When they put him out, he ran to the open
window and poked me in the back with his nose; he whinnied and grunted
and made such a fuss that his young mistress went to the window and
gave him sugar.
Soon after sunrise on the following morning Yellow Bird and I saddled
our broncos and moved on. To the west rose the mighty frontier range of
the Rockies. The rugged valleys and peaks still had a thin veil of
morning mist. In the cool air our horses had wonderful speed. They
chafed at the bit and were tireless, as though their sinews were of
steel. But, after that first day, they were not so hard to hold.
We crossed buttes on the run, up hill and down, it was all the same; in
steep places our horses put their feet together and slid. They jumped
streams, rocks, and badger holes; galloped over ledges and sharp
volcanic rocks, across hills and ravines; it was beautiful to see them
go; they never stumbled, but lifted their feet cleanly up and over, and
always planted them securely and firmly. We passed lakes and marshy
ponds, starting noisy flocks of ducks and other water birds, crossed
Boundary Creek, and were over the Montana line into the Province of
Alberta.
We came to the ranch of a Frenchman named Big Steve, far out on the
prairie. He and his wife were pitching hay in a meadow. She was buxom
and smiling, with rosy cheeks and did the work of a man. Both were
friendly and wanted to talk, but we could not tarry; our horses were
wild and hard to hold.
At midday we dashed into a Mormon settlement, and a number of men came
to meet us. They all looked alike, over six feet in height, with smooth
faces and prominent features. They were good-natured and hospitable and
gave us all the food we could eat. But it was a dreary place on a
barren plain, a group of board shanties, without trees or vegetation. I
thought to myself: “How dull an existence compared to our life in the
Indian country, with dances and games, feasts and ceremonies!”
Near the border line we entered a region of bandits and law-breakers.
We saw a white man who tried to hold us up, but we spurred our broncos
and they ran so fast he gave up the chase; then a band of Blood Indians
closely muffled in their blankets; they were on their way south and
kept their faces hidden. We passed another rider, who was followed by
the North-West Mounted Police; they said he was leader of a gang of
cattle thieves.
We came that afternoon to the end of our journey in a camp of the Blood
Indians. Yellow Bird took me to the home of his relative, an elderly
man named Strong. In his lodge we met some of the head men of the
tribe—Thunder Chief, Spotted Calf, Running Coyote, and Grasshopper.
They were all friendly and glad to see us. They greeted us with “How!”
shook us by the hand and welcomed us to their feast.
For refreshments, they had a meat stew and hot tea. Their manner of
eating was different from that of people in civilization. They ate with
their fingers, gulped down the food, sucked their teeth, and drank with
a hissing intake of the breath. But with them these were not breaches
of good manners; they were not sensitive to any of these things. While
eating they did not talk; and after the manner of Indians showed no
enthusiasm. None of them said the food was good, or that they liked
anything; nor, on the other hand, did any one grumble or say the food
was bad.
After the feast they smoked a large pipe of polished redstone, which
was handed stem first to each person. Then they talked, speaking
rapidly, in guttural voices that were not harsh, and making graceful
gestures with their hands. The Indian named Grasshopper had a
reputation as a wit. He kept them laughing—all but Thunder Chief, who
was head man and had his dignity to maintain.
Grasshopper wore a coyote-skin cap with the tail hanging down behind
and an eagle feather on top; slung over his shoulder was a polished
buffalo horn. He had beaded moccasins and leggings, and a blanket coat
with bright stripes. After we had eaten, he turned to me and said with
a laugh:
“You look like an eagle. You sit straight and with your head up. Now is
the time to shake your tail feathers, like an eagle after it eats.”
This was Indian humor and made the others laugh.
Grasshopper was the life of the party. He said his parents died when he
was small. He was raised by a chief named Red Crow, who had started
many boys in life; he had become a successful man, because he followed
the advice of his adopted father.
Grasshopper was pleased when he saw me recording his conversation in my
notebook. He said: “Now I am going to tell you some stories.” I sat
waiting, but he did not begin; so I said: “Go ahead; I am ready.”
To make the others laugh, he held out his hand saying: “How much do you
pay?” I took his outstretched hand, shook it and said: “That is what I
pay.”
Then every one laughed, even the dignified head chief joined in. They
liked the repartee and wanted more.
Grasshopper said: “Well, instead of paying he only shakes.” He turned
to the head-chief and said: “This white man is a great traveler. I like
him and want him for my partner. We had better keep him here with us.”
And then he said to me: “Why don’t you join our tribe and stay with us?
You could take an Indian wife; you could hunt and trap and make a good
living.”
That evening we sat outside the lodge and watched the sun go down fiery
red, with its glow reflected in a near-by stream. Then the moon, nearly
full, rose over the distant hills of the prairie, like a ghostly
phantom in the twilight.
Then by the lodge-fire the Indians told stories of their hunting trips
and war expeditions of former days. They talked far into the night, and
next morning we saddled our horses early and rode back to Montana.
CHAPTER V
STORIES BY THE SCOUT’S MOTHER-IN-LAW
One day Two-Bear-Woman, mother of the scout’s wife, came to our ranch.
She pitched her lodge in the meadow, not far from my bed on the river
bank. After dark I watched it, glowing with yellow light from an inside
fire. And, when the dying fire made shadows dance on the lodge wall,
there was an air of mystery about her tepee. At night I heard the old
woman praying and chanting weird songs of old days, in a quavering
voice and beating on a tom-tom. The sound was mournful and made me feel
sad; I lay awake and listened until late in the night.
Two-Bear-Woman was the widow of a famous medicine man named Four Bears.
She was said to have occult powers and was looked upon as a wise woman.
She could see visions, dream dreams, doctor, and do mysterious things.
She was something of a shrew, with sharp tongue and quick temper, but
industrious and skilled in all the arts of Indian women—tanning, making
clothes and lodges, and the knowledge of herbs and plants.
The scout never went near the lodge of his mother-in-law, nor could she
visit her daughter while her son-in-law was at home, according to
tribal custom. A mother-in-law had no dealings with her son-in-law, nor
could they even speak to each other.
So I went with White Antelope to call upon the old woman. One evening
by her lodge-fire she talked about her husband. She said he was a man
of influence and stood high in the tribe. When danger threatened, the
chiefs used to call upon him for help. As head medicine man it was his
custom to officiate at tribal meetings and ceremonies. He was mediator
between the Great Spirit and his people. He fasted and prayed and
helped the tribe by means of his supernatural power. He was both
prophet and priest. Besides being a man of mystery, he had a reputation
as a doctor. His power to heal came from the buffalo through a vision,
after long fasting and prayer. When he doctored, he wore an old buffalo
robe decorated with a yellow buffalo head. He carried a medicine drum
which was painted yellow, also his body, with a crescent on his
forehead for the moon and marks over his temples for sun dogs. He wore
a wonderful belt which had supernatural power, an otter-skin to keep
him young and an eagle feather to ward off danger in battle. The old
woman said that after the death of her husband his ghost had come every
night to protect her from harm.
Then, as we sat and smoked and the fire burned low, Two-Bear-Woman told
legends and stories. She liked blood-curdling tales and gloated over
one of a warrior who went mad.
THE WARRIOR WHO ATE HIS FOOT
“Long ago, two warriors named Arrow Top and Black Horse went to war
against their enemies the Crow Indians. They left home in the early
summer and did not start back until it was time for snow in the
autumn. They had a hard time; the weather was bad and their food
gave out. One evening at dark, they came to two old shelters made
of willow branches, which stood close together. It was snowing and
cold, and they were tired and hungry. They had no food, so each
crawled into a shelter and lay down to sleep.
“In the night Arrow Top was wakened by a queer sound—his friend was
hacking with his knife. Then he smacked his lips and drew in his
breath, saying: ‘Mmmmmm, this foot is fine, it is tender and juicy
and has a good taste.’
“He shouted: ‘Hai there! Arrow Top! Come and eat. I have plenty of
meat. This leg is tender and juicy; I have a good slice for you.’
“Then Arrow Top peeped into the other shelter and saw a terrible
sight. His friend was covered with blood. He had cut off his own
foot and was roasting a piece of the flesh over a fire. Then he
hacked at his leg, and when there was nothing left but the bone, he
began digging out the marrow with his knife.
“Again he called, and getting no answer he shouted: ‘Arrow Top, I
say, come and join in my feast; I have saved a fine piece of juicy
meat for you.’
“By this time day was beginning to dawn and Arrow Top tried to run
away. But Black Horse saw him and followed; it was a cold night and
the blood of his wounded leg froze. He ran on his mangled stump,
shouting for his friend to wait. He begged him not to go and leave
him alone.
“Arrow Top was so frightened he climbed a tree and tried to hide in
the branches. But Black Horse saw him. He was so mad he foamed at
the mouth. He came to the tree and shouted:
“‘You dog-face, I see you there. I asked you to come and eat with
me, but you ran away and left me to die. You can’t escape me. I am
going to catch you now and kill you.’
“He struck at Arrow Top with his knife and tried to climb the tree.
He fell down because of his mangled leg; he got so mad he ran at
the tree. He kicked the trunk with the sharp bone of his leg, until
it stuck fast in a crack. He wept and raved; he twisted and turned
and tried to tear himself loose.
“Then Arrow Top jumped from the tree and struck out for home. He
did not stop running until he came to the camp. He told his story
to the head men and they took a band of warriors. They found Black
Horse dead, with the sharp bone of his leg still fast in the crack
of the tree.”
CHAPTER VI
MY ADOPTION BY MAD WOLF
Near the end of summer, I met Mad Wolf on the prairie. He was alone and
signed that he wanted to talk with me. He was mounted on a restless
bronco, and held a rawhide quirt in his hand. From his neck hung a bone
whistle, made from the wing of an eagle; and in his hair a single eagle
feather stood erect. He dismounted from his horse and stood waiting;
and when I came to him, he shook hands; then looked earnestly into my
face, and said:
“From the time you first came to live in my country, I have been
watching you, and my heart feels warm towards you. I have never taken a
son from the white men; now I want to adopt you, because I believe that
some day you will be a chief among your people. I am growing old, and
it is probable that I shall go before you to dwell with the Great
Spirit, for you are still a young man. After I am gone, you will then
be left, to help and to advise my people.”
I told Mad Wolf that I wanted to be his son. He pointed towards the
north and said:
“My lodge is out yonder on the prairie. It is beyond that long range of
hills and cannot be seen from here. Come to-morrow when the sun is
high. I will hold a ceremony. I will paint you with the sacred paint;
and in the presence of my relatives and friends, will adopt you as my
son.”
In after years, I saw more clearly Mad Wolf’s purpose in taking a white
son. His tribe were rulers of a vast domain of plains and
forest-covered mountains. Great herds of buffalo and other game
furnished them with an abundance of meat for food and skins for clothes
and shelter. But the coming of the white man caused the disintegration
of his tribe. The herds of wild animals quickly disappeared and with
them the chief support of the Indians. An advancing tide of white
settlers came like the invasion of an enemy; they introduced smallpox,
measles, scarlet fever, and other contagious diseases. The white men
were shrewd and unprincipled. They traded whiskey and debauched the
Indians; they occupied their country; they always got the best of them
in their deals. Indian children were sent to white men’s schools; they
did not learn their native tongue; old tribal customs, traditions, and
religion were no longer handed down.
When a white man whom he trusted came to live among his people, Mad
Wolf decided to adopt him as his son. He foresaw the doom of his tribe.
He wanted a son among the white men upon whom he could depend; one able
to help his tribe, who would go to the Great Father at Washington and
intercede in their behalf. The old chief was wise; he saw that an
Indian could not accomplish his purpose.
The following morning, I rode Kutenai across the prairie in search of
Mad Wolf’s summer camp. From the summit of a ridge, I saw the white
tepees in a meadow amid grass-covered hills. The sky was overcast and a
strong wind shook the lodges, which were anchored to the ground by long
ropes around their tops. I heard the sound of chanting and beating of
drums. For a moment I waited on the hill, listening to the weird
singing and thinking of the days when the lodges of Mad Wolf’s tribe
were numbered by thousands and they were the rulers of their country.
After the song had ceased, I rode down from the hill. Dismounting
before the large lodge of the chief, I lifted the door-flap and looked
inside. Mad Wolf saw me and shouted, “Okye!” (Welcome.) I entered and
saw Mad Wolf seated at the back, the position of honor, with the fire
between himself and the door. He shook hands and motioned me to a place
at his left, among the other men, and said: “Bring a robe for him to
sit upon.” Morning Plume, who was nearest, greeted me with a smile and
made ready my seat. Other Indians present were, Blessed Weasel, Heavy
Breast, Double Runner, Middle Calf, Bear Child, and Many-White-Horses,
so named because he owned many horses of that color. The men were all
seated on Mad Wolf’s left, the women and children on his right.
Between Mad Wolf and his wife Gives-to-the-Sun, who sat on his right,
lay the sacred Beaver Bundle. It contained the skins of beaver and
other wild animals, which were believed to contribute Sun Power to the
Bundle. [2] It was opened in a religious ceremony, given in behalf of
the sick, or on other important occasions. From the lodge-poles hung
beaded clothing and sacred bundles with long leather fringes hanging
from their sides and decorated with painted designs.
Mad Wolf was a noble specimen of Indian chief. His long gray hair fell
loosely over his shoulders, and his face had a kindly and benign
expression. He was large in stature and of majestic presence, with
broad forehead and high cheek bones, keen eyes and firm mouth. From the
waist up his body was bare. He had broad shoulders and chest and his
arms were muscular and well formed, like those of a young man. He wore
leggings of deerskin, moccasins decorated with colored porcupine quills
and necklaces of deer bones and bear claws. A medicine whistle, with
which he led his beaver ceremony, hung by a thong from his neck.
All sat in silence, waiting for the ceremony of adoption to begin. Then
Gives-to-the-Sun, wife of the chief, whispered to a young woman; she
straightway rose and stirred a large kettle of service-berries and
tongue, which was cooking on the fire. Mad Wolf pointed to her and said
to me: “She is your Indian sister, Strikes-on-Both-Sides. We gave her
that name because, in battle, I once struck down enemies on both
sides.”
Gives-to-the-Sun brought forth a forked stick. She went to the fire,
and, lifting out a live coal, placed it in front of Mad Wolf, who
burned dried sweet grass upon it. Soon a fragrant perfume like incense
filled the lodge; and they began to sing a low chant in a minor key, in
which all the Indians joined.
Then Mad Wolf and his wife knelt by the burning sweet grass; they
placed their hands in the rising smoke; they seemed to grasp the smoke;
they rubbed it over their bodies and passed it over their heads,
shoulders and arms; they breathed it in; thus purifying themselves
without and within.
Suddenly the clouds broke and the sun shone into the lodge. Its bright
rays came through the smoke hole and lighted up the ground in front of
Mad Wolf. Again he held his hands in the smoke of the burning sweet
grass. He passed them over his arms and breast for a blessing; and
turning his face towards the sun, he chanted:
“See! Our Father, the Sun, shines into the lodge.
His power is very strong.
At night our Mother, the Moon, shines into the lodge.
Her power is very strong.
I pray Morning Star to shine into the lodge and bring long life.”
Mad Wolf took a willow branch, which was painted red. He placed it in
turn on his right and left shoulders, and prayed for long life. He
handed the branch to me; and I laid it on both my shoulders, while he
prayed to the Sun that I might live to be old. Then the branch was
passed round the lodge for every one to pray with.
Mad Wolf and Gives-to-the-Sun knelt by a long bundle and sang four
times. After the fourth song, they began to loosen the thongs of the
bundle, but they still sang, chanting a slower and more monotonous
song. After the thongs had been untied, Mad Wolf chanted and prayed and
removed the cover, revealing a large redstone pipe. For a moment the
old chief bent over it in silence; then raised it slowly and tenderly,
addressing it in a soft caressing voice; he pressed it to his lips and
prayed to it. He passed it over his arms for a blessing, then over his
shoulders and both sides of his head. Again he chanted, moving the pipe
in time with his song:
“Pity us! O Sun! O Moon! O Stars!
Mother Earth! Pity us! Pity Us!
Give us food and drink.
Bless our children, may their trails lie straight.”
Mad Wolf passed the pipe to Blessed Weasel, who held it before his
face; he prayed long and earnestly with bowed head. Then Blessed Weasel
handed the pipe to me. I held it reverently for a moment and passed it
to Morning Plume; and thus it went round the lodge, until it came to
the women, who also prayed with it, and passed it over the bodies of
their little children, believing it would help them, too. People who
did not pray, went through the motions of touching the pipe to both
sides of their heads and shoulders. Some prayed aloud and others only
whispered. But every one who prayed made the sign for receiving a
blessing, and, at the same time wished for something.
Finally the pipe came back to Mad Wolf. He arose and danced round the
fire with it, while the others sang in unison. He moved the pipe in
time with the song, blowing on his medicine whistle, and facing, first
towards the east, then south, west and north, following the direction
of the sun’s course through the heavens. After he sat down, the pipe
was passed around the lodge for every one to smoke.
Then Mad Wolf turned his face towards the Beaver Bundle, which
contained the skins of many birds and animals. He prayed solemnly and
earnestly:
“Hear! Above-Spirits and Underground-Spirits, birds and animals, our
secret helpers. Pity us! Pity us! Give us long life! May we live to be
old! Listen, Spirits! This young man with the light hair, let him live.
Care for him and let no harm come to him from evil men or wild animals.
May all his relatives live long and have plenty. Let our young people
grow, and our men, women, and children have a full life and be happy.”
At the end of the prayer, all in the lodge united in a long-drawn
“Ah-h-h-h-h,” meaning “Yes” or “Amen.”
Then Mad Wolf brought forth a small pouch of red clay, the sacred
paint. There was an impressive silence while he prepared it in his
hands, and said: “Now is the time for my white son to come.” He
motioned to me. I went before him and knelt, while he painted my
forehead, chin, and both cheeks, describing a circle and representing
the sun’s daily course through the heavens. He took a beaver-skin from
his sacred bundle, and passed it down both sides of my head, shoulders,
and arms; then ended with an upward sweep, by which he imparted his
blessing, and prayed:
“Before you, my Father, Great Sun Chief,
I now adopt this white man as my son.
Let the red paint be like the sunlight,
To protect and bring him health and strength.
May all my people be kind and help him,
That he may be happy, as long as he remains among his Indian
brothers and sisters.
My Father, the Sun, keep him from harm,
When he goes again to his home towards the rising sun.
Give him light by day,
That his path may be free from danger.
If he should go into the wrong trail,
Lead him safely back,
That his path may be firm and downhill to old age.”
After the prayer, Mad Wolf and Blessed Weasel opened a bundle of
buffalo and elk hides, which were spread before the men. Rattles of
rawhide, containing small pebbles, were also distributed among them for
beating on the hides. Mad Wolf handed two of the rattles to me and
said: “You are now my son and should take part in the ceremony.” Then
kneeling with the Indians, I joined in the chants and in beating time
with my rattles on a buffalo hide.
One song we sang represented a porcupine on a hill, watching a beaver
at work. The porcupine said: “I will take my bow and arrows and kill
you.” But the beaver escaped by swimming under the water. We also sang
the song of the war eagle, soaring high over the mountains and at times
swooping down for its prey.
At sunset Mad Wolf brought the ceremony to a close with the prayer:
“Father, the Sun! Continue to give us light,
That the leaves and grass may grow.
May our cattle increase, and our children live to be old.
Mother, the Moon! Give us sleep,
That we may rise again like our Father, the Sun.
May our lives be strong.
May our hearts feel good towards our white brothers,
We are all your children.”
After the feast of soup made of service berries and tongue, Mad Wolf
made a sign that the ceremony was over; and all rose and filed out of
the lodge.
CHAPTER VII
MAD WOLF TELLS THE LEGEND OF THE BEAVER BUNDLE
After the ceremony Mad Wolf reclined upon his couch and smoked with
half-closed eyes. I sat near him, gazing at the sacred Beaver Bundle,
thinking of its mysterious power over the Indian, and its strange
superstitions handed down through many generations. There was a long
silence; the fire burned low and twilight settled over prairie and
camp. Finally Mad Wolf knocked the ashes from his pipe. He signed for
me to help him remove the robe which covered the Beaver Bundle. For a
moment he allowed me to gaze upon it, when the robe was reverently
replaced. Then Mad Wolf said earnestly, as though he were thinking back
into the distant past:
“Before the white men came into our country, we lived content, and were
happy in our religion. We worshiped the Sun. In those days we had many
powerful chiefs and wise men. There were no white men, and we wandered
wherever we pleased. We had plenty of food. We killed buffalo in great
numbers by driving them over cliffs, and the young men who were good in
the buffalo drives were famous.
“The information I have came from wise men of the older generation, and
what they told me was true. Never before have I talked in this way to a
white man; I have always been afraid to trust them. But I tell you
these things, because I believe in you. I feel towards you as a father
to a son. I want to hand down my secrets through you.
“I come from a long-lived family. My father’s name was Big Bonnet and
that of my mother, Bear Woman. My father taught me many things; but he
died when I was ten years old. In my youth I was wild, like many
others, and I was still a young man when I had a narrow escape from
death. When the danger had passed, I felt glad to be alive. I looked up
to the Sun and made my first vow. After that I became thoughtful and
wanted to do something to help my tribe. The following summer at the
Sun Dance, when many people were assembled, I stood before them and
made known my vow. Then for the first time I took part in the
ceremonies in the sun lodge; and I have continued to do so ever since.
“When my wife was ill, and I thought she was going to die, I made a vow
to the Sun, that if she recovered, I would take the Beaver Bundle.
White Calf, the head-chief, was then its guardian. It came into his
care from an Indian of the Blood tribe. Now if a man makes a vow to
take the bundle, the owner cannot keep it. So, when my wife was
restored to health, I made known my vow. I had to make payment to White
Calf in many things—horses, robes, and blankets. But my friends and
relatives helped. These people now own shares in the bundle. Some of
them have become beaver men and now take part with me in the ceremony.
When I took over the bundle, I had to learn the songs, prayers, dances,
and movements, which make up the ceremony. I had to pay for everything,
and I found that a man must have a good memory to remember it all. My
woman helps me with the bundle, and it is necessary for her to take
part in the ceremony. She leads the other women in their songs and
dances, and directs them in whatever they do. The bundle is kept at the
back of the lodge and should be taken outside only when we move camp.”
Mad Wolf gave me an old medicine sack woven in different colors,
containing the two rattles which I had used in the ceremony of
adoption, with the instructions to always carry them with me, that I
might be ready to take part, whenever he gave a ceremony. He also gave
me a buckskin bag with seeds of the tobacco, and said:
“Tobacco was first given to us at the same time with the Beaver Bundle
by the Chief of the Beavers. These seeds are sacred, because they came
from the ‘Dwarf People,’ who look after our crops of tobacco. We try to
keep these little people in good humor, by giving them presents of
clothes and moccasins and sacks of food, which we leave outside the
tepee with the prayer:
“‘Dwarf People! Here are clothes and food. We ask you to look after our
tobacco crop.’
“No one should ever try to watch the Dwarf People at work. Any one who
sees them is sure to die.
“We always give a beaver ceremony in the spring, when the tobacco seeds
are planted; also because spring is the time when beavers are
accustomed to leave their winter dens. For the crop we select a lonely
place near a stream or a river, where the land is fertile. And before
planting, we cover the ground with the dung of deer, antelope, and
mountain sheep. This makes the tobacco grow fast, because these animals
are swift runners. We never use the dung of elk or moose; they walk
slowly and might retard its growth. We first hold the beaver ceremony,
and then dig up the ground with sharp-pointed sticks. While planting we
sing songs and burn sweet grass as incense. And when we have finished
every one must go away. No one stays to see the Dwarf People at work,
nor returns to look at the crop, until it is time for the tobacco to be
gathered. If the season is dry and the tobacco needs rain, I take the
otter-skin from the Beaver Bundle and tie it to a pole. It floats in
the wind and is sure to bring rain. When the crop is ready I call the
people together. We put up a large tepee for a dance and have a feast
which lasts four days and four nights. Then the Beaver men pull up the
plants. We mix the leaves with those of the bearberry (kinnekinnick),
and distribute it among the people.
“The owner of a Beaver Bundle has power to forecast the weather; he
must keep track of the moons and be able to read signs in the sky. In
winter, if the buffalo disappear, and the snow is deep and people
starve, the owner brings out the Beaver Bundle and charms the buffalo
back to the camp. Any one who is ill or in trouble can make a vow, and
the beaver ceremony will be given in their behalf. They must pay the
owner of the bundle a horse, robe, or blanket, whatever they are able
to give.
“There is much trouble and expense in keeping a Beaver Bundle. But I am
happy in giving the ceremony; and it brings good fortune to a family.
It makes a man a greater chief, and gives his family a prominent
position in the tribe. There are many rules in its care, which bring
misfortune if not carefully observed. The sides of the tepee, where the
bundle is kept, must never be raised, nor should any of the cooking be
done outside the lodge. Food must be given to every one who comes as
guest; and, when the owner of the bundle goes into another lodge, he
must not change from the place where he first takes his seat. No one
should ever pass in front of the beaver man when he is smoking. If he
goes for a swim, he must sing a certain song before entering the water.
He has power over the water, and must never show fear of water. If he
comes to a deep stream, he must cross quickly, and not hesitate or turn
away. He must not eat a beaver or strike a dog or kill any of the birds
or animals that are represented in the Beaver Bundle. He must not beat
his wife without singing first the appropriate song. But if she sings
the ‘Defense Song,’ it makes her safe. Otherwise, she cannot escape
from the beating, because it would be in vain to run away.”
LEGEND OF THE BEAVER BUNDLE
“The Beaver Bundle is very old. It came to us in the days when our
ancestors used dogs instead of horses for beasts of burden. They
had tools and weapons of stone and wore clothes made of animal
skins. In those days of long ago lived a poor young man. He wore an
old robe badly tanned. The corners were cut off. It had a queer
shape, and the people called him Round-Cut-Robe. In the same camp
was a chief named Red Horn who had three wives. The youngest was
badly treated by her husband and the other two wives.
Round-Cut-Robe was her secret lover. He was so poor he did not have
a tepee of his own. He lived through the camp, wherever he could
find shelter. One day he said to his sweetheart:
“‘I shall go to an unknown place, because I am ashamed. I want to
have a dream. Perhaps some of the birds or animals may pity me and
give me their Sun Power. If I never come back, you will know that I
am dead.’
“Round-Cut-Robe went alone over the prairies; no one knew where he
went. He had no food and became thin and weak. He prayed to the
animals for power; he wanted a dream to guide him. Finally he came
to a place in the mountains where the beavers had a lodge, a big
pool in a river where they swam and worked. Round-Cut-Robe made a
shelter near their den. He stayed there night and day, crying and
acting like an unhappy person; he wanted the beavers to pity him.
For four days and nights he lay by their lodge, but none of the
beavers appeared. Then he cried again and called upon the
Under-Water-Spirits. He prayed:
“‘O Sun! I put away all that is bad. Moon and Stars, pity me and
give me power!’
“Then a small beaver came from the lodge and said: ‘My father
invites you.’ He followed the little beaver into their lodge, and
saw a beaver with his family gathered around. This beaver was white
from the snows of many winters, and so large that Round-Cut-Robe
knew he was the chief of all the beavers.
“The beaver chief asked why he traveled alone, and the young man
said:
“‘There is a woman who loves me. I am poor and am trying to get
power.’
“Then the old beaver felt sorry for him and invited him to stay in
their lodge, saying:
“‘If you remain here with us through the winter, we will teach you
many wonderful things; and in the spring you can go home again.’
“Round-Cut-Robe was glad to stay in their lodge. When the beavers
went out to work, he went along and watched them cut down many
trees and bushes for their winter food—birch, poplar, cottonwood,
red willow and willow brush. They told him to take back four things
into the lodge; and, in the night, when the moon was high, the
beaver chief changed them into food for his winter supply—pemmican
and ripe berries.
“The beavers closed their lodge when the river began to freeze; but
left a hole for air at the top. On the coldest days they kept
Round-Cut-Robe warm, by laying their tails across his body. He made
friends with them all, but he liked Little Beaver the best. He was
the cleverest, and the favorite child of the beaver chief. During
the winter the beavers taught Round-Cut-Robe many wonderful things.
They gave him the paint, and showed him how to use it to ward off
sickness and death. They taught him how to count the moons and gave
him the first seeds of the tobacco, showing him how they should be
planted with songs and prayers; and they told him about the
different herbs and plants, which the Indians have used ever since
for eating and healing.
“One day Little Beaver said to his friend: ‘Spring will soon come.
When the ice breaks up in the river and the trees begin to bud, it
will be time for you to go home. But, before you leave our lodge,
my father will offer you something to take back with you. Choose
only the beaver-gnawed-stick which hangs at the head of his couch.
He will not want to part with it. He will try to persuade you to
take other things. But if you get that stick, you will become a
great chief, because his power goes with it.’
“When the snow had gone and the ice was breaking up in the river,
Round-Cut-Robe said it was time for him to go home. The Beaver
Chief offered him anything he saw in their lodge to take with him.
Then Round-Cut-Robe remembered the advice of his friend Little
Beaver and asked for the beaver-gnawed-stick. The Beaver Chief
tried to make him choose something else. But at last he gave him
the stick and said:
“‘With it goes my power with water. If you should ever be in
trouble and call upon Little Beaver, he will be your helper.’
“Before Round-Cut-Robe left, the Beaver Chief gave him the Beaver
Bundle. He taught him the songs, prayers, and dances that go with
the ceremony; and said that, if any one were ill or dying, and a
relative made a vow to the bundle, the sick person would be
restored to health. The ceremony should be given every new moon,
keeping track of the moons with counting-sticks. When seven moons
were counted, the winter would be over, and it would be time for
the beavers to open their lodge for the summer.
“It was the beginning of spring when Round-Cut-Robe came home. But
he did not enter camp at once. He sat on a hill in plain sight
until the people saw him and a messenger came out. Then many people
came to meet him on the hill, and he told them how he had lived
seven moons in the lodge of the beavers.
“After Round-Cut-Robe came back, he gathered together the sacred
bundle as the Beaver Chief had instructed. He called upon many
birds and animals of the prairies and mountains to add their power.
And, when the Beaver Bundle was finished, he invited many people to
the ceremony. He showed them the way the beavers danced and they
heard for the first time the songs and prayers that went with the
ceremony.”
ROUND-CUT-ROBE GOES TO WAR
“Now in those days the Indians used to have a woman’s dance. The
women who danced stood in a circle, and the people who watched were
on the outside. If a woman loved a man, she dressed like him and
took part in the dance; in that way every one would know. The
people had a lively interest in this dance. They liked to stand
around, to joke at the women and to guess the names of their secret
lovers. If a man saw his wife in the dance, he recognized the
costume she wore. The men encouraged their wives in this dance and
then the women were not afraid. When it became known that women
were free to dress like their sweethearts, they had a good time.
They imitated each other and took pride in having side-husbands.
“Soon after Round-Cut-Robe came back, after living with the
beavers, the woman’s dance was being held. The people were crowding
round and shouting at the dancers. Red Horn, the chief with the
three wives, came near. He saw two of his wives in the dance, but
the youngest wife was not there. She alone stayed away. Then he
found her in his tepee. He taunted her and said:
“‘How does it come you don’t dance like the others? Maybe you wait
because your lover is a bashful man.’ He said this to make fun of
her. And the girl replied:
“‘I shall go to the dance. I shall get his clothes.’ So she went to
Round-Cut-Robe. She dressed herself in his clothes and painted her
face as he was accustomed to do. But before she left him to enter
the dance, her lover said:
“‘All those other women dancers are going to talk before the crowd.
When it comes your turn, don’t be afraid. What I tell you to say
will come true.’ And then he told her what she must say.
“Then the girl went to the dance and found all the other women in
line; she was the last to come. They had finished the first song.
Every one stared at her; and they laughed because she was poorly
dressed. She had red earth on her cheeks, and wore an old robe that
was badly tanned. It had the corners cut off and had a queer shape.
Some one in the crowd shouted:
“‘Those are the clothes of Round-Cut-Robe. She must be his
sweetheart.’
“Then all the people laughed and her friends and relatives were
ashamed, because she had a lover who was poor. The head-chief
shouted for them to go on with the dance. So the women sang their
second song; and after that they made their talks. The crowd called
for the poor girl, and she stood up before them. In her hand she
held a beaver-gnawed-stick. She said:
“‘Listen, men and women! I know my relatives are ashamed of me, but
what I tell you now will come true. When the rivers are warm
(midsummer) I shall go to war. A river will be high, but deep water
cannot stop me. I shall swim across and kill an enemy.’
“Then the crowd laughed. They said: ‘We know that her lover cannot
do this. He is poor and has never been to war.’
“After that a war expedition made ready to go south against their
enemies, the Snake Indians. Round-Cut-Robe said to his sweetheart:
“‘I shall go to war with them, and all that you promised will come
true.’
“He took no weapons, only his beaver-gnawed-stick. He followed
behind the other warriors; he did not go with the rest. They were
on the road many nights, and came at last to the Yellowstone River.
The Snake Indians were camped on the other side. But the water was
high, and they could not cross to fight. Then Round-Cut-Robe went
to Little Dog, their war chief, and said:
“‘Over there is the head-chief of the Snakes. I shall go across and
kill him.’
“But Little Dog laughed at him. He said that the current was swift
and he would be drowned. Then Round-Cut-Robe made ready. He tied up
his long hair and thrust into it a stone knife. He sang his beaver
song and prayed to Little Beaver for help. Holding the
beaver-gnawed-stick in his mouth, he struck the water like a beaver
and dove. Halfway across, he came up and sang his beaver song.
Again he dove and swam under water, until he came to the other
shore; and then he stood up, holding the beaver stick in his mouth.
The head-chief of the Snakes saw him coming. He sang his war song
and ran into the water. He threw his long spear at Round-Cut-Robe.
But it struck the beaver stick, and did him no harm.
“Then Round-Cut-Robe seized the spear and killed that Snake chief;
and all the Blackfoot warriors set up a great shout. He swam across
the river, pulling after him the body of the dead chief by the
hair. He dragged it ashore and took the scalp. He stood with his
foot on the head of the Snake and sang his war song. After that
Round-Cut-Robe and the Blackfoot warriors started for home. They
came to the summit of a hill overlooking the camp. There they
waited until a messenger came out. And when the people heard the
news of their victory, they ran to tell the sweetheart of
Round-Cut-Robe. She was out on the hills gathering berries. They
said to her:
“‘Your lover is now a great chief. It was he who killed the
head-chief of the Snakes.’
“And, when the girl heard this, she was so excited she spilled her
berries.
“The returning warriors stood together on the hill and sang a song
of victory. Then they marched down, with Round-Cut-Robe in the
lead, holding up the scalp and spear of the Snake chief. All the
people came out from the camp; and the girl, Spilt-Her-Berries, was
before all the others. It was she who met the new chief first and
gave him a kiss. She sang the song of victory:
“‘My lover has killed the Snake chief and all his people mourn for
him.’
“Round-Cut-Robe gave the scalp and spear to his sweetheart, saying:
“‘Give these to Red Horn, your husband, and say to him: “My lover
sends you these, even though he is a poor man. Your other wives
have rich lovers, but they have never done anything for you like
this.”’
“Then they paraded round the camp, with Spilt-Her-Berries carrying
aloft the scalp and spear of the Snake chief. She took them to the
lodge of Red Horn and gave them to him. Then every one was proud to
know the girl, and they gave her many presents of fine clothes.
“Red Horn invited the head men of the tribe to his lodge. He gave a
big feast and told Spilt-Her-Berries to bring her lover; and after
the feast he said:
“‘Round-Cut-Robe is now a great chief. He is above all of us. There
was a time when I was ashamed to know him. But now I am proud to
have him at my feast. He gave me this spear and scalp. In return I
give him his sweetheart and my tepee. As for myself, I will move
into some other place. May this new husband of Spilt-Her-Berries
have a long life and good luck!’
“Round-Cut-Robe became head-chief of the tribe and lived to be very
old. He kept the Beaver Bundle in his lodge as long as he lived. It
was he who taught the Indians how to give the beaver dance.
“That is the origin of the Beaver Bundle.”
When I was leaving Mad Wolf’s lodge to return to my own camp, he said:
“You are now my son and have met my relatives and friends; I want you
to come for another ceremony. It is now the moon when the leaves are
turning yellow. Come again to my lodge at the next full moon—the time
the leaves are falling. I will have White Calf, the head-chief here,
and other prominent men, who will help me open the Beaver Bundle. We
will select an Indian name for you, and will make you a member of the
Blackfoot tribe.”
CHAPTER VIII
I AM GIVEN AN INDIAN NAME AND MADE A MEMBER OF THE BLACKFOOT TRIBE
On the day of full moon, when the leaves were falling, time appointed
by Mad Wolf for the second ceremony and opening of his Beaver Bundle, I
rode across the prairie towards his summer camp. It was fine autumn
weather, without a cloud in the sky. Eastward over the plains, through
a bluish haze, rose the Sweet Grass Hills, like distant islands in an
ocean. West stood the main range of the Rocky Mountains, extending into
the north and disappearing into the far south, the majestic snow-capped
peaks of Rising Wolf and Going-to-the-Sun looming sharp and clear
against the deep blue sky.
From the summit of a grassy ridge, I at last looked down upon the camp
of Mad Wolf. Smoke was rising from the lodges and bore the fragrant
odor of burning cottonwood. Many horses dotted the hills, Indian boys
riding to and fro and racing their mounts across the broad meadows.
Among the rows of white tepees were groups of Indians in bright-colored
clothes. They were seated about their outside fires, playing games and
engaged in various occupations of camp life.
I rode to the large decorated tepee of Mad Wolf, and was greeted by my
Indian sister, Strikes-on-Both-Sides. She wore a dress of fine deerskin
with beaded stripes. Her leggings and moccasins were decorated with
colored porcupine quills. She had white shell ear-rings, and necklaces
of elk teeth and deer bones. She shouted, “The Light-Haired-One has
come back”; then saying to me, “I am glad that you are still smiling,”
she took my hand and led me inside the lodge to Mad-Wolf and her
mother, Gives-to-the-Sun.
On the day appointed for the Beaver Ceremony, the chief’s family rose
before sunrise to cook food for the feast and prepare for many
visitors. They made ready a kettle of service-berry soup and tongues;
also dried meat mixed with wild cherries, and dried bear-berry leaves
for smoking. I helped in the feast with a supply of raisins and fresh
meat, dried berries, and a roll of strong Hudson Bay tobacco, which
they liked to smoke mixed with bear-berry leaves. I also gave a blanket
with colored stripes. It was looked upon as my offering to the Beaver
Bundle; so during the ceremony it lay under the Bundle.
When the sun was high over the eastern horizon, the guests began to
arrive. The head men of the tribe came with their families: White Calf,
the head-chief; White Grass, a judge and medicine man; Heavy Breast,
Middle Calf, Medicine Wolf, Elk Chief, Bear Child; Ear-Rings, a doctor
and medicine man; and Double Runner. The tepee was filled to the door
with eleven men, seventeen women and ten children. Mad Wolf as director
of the ceremony, sat at the back and in the center. The men were on his
left, the women and children on his right. The beaver men had seats in
the front row. Beside Mad Wolf was White Calf, the head-chief, then
White Grass, the medicine man, who helped him in conducting the
ceremony. I was next to Maka, an Indian of unusual appearance. He was
short and stout with a large head which was crowned with a heavy mass
of hair.
While they were waiting for the ceremony to begin, Mad Wolf said to
White Calf, so that all in the lodge could hear:
“Because you are my friend, I ask you to make the choice of a name for
my white son.” After that, the venerable chief sat in silence for a
while, his head bowed and eyes closed, trying to think of a suitable
name.
In the meantime, Middle Calf mixed the tobacco and filled the pipes; he
had charge of the smoking outfit, while Bear Child looked after the
incense of sweet grass.
The ceremony began by Bear Child taking a forked stick and selecting a
live coal from the fire. He laid it on the ground in front of Mad Wolf,
who placed upon it dried sweet grass. And the rising smoke soon filled
the tepee with incense. Mad Wolf held up his right hand to command
attention; then swaying his body to and fro, he chanted:
“I am the Morning Star, child of Sun and Moon,
My power is very strong.”
He held both hands in the smoke, and, placing them upon the sacred
bundle, sang a chant to the Sun. Then he raised his hands from the
bundle and laid them upon his breast—the sign that Sun Power was thus
communicated.
The Beaver Bundle lay at the back of the tepee, between Mad Wolf and
his wife. It had a wrapper of elkskin painted red; and the tie strings
were also of elkskin. To the outside were attached sacred implements—a
long pipe, digging stick, and a set of smudge sticks.
During the ceremony of opening the bundle, the outside articles were
removed first. And for this the four principals, Mad Wolf, White Calf
and their wives, Gives-to-the-Sun and Catches-Two-Horses, chanted in
unison, while the two women untied the strings and loosened the smudge
sticks. The four together placed their hands upon the sacred sticks and
held them in the sweet smoke. Then, each held a stick in imitation of
beavers carrying branches of trees. They extended their arms together,
with hands raised and parallel—the Indian sign for beaver den—and
prayed in unison to the spirit of the beaver:
“Pity us! Give us your wisdom and cunning.
May we live to be old.
May we always have plenty of food.”
Buffalo hides were next unrolled and spread upon the ground in front of
the beaver men during the chant:
“The buffalo bull stays in the mountains.
He comes down to the plains.
The mountains are his medicine.”
In this chant the four principals held their hands with two index
fingers curved towards each other, the other fingers being closed, in
imitation of buffalo horns—the Indian sign for buffalo.
The two women raised the Beaver Bundle, while the men sang the chant:
“The buffalo bull came down from the mountains.
He lies upon the ground.”
They moved the sacred bundle slowly and reverently and placed it on a
buffalo robe, beside the burning sweet grass. Mad Wolf took some
rattles from a woven Nez Percé bag and distributed them among the
beaver men. He handed two of them to me and said: “You are now my son
and should join with me in this ceremony.”
These rattles, which were made of buffalo hide and contained small
pebbles, were used by the beaver men to beat time on the buffalo hides
during the chants and dances, in imitation of beavers striking the
water with their flat tails.
Then, with the beaver men, I joined in the Raven Song:
“We fly high in the air.
Our power is very strong.
The wind is our medicine.”
We cawed four times in imitation of ravens, and held our rattles
vertically on the hides. After another raven song, we beat with our
rattles, shook them in the air, and ended with four caws. I watched
closely Mad Wolf’s movements, and imitated his motions with the
rattles, giving forward sweeps to the beats, as he did. This did not
escape his keen eyes, for he said to me so that all could hear: “I like
the way you swing your rattles. I am proud of my white son.”
For the Antelope Song, the beaver men chanted in unison, holding their
hands closed, one above the other, changing their positions by quick,
sharp movements, in imitation of the quick and dainty rise and fall of
the antelope’s feet in walking.
We joined with Mad Wolf in the Elk Song and beat time with our rattles.
The two women, leaning towards the Beaver Bundle, simulated dancing on
their knees, and at the same time imitated elk rubbing the velvet from
their horns. Mad Wolf untied the strings of elkskin, releasing the pipe
from the bundle, and sang:
“Our Father, the Sun!
It is time you were rising.
I want to dance with you.”
Then he arose and danced with the pipe; while the beaver men beat with
their rattles and all the people joined in the song. Mad Wolf blew on
his medicine whistle and circled the fire in the direction the sun
moves through the heavens. He gave the cry of the beaver and imitated
the actions of a swimming beaver.
White Grass, the medicine man, danced after Mad Wolf; and passed the
pipe in turn to the head-chief, who danced and returned it to Mad Wolf.
My Indian father held the pipe in the sweet-grass smoke, and, bowing
his head, prayed to the Sun in behalf of those who were ill.
Thus the Beaver Bundle, with its ritual of songs, dances, and prayers,
was a medium through which Sun Power was transmitted to man, especially
in the healing of the sick. It contained not only the skins of the
beaver, but also many sacred relics, principally of birds and wild
animals, all of which contributed their Sun Power to the bundle.
The time had now come for opening the bundle and taking out its
contents. Gives-to-the-Sun and Catches-Two-Horses were distinguished
from the other women by clothes decorated with red paint. They had both
been sacred women in the Sun Dance, and were held in high honor by the
tribe. The beaver men beat with their rattles and sang to the buffalo
bull with the words:
“The head-chief of the buffalo is looking for something to hook.”
The two women knelt beside the bundle and imitated the Bull hooking
with his horns. Mad Wolf chanted the “Hurry” Song; and the women
removed the elkskin cover. The inner bundle was wrapped in a rare and
beautiful buffalo skin with the color of a beaver. Then Mad Wolf began
a solemn chant, while the women opened this sacred buffalo robe, and
revealed the skins and relics of many birds and animals of prairies and
mountains. He took a beaver skin from the bundle and sang:
“I go from my lodge.
I see an enemy.
I dive under the water and am safe.”
He moved the skin in imitation of a beaver swimming; suddenly it dove
under the water to escape an enemy. At the same time the two women
knelt beside the bundle and pantomimed with their hands the movements
of beavers swimming and working on their dams. They danced on their
knees, gracefully swaying their bodies to the rhythm of the drumming,
while the rest of us sang a Beaver Song and beat time on the buffalo
hides.
Then each of the women took the beaver-skin in turn and with bowed head
held it reverently to her breast and prayed to the spirit of the
Beaver:
“I take you, my child, that my relatives and children may be free from
sickness.”
Two more women knelt in front of the bundle. Then these four women
together imitated beavers, moving their bodies in time with the
chanting and drumming. They covered their heads to represent beavers
hidden in their den under the water. Then the imaginary beavers rose to
the surface of the water and swam around while working on their dams.
Mad Wolf brought forth a bag of beaver-gnawed-sticks and handed them to
the women. They held these sticks in their mouths, like beavers holding
branches. They made swimming motions with their hands, and imitated
beavers diving under the water, then coming to the surface and swimming
in the stream. They went out upon an imaginary bank; and sat upright as
if to cut down trees, brushing their faces with their hands as beavers
do with their paws; looking carefully around, always alert for danger.
The four women danced together round the tepee, with hands crossed on
their breasts. They kept turning and swaying their bodies in time with
the chanting and drumming of the beaver men. Mad Wolf handed a
beaver-skin to his wife who was at the head of the line. The singing
and drumming of the beaver men now became louder, while the women
circled the fire and gave the call of the beaver. Gives-to-the-Sun in
the lead held the beaver-skin under her robe and moved it as though it
were swimming round her waist and then round her neck. After she had
danced once round the tepee, she handed the skin to the woman next in
line, with the prayer:
“I do not give you away, my child (beaver), because I am tired of you,
but because the child of this woman is ill. May it be restored to
health!”
Catches-Two-Horses who received the skin prayed: “I take you, my child
(beaver), that my husband and children may be from sickness; may they
live to be old!”
She danced once round the tepee, with the skin across her shoulders.
Each of the other women took the skin in turn, and then it was returned
to the bundle.
The women held up two winter-skins of weasels. The weasel, that great
hunter, was included in the bundle, because of its power as a provider
of food to its family. Mad Wolf began the Weasel Song; the beaver men
beat with their rattles and joined in the song. White Calf, the
venerable head-chief, rose and took one of the skins. He held it to his
breast with a prayer, and then danced round the tepee. He blew on his
medicine whistle to represent the cry of the weasel, and imitated its
actions hunting for food. Finally he stopped in front of me and held up
the snow-white skin, so that all could see. There was silence as he
looked straight at me, and said earnestly:
“This is the white weasel, one of the sacred animals of our Beaver
Bundle. We name you ‘Á-pe-ech-e-ken’ (White-Weasel-Moccasin), because
your color is light and your eyes are blue. We pray this name may bring
you long life and good luck.”
Mad Wolf approved of this name, and moved to one side, so that White
Grass, the medicine man, might take the leader’s seat. The face of
White Grass was painted red. In the center of his forehead was a black
mark to represent the thunder bolt, from which extended yellow zigzag
lines for lightning. He prayed:
“Father, the Sun, bless us all, men, women, and children.
Sacred Beaver Bundle, help us to lead straight lives.
Sacred Pipe, bless us, the rivers, mountains, prairies, birds,
and animals.
—Mother Earth, give us food until we die.”
Then White Grass sang the Paint Song, after which he took some red
earth from the bundle and prepared it with his hands, swaying his body
to and fro in time with the chant. First he painted the faces of Mad
Wolf and White Calf; and in like manner the beaver men, Heavy Breast,
Middle Calf, and Ear-Rings. I was seated next to Ear-Rings; and when my
turn came to be painted, Mad Wolf exclaimed: “Here comes my white son.”
White Grass signed that he was ready. I went forward and knelt before
him, while he placed the red earth on my forehead, chin, and hands,
because these are the places the beaver rubs himself with his paws. Mad
Wolf started the Beaver Song, and all joined in, accompanied by the
beating of rattles on the ground.
After the song, White Grass said to me very earnestly: “This tepee is
sacred. And this Beaver Ceremony, in which we have painted you and made
you a member of our tribe, is also sacred. We pray that you may never
be ill.”
Then Bear Child took a hot coal from the fire and laid it in front of
White Calf. The head-chief placed sweet grass upon it; and holding his
hands in the rising smoke, prayed:
“Father, the Sun, who gives us light,
Be good to this young man.
We have taken him into our tribe.
Keep him day and night from harm.
May he live long.
To return many summers to his Indian brothers and sisters.”
Then Mad Wolf again took the leader’s seat beside the bundle to
continue the ceremony. It required a fine memory to conduct the Beaver
Ceremony, with its great number of songs, prayers, and dances. Nobody
knew how many there were; it was bad luck to count them; but there must
have been between three and four hundred songs.
Every detail of the ceremony had to be performed accurately. It was
believed misfortune would result if mistakes were made. Yet a mistake
happened that very day in the dance of the lynx.
Mad Wolf took from the bundle the tail of a lynx, while the beaver men
chanted and beat with rattles. Gives-to-the-Sun held up a stick painted
red to represent a tree. Catches-Two-Horses took the tail and imitated
the actions of a lynx hunting squirrels.
First, it walked round and then sat down and looked into the tree.
Several times it ran towards the tree after a squirrel, but each time
came back and sat down. Finally it made a quick dash for the tree.
Catches-Two-Horses then made the mistake of making the lynx go quickly
up one side and down the other. Mad Wolf stopped the ceremony. Every
one waited in silence. The beaver men began again their rhythmic
drumming, while Mad Wolf took the tail. He represented the lynx running
to the tree, just as the woman had done. But Mad Wolf made it climb
more slowly; and held it for a short time on top, where it danced in
time with the drumming. He then brought it slowly down the other side,
clambering little by little like a cat, stopping frequently to look
around, until it finally reached the ground.
Mad Wolf brought forth a pair of badger skins. He took them out
backwards, the way badgers come from their dens. He imitated the timid
actions of badgers, moving the skins this way and that, like badgers
trying to escape. He turned them as though they were going to attack,
but became frightened and fled back into their den.
During the song of the white swan, Mad Wolf made a mistake and stopped
the ceremony. With bowed head and closed eyes, he strove to recall the
song, while the entire company waited silently. Suddenly Mad Wolf
raised his head. He looked straight at me and said: “There is White
Weasel, my son. He had better continue the ceremony in my place.” The
Indians laughed and enjoyed the joke. The tension was thus relieved and
Mad Wolf continued the song.
Then Mad Wolf took from the Beaver Bundle the head of a mallard duck.
Elk Chief stood up and, drawing his blanket round him, circled the
fire, imitating the movements of a duck. Across the tepee Soft Woman
rose. Both danced gracefully towards each other until they met and
together they circled the fire, representing in their dance a pair of
ducks. Soft Woman held up her right hand and swayed her body from side
to side, while Elk Chief spread out both arms, with hands extended, in
imitation of a flying duck.
A woman entered the tepee. One of her children was dead, and she was in
mourning. Her disheveled hair hid her face, and she had her blanket
drawn closely about her. She was pale and emaciated from fasting, and
her arms were bleeding from self-inflicted wounds—a sad and
forlorn-looking creature. She stood silently before the assembled
people, until Mad Wolf took pity on her. With some sage he performed
the rite of purification and prayed that she might have a new and happy
life. Then she withdrew as silently as she came.
Mad Wolf brought forth a prairie chicken and some of its tail feathers.
He handed them to the two women who knelt facing each other. Then they
arose and danced, praying to the prairie chicken. Gives-to-the-Sun held
the skin and Catches-Two-Horses the feathers. This was a woman’s dance.
Gives-to-the-Sun knelt before another woman and Catches-Two-Horses did
likewise. They knelt thus in pairs with heads close to the ground, and
imitated the habits of prairie chickens. They made a clucking sound.
They stretched out their blankets with their arms and shook them in
imitation of wings. Their song was lively and the crowd enjoyed it. The
beaver men drummed with enthusiasm and energy, singing and shaking
their rattles in the air to imitate the sound of prairie chickens
flying.
Mad Wolf again arose. He moved around the fire in a bear dance. He held
his arms in front with hands hanging down, as a bear does its paws. He
placed his feet together and moved backwards and forwards, with short
jumps, imitating the deliberate and heavy tread of a walking bear,
moving his face this way and that, as if looking about. He puffed and
grunted and acted like a bear, digging in the ground, and turning over
stones for insects. The two women, Gives-to-the-Sun and
Catches-Two-Horses, arose and joined Mad Wolf in this dance. They held
their hands with forefingers crooked on their heads for ears, and then
in front, with hands down, as bears do their paws when standing on
their hind legs. In this manner the women followed Mad Wolf round the
tepee, and then danced up to their “potential husbands.” They seized
them roughly and forced them to dance, amid laughter and shouts of the
spectators.
The lively air and quick rhythm of the Dog Dance made it one of the
most popular of all the beaver dances. The beaver men sang their
loudest and drummed so vigorously that many people rose to dance. They
entered into it with spirit and dash, laughing merrily and joking with
each other; while the spectators urged them on by barks and howls in
imitation of dogs. Middle Calf’s wife sat with her small daughter by
her side. The little girl was excited by the singing and beating of
rattles. She too wanted to dance. She was pretty, with bright eyes, and
had jet-black hair falling over her shoulders. She wore a miniature
squaw dress of red, fringed with elk teeth and decorated with colored
beads. When the dance was at its height, her mother suddenly pushed her
into the circle. At first the little girl was frightened, but quickly
forgot herself and began to dance. She swayed her lithe body to and
fro, in imitation of the other women, and hit the ground with her small
moccasined feet in perfect time with the rhythmic beating of the
rattles. The beaver men gradually quickened their pace; the steps of
the dancers grew faster and faster until, wearied, they gave a series
of dog howls and returned to their seats.
I saw two white-haired old women outside the tepee having a dance of
their own. They were in mourning and debarred from the ceremony; but
they could not resist the spell of the Dog Dance. They were surrounded
by a group of children and young people, who urged them on with barks
and howls.
For the Buffalo Dance, Mad Wolf took a string of buffalo hoofs from the
bundle and handed them to his wife. She and Catches-Two-Horses arose to
dance, wearing headdresses with buffalo horns. The Indians took great
interest in this dance, because it represented the mating of buffalo,
by women who chose their men. The two women knelt beside the Beaver
Bundle with heads lowered. They represented buffalo cows. First they
made motions of hooking the ground and digging wallows; then they stood
up and pawed the ground and bellowed. They simulated buffalo throwing
dirt and catching it on their backs, shaking themselves and throwing
dust into the air. Then they danced with the string of hoofs, imitating
the capers of mating buffaloes. Gives-to-the-Sun went round the tepee
until she came to White Calf, and threw the string of hoofs near him.
He arose and joined her in the dance, following her round the fire,
like a bull after a cow. Amid shouts of laughter, he threw the hoofs to
Strikes-on-Both-Sides, daughter of Mad Wolf. She danced gracefully
round the tepee and threw the string of hoofs to me. She danced in
front of me with quick steps, swaying her body in time with the singing
and the beating of rattles. I heard much shouting and laughter and
cheering. Some of the Indians called my name. They said: “White Weasel,
you are a chief now; you must join her in the dance.”
So I took the hoofs and followed my Indian sister round the fire. I
danced like the others, swaying my body, holding my feet together,
twisting and turning and bending my knees. There were shrill cries from
both men and women. They shouted: “Good boy! White Weasel, you are a
chief now.” We stopped at intervals to bellow and imitate buffalo
movements, digging wallows, kicking, pawing the ground, and throwing
dust into the air. When my Indian sister stopped dancing, I completed
the circle and threw the hoofs to the wife of Bear Child.
By this time the sun had set and the Indians prepared to go home.
Horses were brought in, and the dancers changed their decorated clothes
and moccasins for those of everyday use. Before they left, all joined
in a feast of service-berry stew. The men were served first, but few of
them ate their full portion. They called out the names of women and
gave the remainder to them. I sent mine to the wife of Morning Plume,
who had many children to feed. My friend Rattler, a kind-hearted old
doctor, gave his share to his wife, before he partook of any food
himself. Then he drew her aside from the crowd, and laying both hands
upon her, he gave her his power to heal, because she was going to
doctor a sick child.
The Beaver Ceremony ended with the close of day; and the Indians
separated to their lodges. Peace and quiet settled over the camp,
broken only by the cries of distant prairie wolves, and the answering
barks of Indian dogs.
CHAPTER IX
HOME OF MAD WOLF
Mad Wolf, my Indian father, lived in the valley of Cutbank River. But
in good summer weather it was his custom to take his herds of cattle
and horses and camp about on the prairie. I remember well the summer
camp, where he opened his Beaver Bundle and made me a member of the
tribe. Our tepees were in a broad meadow of wild timothy and long bunch
grass, bounded by a broken line of rounded hills. On this fine range
fed his herds of cattle and horses, the grassy undulating hillsides
glorious under a bright October sun.
The wife of the chief and his daughter, Strikes-on-Both-Sides, pitched
my traveling-tepee between their own two lodges. It was small and easy
to handle; decorated with picture records of war and hunting, also the
Moon and Morning Star, and the constellations of the Pleiades and Great
Bear.
Little Creek, son-in-law of Mad Wolf, and his wife
Strikes-on-Both-Sides, lived close by in a lodge without decorations.
But the chief had the Snow Tepee; it was believed to have power over
storms and cold weather. It had a yellow top, the color of the sky at
sunrise. On the north side was a cluster of seven stars for the Great
Bear—the direction winter blizzards come from; at the back a red disc
for the Sun; under the top four claws for the Thunder Bird; and at the
bottom a yellow band for the earth, with green discs to represent the
ice color.
Mad Wolf’s women arranged everything for me—an inside lining to keep
out wind and rain and help the updraft of the fire; provisions and
cooking utensils were to the left of the door, with saddles and harness
opposite. At the head of my couch was a back-rest made of willow sticks
tied together with sinew, and supported by a tripod decorated with
carved work; in the center, just under the smoke-hole, was a circle of
round stones for my fireplace, and to keep the flames from spreading in
the dry prairie grass. They roped down my tepee to a stake driven into
the ground on the west side, to prevent it being overturned in a heavy
wind. They showed me how to close the smoke-hole in a storm, and to
keep the lodge from smoking by shifting the “ears” at the top with the
changing wind. They brought me a bucket of fresh water from the spring;
and for starting my fire, a bundle of resinous pine sticks and a supply
of dry cottonwood branches.
After my adoption, the women of Mad Wolf’s family were hospitable and
kind and treated me as a relative. Strikes-on-Both-Sides, my Indian
sister, came with her mother to my lodge and examined all my
belongings. They emptied the bags containing my most personal
possessions; but everything was carefully replaced. The old woman did
not like the looks of my deerskin moccasins and changed them to suit
her idea of the tribal style. She told me to use red earth on my face,
the way Indians did; it would help my looks and protect my skin from
sun and wind.
The women were hard workers—always busy, cooking, tanning skins, making
lodge coverings, their own clothing and most of the men’s, providing
firewood, gathering berries and wild vegetables and herbs and plants
for both eating and healing. Near Mad Wolf’s lodge, they had some
cowhides pegged to the ground hair-side down. On them were painted
designs for cases, berry bags, and toy parfleches for the children, in
red, yellow and blue, with the ring-bone pattern, also mountains,
hills, arrow-points and buffalo trails.
Women considered it a disgrace for men to do any of their work—put up
lodges, tan skins, cook food at home or look after the provisions; all
this was woman’s work in which they were trained from childhood and
they resented any interference from the men.
The men gave most of their time to care of horses and cattle, hunting,
dancing, and religious ceremonies. Mad Wolf himself was away from camp
most of the time, busy with public meetings throughout the tribe and
with the ceremonies of his Beaver Bundle and Medicine Pipe.
Little Creek, the son-in-law of Mad Wolf, was of middle age, easy-going
and good-natured, skilled in the handling of horses and cattle. He and
his father-in-law were on the best of terms; but, in accordance with
tribal etiquette, he never had any dealings with his mother-in-law. He
always avoided speaking to her and they were never together in the same
place. He explained that it was a custom handed down from their
ancestors—a woman felt ashamed and humiliated to meet her son-in-law;
she had to visit her daughter when he was away from home.
Often friends of Mad Wolf and their wives came to his tepee to spend an
evening by the lodge-fire: White Calf, the head-chief; Ear-Rings, the
doctor; White Grass, the medicine man; Middle Calf, Double Runner, and
Morning Plume. The men sat on the north side of the fire; and according
to custom, the women across from them, with Mad Wolf in the center and
at the back, as owner of the lodge. The men had a large redstone pipe
which they passed to and fro; the women a smaller pipe which they too
smoked in turn. Visitors entered without ceremony, the men taking
places on the right of the door, the women opposite and on the south
side of the tepee.
In Mad Wolf’s Snow Lodge many rules had to be observed; he was also the
guardian of the sacred Beaver Bundle and owner of a Medicine Pipe. But
his visitors were always well informed and careful not to offend. They
knew the bundles that Mad Wolf owned and their observances.
The Beaver Bundle forbade any one passing in front of Mad Wolf; no one
should hang up their moccasins, or raise the sides of the tepee; dogs
were not allowed to enter and the fire must never die out. Even the
children knew that the word “bear” must not be spoken in the presence
of the Medicine Pipe. If some one had to speak about a bear, it was
referred to indirectly as “that-big-hairy-one,” or
“the-one-who-prowls-at-night”; to say the word “bear” would be sure to
bring sickness and misfortune. No one should talk loud and people
should enter without speaking; the occupants of the Snow Tepee could
not reply to any one on the outside.
It was always rude to ask a man his name before a company of people;
this reflected on his good standing and made him feel ashamed. If any
one wore an odd-looking object, it might attract attention, but no one
ever asked about it; it might be a charm; and it was a breach of
etiquette to ask a leading question about one’s personal medicine or
experiences; the owner might talk about it, but the initiative must
come from him.
Around the lodge-fire at night, Mad Wolf’s friends liked to gossip,
tell stories, and have fun; they were light-hearted and happy. I did
not hear any of them dispute, find fault, or curse. They never talked
loud and when one was speaking the others listened. They liked to
exaggerate and to boast. But they always listened in silence to a
speaker and did not interrupt.
One evening I asked Mad Wolf to tell about the days of long ago—how the
Indians lived when buffalo were plentiful—before the white men came to
occupy their country. He said:
“Oh! What happy times we had before we ever saw white men! Then were
many buffalo and we wandered where we pleased. In those days, we
wintered far away from the mountains; we stayed in the ‘Lower
Country’—far down the Marias River until late in the spring, waiting
for our horses to shed their winter hair and to get fat on the new
grass.
“When the weather got warm and it came time to move, our chiefs shouted
through the camp:
“‘Make ready to pull up your lodge-pins; we are going to move towards
the mountains.’
“And in the early morning, before sun-up, they called again:
“‘This is the day; pack up your things and take down your lodges; we
shall start before the sun is high.’
“We stopped to hunt buffalo near the Sweet Grass Hills. Before sunrise
our chiefs rode through the camp and shouted:
“‘The buffalo are close; a big herd is coming towards camp; get ready
your long-winded horses and the hard-runners; soon we shall hunt.’
“Then we chased the buffalo until their carcasses were scattered all
over. We rubbed our knives and cut open their backs; we skinned them
from the back down, throwing out their kidneys and the yellow back-fat,
splitting the tongues into strips and drying them for future use. The
women cooked the back-fat and suet and boiled marrow from the bones,
cutting the meat into slices and hanging it on scaffolds to cure in sun
and wind. We had many feasts and ate the choice pieces; the old people
and children were invited; all were happy and had plenty to eat.
“The strong women quickly got the hair off their buffalo hides and made
them into parfleches, sacks, and clothes; some of the hides they tanned
for lodges, oiling the skins with brains and liver mixed; they used the
hides of the bulls for Indian trunks and made strings from the sinews
and ropes from the long hair.
“After we had stayed for a while near the Sweet Grass Hills, our chiefs
again shouted through the camp:
“‘Come on! It is time to move. We shall go to pick berries. A young man
who traveled far found that berries are ripe—service berries and
raspberries.’
“We went nearer the mountains and camped on Milk River. In the morning
the women and children went out on the hills and came back with berry
bags filled; the bushes were so heavy with ripe berries, the sides of
our horses were all red.
“Then we moved to Cutbank River to gather chokecherries, which the
women dried and mashed with seeds; they mixed them with pemmican and
put them away in calf-sacks for winter use. Near Cutbank were many
buffalo and fat antelope and prairie dogs with sweet livers.
“In the fall we moved up to the mountains and chased elk. We made our
camp in a big circle near the forest at the head of Cutbank River. Our
women cut new lodge-poles, for the trees there grew tall and straight.
They also gathered many roots and plants for eating and healing—gray
leaves for stomach trouble, black-root for coughs, sage for heart-burn,
sticky-weed for the liver, and blueberry for bleeding at the mouth.
“After the first big snowstorm, we hurried to move away from the
mountains, back to the Lower Country. We camped along the Marias River
and hunted for a good place to spend the winter—with buffalo near and
plenty of firewood and grass for our horses.
“Oh! Those were happy days from the food we all had and the clothes and
warm buffalo robes. At the beginning of winter we ate the big heifers
four years old and the heifers two years old; we liked them the best.
Then, a woman who had ready her winter robes for husband and children
had nothing more to worry about. To lie in a buffalo robe was so warm,
it was like sleeping beside a fire. And now the dogs are all scattered,
having had their evening meal,”—an Indian expression for—my
story-telling is ended.
In our prairie camp, my lodge stood a short distance from Mad Wolf’s,
but so close to Little Creek and his wife I could hear what they said.
They were fond of each other and did not bicker or quarrel. Like most
Indian parents, they indulged their children and rarely punished them.
Sometimes they warned them to be quiet; but, as a rule, the children
ran wild and acted as they pleased. For games they had
follow-the-leader, hide-and-seek, stilts, and jumping rope. Boys had
shooting contests with bow and arrow, spinning tops, hunting small game
and horse racing. They were trained to hunt and fight and the care of
horses and cattle; to have self-control and be firm and brave. Girls
had hobbyhorses and play-tepees with dolls; and little camps with
miniature robes and blankets and cooking utensils. They were trained by
their mothers in the dressing of skins, making of clothes, care of the
lodge, and preparation of food; to be helpful and kind and virtuous;
and to believe that a woman who was false to her marriage vow was a
disgrace to all her relatives.
Small Otter, a boy of six and a grandson of Mad Wolf, was the favorite
of our camp. He had a sunny nature, round face, bright eyes, and hair
hanging in little braids over his shoulders. He liked to play at
warfare with bow and arrow, and hunted for wild birds, rabbits, and
ground squirrels. But his favorite sport was to ride bareback his
grandmother’s old saddle horse. She and Small Otter were inseparable
companions. I often saw them together on the prairie, he holding her
tightly by the hand, skipping and jumping and pulling her about, until
weary she sank to the ground and watched him proudly, her face in her
palms, while he hunted squirrels with bow and arrow.
One night I helped Little Creek when he was suffering from pain. He
wakened me by his groans. With my medicine case I went to his lodge and
gave him a remedy. In the morning he had recovered; thus I gained a
reputation as a doctor.
I cut a barbed fish-hook from the hand of their daughter Anatapsa, a
girl of fourteen. She came to camp with the hook imbedded so deeply
they could not get it out. The women wailed and moaned at the sight of
my knife. I dressed the wound with an antiseptic. It healed quickly and
she had no pain. She showed her gratitude by giving me a piece of
sweet-scented wood and a necklace of blue shells with little animals
carved from stone. Then her mother, Strikes-on-Both-Sides, brought a
medicine bag with painted designs and long fringe hanging down. She
called it the “Iniskim” (Buffalo Rock Bundle). It was sacred and
contained pieces of flint which resembled miniature buffalo. She told
me the following story of its origin:
“Many years ago, when a band of Indians were starving, a woman who went
alone from camp heard a strange singing. It came from these stones. She
took the stones back to camp and taught the song to the head men. Then
they sang the song together and gave a ceremony. The buffalo came back
and the people had plenty to eat. That was the beginning of the Buffalo
Rock Bundle. With it the Indians were able to call the buffalo.”
Then Strikes-on-Both-Sides sang the old song and gave me directions for
the care of my new medicine bundle. By day it must hang from a tripod
behind my lodge. At sunset I should bring it inside and burn sweet
grass as incense.
One day a strange Indian came to our camp. As soon as he entered Little
Creek’s lodge, I heard angry words from my Indian sister. She upbraided
the visitor. She said he had a forked tongue; what he had said was not
true; he spread the report that Little Creek was so ill that some of
his relatives came in haste; they thought he was dying. It is offensive
to an Indian woman to have a report spread about that anything is the
matter with her man. She feels ashamed and humiliated, as though she
had neglected him.
Near the end of our stay on the prairie, a storm came from the
northwest, a sullen cloud mass with forked lightning and a whirling
wind that smote Mad Wolf’s tepee and twisted it out of shape. My lodge
shook as though it were going over. Then the wind suddenly leaped into
the south and the storm quickly ended. The women carried Mad Wolf’s
Medicine Bundles to a place of safety in Little Creek’s lodge; and as
soon as they had repaired the damage, they carried the bundles back.
Then Mad Wolf moved our camp from the open plains to his winter home in
the sheltered valley of Cutbank River. The old chief led the way,
riding at the head of our line, tall, erect, and stately, across the
broad table-land. Little Creek and I were behind, driving the horses
and cattle, riding backwards and forwards, rounding up and heading off,
until we drove them back to his ranch in the valley.
There Mad Wolf had a cabin built of logs for shelter from winter storms
and blizzards, also corrals and low-lying sheds for cattle and horses.
But in good weather he and his family preferred living in tepees.
On both sides of the valley were cutbanks, which led to grass-covered
plateaus overlooked by high hills—fine range for both cattle and
horses. West were the snowy summits of the Rocky Mountains; east and
south the Great Plains; and north a massive ridge grass-covered and
bare of trees—the Hudson Bay Divide which formed an unbroken line of
high hills against the horizon.
Strikes-on-Both-Sides pitched my tepee in the valley across a meadow
from Mad Wolf’s camp, near a large rock in a bend in the river where
the dark water slowly eddied round and round in a deep pool. She was
the favorite child of the old chief; always cheerful and kind and
skilled in the arts of Indian women. She was so watchful and alert that
no bird or animal near camp ever escaped her keen eyes. She brought me
a present of brook trout just caught from the river, also some pulp
from the heart of a cottonwood tree, a delicacy with a flavor like
maple sap. She and her mother made braids of sweet grass for perfume to
put with my clothes, and little buckskin bags of fragrant balsam and
meadow-rue berries.
My Indian sister made fun of the rough sticks I used for lodge-pins;
she was ashamed to have visitors see them. She said they might spread a
report that the Mad Wolf family did not look after their white son. So
she made me a set of twenty lodge-pins of conventional
style—chokecherry wood with the bark peeled off and painted red,
leaving two narrow rings of bark at the top, also a set of small pins
for fastening together the front of my tepee.
In the afternoon, friends often came to go with Mad Wolf into the sweat
lodge—White Calf, the head-chief; Horn, an old hunter and trapper;
White Grass, and Heavy Breast. The structure they used for their sweat
was on the bank of the river. It was made of willow branches twined
into an oval frame and covered with robes and blankets. Inside was a
hole in the ground for hot stones. Four men entered at a time. They
spouted water on the stones and kept wetting their hair. Because of the
steam rising from the stones, the bathers kept their heads close to the
ground and chanted and prayed to the Sun, Moon and Morning Star. After
an hour, with four intervals for fresh air, they came out, and with
shouts plunged into the cold river for a reaction.
The sweat-bath was used mostly by older men—never by women. Men who
were ill went in to pray for healing power. It was used in ceremonies
of all kinds, also to secure dreams and for pleasure. It was taken by
men moved to anger, or depressed by the death of a near friend or
relative.
In our valley camp, my days began and ended with the sun. When its
first rays shone through the open door of my tepee, I took a plunge in
the cold river; then lighted my fire and cooked breakfast. I watched
the sunsets from a high ridge overlooking the prairie to the foot of
the mountains. Near by were the graves of two young lovers. Water Bird,
daughter of a prominent chief, loved Night Rider, a youth of her own
age. But her parents made her marry an older man. The young lover
killed the husband and fled with his sweetheart to the mountains. When
the Indian police were about to capture them, Night Rider killed his
sweetheart and then himself.
Our first night on the river, I stood beside these lonely graves and
saw the sun go down in a sky of flaming red, and the evening star over
the mountains. I heard the rhythmical beating of Indian drums from a
camp in the valley, with the voices of men and women chanting in
unison; and a young brave singing a love song to his sweetheart.
Then I returned to the tepee and lay on my comfortable couch of robes
and blankets beside a small wood fire, watching the flickering flames
and shadows dance on my tepee walls; listening to the last calls of the
birds, the chirping of crickets, the rushing of the river, eddying and
swirling in deep pools. There was something very cheerful and soothing
in the rippling and surging of that mountain river.
Then my mind went back to a great modern city with its unrest and
stress, its crowds of busy and hurrying people, leading indoor,
artificial lives. I thought how good it was to be in the camp of my
Indian father on the prairie; I loved the freedom and wildness, the
quiet and peace. In me was the instinct to live in the open, where the
wind blows free and there is plenty of clear sunshine. My spirit was at
home with this simple and primitive people. I felt as though I were one
of them, as if I had known them ages ago; their thoughts and customs
seemed in no way strange.
CHAPTER X
MARRIAGE CUSTOMS
Big Plume, a Blood Indian from the north, who had been visiting with
his family at Heart Butte, stopped at Mad Wolf’s camp on his way back
to Canada. The morning after they arrived, I met Bluebird, a daughter
of the northern chief; she was a comely girl of sixteen, active and
strong, filled with energy and animal life. I saw her climb nimbly into
a cottonwood tree after a woodpecker’s nest and bring down the young
birds one by one to her waiting brothers and sisters. That same evening
our camp was alive with excitement. Bluebird went with some women and
children to gather berries on the hills and did not return. No one knew
what had become of her.
After several days, with no news of the missing girl, a band of Indians
came from Heart Butte forty miles away, with the news that a son of
Mountain Chief had also disappeared. He and Bluebird were lovers. They
ran away together to the mountains.
Then Big Plume, her father, a silent and unassuming man, came to my
lodge for advice. He had known that young Mountain Chief was in love
with his daughter; he did not want him for a son-in-law. But the lover
was aggressive. At night he lay in wait for the girl; he met her on the
trails when she went after firewood, or to the river for water. It was
for this reason they left Heart Butte and came to Mad Wolf’s camp; and
now his daughter was lost. He wanted to take his family back to their
home in Canada, but he could not leave the girl with young Mountain
Chief. He was poor and could not support a wife. Big Plume had no faith
in him. He felt bitterly towards the man who had stolen his daughter;
it was no marriage and his daughter was disgraced.
In tribal life it sometimes happened that a lover asked his sweetheart
to marry him through the medium of a relative. But as a rule it was
customary for parents to decide on a suitable husband for a girl. A
chief who was prominent would pick out a strong warrior for his
son-in-law, that his daughter, a child of plenty, might be well
provided for.
After the betrothal, it was customary for a girl to carry food to the
lodge of her intended and to make moccasins for the members of his
immediate family. Her parents gave a feast to which only his relatives
were invited; and in this way the match became known.
If the girl’s family were well off, they gave many presents—a bunch of
horses and a new tepee completely furnished, with robes and blankets,
back-rests, parfleches, and cooking utensils. They also gave their
daughter a buckskin dress decorated with elk teeth, and a suit trimmed
with ermine tails for her husband. They did this as a parade of their
wealth and that their social standing might be recognized by the tribe.
The man presented a number of horses to the girl’s father; and later he
would be expected to share with his father-in-law the results of his
war and hunting expeditions. If he brought back from a hunt three
horses loaded with skins and meat, he gave his father-in-law one of the
loads with the choicest parts of the meat. And in return, the
father-in-law was expected to give of his property.
There was no ceremony; and the marriage form was simple. The couple
took their places in the new tepee and began their domestic life. The
husband hunted and looked after the horses. The wife prepared food,
tanned skins, and made clothing. The husband had no obligations to his
wife in regard to other women; but he held her to strict account for
her actions with other men. A husband could kill an unfaithful wife, or
cut off her nose, or the members of his society might be called upon to
inflict this punishment.
But there was a stronger reason for a woman’s chastity. Only a pure
woman could make a vow to the Sun for the recovery of any of her family
who were ill and give the Sun Dance in their behalf. Death was believed
to be the penalty of a woman who vowed falsely. If a mother was not
chaste she could not make the vow to save the life of one of her
children that was dying. Besides it was a great honor for a woman to
give a Sun Dance; she stood for what was best in Indian life; she had
the respect and veneration of the entire tribe; none stood higher than
she. Parents pointed to her as an example to their children; like her,
they should live straight and be honored by all the people.
A man might have any number of wives, but no woman was expected to have
more than one husband. Economic conditions regulated the number of
wives. A man who was poor could have only one. A chief might have two
or more, because he was expected to be generous and open-handed, ready
at all times to share his food supply. He had to be hospitable and
entertain friends, relatives, and strangers; as there were no servants,
he needed more than one wife.
It was considered desirable for a girl to marry a chief with a number
of wives; if she married a poor man who could afford only one wife, her
life would be filled with drudgery and hard work. Prominent men
sometimes had as many as five wives. But the first was his real or head
wife. He cared more for her, and she sat beside him in his lodge. She
took the woman’s part in his ceremonies and looked after his sacred
bundles. When he traveled, he expected his first wife to go with him.
Thus she had to be more strict and careful of her actions than the
other wives, who sometimes had secret lovers among the young men.
A man might marry a number of sisters. They were accustomed to living
together and less liable to have friction. Then, too, if parents were
satisfied with a son-in-law, they preferred such an arrangement. In
this way they avoided the risk and social complications of having a
number of sons-in-law.
The head-chief, White Calf, had three sisters for wives.
Catches-Two-Horses, his middle wife, went to live with him when seven
years old. And they were happy in their long life together; he died at
eighty years of age.
It was not customary for a man to marry within his own band. There was
a feeling that all the people of a band were related, and they always
hung together. A girl left the lodge of her parents and went to live
among the people of her husband; she and her children thenceforth
belonged to his band. The different bands lived apart in the winter,
but they always liked to come together every summer in the sun-dance
camp.
A man was generally on the best of terms with his father-in-law, but it
was not proper for him to ever meet his mother-in-law. It was a breach
of etiquette for him to go into the same tepee with her. A mother could
not go to visit her daughter if her son-in-law was home; she must wait
until he went away. And in order that he might not risk seeing his
mother-in-law, he always sent his wife with a customary meat-gift to
the lodge of his father-in-law after coming home from a hunt. If he
offended her, he must make amends by giving her a good horse. A man
never spoke to his mother-in-law, nor to her sisters. He had to be
careful what he said before his brothers-in-law and his female
relatives; but he could talk freely before the sisters of his wife.
They were looked upon in the light of “distant wives.”
There was a “love-medicine,” which was used by both men and women. It
was a powder made from plants and roots, and contained in small
buckskin bags. Any one who used it had to pray continually and carry
out its requirements with the greatest care. Indians used it mostly in
love affairs—to win the affection of one who was indifferent. There was
also an antidote for persons who did not want to fall in love. But
people regarded it with fear, because bad luck might come to the user.
Yellow Owl told me his experience with love-medicine. He tried it when
his young wife left him. He said:
“I felt so badly at losing my wife, I tried to find a charm to make her
fall in love again. I heard of an old medicine man among the Cree
Indians, who was famed for the power of his love-medicine, and made a
long journey north to find him. And when I came to his lodge, the old
man said:
“‘Do you believe that my love-medicine has power to help you? I will
not give it to you unless you believe.’
“He asked me that question four times; and each time I told him I
believed in his power. Then he gave me his love-medicine for which I
paid him a horse. He directed me to get a hair from my sweetheart’s
head without her knowledge; I must twine it with one of my own hairs,
and put them together in a little bag with the love-medicine and carry
it everywhere.
“After that I came home to my tepee and did as the old man advised. I
got a woman relative to steal one of my sweetheart’s hairs; I put it
with one of mine in a little bag with the love-medicine; I wore it
fastened about my neck; and because of its power my wife came back to
me. She came one day to my lodge and said:
“‘You have some strange power over me; I cannot stay away any longer.’
“Then I told her she could remain with her father if she wished. But
she would not leave me. She said some power was holding her. Now I will
not release her. I still wear the love-charm of the Cree medicine man;
and she has been my only woman ever since.”
CHAPTER XI
THE HEAD-CHIEF AND HIS WIFE
White Calf, head-chief of the tribe, and Mad Wolf lived near each other
on Cutbank River. They had been friends for many years. Mad Wolf
secured his sacred Beaver Bundle from White Calf; and the ceremonies
brought the two chiefs and their wives into close relations. Their
families, too, were on intimate terms and continually visited each
other. Dives-under-Water, granddaughter of White Calf, and Anatapsa,
granddaughter of Mad Wolf, were bosom companions; and the four stalwart
sons of the head-chief, Wolf Tail, Cross Guns, Two Guns, and Night Gun
came often to our camp.
White Calf was then over seventy. But, in spite of his years, he still
stood erect; rode horseback and walked with brisk step. For nearly
thirty years he had been head-chief and was a real father to his
people. He was called upon to settle all manner of disputes; and to
make peace with those who quarreled. He had a gentle and benevolent
spirit, and his kindness of heart showed in his benign countenance. He
gave freely to the poor and helped widows and orphans. He was brave in
war, deliberate and sound of judgment. But his most prominent trait was
his love for fellow tribesmen. All his life he strove for their welfare
with an earnestness and devotion rarely equaled by rulers of civilized
peoples. In the defense of his tribe, he had a sturdy earnestness and
devotion which the bullying threats of United States Government
officials could not sway.
I remember a band of Sioux Indians who came as visitors to our camp.
They had been on the way for over a month—a journey of more than six
hundred miles over the arid plains. As soon as they arrived, our Indian
agent ordered them home; he refused to allow them time to rest their
tired horses.
Then White Calf went to the Sioux camp and told them to remain. He
warned the Government agent that his tribe would go on the warpath if
their visitors were not allowed to stay; and the venerable head-chief
had his way.
For sixty years White Calf roamed the plains, happy in his freedom. His
tribe were free to wander from the Saskatchewan River to the
Yellowstone in the south. Their hunting-grounds extended over thousands
of square miles, and their war expeditions roamed as far south as
Mexico. The conquering white men came. The herds of buffalo suddenly
disappeared; and the Indians were confined to a reservation by the
white men. Then White Calf advised his people not to fight, but to
adapt themselves to their new conditions of living.
White Calf had three wives who were sisters. When I first met him, two
of his wives were living, Catches-Two-Horses and Black-Snake-Woman. His
first wife, the oldest of the sisters, was dead. Her grave was on a
high hill near his home.
One day I went with Little Creek to White Calf’s lodge and found
Catches-Two-Horses. She was a fine type of Indian woman, a good mother,
industrious and conscientious. She had been sacred woman in the Sun
Dance and was beloved by all for her generosity and kindness of heart.
When we entered the lodge, Little Creek said: “Our white brother wants
you to tell about the past.” And Catches-Two-Horses answered: “Tales of
the past should only be told after dark. I might become blind if I tell
them in the daytime.”
Her son Two Guns and his wife, a daughter of Little Dog the war chief,
were also at home. She was young and lively; like her father, she was
always smiling. There were also visitors present from the north—a Blood
Indian and his wife whom they called Sarcee Face. She was a wit and
kept them laughing. She told about a swarm of bees attacking her while
in the middle of a river; her face was still swollen from their stings.
So I advised her to go to the river bank and cover the wounds with soft
mud. She came back astonished at the success of my strange remedy. Then
she made the rest laugh by saying: “I have a brother who is always
being stung by bees. I am going to roll him in the mud when I get
home.”
I asked Catches-Two-Horses to tell about the Sun Dance. The lively
young wife of Two Guns laughed and said:
“He wants to find out about the Sun Dance, because he thinks of taking
an Indian wife and will want to give the ceremony himself.” Sarcee Face
made them laugh again by saying to me:
“You would make a funny medicine man. They would take off your clothes
and paint you black all over; your white skin would show through and
you would be a pink-looking medicine man.”
By this time Catches-Two-Horses was ready to talk. She made an end of
the joking when she said:
“I was seven years old when I became the wife of White Calf. My older
sister was already his wife. I remember my age, because I had lived one
year with my husband before I lost my first teeth. I have never cared
for any other man, nor did I have a secret lover. My father was
Black-Snake-Man. He was head-chief of the tribe many years ago. I
remember when he first told our people they were going to get food from
the Government. At that time we were camped at the place where the
Yellowstone River flows into the Missouri. Then many Indians were
starving, because the buffalo had disappeared.
“During my life I have given three sun-dance ceremonies. I was a young
girl when I saw my first Sun Dance; and looked for the first time upon
a medicine woman. I wanted to be like her, to live a good life and be
honored by all the people.
“I gave my first Sun Dance because of a battle with the Assiniboines. I
made a vow in order that the Sun might keep some of my relatives from
being injured in the fight. I gave my second, to fulfill a vow by my
son Cross Guns. He made it in battle when surrounded by enemies. He
looked up to the Sun and prayed:
“‘Great Spirit in the Sun, have pity and spare my life. If I escape
from this danger, I promise that my mother will give a Sun Dance in
your honor.’
“Cross Guns escaped and came home. When I saw him I ran out to meet
him. He kissed me and said:
“‘Mother, I have made a lot of trouble for you. In a fight with the
Crows, I was surrounded and thought I was going to be killed; I made a
vow to the Sun; I promised that if I came through alive, you would make
a medicine lodge (Sun Dance). I know this means suffering for you—to
starve yourself and become thin and weak.’
“But I was glad. Quickly I made my vow; I kept praying day and night:
“‘Sun Above! Pity me!
May I be pure and lead a straight life.
May I be kind-hearted and good to every one.
May my children and relatives live to be old.’
“Another time I was ill; the doctors said I was going to die. A
messenger carried this news to my son Cross Guns who was camped on
Badger Creek. It was midnight when he was told. He looked up to the sky
and prayed:
“‘Moon and Stars! Have pity on my mother.
May she live!
If she recovers from this night,
I promise you she will give the Sun Dance.’
“Cross Guns generally prayed to the Sun. But that night he prayed to
the Moon and Stars, because they were in the sky. Next day he came to
my tepee and made known his vow.
“We began our preparations in the early spring, before the snow was
gone. We gathered tongues for the food and purchased a sacred
headdress. I fasted and prayed day and night. On our way to the circle
camp I had three travois, for the sacred tongues and my clothes.”
Then the old woman changed from the subject of the Sun Dance and began
to tell about her first experience with a Medicine Pipe. She said:
“Many years ago our people had a big camp at the lower end of the
Cypress Hills. It was midsummer. The four tribes, Bloods, Piegans,
Sarcees and North Blackfoot, came together in the same camp. It was so
large that our chiefs formed two great circles, instead of one as was
our custom. My father, Black-Snake-Man, and Lone Chief were head men;
Little Dog was war chief and Four Bears head medicine man. I was then a
girl of fourteen; and in that camp I first learned about the Medicine
Pipe.
“One day White Calf had visitors at our tepee. He ran short of tobacco
and asked me to borrow from his friend Four Bears, the medicine man. A
large crowd was about his lodge, and inside many men dressed in fine
costumes. I wondered what was going on; but I never thought it was a
medicine-pipe ceremony. I stood at the door and asked Four Bears for
the tobacco. At first he said he had none. Then I started to go away
and he called me back. He left his seat at the back of the tepee and
took some tobacco from a bundle hanging over the door. I saw him burn
some incense and hold the tobacco in the smoke. He also made a prayer
and said:
“‘Here is tobacco. With it I give you the sacred bundle that hangs over
the door. From it you can take tobacco whenever you want.’
“I felt proud of his having given such a fine present. I took the
tobacco to White Calf and gave him the message. He looked at me
strangely and said:
“‘Go back to Four Bears and tell him: “White Calf made a vow in his
youth, that if any one ever offered him a Medicine Pipe he would take
it.”’
“I was frightened at these words and the way my husband looked. But I
went back and told Four Bears before his guests. Then they all began to
sing and to beat on their drums. They came forth and marched towards
our tepee, singing and drumming and shaking their rattles. Four of them
put a robe about White Calf and took him back to the lodge of Four
Bears.
“Then came the ceremony of transferring the pipe. Four Bears pitched a
large lodge near the center of the camp. His wife came and dressed me
for the occasion. I wore a buckskin dress with beaded leggings and
moccasins to match, and a robe of soft tanned elkskin. My husband had a
buckskin suit fringed over the shoulders and arms with scalp-locks
taken in battle, and a fine buffalo robe decorated with a band of
colored beads. Four Bears gave us a bay horse with the Medicine Pipe, a
saddle, whip, and painted rawhide rope. When we were ready to start for
the big dance lodge, Four Bears led this horse bearing the Medicine
Pipe and White Calf, with the buffalo robe over his head and extending
back over the horse’s flanks. I followed with my sister,
Black-Snake-Woman, carrying the sacred bundles. In the dance lodge we
had a pile of presents which our friends and relatives gave to help us
pay for the pipe. We had to give Four Bears many horses, besides robes
and blankets. Then he taught us the chants, prayers, and dances that go
to make up the ceremony, and the rules we must follow in the care of
the pipe.
“Soon after this ceremony five Gros Ventres attacked our camp and took
some horses. White Calf followed with a band of our warriors and killed
all of them. He took their scalps and we had a Scalp Dance. After that
Four Bears, the former owner of the Medicine Pipe, and his two wives,
took us to the dance. Because White Calf had taken the scalps, it was
now proper for his wives to take part in the Scalp Dance. And this is
the end of my tale.”
CHAPTER XII
LEGEND OF THE SMOKING STAR
White Grass, the medicine man, lived in Cutbank Valley, between the
homes of Mad Wolf and White Calf. He went by the nickname of “Shorty.”
He was a well-built, active little Indian, neat in dress and
appearance, small in stature and good-natured. He had a prominent upper
lip, sharp features, and a dry and wrinkled face, which, with an air of
keenness, gave him a sly, shrewd look, like an old fox.
He had good standing as a medicine man, because of his knowledge of
ceremonies and his social position. He was skilled in the conducting of
ceremonies and handling of sacred bundles. He helped Mad Wolf, my
Indian father, with his beaver ceremony; and was called in when any of
the family were ill. He had reputation as a doctor and could treat
certain kinds of troubles. His power over disease was believed to have
been given him through supernatural experiences in visions and dreams.
He was somewhat of a mind reader and mesmerist. He knew how to inspire
confidence in his patients, which helped in their recovery. He also
knew signs and omens both good and bad, and could tell people how to
avoid bad luck. He was a great talker and liked to tell stories of the
old days, when his tribe were free to wander and had many chiefs and
medicine men. He spoke deliberately and in a low voice, using his hands
freely in graceful gestures. He said:
“There is an ancient legend about a Smoking Star (Comet), that has been
handed down through many generations. He came down from the sky to help
old women and maidens who were in trouble.
“A camp of two lodges once stood far out on the prairie. In one of them
lived an old man with his wife; and in the other their son-in-law who
was married to their three daughters. The young man was a hunter. He
provided food for both lodges. One evening a herd of buffalo came near.
Early next morning the son-in-law shouted: ‘Get up, old man, we will go
together to drive the buffalo.’ So the old father-in-law went with him
to help in the hunt.
“Now this son-in-law was mean and heartless. He took it easy and made
the old man do the work. He sat still and killed the fat ones, while
his old father-in-law drove them past. But, when the hunt was over and
it was time to cut up the animals, the son-in-law said: ‘Go back to
camp, old man, and tell the women to come out here. Your daughters can
take back any share of the meat there is coming to you; you are too old
to be of any use.’ But he lied, for he did not want the old people to
have anything to eat. That son-in-law kept on doing this every day. He
made the old man go with him and drive the buffalo; but he would not
allow the daughters to share any of the meat with their aged father and
mother. He wanted to starve them.
“Now the youngest of the three daughters was the only one with a kind
heart. She looked after the old people. Every day after the hunt, she
hid a piece of meat under her robe. She carried it to them secretly and
tried to keep them from starving.
“One day the son-in-law called as usual in the early morning: ‘Hurry
up, old man, let us go and run the buffalo.’ They went together and
hunted. As was his custom, the young man sent his father-in-law to
drive the buffalo and do all the hard work, while he himself sat still.
Now it happened that the old man walked alone in a buffalo trail. He
saw a clot of blood which a wounded animal had coughed up. He said to
himself: ‘Here is something we can make into soup.’ But he was afraid
of his son-in-law; so he pretended to stumble and spilled the arrows
from his quiver. Then he picked them up and put in quickly that clot of
blood, placing his arrows on top. But the son-in-law was suspicious and
said:
“‘Old man, what were you doing so long in that buffalo trail? What did
you pick up there?’
“‘I fell and spilled my arrows,’ said he. ‘I was only putting them back
into my quiver.’
“‘Go home and tell the women to come out,’ answered the son-in-law
sharply.
“Then the old man went back to the camp and told his daughters their
husband needed help with the meat. And the son-in-law kept all the food
for himself. He gave nothing to the old people.
“When the old man got back to his own tepee, he said: ‘Old woman, make
the fire ready and the stone pot. To-day we have something to eat.’ And
he took the clot of blood from his quiver. ‘Make haste,’ said he, ‘that
we may eat before our son-in-law comes back.’
“Then his old woman hurried to put the clot of blood into the pot; and,
when the water began to boil, they heard a child crying. It seemed to
come from their pot. They looked in quickly and saw a baby. The old
woman took the pot from the fire and lifted the child up. She said to
her husband: ‘It is a boy baby.’ And he said: ‘Old woman, take him out.
By means of him we shall live.’ So she wrapped up the baby and cared
for him.
“When the son-in-law came home with the meat, he heard a child crying.
He said to his youngest wife: ‘The old woman must have a baby. Go over
to their tepee and see. If it is a boy, I shall kill him; if a girl, I
shall let her live.’
“Now the youngest wife was the only one of the three daughters who
cared for their parents. She went to their tepee and asked: ‘What is
the child? My husband wants to know.’
“And the old man said to her: ‘It is a boy, but you must tell him it is
a girl.’
“So the young wife went back to her husband and said: ‘You will have
another wife; it is a girl baby.’ He was pleased and said:
“‘Take some of these buffalo bones to your mother, that she may make
soup with them and be able to raise the child.’
“But the young wife, on the sly, put some good meat with the bones.
“Now this all happened in the morning; and, when night came, the child
(Smoking Star), kept looking at the lodge-poles and then at the old
man. The old man was wise. He knew now that this child was supernatural
and would help them. He took up the baby and held him first towards the
lodge-pole on the south side of the door. The baby smiled; and they
knew that this was what he wanted. So they held him towards each
lodge-pole in turn, and after each pole the child grew larger. When he
was halfway round the tepee, he was too heavy for the old man to hold;
he stood him on the ground and kept turning him, until he faced the
last lodge-pole on the south side of the door. By this time the child
had grown to be a man.
“He said: ‘I am hungry. Give me to eat.’
“The old woman replied: ‘My son, your brother-in-law over there is
trying to starve us.’
“Then she cooked him the last piece of meat which her youngest daughter
had brought them. The young man said:
“‘I am Smoking Star. I came down from my home in the sky to help you.
And when I have done this, I shall return again to the sky.’
“He went out and made a bow for himself from the rib of a buffalo and
used a tendon for the string. He also made arrows and flints for
arrow-tips. When everything was ready, he asked the old man where they
went to hunt, and said:
“‘We shall start at break of day, before your son-in-law is awake.’
“In the early morning the old man and Smoking Star set out. Before they
had gone far, they killed a fat buffalo cow. Smoking Star hid himself
behind it and told the old man to stand by the carcass and wait.
“That morning the son-in-law came as usual and called for the old man
to come forth to hunt. He said angrily to the old woman: ‘He is late.
It is time we were started.’ When she told him her husband had been
gone a long time, he shouted:
“‘I have a mind to kill you first!’
“Then the old man saw his terrible son-in-law coming. But Smoking Star
said:
“‘Don’t be afraid. Be eating some of the buffalo meat. And when he
comes up you must talk back to him. This will make him so mad he will
try to kill you. But he can’t harm you, for I am here to help you.’
“The son-in-law came near and saw the old man eating beside the carcass
of the buffalo cow. He shouted: ‘Aha! There is no one to keep me from
killing you now!’
“Then the old man mocked him and said after him: ‘Aha! There is no one
to keep me from killing you now!’
“The son-in-law was ready to shoot an arrow and kill him, when Smoking
Star rose suddenly from behind the buffalo. At this the son-in-law was
so frightened, he said: ‘I was only going to shoot in fun.’
“‘Now is the time for me to have fun with you.’ He put an arrow in his
bow and killed the wicked son-in-law.
“Then Smoking Star said to the old man: ‘Take only the best meat from
this carcass, for you are now the owner of your son-in-law’s tepee and
all his possessions. You will have plenty of good meat and robes to
keep you warm.’
“He asked the old man which of his daughters had been kind to him. He
said: ‘The youngest was the only one who gave us food.’ Smoking Star
went to the lodge and told the youngest wife that she must look after
her father and mother. He killed the other two women. He took their
bodies and that of their husband and burned them together in a fire. He
turned over both of the lodges to the old man and the old woman; and
after that they had plenty to eat.
“Smoking Star had finished his work there, so he said: ‘Father, I must
now go on my way.’ He left them and came to another Indian camp, to the
lodge of some old women. They asked him how it happened that he came to
the poor lodge of an old woman, when he could go to lodges where there
were men. Smoking Star said: ‘I am an old woman’s child. I am not
looking for men’s lodges.’
“Then they gave him meat, but it was poor and lean. And Smoking Star
said: ‘Why don’t you give me some fat meat?’ ‘Hush!’ said the old
women. ‘Don’t speak so loud. If the bears hear you, they will kill you.
They always take the choice pieces of meat for themselves. They take
all the good fat and give us only the lean. They live in the big Bear
Tepee in the center of the camp.’
“Smoking Star said, ‘In the morning I shall hunt buffalo.’ He went
through the camp and called to the people:
“‘Go early to the corral, for I shall drive the buffalo over the cliff.
There will be plenty of meat for all. Let every one come.’
“In the morning all the people came forth and saw the corral full of
buffalo. Smoking Star killed the fattest cow and cut it up. He took the
best parts for the old women. Some of it he lay in front of their
tepee, in plain sight, where the bears could see. Soon they came forth
to plunder. A young cub was first. He quickly smelled the meat and ran
to the old women’s tepee and seized the fattest piece. Then Smoking
Star shouted:
“‘Hey there! Young fellow! Go back where you belong. I did not kill
that buffalo for you. The meat belongs to those old women.’
“He cut the young bear across the face with his knife. It ran crying to
its mother and said:
“‘I was only taking a piece of meat when a man yelled at me and cut me
across the face.’
“Then the old she-bear flew into a terrible rage; and the big father
bear said: ‘My son, take us over there. Perhaps that man will try to
cut me across the face.’
“Smoking Star saw the bears coming. He drew his white-rock knife and
ordered them to be off. But they ran at him. The old she-bear came
first and her husband next. Smoking Star stabbed her and then the
he-bear. He killed them both. Then he went to the bear lodge and killed
all the other bears. There were none of them left; and he gave their
big tepee and all of the meat to the poor old women. After that he left
them.
“Then he came to a camp where he saw no young women. Again he went to
an old women’s tepee and asked how it happened. They pointed to a big
Snake Tepee in the middle of the camp. They said:
“‘The snakes have all of our young women. They take them by force and
keep them in their lodge.’
“Smoking Star said: ‘Now you will own everything in that tepee.’ He
walked into the lodge of the snakes and took a seat at the back. Soon
the chief snake began to rattle, to rouse all the other snakes. Smoking
Star took out his white-rock knife and waited. When the chief snake
raised its head in the air, and was ready to strike, Smoking Star cut
off its head. He killed all the other snakes and set the young women
free; he walked through the camp and told the men to go after their
wives.
“Then Smoking Star started again on his travels. He came to a lake
where a terrible water monster lived. He stuck it with his knife and
made it crawl. He jumped on its back and rode it into the water. He
made it swim to the middle of the lake, where the water was deep. He
called upon the Thunder and a big storm came up. The lightning struck
the monster and killed it. The water of the lake was scattered and was
never seen there again. Nor did any one ever find the body of Smoking
Star. He went back to the sky, and became a star. Sometimes we see him
in the southern sky in the evening. It was the Smoking Star who drove
the big snakes and bears from the prairie. Those he let live fled to
the mountains. And now the dogs have separated, after having had their
meal.” (The Indian way of saying—my story-telling is finished.)
CHAPTER XIII
MY NIGHT EXPERIENCE WITH A GRIZZLY BEAR
When the leaves of the aspen and cottonwoods were turning yellow, the
scout and I drove the herd into the corral and caught horses for a
hunting trip to the mountains. That day a spirit of stubbornness
possessed our horses. From the start we had trouble. Hard as I worked I
could not hold them in line. Instead of following the scout, they hung
back and wandered from the trail. They reminded me of people. Watching
over them on the trail, they ceased to be mere beasts of burden, and
became friends with individuality and characteristics of their own.
Brownie, the most ambitious, was happier in the lead. Strong and
energetic, he was fitted for the place. Our blue horse was a nonentity;
conscientious, honest and slow, but by nature a subordinate. Old Pinto,
with a coat of red and white, had great endurance. He gave the
impression of wisdom and experience. We had a large bay horse with a
roman nose. He was headstrong and fiery, afraid of rattling things and
of ropes dangling about his heels; he carried our bedding. A sorrel
named Dandy was nervous and shy, too timid to assert himself; he was
imposed upon by the others.
Baldy, my own pack horse, was small and wiry, sure-footed as a mountain
goat, but lazy and with diabolical cunning. He was too careful of his
own safety to fall or wear himself out; sometimes he pretended to be
nervous. But in bad places he never stumbled or faltered.
That day, while we were throwing on his load, he kept his legs spread
apart and braced them firmly. He flinched and trembled as though
receiving a heavy load—more than he could bear; and on the trail he
groaned. But I took no notice of his complaints. His pack was light and
I understood his tricks. Finally he stopped and lay down in the trail;
he closed his eyes as if in pain; he trembled and gave groans that were
pitiful to hear. I jumped from my horse and ran at him with my whip. He
saw me coming and stopped suddenly in the middle of a groan. He
struggled to get up, sneezed to hide his chagrin and ran after the
outfit.
We had a buckskin horse with hide of yellow tan. His black mane and
tail, black rings around his legs, and a black streak down the center
of his back suggested a zebra ancestry. He was strong and stocky;
hardest drives did not tire him. Buck was so reliable, we felt as if we
could always depend upon him. But that day he gave us a surprise.
After a long rest at the ranch, Buck was feeling fine. When his pack
slipped, he pretended to be frightened. He made a series of high jumps,
landing stiff-legged on all fours; and gave his pack such a jolt that
it turned. Then he threw his tail into the air and away he went. To
frighten the other horses he ran among them, with pots and kettles
rattling and banging. They were glad to stampede. The scout followed
the main outfit; he took it as a matter of course. I rode after Buck
who kicked off everything, even his pack-saddle. Then I caught him and
went back over his trail, to find the precious contents of his pack and
gather together our cooking utensils and kitchen outfit.
But we finally came to the mountains and entered the valley of the
Cutbank, where there was a green forest of spruce and lodge-pole pine.
In that whole region, the only broad-leaf tree in abundance was the
aspen. The ground was covered with a soft carpet of moss and pine
needles; and thimbleberry bushes full of crimson fruit. Then we turned
into a side valley and followed a stream, where the trail was tortuous.
At every turn the scene became more wild, until we came finally to a
mass of burned and fallen trees. There we stopped to rest and feast on
red raspberries fully ripe; and found an opening thickly covered with
huckleberry bushes, bearing the largest berries I have ever seen.
There is nothing more trying than to drive obstinate pack horses
through fallen timber. The main thing is to give them plenty of time.
Sometimes they turned from the trail and went down the mountain side,
or dodged through standing timber; and then their packs were torn and
loosened by the trees.
At dusk we emerged weary from the forest and came into a basin with a
meadow of green grass. A more romantic spot for a camp I have never
seen—a narrow valley surrounded by high mountains and sheltered by
trees. Through the meadow flowed a stream of clear water. Waterfalls
dashed over the cliffs and fell into the stream below. We pitched our
lodge on a carpet of green moss, near an ancient fir tree and a grove
of spruces which sheltered us from the cold winds that sweep down the
valley from the snowfields.
Soon after we turned our horses loose, I heard a kind of grunting, or
roaring whine, answered by the frightened snorts of horses as they
galloped away; and the scout shouted: “Hi, there! A grizzly bear! A
grizzly bear!”
Among the hoofprints of the horses I found the tracks of a huge bear.
But he had gone and we got no sight of him. I saw the place where he
had been turning over stones hunting for insects and ant eggs, and
tearing up the ground after squirrels.
At dark a cold wind came down the valley, and we gathered many logs and
threw them on our camp-fire, till the big fir tree looked like a
specter in the red glow of the flames. Then we lighted our pipes and
sat by the fire. The scout had the gift of companionship; and when he
talked I always felt at ease. He refreshed me with his knowledge of
nature and of the woods, and stimulated my interest in Indians. That
night he talked about the bear and said:
“In this valley a big grizzly has his range. He has lived here so long,
he must now be very old. The Indians know him well and are afraid to
shoot at him. He comes boldly into their camps and takes food. He is so
big we believe he has supernatural power and call him the ‘Medicine
Grizzly.’”
After that there was silence for a while. The fire burned low and we
sat gazing into the embers. By this time the valley was in darkness;
but I saw the rugged outlines of the mountains against the sky, their
snowy summits lighted by myriads of brilliant stars. I heard the
rippling of the stream, the sound of the waterfall and the tinkle of
the horse-bell where our herd were feeding. Then a wailing cry,
probably the voice of some lynx or wolverine, arose from the depths of
the forest. It made me think of the big grizzly in whose range we were
camped. Little did I realize I would soon meet him face to face.
For several days the scout and I hunted on the mountains. We climbed to
timber-line with its dwarfed and distorted trees. Above were the rocky
heights and below the dark forest. In the front line were trees only a
few feet in height, many hundreds of years old. Some were pushed partly
over by storms and had all their branches pointing one way. They were
battered and twisted by a thousand storms and overweighted by heavy
snows. But we found no game, not even tracks.
Then the scout said he would go among the high peaks at the head of the
valley. He took a light pack and went alone, while I stayed in our camp
to guard the provisions and to look after the horses. In order to help
in the hunt, I loaned him my large Winchester rifle of 45–70 caliber.
Little did I realize how much I would need it myself.
After the scout had gone, I climbed the mountains for camera pictures,
caught trout in the stream and looked after our horses. Most of the
provisions I stored inside the lodge, to be safe from wild animals and
sudden storms. But I had an out-of-door kitchen at the edge of the
woods, where I cooked in good weather and kept a supply of food.
One afternoon heavy clouds gathered over the mountains and a storm
swept through the valley. Our horses left the meadow and came to the
lodge, to pay me a little visit and to get a bite of salt all around;
and then they strolled back again.
I passed that evening reading and writing by the lodge-fire. Finally I
lay in my blankets and watched the fire burn low, until there was only
a bed of glowing embers; and I fell asleep. In the dead of night, our
horses wakened me by coming close to the lodge. I wondered at their
leaving their feeding grounds again, and went out to drive them back.
The storm was over. The clouds had broken and the moon was shining.
After the horses had gone, there was quiet. The wind had fallen and
there was a strange stillness. I stood for a moment and looked
reverently at the mystic mountains in the moonlight. I felt that uplift
of spirit that I always have in the presence of giant peaks. I heard
the solemn hooting of an owl, the distant cries of coyotes, and the
rippling of the river rapids.
The night air was so cold I soon went back to my warm blankets. But I
could not sleep; I had a feeling that something was near. Finally I
raised myself and listened. Suddenly a rattling of pans came from my
outside kitchen. Thinking one of the horses had come back, I jumped
from my blankets. I seized a stick and ran out to investigate. A huge
shadowy form stood against the black line of the forest. It looked like
a horse and I was about to hurl my club; but this animal was no horse.
It stood high in front and was low behind. It gazed steadily at me with
lowered head, which moved slowly from side to side. Then came a sudden
snort, a sort of snarling whine; and I realized that I was in close
quarters with a huge grizzly bear. The thought of beating him with a
stick made a chill run down my backbone; I felt weak in the knees; and
I had the sensation of “my hair standing on end.”
I remembered hearing that it was sure death to run from a grizzly bear,
so I put on a bold front and backed slowly into the lodge. I started to
build a fire; I thought the light might drive him off. But I was so
excited it seemed ages before I could find either matches or knife. Had
I my rifle I might have tried to shoot him; but we were in such close
quarters and in the dark, he might have killed me.
No sooner had I a fire burning, than I heard his heavy footsteps; he
was coming towards the lodge, but stopped near the door to examine my
saddle. For a moment he stood sniffing and grunting; then came close to
the side of the tepee, where we had the provisions stored. He raised
himself on his hind legs, with front paws against the poles. I was
directly underneath him; I saw the canvas press in and heard his heavy
breathing. It seemed like a nightmare; again my hair stood on end. I
shouted; and the sound of my own voice in that dimly lighted tepee
sounded strange and far away. Then the bear got down on all fours and
went back to his feast at my outside kitchen.
Believing the crisis was now past and that the old grizzly would do me
no harm, I began to take a friendly interest and watched him through an
opening in the door. He knocked a cover from a mess of trout; finished
a bowl of delicious peaches and tore open bags of flour and sugar. At
last he came to our “dutch oven,” a heavy iron kettle for baking bread.
In it I had stored, for safe-keeping, my greatest delicacy—a small
piece of butter. For a moment his efforts were vain; the heavy iron lid
held fast. Then he became angry; with his powerful forepaw he struck
the kettle such a blow that the cover flew off; and I heard his rough
tongue lick up the last of my provisions.
At the first sign of dawn, my dangerous visitor departed suddenly into
the forest and I saw him no more. When the scout returned from his
hunt, I showed him the tracks of the grizzly’s huge feet and the marks
of his long claws in the soft earth. They measured thirteen inches in
length, seven inches across the toe and six at the heel. The scout said
a grizzly of that size would weigh as much as a large horse. By the
lodge-fire that night, he told me about the origin of the “Medicine
Grizzly.”
STORY OF THE MEDICINE GRIZZLY
“The things I now tell you happened many years ago, when Mad Wolf,
your Indian father, was a young man. He was the war chief of an
expedition that went across the Rocky Mountains against the
Flathead Indians. Two of his brothers were with him; but they both
turned back before they reached the Flathead country. Mad Wolf and
his warriors returned later by Cutbank Pass.
“Mad Wolf was riding in the lead, with the others following on both
sides of the trail, as was the custom of war parties in those days.
For fear of meeting enemies, they rode silently through the forest.
Suddenly Mad Wolf heard footsteps and signed for the others to
hide. It was a war party of Kutenai Indians. They ran into the
ambush. In the fight, Mad Wolf singled out the Kutenai chief and
killed him after a hard fight. On his body he found the scalps of
his own two brothers, who had turned back. Mad Wolf sang his war
song and ran back to help the rest of his party, who were by this
time retreating. He roused them to fight harder; and together they
killed all of the Kutenai, except one old woman. They spared her
life and gave her to the Sun. They took the scalps from the dead
Kutenai warriors and had a scalp dance. Then they painted the face
of the old woman black. They spared her life and set her free, as a
sacrifice to the Sun. They gave her food and presents—a warm
blanket and dried meat. They put her on the right trail and started
her towards home, with a prayer that the Sun would pity them, as
they had their helpless enemy.
“After that Mad Wolf and his party crossed the summit and came down
through Cutbank Valley. There they found the camp of some of our
people, Running Wolf, Black Bear, and Middle Calf, who came into
the mountains to cut lodge-poles. They were camped here, by this
old fir tree.
“That evening they were all gathered at the lodge of Middle Calf to
hear about Mad Wolf’s trip. It was a warm moonlight night and some
of the women were outside. Middle Calf told his wife to bring a
pail of water from the stream. She came back frightened. She said:
‘I met a stranger at the crossing. He jumped across the stream and
ran into the forest.’
“Then another woman said: ‘I just saw a man near the big fir tree.
He looked into the lodge and ran away. He was an enemy. I could see
his war bonnet.’
“Mad Wolf and the rest seized their weapons and ran out. They met a
band of Gros Ventres who were ready to attack their camp. They
killed all of the Gros Ventres except their leader. He escaped into
the underbrush and stood them off. When his arrows were all gone,
he fought savagely with his knife. All the time he made a noise
like a grizzly bear. He dared the Blackfoot to come into the
thicket. He kept shouting: ‘Come on! I am not afraid. My power is
very great.’
“After the Blackfoot had killed him, they found that he was a
medicine man; his power came from the grizzly bear. He wore the
skin of a grizzly and had a necklace of big claws about his neck.
They scalped the dead Gros Ventres warriors and had a scalp dance
around a fire. But they burned the body of their leader; they were
afraid some of his supernatural power might escape and do them
harm.
“The summer after that, a party of Indians came into Cutbank
Valley, to this same meadow. They pitched their lodges near this
old fir tree where we are now camped—the place where you saw the
big bear. That night this same grizzly came into their camp and
took all the food he wanted. The dogs attacked him; but he killed
some and put the rest to flight. He was so big they were afraid to
shoot. We call him the Medicine Grizzly. We believe he is the
medicine man of the Gros Ventres. When he was killed near this old
fir tree, he changed himself into a grizzly bear.”
CHAPTER XIV
INDIAN SUMMER
October was fine that year, with days of warm sunshine and frosty
nights—ideal for living in the open. Late in the month a party of
Indians, both men and women, stopped at our ranch on their way to the
mountains. Little Creek and my Indian sister were going; Yellow Bird,
Onesta, and his wife Nitana; the sisters Katoyísa and Nínake; and they
asked me to go along.
We put two old mares in the heavy wagon, to carry blankets and camp
equipment; they were the only horses to be found near the ranch. Yellow
Bird drove the team with Katoyísa and I rode Kutenai, my saddle horse.
Soon, one of the team became lame; and Yellow Bird went back for
another horse. So I put Kutenai in the harness and mounted the driver’s
seat beside the Indian girl.
At first the going was good. The prairie was level and we had no
trouble; but we were left far behind. Our wagon was heavy, the team
slow and badly matched. Without a whip, I had to shout and swing my
lariat to make the horses move along. Throughout the day we saw no big
game, only jack rabbits and badgers and ground squirrels, chirping and
standing straight up, like miniature prairie dogs.
Near the mountains we came to rough traveling, up hill and down. In bad
places, with no road to follow, there was danger of breaking the
tongue, a wheel or an axle. We had to cross gullies and washouts and
streams with high banks; to find our way round ravines, and through
thickets of alder and quaking aspen.
We did not talk much, but our silence was natural. Katoyísa only spoke
when she felt like it. She was a quiet, self-contained girl, fearless
and conscientious. She wanted to help her tribe in their struggle for
survival; that they might learn to adapt themselves to the ways of the
conquering white race.
That day I felt as though I were in a dream—like a pioneer of early
days, on my way to a new land with this Indian girl. But, alas! I was
brought suddenly back to earth. We crossed the summit of a high ridge
and overlooked a terrible hill—a steep descent to a lower level of the
plain, stretching to the foot of the mountains. The air was marvelously
clear, and fragrant with the scent of pine and cedar.
We started down the hill; and I thought to myself: “If this heavy wagon
ever gets started, the horses cannot hold it and we shall both be
killed.” The ground was smooth and hard, with a grass-covered gravel.
When the tail of the wagon began to swing, Katoyísa was calm and
unafraid. And, when the brakes did not hold, she was quick to act; she
jumped from the wagon and held the heads of the frightened horses,
while I blocked the wheels with stones. Then we rough-locked the wheels
with ropes; and cut down a green tree and lashed it to the body of the
wagon, so that it dragged on the ground in front of the hind wheels.
Thus we made our way slowly down the steep hill, zigzagging back and
forth until we came to a dangerous slant, where the wagon went on two
wheels and began to topple. We thought we were turning over. But
neither of us tried to jump. I put my arm about Katoyísa and we were
ready. Then the wagon suddenly righted itself; I turned the horses into
a low growth of aspens; and thus we came safely to the bottom.
We trailed the rest of our party across level prairie and along a
river, passing through the broad entrance of a valley through lovely
meadows of tall bunch grass, thickets of willows and groves of poplars,
until we came to our camping place in the mountains—a high bench over
the river and close to a green forest of pine and spruce.
In the northern Rockies the autumn nights come early. The sun was down
by the time we had our camp ready, and the horses watered and picketed.
Then we built a big camp-fire, for the night air was cold. We roasted
meat on sticks over the hot coals, and stalks of wild parsnip to bring
out the juice. My companions used neither knives nor forks; and like
them I held the meat in my hands and tore it with my teeth; but it had
a relish and flavor I never tasted in civilization.
In that autumn camp, the Indians were at their best. They were
light-hearted and happy, as if they had not a care in the world. They
were nomads by nature and loved to wander, to be free and live in the
open. They sang Indian songs and told stories and tales of adventure.
They talked about a mad Indian who roamed the plains and mountains; he
traveled so fast every one was afraid; he killed people on sight, both
Indian and white; he was on the warpath and wanted to kill as many as
he could before he died; he came silently at night and shot people as
they stood in the firelight.
Thus we sat and talked by the fire until late. We slept on the grass,
under the stars. The women were together in one place, sharing their
robes and blankets; the men in another, with our horses picketed near.
As soon as the Indians lay down, there was quiet. But I lay awake,
drinking in the clear fresh air and the fragrance of the forest, and
watching the moon rise over the broad entrance of the valley. Then,
suddenly it was morning. I saw the golden color of sunrise in the sky
and the women cooking breakfast.
That day I went with Yellow Bird on a hunt for Rocky Mountain sheep.
Our camp needed meat; and, in the fall, mountain mutton was the most
delicious of all the game animals. We rode along an old Indian trail,
westward through the valley, where the golden brown of ripened grasses
covered the meadows; and came to a dark forest where the ground was
fragrant with pine needles. We followed the shores of a chain of lakes,
to a place where high mountains came close together on both sides of
the valley. Yellow Bird was leading with rifle across his saddle.
Finally he turned and signed with his hands, “Sheep on that mountain.”
High up, above timber-line, I saw a band of brownish gray animals with
white rump patches. They were feeding on a grassy slope which extended
to slide rock, near the summit of the mountain. I counted sixteen
sheep—ewes and small rams. Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, they
took alarm and ran swiftly along the mountain side. Then a big grizzly
appeared against the sky-line, coming across the shoulder of the
mountain. He, too, was stalking the sheep. He ran with head up, and I
could see his long silvery hair rolling in waves.
Yellow Bird was excited and eager for a shot. So we tied our horses and
made ready to climb, leaving our coats and everything we could spare.
After a drink of cold water at a stream, we started with our rifles and
cartridge belts, taking our course along the mountain side, so that the
grizzly might not get our scent. We struggled through tangled thickets
of evergreens, and windfalls where dead trees lay piled across each
other in all directions. The forest seemed vast and lonely; everywhere
silence, not a breath of air stirred. We climbed the southern slope in
the glare of the midday sun. I was drenched with sweat and my breath
came fast.
Near the edge of the woods at timber-line, we were careful not to snap
a twig or make a branch rustle, expecting any moment to meet the
grizzly. At every sound or movement in the trees, I felt a sudden
thrill and peered through the forest with senses alert. But we did not
meet the bear, to Yellow Bird’s chagrin. He was a reckless fellow,
always eager for a fight and confident of his skill with a rifle.
We crossed the shale to the sky-meadow, where we saw the sheep; and to
stalk them went towards the summit of the mountain, that we might
approach from above.
Big Horn are the most difficult to approach of all big game. They are
wary and quick-sighted; the slightest sound startles them; and they are
off like a flash. No animal is their superior in climbing; even in the
most difficult places they never slip, nor make a misstep.
We hunted up-wind, keeping out of sight, using crags and boulders for
shelter. When we came to a precipitous part of the mountain, we went
slowly and carefully, to keep from making a false step and breaking our
necks. We scrambled along the narrow ledges and rock-shelves, clinging
to cold buttresses and to scant projections of the cliffs, careful not
to start a loose stone or any crumbling shale.
At last we came to an overhanging crest. We crawled to the edge and
peeped over the cliff. Below, on a narrow ledge, stood a ewe sheep. She
was at the top of a precipice, with a view of the entire mountain side.
By this time the sun was low in the sky. Now was our only chance for
meat; we had to get down the cliffs, while there was still light to see
the way. Yellow Bird fired and struck the sheep behind the shoulder.
She jumped to a lower shelf, where my bullet finished her. The carcass
fell over the precipice and down the barefaced cliffs; the hollow
reverberations of its fall echoed from the mountain walls. It struck
slide-rock and rolled over and over, going at terrible speed, until it
landed against a big boulder far down the mountain—our fate if we
should slip or make a false step.
Then we made our way back along the treacherous ledges and
rock-shelves, where nerve and sure-footedness were necessary for every
step. When we came to loose shale, we traveled fearlessly with long
slides, down to the carcass of the sheep, near timber-line.
By the time we stripped off the hide and had the meat ready, night was
beginning to settle over the surrounding mountains. Then, in the dark
forest Yellow Bird was afraid. He sang chants to keep off ghosts and
evil things, until we came to our horses on the floor of the valley.
After the moon rose, the dark places were filled with its magic light,
and the open parks and lakes were like fairyland.
At camp the Indians gathered around the fire to roast sheep meat, and
to hear about our hunt. It was the night of full moon, without a cloud
in the sky. Our fire was in a meadow, near the edge of the forest,
where its red glow lighted up the big trees.
Like true children of nature, my companions acted as they felt.
Sometimes they talked; and sometimes there was silence for a while. In
the distance an owl hooted. It came nearer and nearer, until its call
sounded from the top of a tree near by.
“Listen!” said Nitana. “He calls his own name—ears-far-apart,
ears-far-apart, ears-far-apart (ka-ka-not-stoki, horned owl). One can
tell the different members of an owl family by their voices—the deep
call of the father, the higher one of the mother and the thin ones of
the children.”
After another silence the owl hooted again. My Indian sister shuddered:
“Perhaps it is a ghost,” said she. “Some owls are the unhappy spirits
of people long dead.”
“A medicine man told me,” said Little Creek, “that people who have died
and are unhappy in the spirit world, take the form of owls and come
back to their old haunts. They travel only at night and dread the
sunlight, because their deeds in this world were evil.”
Again the owl hooted, this time from another tree. “Kyai!” exclaimed
Strikes-on-Both-Sides, “there it is again. Just before my sister died,
she saw an owl looking at the door of her tepee. She was so frightened,
she told a medicine man; he said to use black paint on her face; if the
owl came back, the paint would ward off the evil. But it was no use; my
sister died in a few days.”
This ghostly talk by the fire, under the nocturnal spell of the forest,
made the women afraid. To allay their fears, Little Creek said: “An owl
never harms any one in a crowd, if he has a relative there.” So he left
the circle of firelight, and going to the edge of the woods shouted to
the owl, “You are my relative.”
Then the owl flew away, and I asked Little Creek: “What is the spirit
world like?” He said:
“We call it the Sand Hills, a white alkali country—far east on the
plains. It is surrounded by quicksands that the living may not enter.
The ghost people chase ghost buffalo and antelope. They have wild
berries and other things such as we like to eat. Old Person once died
for a day and a night, but his spirit returned to his body. He told the
watchers he had been to the Sand Hills, but was not allowed to enter;
his time to die had not yet come. His body was wet with sweat when his
spirit came back; they drove him from the Sand Hills.”
Nitana said: “Ghosts like to stay near forests and rivers. People who
sleep alone in a thick forest are sometimes bothered by ghosts pulling
off their blankets in the night and hitting them with sticks. But a
person may never see the ghost. If it bothers him too much, he can
offer his pipe with tobacco and pray: ‘Ghost, pity me! I am poor and
alone. Take this pipe and smoke. I pray go away and leave me in peace.’
If the ghost will not leave, but keeps on bothering the person, it
sometimes bestows upon him the power to doctor people.”
“Ghosts of dead medicine men are the worst. They are known as ‘the
haunting spirits.’ It is they who use the ghost shots, and kill people
who go outside the tepee at night. This fate often happens to sick
people; they are shot at by ghosts; and when they go back to bed, they
die in their sleep. Sometimes a person who goes outside at night, comes
back breathing heavily, as if he were smothering. He tells his people
that he saw something; and then they know that he was shot at by a
ghost. But he can be cured by a medicine man who has power over ghost
shots. This medicine man finds out the spot where he cannot breathe;
and then he doctors him; he draws out the shot—he may suck it out with
his mouth.
“Sometimes sick people see ghosts. Ghosts keep bothering them, coming
again and again; the ghosts wait for them until they die, and then take
them away. There are ghosts which scare horses at night, so that their
riders fall off. Then they make a whistling sound and laugh.”
After a silence Katoyísa said: “Tell a story about a ghost.”
“Take care, the owl may hear you,” answered Nitana. And then she
continued: “There was a camp of two tepees in a lonely place, far off
on the prairie. In one of them lived a couple without children, and in
the other a man with his wife and daughter. No other people were near.
One day the father sent his girl to the other tepee. On the way she saw
a person seated on the ground. She supposed it was their neighbor and
went towards him. He kept his blanket wrapped closely about him and she
could not see his face. When he did not move, she threw a stone to
attract his attention. Still he did not move or look up, so she went
her way to the other lodge. There she found their neighbor and his
wife. She told them about the stranger and they went forth to look. But
the mysterious person had disappeared. There was no place to hide; the
prairie was level with no trees. The girl was so frightened she ran
back and told her parents. Throughout the rest of that day they
watched, but nobody appeared.
“That same night, when both families were seated around the lodge-fire,
an owl lighted on one of the poles over their heads and began to cry:
‘Oo-oo-oo-oo.’ Then they knew the ghost had come back to trouble them.
They begged it to go away and leave them in peace. But it stayed on the
lodge-pole and kept crying: ‘Oo-oo-oo-oo.’ The girl said: ‘I know he is
angry, because I threw a stone at him.’ So they filled a pipe with
tobacco and offered it to the ghost. If he smoked he would do them no
harm. But the ghost paid no attention to them. He was still angry, and
kept on with his solemn crying. Then the father gave the pipe to his
daughter. She held the pipe up and prayed: ‘Ghost, smoke. I pray you go
away and leave us in peace.’ It paid no attention, but kept on crying.
So they held the girl up into the smoke-hole of the tepee, where she
was near the ghost. Again she offered the pipe. The ghost gave a loud
cry and the girl fell over dead.”
Then Little Creek told this ghost story about another owl:
“There was a man named Cross Bull who lived over north among the Blood
Indians. He went alone to war. He had bad luck and started home
empty-handed. One evening, after many days of hard traveling, he came
to a river valley and went into camp in a grove of cotton wood trees.
He had no food; he was tired and hungry. So he built a fire close to a
log and lay down to sleep. In the night he was wakened by something
coming through the underbrush. He had his back towards it. He dared not
turn his head to look. He thought it might be a ghost. He heard it go
into a tree, so he lay very still; he did not even move. Finally he
raised his head and looked. In the forks of a big tree sat a ghost. A
long white robe covered its bones. Whenever it swung its legs, the
bones rattled. Cross Bull began to pray. He begged it to go away,
saying: ‘I am tired and want to rest.’
“But the ghost paid no attention. It stared at him from hollow eyes; it
whistled and rattled its bones. Cross Bull prayed again:
“‘O ghost, be kind.
Go away and leave me alone.
I am poor and have bad luck.
I am tired and want to rest.’
“Four times Cross Bull made this prayer. But the ghost paid no
attention; it kept on whistling and swinging its legs. Then Cross Bull
got angry. He took his bow and arrow and shot at the ghost. He saw an
owl fly from the tree, and heard it cry in a quavering voice: ‘You hurt
me so badly, you hurt me so badly.’ (Screech owl.)
“Cross Bull was so frightened he ran away in the dark. The ghost kept
following; for whenever he stopped he heard it crying the same thing,
over and over in a quavering voice: ‘You hurt me so badly, you hurt me
so badly.’
“Cross Bull left the valley. He did not stop running until he was far
out on the plains. Then it was daylight and the ghost left him. But he
kept on running until he reached the Blood camp. Next night Cross Bull
died. And that is the end of my story-telling.”
By this time it was late in the night and my Indian friends went to
bed. I sat alone by the camp-fire. The moon was now in the west; and
the handle of the Great Dipper, that wonderful clock of the north sky,
pointed downward to the horizon.
Then I climbed the mountain side in the bright moonlight, to look out
over the forests and the great plains stretching eastward. On the other
side of the valley were mountains, with shining glaciers and
snowfields. The aurora formed an arch of light across the north sky;
streamers mounting to the zenith in yellow and yellowish red, and
sometimes greenish white. They swayed backward and forward, now strong,
now faint, until they faded and a luminous veil covered the sky,
through which a bright star shone. There was no wind; and everywhere an
impressive stillness, broken only by the river in the valley, and the
solemn notes of the owl, “a haunting spirit.”
CHAPTER XV
A FRONTIER DANCE
Two cowboys came to the ranch of the scout with a herd of cattle; one a
half-breed, the other a white man, sinewy, tall and straight. He was a
typical cowboy who had lived a life of adventure and hardship, rugged
and bronzed by the sun. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, leather chaps, and
high-heeled boots; a knotted scarlet handkerchief round his neck, and a
cartridge belt with a six-shooter hanging from his hips. His fearless
gray eyes looked straight out at me, and he moved and spoke with an
easy, careless air of confidence. He had a smiling face and talked in a
high squeaky voice that sometimes broke.
Yellow Bird told me, with mingled awe and admiration, that he was a
famous bandit named “Slim.” The United States Government had a reward
on him dead or alive. Single-handed he held up a Montana stage, and an
express train on the Northern Pacific Railway. Now he was trying to get
a herd of stolen cattle across the border-line into Canada; they were
“mavericks,” or unbranded cattle, taken out of many herds.
Because of his adventurous life, Slim carried several bullets in his
body. His right arm was so crippled that he could not lift his hand to
his mouth. But, in spite of his wounds, he could still rope cattle and
break wild horses; and was a dead shot with both hands.
I saw him break a vicious bronco to the saddle. He went into our high
round horse corral, with smooth and easy gait, jangling spurs, and
dragging his lariat which he coiled as he went. He lost no time and his
movements were quiet and catlike. He did not seem to lift his arm or
move; suddenly his noose shot out its full length and settled
gracefully over the neck of the bronco. It bawled with rage and fear;
threw down its head and sprang high into the air. It walked about on
its hind legs, striking with forefeet and threw itself over backwards.
But Slim finally mastered and tied it to the snubbing post. When he had
finished his job, he could ride it without bucking, and led it about
with a rope.
From the first I took a liking to this brave and hardy bandit, with
smiling face and winning way and nerves of steel. He had a pleasant and
easy-going disposition, with a broad and genial tolerance. He did not
look down upon people with a different code, or hold it against me
because my actions were within the law. To him there was nothing out of
the way in robbing stages and trains and driving stolen cattle. He did
not speak of these things, nor did he boast of them; to him they needed
no apology. He was simple-hearted and generous—a type that would
quietly face death without flinching, be faithful to friends and
chivalrous towards women. But he would pursue an enemy with bitter and
vindictive hatred.
Like all cowboys Slim loved excitement—especially a dance. That night
there was going to be a party down the river at the Lone Wolf Ranch;
and Slim asked me to go along.
Before dark we saddled our horses and rode together. I did not ask
about his life; it was not customary in that country. But he told me of
adventures in former days with wild animals and hostile Indians; and
all the time he spoke his steel-gray eyes looked straight into mine. He
talked simply and with a careless drawl, not seeming to feel there was
anything unusual or exciting in his tales. But for me they had a
strange charm—the way he told them, with a high squeaky voice, dry
humor, picturesque cowboy language, and good-natured oaths.
With his partner he once roped a big grizzly, which charged from a
thicket and chased them into the open. They were mounted on agile
cow-horses that ran like the wind; but a fall would have meant death.
Slim threw his lariat round the neck of the bear and his partner roped
her hind feet. The grizzly bellowed with rage and foamed at the mouth.
She tried to charge and floundered on the ropes; she reared and struck
wildly with all fours; but in their grasp she was helpless. With ropes
snubbed to their pommels and horses pulling in different directions
they together stretched her out; and after a while turned her loose.
The dance at the Lone Wolf Ranch was given by the sisters Katoyísa and
Nínake, and was free to all; every one in that region, both Indian and
white, was welcome. People came long distances in wagons or on
horseback—entire families—mothers with young babies. A log-shack close
to the cabin was used by the women, and there they left their babies
and young children to sleep on the floor.
The ranch cabin was lighted by lamps and candles; all three rooms,
including the kitchen, were used for dancing. The front door opened
upon the main room, a long apartment with low ceiling and walls of hewn
logs, chinked and plastered, all beautifully whitewashed and clean. The
windows and doors were decorated with green branches and pine boughs,
with the Lone Wolf brand made out of juniper on the log walls, also the
heads and horns of deer, elk, and mountain sheep. The guests were squaw
men with Indian wives, cowboys, and half-breeds. But no men of the
older generation of Indians came; it was not their kind of a dance.
The solitary musician was a half-breed who played on a wheezy
accordion. He had only one tune, a sort of lively jig. But he played it
over and over throughout the night, sometimes slow, sometimes fast.
Slim, Yellow Bird and I took partners and joined in a square dance. At
first there was little life or spirit; the dancers were stiff and
self-conscious, until Slim took hold. He was a good mixer and a natural
master of ceremonies. He was looked up to because of his brawn and
genial disposition. He was the life of the party. He went from one room
to another, shouting directions to the dancers; he was the caller-off
and was witty and funny; he wakened up the half-breed musician and made
every dancer “toe the mark.”
Around the walls were bashful cowboys who had not the courage to ask a
woman to dance, and breeds of all sorts and mixtures. It was hard to
distinguish between Indians and whites. Among the spectators were
elderly squaws in bright-colored Indian clothes, grandmothers looking
after babies and children, while their daughters danced and had a good
time.
At midnight I helped Katoyísa feed the hungry people. We had sweet
cake—an unusual luxury—cold beef and bread. The people wanted
nourishing food. They always had a craving for meat, especially beef;
it took the place of buffalo meat and they felt abused if they did not
get it.
We made tea in a great washboiler that nearly covered the stove. The
people ate in relays; and we washed dishes in between. I helped Námo, a
young Indian woman who had charge of the dishes; she was a great talker
and good natured.
After supper even the bashful cowboys limbered up; although some
slipped out of sight, because they had not the courage to dance. But
never have I seen a crowd of dancers with more dash and enthusiasm.
After midnight only those who were experts in the square dance took the
floor. Some had odd steps, like jigs, which they used at every chance.
The dancers had no time to rest or sit down; and in their joy they
stamped so hard the cabin was filled with dust.
In the early hours of the morning, old women and children lay asleep on
the floors. And outside in the shack, they lay so close, there was no
room to step, or turn over without waking the others.
At the height of the dance some women got excited and I heard
exclamations of fear. They said they had seen a wild face look in at a
window. They thought it was the Mad Indian—the murderer who came at
night and killed people in the light. So they covered all the windows
with blankets and shawls; and for a while no one was willing to open
the door, or go out into the night. Perhaps somebody did look in. At
the time I paid but little attention; Indian women are superstitious
and have vivid imaginations. Besides, I thought the wild tales I heard
of a “Mad Indian” might be a myth. But he was no myth. He turned out to
be a real Indian, an outcast who had committed murder and was on the
warpath—a menace to everybody in that country both Indian and white,
seeking to kill as many people as he could before he himself had to
die. Later I heard his story from one of the Indian Mounted Police who
had captured him alive.
CHAPTER XVI
HUNTING ROCKY MOUNTAIN GOATS
When the ducks and geese were flying south, Mad Wolf said the time had
come to cut our winter firewood. So Little Creek, his son-in-law, and I
went together to the mountains. We started soon after sunrise, with
four powerful broncos harnessed to a timber wagon. Little Creek was a
reckless and fearless driver. He stood on the axle between the front
wheels and balanced himself skillfully, while I followed riding
Kutenai, my saddle horse.
The wild broncos, frightened by the rattling wagon, galloped across the
broad plateau. But it was an open table-land with an upgrade towards
the Rockies, and Little Creek let them run freely. We passed through
the foothills into a valley; and came finally to the edge of a forest
of pine and spruce on the mountains. There we camped and pitched our
lodge.
In the timber we selected only dead trees, standing and already
seasoned for firewood. We cut them into logs and put them in piles, to
haul later on the wagon. At midday we rested from our work, on a thick
carpet of green moss by a small brook; we ate our midday meal and were
refreshed by the fragrance of pine and balsam.
I watched a golden eagle soaring near the summit of a snowy peak; and a
flock of white swans with long necks outstretched, winging their way
across the deep blue of the autumn sky, the sunlight shining on their
wings and breasts. Many flocks of ducks whirred close to the tree tops,
in their level and rapid flight; and from far away came the honking of
migrating geese.
“Geese are wise and can foretell the weather,” said Little Creek. “Now
they fly high; and it is a sign of a hard winter. Other birds and
animals have also given warning. The curlew is not singing; many song
birds gathered early into flocks; prairie larks have disappeared; the
skins of otter, mink, and beaver are heavier than usual; and the jack
rabbits are already turning white.”
Next morning I stopped work in the forest to go on a hunt for mountain
goats. I took my saddle horse and followed a stream through a canyon,
into a basin with precipitous walls. There I left Kutenai and started
to climb the mountain on foot. I came to an exquisite alpine meadow
above timber-line, with a carpet of ferns and green grass. Little
mountain chipmunks were gathering seeds from alpine plants, scampering
and chattering in the warm sunlight. Then a hoary marmot gave a
piercing whistle from his rock tower on a cliff, where he lay watching
for enemies. Other marmots in their feeding grounds along the mountain
side took up the cry and ran for shelter to near-by cliffs and
boulders.
That day was strangely warm for the northern Rockies. Although late in
the autumn, the sky was clear and the wind blew softly from the south.
I ate my lunch of dried meat and bread beside a mountain torrent that
had its source in an icy cavern and snowdrifts. It crossed the meadow
and rushed tempestuously down a sheer and winding chasm to an unbroken
cliff, where it leaped forth and fell into the valley a mass of spray,
carrying chunks of ice which crashed upon the rocks far below.
Then I lay behind some gnarled and stunted firs to watch for game. The
surrounding country with its crags and towering precipices was an ideal
home for big horn and white goats. From my exposed place on the
shoulder of the mountain, I had a far-stretching view—a wide panorama
of unnamed peaks all towering into the blue, of valleys, emerald lakes,
green forests, and white snowfields.
It was then so late I had given up hope of getting any game that day.
Suddenly I caught sight of moving objects on a snowfield at the head of
a valley. Through my glasses I saw a herd of five goats led by a large
billy. They were the whitest things I have ever seen. It was only
because of their jet-black horns that I could see them on the snow.
Never shall I forget my feeling of exhilaration to see those wild
animals in their native haunts, and my eagerness to get one for a
hunter’s trophy.
They were coming my way. They were traveling fast and were headed for a
grassy knoll high above me. I waited until they were out of sight
behind a shoulder of the mountain, then left my ambush and climbed with
all my might. I crept along the side of a low ridge, hiding behind
clumps of alpine fir and juniper. With my large 45–70 rifle, rope, and
cartridge-belt, I had a heavy load for climbing. The ascent was steep
and covered with broken rocks. Because of the high altitude, I was soon
winded and felt weak in the knees. But my only chance for a shot was to
reach the knoll first.
When I was close to the spot, I threw myself behind a patch of
juniper—not a moment too soon. Before I could raise my rifle, the head
of a billy appeared over the edge of the slope. First he took a look
around; the others were behind and not in sight. Then he took a bite of
grass and stepped into view. I raised my rifle very slowly, very
carefully, and threw a cartridge into the barrel. The sound alarmed
him, for he threw up his head. I fired and hit him behind the shoulder.
He bounded into the air. I sent my second shot into another goat,
wounding him. With my third shot, I killed the first goat; and in the
meantime the second billy had disappeared. Then I saw him going up the
mountain with discouraging agility. I followed and came upon a nanny
with two young kids. I walked within a few feet, while they stood calm
and unconcerned. The kids were beautiful little animals, like woolly
toy goats. They stalked back and forth, wagging their ears and looking
at me in a puzzled way. They were consumed with curiosity and hopped up
on a big rock to get a better view. I wanted to stay and watch them,
but went instead to find the wounded goat.
By blood marks I tracked him up the mountain towards some precipices.
He ran to a series of ledges, made by the outcroppings of the rock
strata. I saw him jump from one shelf to another, and hit him with a
bullet. But, with vitality like that of a grizzly bear, he kept going.
In the excitement of the chase, I never thought of danger and followed
him along the shelves. He jumped to a lower series of ledges. If he
went farther, I would lose him, so I leaned over the precipice and
fired. The place where the goat stood was so narrow I thought he would
roll over the precipice; but he fell dead in his tracks.
Then the difficulty was to get to the place where the carcass lay. With
my rope in one hand and clinging to the rock wall with the other, I
crawled along the tier of ledges. I could hear the rocky débris from my
feet crashing on the boulders at the foot of the abyss. At last I
reached the goat on the narrow ledge. But I had trouble in skinning.
The carcass weighed two hundred pounds, and in such cramped quarters it
was hard to turn over. With hide partly off, the goat smell was
nauseating. But there was no escape. In front was a precipice which had
a strange fascination, but I dared not look over. At my back was the
rock wall which had such a slant I could not stand erect. Having
unjointed the head and finished the skinning, I crawled from the
carcass and sat down to rest.
Then, for the first time, I saw that a storm was gathering. Dark clouds
were settling over the mountains. The air was sultry; and from the look
of the sky a heavy snow was coming. I must hasten to a place of safety
before the storm set in.
With lariat I lashed the head of the goat, with its long sharp horns,
inside the pelt, threw one end of the rope to the shelf above, climbed
up and pulled the bundle after me. The return trip was more difficult
and dangerous; I had not the excitement of the chase to help. On hands
and knees I crawled along the narrow ledges and climbed from tier to
tier. I came to a buttress which blocked the way. I clung to the cold
wall with my fingers and clutched the scant projections of the cliffs.
It gave me a sickening sensation, when they crumbled and hurtled into
the abyss.
On one of the shelves, I came to a steep pitch in the floor. I shoved
the pack before me, but it began to slide. Quickly I freed myself from
the rope. I lay flat and heard the dull thud of my pack as it struck
far below. I thought all my labor was in vain; that the head had been
ruined by the fall. But I found it at the foot of the precipice, saved
from serious damage by the thick fur of the pelt. Then I skinned the
other goat; the two heads and pelts in one pack made, with my rifle, a
heavy load.
By the time I reached my horse on the floor of the basin, snow was
beginning to fall. And when I got back to camp, the timbered mountain
slopes were all white. That night we had the first heavy snow of the
season. But in the morning the clouds lifted and unveiled the cliffs
and canyons and high peaks.
Then I went forth for camera pictures, following the tracks of birds
and animals in the snow. The valley was filled with winter scenes of
wonderful beauty. As the sun rose over the mountains, icicles and ice
draperies pendent from cliffs and trees glistened like diamonds in its
bright rays. The branches of firs and pines drooped with heavy burdens
of snow. The undergrowth was covered with delicate draperies; boulders
and fallen trees had smoothly rounded caps. Brooks were covered with
ice, crystal clear—with here and there snow arches and arcades and
other marvelous ice structures.
Tracks of coyotes and timber wolves crossed and recrossed the trail. I
saw footprints of a snowshoe rabbit; they resembled snowshoe tracks,
because of the long fur on its feet; and the tiny tracks of mice and
their tunnels in the snow; where rabbits had played and a squirrel had
left a cone. There were tracks of willow ptarmigan; of a little “crying
hare”; and the splay footprints of a wolverine, called “Mountain Devil”
by the Indians, because of its meanness and wonderful cunning.
But our work in the forest was brought to a sudden close by my narrow
escape from death. Little Creek and I were felling together a large
spruce. He was chopping on one side and I on the other. When the tree
began to fall, I saw it coming my way and jumped for a place of safety.
But the top unexpectedly struck a leaning tree, throwing the butt of
our tree into the air; and then it came rolling down towards us. It
narrowly missed Little Creek. I heard him give a mighty yell; but there
was no escape for me. The trunk of the tree hurled me to one side, and
then the light went out.
When I opened my eyes, Little Creek was bending over me. I thought my
end had come; I could not breathe, neither could I move. Then my breath
slowly returned. I sat up and tried my limbs; to my surprise I could
move them all. But my clothes were torn and soaked with blood. The
jagged butt of the great tree had struck me as it rushed past, making a
ragged wound six inches long in my side; and that scar I shall always
carry. If I had been a few inches nearer the tree, I would have been
crushed.
CHAPTER XVII
THE BLIZZARD
That fall the good weather lasted until late on the plains. The days
passed clear and calm, as if waiting for a wind to bring the change.
One morning in November, I left my lodge at Mad Wolf’s home in the
valley, to ride after stray horses and cattle. The day was mild for so
late in the year. As I rode northward along the foot of the mountains,
a warm wind came from the east and clouds gathered over the Rocky
Mountain range from north to south. But overhead the sky was still
clear.
At midday I stopped to eat beside a small stream about twenty miles
from the ranch, letting my horse, Kutenai, graze in a meadow. While
stretched on the grass, I saw a great halo unusually bright, of orange
tinged with blue, appear around the sun; with large sun dogs showing on
both sides; and dull gray clouds, like a leaden roof, spread over the
entire sky. These were bad weather signs. So I saddled my horse and
started for home at a gallop.
The sky in the north became as black as ink, with bands of mist hanging
low. I felt a blast of cold air and drops of rain, and saw dark clouds
coming down from the north. They had a strange and ominous look,
rolling over and over, spreading out and trailing along the plain and
reaching upwards toward the zenith.
Then the blizzard came, straight from the north, with wind and cold and
snow. In the blinding storm I lost all sense of direction. In vain I
looked for landmarks—ridges, coulees, buttes, or streams—something
familiar to mark my course. My heart sank and I felt in a panic. In the
thickness of the storm, everything looked strange. I lost my way, going
eastward toward the open plains instead of south. Then I recognized a
familiar rock pile on a butte; and came finally to a broad table-land,
an exposed plateau, which I knew was ten miles north of the ranch. It
stretched from the foot of the mountains to the open plains, and south
to Mad Wolf’s home in the valley. Across its level surface the wind had
an unbroken sweep from the north.
Through deep snow my horse climbed to the summit of the plateau. And
all the time the wind was blowing a gale from the north with squalls of
hurricane force, bearing stinging sleet and snow in blinding clouds.
By this time Kutenai looked like a snow horse. He was covered with
white hoar-frost from head to foot, having holes for his eyes and nose.
Long icicles hung from his muzzle and from his sides and matted his
tail. He struggled through the deepening snow, losing courage and going
more and more slowly. He belonged to a mild country across the
mountains, and was a stranger to the plains and blizzards.
Then to save his strength and to warm my chilled hands and feet, I
dismounted and tried leading him. But he acted strangely, as if blind.
He reared and plunged and lay down in the snow. So I mounted again;
with whip and spurs I forced him to move forward.
Night came on, with the snow above the knees of my horse. The sky was
banked in darkness and the pitiless snow pelted me fiercely with every
blast. People who have not felt a winter blizzard on the northern
plains can never know what that struggle was.
I had strange sensations, as though I could not breathe; I felt
suffocated, as if smothered by the snow. It blew down my neck and
sifted through my clothes; it filled my eyes and mouth. A dense white
pall was about me. There was nothing to see—not a patch of grass, nor a
stone, only a dense whiteness. I thought I was going blind; my head
swam. So I began to shout, just to hear the sound of my own voice.
Suddenly I felt tired and lost hope. I thought how good it would be to
lie down in the snow; it was useless to fight that blizzard.
I was roused by my horse floundering deep in a snowdrift. He struggled
a moment; then lay still and began to groan. I struck him with my whip
and tried to drag him out by the reins; I seized him by the neck and
pushed him to and fro, trying to work him loose; I shouted and prodded
him with my spurs.
Roused by my rough treatment, he no longer groaned. He grunted and
tried hard to free himself. And with my help, he finally struggled from
the drift, shook himself, whinnied, sneezed several times to recover
his composure, and was ready to move on. From that moment he was a
different horse.
At last came a lull in the storm. The wind went down and the snow
ceased. Overhead the moon shone through lowflying clouds and gave me
the right course. During that lull I crossed the plateau—just in time;
the blizzard came from the northeast with greater force. But we were
safe in the river valley, protected from the wind by high cutbanks,
groves of big trees and thickets of willows. I knew my way and came
safely back to Mad Wolf’s ranch.
Throughout that night the blizzard raged. But my lodge with its inside
fire was a safe refuge. In my warm blankets I felt a delicious
surrender to fatigue; I fell asleep listening to the roar of the wind,
the beating of snow and sleet.
Next day, when I looked out, drifts were piled around the lodge, with
the ground swept clear in spots. Dense clouds of snow were being driven
by the gale and whirled high into the air; sky and plain were merged in
a vast expanse of whiteness.
During those long days of storm, my Indian father and his friends
passed their time by the lodge-fire, telling legends and stories of
adventure. They gossiped about friends and neighbors; talked of their
daily life—horses and cattle, hunting, and religious ceremonies.
The women amused themselves by gambling with four bones, which they
threw upon the ground and called by name. Men used four hiding-sticks
of bone, one marked with a black ring. They had two sides, each with a
leader who was an expert in handling the bones. The side with the bones
drummed with sticks on the lodge-poles; they sang songs while they
played, and made jibes and tried to rattle the guessers. These gambling
songs were sung with spirit and a marked rhythm, beginning in a low
tone and increasing in volume, until it reached a high pitch; then sank
again to a low pass, alternately rising and falling and gradually died
away. In this way the play went on until one side lost all the
counting-sticks. The players wagered weapons, horses, saddles,
sometimes their tepees and everything they possessed.
Children liked to coast on snowdrifts down the steep slopes of the
valley, on a sort of toboggan made of animal ribs lashed to
cross-sticks; or they sat on pieces of rawhide and held up the front
with their hands.
Boys spun wooden tops in the soft snow, driving them over the surface
with whips having lashes of buckskin or bark. They also played a game
on the ice, using smooth stones like tops. They played in pairs,
spinning the stones by whipping and driving them together. The top
which spun the longest was the winner. They used pebble tops on hard
snow, making them jump while spinning across the holes, by striking
them with their whips.
On a stormy night, I sat with the Mad Wolf family around a comfortable
lodge-fire, listening to the beating of snow and sleet. It was just the
night for ghosts. In the roar of the storm, everything sounded strange
and mysterious. The singing of burning wood in our fire was like
far-off voices. The bawling of the frightened cattle and barking of our
dogs seemed faint and far away.
Suddenly a violent squall shook the tepee and the door blew open. The
old woman Gives-to-the-Sun cried out:
“A ghost came in! I felt its cold touch! See the smoke whirl! And the
dogs gave the ghost-bark.”
Said Strikes-on-Both-Sides, my Indian sister:
“Of late many ghosts have been around. They do not like the Sand Hills.
They are restless and come back to visit their old haunts. The night we
camped on Two Medicine, the ghost of our old friend Running Rabbit came
from a clump of trees and frightened our horses. His ghost was so near
we feared he might touch us.”
“And why were you afraid of that?” I asked.
“It is sure death to be touched by a ghost,” said my Indian sister. “I
remember after Running Rabbit died, his ghost came back and took his
wife to the Spirit World. She and her daughter were on their way to the
home of Bull Calf. The mother felt a cold touch and turned to look.
Suddenly she fell to the ground and lay as if dead. When her spirit
came back, she said to her daughter: ‘Your father came and touched me.
He wants me to go back with him.’
“Soon after that the old woman died; and her relatives believe that
Running Rabbit took her. The ghost of that old man has been bothering
many people who live on Two Medicine. Strange he should become so mean.
He was so good and kind when alive.”
“There are many ghosts in Two Medicine Valley,” said Gives-to-the-Sun.
“People talk all the time of seeing them. Not long ago, Old Person was
riding down the river to the home of Little Plume. The night was dark.
When he came to the grove of cottonwoods, where the body of White
Quiver lies in the branches of a tree, his horse jumped and snorted. As
he rode away, he heard a queer voice from the tree say:
“‘Old Person, why are you so long in coming to the Spirit World? I am
still waiting for you.’
“Soon after that Old Person became ill and died. I heard of another
ghost that bothered the families of Big Wolf and Buffalo Hide. It kept
them awake all night. It came from the trees and roused the dogs. They
gave the ghost-bark; they growled and sniffed the air. That ghost cried
like an owl and pulled their door open. Next morning they found the
reason. They saw a dead body in a tree close to their camp. It was the
unhappy spirit of a man who was murdered by his jealous brother.”
Then Mad Wolf told of an experience he once had with a ghost:
“When I was a young man, I went off to sleep alone. I walked all day
and fasted. I wanted to have a dream and to get power. At night I came
to a forest on the mountains and made a shelter of branches. As I lay
alone in the dark, I thought of many things—of wild animals and of
ghosts, the evil kind, which twist the mouths of people and make them
crooked; they pull their tongues back into their throats and kill them,
and shoot with their finger nails. I lay awake and heard strange
noises—coughing and laughing and whistling by ghosts. Finally a ghost
came near. I begged it to pity me and offered it my pipe to smoke. Then
I fell asleep; and in my dream that ghost gave me power to doctor the
sick.”
Another stormy evening a lively crowd of Indians came into my lodge and
sat around the fire. Two Guns, son of the head-chief White Calf, with
his wife and family were there, also the family of Mad Wolf. Two Guns
and his wife were great talkers and fond of repartee. He was in a good
humor that night and said, to make the others laugh:
“I see your lodge has a black top like a stormy sky. It must be a
bad-weather-lodge and the cause of this big storm.”
“That cannot be,” I replied. “We have often used it when there were no
clouds and the country was dry.”
Said Two Guns: “Is it because you come from the smoky-city that your
tepee smokes so badly?” At this joke the crowd all laughed, and he
said: “White Weasel, tell us what the medicine of your tepee forbids
your doing.”
I replied: “There are so many things I could not begin to tell.”
At this every one was pleased. They all liked the repartee. The young
wife of Two Guns was preparing her pipe for a smoke, so I offered her
my tobacco bag. Her husband said:
“Lookout! White Weasel! If you mix any love-medicine with that tobacco,
I may lose my wife.”
I told him it was already too late. He laughed and said:
“If your love-medicine acts that quickly, I shall probably lose her
before we get home.”
That night by the lodge-fire, Mad Wolf told us about the origin of his
Winter, or Snow Tepee. He said:
LEGEND OF THE SNOW TEPEE
“There was once an Indian who hunted in winter, far out on the open
plains. He saw a person running on foot from the north, shooting
his arrows, and after him came the blizzard. After that the Indians
knew that Bad-Old-Man brings the winter; also that Good-Old-Man
brings the warm wind. When the chinook blows in winter, we say:
‘Good-Old-Man is running down from the mountains with the warm
wind.’
“Good-Old-Man and Bad-Old-Man keep chasing each other backwards and
forwards throughout the winter. But in spring Good-Old-Man has the
victory.
“The Supernatural Person who makes the winter storms and blizzards
gave us the Snow Tepee. It is not often seen in our summer camps,
because it is a bad-weather-lodge and has power to bring storms. It
came to our people many years ago during a big storm; in this same
moon—the beginning of winter.
“The ducks and geese had gone south; the last of their flocks had
disappeared many days before. It was time for winter, but the air
was still warm. A band of hunters went on the open plains to hunt
buffalo. An Indian named Sacred Otter and his young son had good
luck. After they had killed many buffalo they started to skin them.
They were hard at work on the carcass of a big bull and had taken
off the hide, when Sacred Otter saw black clouds coming towards
them, spreading out and rolling over and over. He knew it was a
Charge Storm—a terrible blizzard—and there was no time to get away.
So he made a rude shelter with the green hide and carcass of the
bull. They both got inside; the snow quickly covered them; and in
spite of the bitter cold, they were warm and comfortable under a
huge drift.
“Then Sacred Otter fell asleep and dreamed he was traveling on the
plains. He came to a large tepee decorated with strange pictures.
The top was yellow, for the color of the sky at sunset; a cluster
of seven green discs was on the north side to represent the
constellation of the Great Bear—the direction the blizzards come
from; at the back a red disc for the Sun, from the center of which
hung a buffalo tail; around the bottom was a yellow band with green
discs, the color of holes in ice and snowdrifts, and the peaks of
the Rocky Mountains. At the tips of the ear poles were bunches of
crow feathers with small bells, which tinkled in the wind; and over
the door a buffalo head in red, with green eyes—the ice color.
“While Sacred Otter was looking at these pictures, he heard a voice
say:
“‘Who is it that stands outside my tepee? Why don’t you come in?’
“He opened the door and saw a large fine-looking man seated at the
back, smoking a pipe of black stone. His hair was white and he wore
a long white robe. The stranger directed Sacred Otter to a seat
near the door and continued smoking in silence. His face was
painted yellow, with a red line across the mouth and another across
the eyes. He had a black feather in his hair; round his waist an
otter-skin with small bells attached, and on his breast a minkskin.
Finally the stranger spoke, saying:
“‘I am the Maker-of-Cold-Weather and this is my Snow Tepee. It is I
who send the blizzards, the snow and cold from the north. For the
sake of your young son who was caught with you in the blizzard, I
am going to pity you and spare your life. I give you my Snow Tepee
with its pictures; also this black stone pipe, and my supernatural
power goes with it. When you get safely back to your camp, make a
new lodge and paint it with pictures like those you see on mine.’
“The Cold Maker taught Sacred Otter the songs and prayers that went
with the ceremony of the Snow Tepee, which should be used for the
healing of the sick. He also instructed him to place horse tails on
both sides of the door for good luck—to keep his own horses and to
get more from his enemies; and to wear a minkskin as a charm when
he went to war, to keep him from being injured.
“Then Sacred Otter awoke. He saw that the blizzard was going down
and knew the Cold Maker would keep his promise. As soon as he got
back to his camp, he made a model of the Snow Tepee with its
pictures and decorations—just as he saw it in his dream. And, when
spring came, the time the Indians make their new lodges, Sacred
Otter made and painted the first Snow Tepee. Since that time we
have always believed in its power—to heal those who are ill and to
protect its inmates from sickness and danger.”
CHAPTER XVIII
SNOW-BOUND
The scout and his family were snow-bound at the Agency and could not
get back to their ranch. The prairies were impassable with deep drifts;
high winds blew day after day from the north. Meanwhile with Yellow
Bird I looked after their live stock, and rounded up the cattle and
horses which wandered in the storm.
Then, another terrible blizzard came in the night. The roar of the wind
in the cottonwoods sounded like ocean surf in a heavy storm. When I
awoke in the morning, the light in the cabin was strangely dim. With a
sense of foreboding I opened the door. A heavy snow was falling, coming
straight down. It covered the fences and lay on a level with the cabin
windows. The great depth of the snow showed on the roofs of the
low-lying sheds and on the rounded banks of the river. A swift current
was running, with an ice gorge against the foot log, which backed up
the water and covered the meadow with a small lake.
First we opened a path to the sheds, and fed hay to the cows and
calves. Then we dug a log from the snow and sawed it into blocks for
firewood. The air was thick with falling snow and it was growing
colder. So we made ready to hunt for cattle on the plains where they
were exposed to the full force of the storm.
Yellow Bird rode his big roan horse, I a powerful sorrel. I wore a
beaver-skin cap with the hood pulled down, a woolen scarf about neck
and face, coyote-skin gloves, leather coat and felt boots; only my eyes
were exposed.
When we were ready, our horses stood all humped up because of the cold.
They were in a bad humor, ready to make us pay dear for riding them. As
I leaped into the saddle, my horse was off like a flash, running with
head down and back arched; he bucked in a series of high leaps, landing
stiff-legged on all fours. Blinded by the whirling snow, I shut my eyes
and held tight by the grip of my knees. Yellow Bird’s horse followed
bucking; but he shouted with delight and struck him with his quirt
after every jump.
We found some cattle huddled together in the deep snow, and drove them
from the open plains to the river valley, to the shelter of willow
thickets. Then, because of the rising storm, we hurried back to the
ranch.
Through that long night, I could not sleep because of the cold. The
terrible chill in the air pierced to the marrow of my bones. I held my
face under the blankets, and hands against my body to keep them from
freezing. I lay listening to the wind; and towards morning fell into a
restless doze.
When I awoke, a dull gray light was in the room. The roar of the wind
sounded distant and far away. I waited, but it grew no lighter. A heavy
frost covered the windows, the knob and latch of the door. The cracks
in the window near my bed were stuffed with hay to keep out the wind;
but the gale drove the fine snow through crevices and made drifts on
the floor.
After sunrise the wind went down; and the temperature fell to forty
degrees below zero Fahrenheit. But the sky was clear and the sun shone
undimmed through the frosty air. Loud reports like rifle shots came
from breaking ice in the river. The roof of our cabin cracked as though
it would burst.
Outside it was hard to move about, because of the deep snow; but I made
my way to a ridge near the pasture. I saw no tracks, no animals, nor
birds; not even wolves nor ravens had yet ventured forth. Not a tree
could be seen, nor the smallest bush, nothing to break the monotony of
that dreary wind-swept waste.
Sometimes Yellow Bird and I did not speak for hours at a stretch; we
only talked when we felt like it. On those long days of storm he was
restless and morose. He loved excitement and hated regular work, and
the monotony of ranch life in winter.
Finally the sun rose in a clear sky. The plains were dazzling, the sky
a broad expanse of blue. The clouds rolled away from the Rockies,
revealing the great range from north to south—a mass of snow and ice.
Glaciers on the high peaks glowed and sparkled in the sunlight. The
green forests were covered with a blanket of white. Tall pines held
masses of snow, which reflected the sun’s rays from myriads of small
icicles. The icy covering of the river smoked; and the bare cottonwoods
along its shores were covered with white hoar-frost.
Then Yellow Bird said that we had better saddle our horses and drive
the cattle back to the ranch; if we did not feed them hay they would
die. We found a big herd by their tracks, scattered among thickets of
willows. We worked fast in the intense cold, rounding up and heading
off. Our horses went at a gallop along the ice-covered trails; but they
were agile and sure-footed and did not fall.
We drove the cattle from their hiding places, gathering them together.
Then headed them towards the ranch; and, with shouting and firing of
guns, drove them bellowing, their rough coats covered with white
hoar-frost from the vapor of their steaming hides.
At the ford of the river a swift current overflowed the ice. The steers
in the lead balked; they stood and smelled the ice. The cattle in the
rear crowded forward. They ran along the shore, bellowing and with
clouds of steam rising from their nostrils. A big steer led the way and
the others followed. They broke through the ice and struggled in a
mass. Some were carried down-stream by the swift current and lodged
against an ice-jam; but all got safely across.
Then came an accident to Yellow Bird. At our cabin he jumped from his
horse and landed on the sharp edge of an axe unturned in the snow. To
stop his foot from bleeding, I used a compress made tight with a stick;
I dressed it with an antiseptic and bandaged the wound. Yellow Bird was
now helpless and took to his bed.
The herd of famished cattle crowded bellowing about the cabin. I opened
the door and saw them pushing and struggling; mad with hunger, fences
could not stop them; to hold them at the ranch, they must be fed with
hay that night.
When I went outside, the dry snow crackled and made a grinding sound
underfoot. After the violent “low” of the blizzard, the barometer was
now high; the temperature had fallen to fifty degrees below zero. But
the air was dry and the sky cloudless. On a rude ladder I climbed to
the ridge of the haystack and cleared away the deep covering of snow
and ice. With an axe I chopped the top hay frozen into a mass. Then cut
it into chunks and fed it to the starving cattle. This heavy work made
me sweat freely in spite of the cold. But, when I loosened my skin cap,
hair and eyelashes were quickly covered with ice; and I had the strange
sensation of my eyelids freezing so tight I had to pull them apart.
The night was strangely clear. A moon nearly full rose over the plains,
flooding that vast whiteness with its cold light. I saw clearly the
snow-banked cabin and low-lying sheds and the struggling cattle. The
heavens were of a marvelous purity and depth, with many wondrous stars.
Venus, like a great light in the west, was sinking over the
snow-covered mountains. East was the burning Sirius, in the
constellation of Orion with belt and sword, Gemini with its twins,
Auriga made beautiful by Capella, and Taurus with the Pleiades and
Hyades.
Even after the lapse of so many years, I remember that winter night as
yesterday—the air, the moon, and the evening star over the shining
mountains, like the vision of another world—the realm of the spirit.
CHAPTER XIX
THE MAD INDIAN
Next morning there was a below-zero temperature inside the cabin. The
stove was as cold as ice; and the kettle, which was boiling when I went
to bed, was frozen solid. I built a fire and cooked breakfast—bacon,
potatoes, and rutabagas. The wounded Yellow Bird lay gloomily in bed.
Then I fed the cows and calves in the sheds. Many of the chickens were
frozen in their snug house underground. The cats, which lived in the
cattle-sheds, were like savage beasts. When I drew off my gloves to
feed them, a cat sprang at my hand and fastened its teeth in my thumb.
They fought over the meat and tore it with snarls.
I found our two dogs in a deep hole under the haystack. One named Red
Rover showed his fangs and slunk away. He was wild and suspicious by
nature; his father was a coyote and while young he ran with a coyote
pack. But after I fed him, he watched for my coming. He was no longer
afraid and became my faithful friend.
Kutenai, my saddle horse, I kept in the cattle-shed. Every day he liked
to play in the corral, trying to escape me by running, until I swung
myself on his bare back and we went for a swift gallop in the pasture,
where the snow had been trampled by the cattle.
From early morning until night I was busy, feeding the crippled Yellow
Bird and the live stock and chopping wood for the hungry stove. I
cooked three meals a day and washed the dishes; baked bread and swept
the cabin; shoveled snow and kept the ford at the river open for horses
and cattle to drink.
Every afternoon near sunset, I fed the big cattle herd, chopping hay
from the frozen stack and carrying it to them in the pasture. I had
narrow escapes on foot from wild steers trying to kick the hay from my
fork; and from cows with calves—sometimes they drove me on a run to the
fence.
I tried to save time in the feeding, by scattering the hay in long
windrows near the stack. But this only gave me more trouble. When the
hungry cattle saw me spreading hay on the other side of the fence, they
began to bellow and paw the snow. A steer tried to get over the fence,
but stuck in the middle; another followed; and then the entire herd
made a rush through the fence. I had to saddle my horse to drive them
away from the stack.
One cold night, when Yellow Bird and I sat smoking with our feet
against the stove, we heard a strange thumping against the cabin wall,
at the back of the kitchen. Yellow Bird was afraid and showed it. He
had a superstitious dread of the mysterious, of big storms and of going
about in the dark. I was not superstitious by nature; yet I had a queer
feeling when that mysterious sound began again.
Something struck the cabin and was followed by a rhythmic beating
against the outside wall. The weather was cold, but windless. When the
sound died away there was silence. I got up and peered through the
frost-covered window. Yellow Bird quickly blew out the light. At that
moment the same thought came to both of us—it was the Mad Indian. He
had come to get a shot at us. People were afraid on both sides of the
line, in Alberta and Montana. Ever since the fall we had been hearing
blood-curdling tales. He came silently in the dark and shot people who
stood in the light; outside he stabbed them with a long knife.
We got our rifles and held them ready, standing in the shadow, away
from the glow of the fire, expecting any moment to hear a shot, to feel
the sting of a bullet, or to see a wild face at the window. But nothing
happened and we got tired of waiting; we hung blankets over the windows
and went to bed.
Then came another blow that shook the cabin. I sat up to listen; Yellow
Bird made no sound; he did not move in his bed. After the mysterious
beating had died away, I was no longer afraid; even a mad Indian would
not wait so long in the snow and bitter cold.
So I put on my heavy socks and coat and, taking my rifle, went
cautiously to the door and waited. When the sound came again, I opened
the door and ran to the back of the cabin. An animal, the size of a
large cat, bounded away in the dark. It went so fast I had no time to
shoot. Then, under the roof and hanging from the outside cabin-wall, I
found the mangled body of a goose, which we had left there forgotten.
Beneath the goose hung a long timber-saw. When the starving cat jumped
at the carcass, it clung with teeth and claws and struggled, thus
moving the big saw, which made the rhythmical beating.
A mounted policeman, an Indian named Many Guns, came to our cabin for
shelter from the blizzard. He entered without a word and for a while
sat silently by the fire. Then he said abruptly, “I came from the
north. I had a bad trip.”
We gave him food, and after a smoke he spoke again:
“My horse is worn out and my arm is frozen. Yesterday I crossed the
Hudson Bay Divide; the snow lies in terrible drifts. My horse broke
through the ice in crossing a river. I nearly froze to death. But some
Indians helped me. Out there they starve; their food is nearly gone.”
That night Many Guns, one of the Indian Mounted Police, told us about
his north journey. He said:
STORY OF THE MAD INDIAN
“In the autumn, I went across the line to hunt Opiowan, a Blood
Indian. He killed many people, both Indian and white. He was once a
peaceful man who lived with his two wives. The youngest, Pretty
Wolverine, was his favorite. They were happy until a former lover
of the youngest wife came to their lodge. Then Opiowan was jealous.
He warned the man to stay away.
“One day the husband told his wives he was going away on a journey.
But he did not go far. He hid and watched his tepee. He saw the
lover and his youngest wife go together into the woods. The husband
followed and caught them. He killed that rival and mutilated him
with his knife; but he did not harm the woman. He told her to go
home; and then he went on his journey. Soon the body of the lover
was found by the North-West Mounted Police; but no one knew the
murderer.
“Then Opiowan came home and lived with his wives as formerly. But
he was afraid and did not want to see any one.
“And what was the cause of his fear?” I asked
“He was afraid of everything,” said Many Guns. “At night he kept
seeing the face of the man he killed and could not sleep. He
believed every one was against him; he trembled at every sound—the
barking of a dog, a running horse. He was afraid of the police, and
whenever he heard the sound of hoofs near his tepee, he wanted to
hide. He thought he was going mad; he no longer cared to live. Then
he made a vow, that he would kill as many people as he could before
he died. He told his wives he would die fighting like a brave
warrior.
“One night he went to the cabin of a white man. He shot him through
the window as he stood in the light. He saw him fall; he sang his
war-song and danced; he painted his face and started on the
warpath; he was ready to die.
“He made his wives take down their tepee and they fled to the
mountains. From a cliff he saw the Mounted Police who had come to
take him. He escaped with both his wives and they hid in the
forest. They went north along the mountains. Whenever they got
hungry, Opiowan took all the food he wanted from Indian camps. One
night he stole into a white settlement near the foot of the
mountains. He shot a white man and took all the ammunition he could
get. The police followed his trail, but he escaped into the hills.
“By this time it was the end of autumn, and winter came quickly
with cold and deep snow. But Opiowan was always on the move. He had
a way of shooting people through cabin windows, as they stood in
the light. He was like a myth. He was said to be in many places at
the same time, and to travel miraculous distances.
“But, one night a heavy snow fell in the mountains and his wives
left him. They fled to an Indian camp on the plains. Then Opiowan
was driven from the mountains by cold and hunger. He came to the
tepee of his brother in the Blood camp. His brother took him in and
tried to hide him. But the Mounted Police trailed the murderer and
surrounded the camp. Then Opiowan the Mad Indian killed himself. He
cut his wrists with an awl and bled to death; and that is the end
of my story.”
Not till then was the feeling of dread removed from the people both
Indian and white who lived near the border-line, on the lonely prairies
and in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. The tales about him may
have been exaggerated but the story of the Mounted Policeman proved
that the Mad Indian was not a myth.
CHAPTER XX
COMING OF THE CHINOOK
After many days the scout came back alone to his ranch, and we rode
together on the open plains to look for missing cattle. We found cows
and calves dying without food or drink, and a young steer that had
fallen through the ice, frozen in the river. We hauled it ashore with
our lariats and, after dragging the carcass back to the cabin, skinned
and butchered it; the way Indians used to cut up buffalo. We took out
the tongue, short-ribs, boss-ribs, shoulders and hams, briskets and
belly-pieces. There was no waste; we used the entrails for eating,
saving the hide for tanning, also the brains and liver; the tissue was
used for sinew.
Then another blizzard came with more snow, intense cold, and a gale
from the north. That night as we sat by the stove, the side of our
bodies towards the fire was warm, the other numb with cold. Whenever we
opened the door, the cold air formed a cloud of steam, which shot along
the floor and made a fall of snow on the threshold. Then the roof began
to crack, and loud reports came from ice in the river. I heard the
booming of a bursting tree, and then of a water-filled hollow. The
scout said:
“Those are signs of more bad weather. My friend Bear Paw, who lives
near the mountains, says it is over forty years since we had a moon
with such bad storms. Before they came, he saw a mysterious ball of
fire hang over the forest. Bear Paw keeps tribal records on buffalo
skins: deaths of chiefs, cold winters, summers of drought and of
plenty.”
It was a dreary time when our oil gave out; I could neither read nor
write. There were only six hours of daylight, with darkness for the
remaining eighteen.
Big gray wolves and packs of coyotes driven by hunger came close to the
ranch. One night I heard them feasting on the carcass of a cow not far
from our cabin. Finally they became so bold we made baits of poisoned
meat and placed them on the hills, dragging the bloody head of the
steer behind our horses to lead them to the baits.
I saw sun dogs in the sky, shining dimly, like great crosses of light
near the sun. Then shadows appeared over the Rocky Mountains, strange
“snow banners,” or cloud-shaped drifts in the sky, stretching out from
the summits of the high peaks, waving and shimmering in the rays of the
sun—a sign that a powerful norther was raging over the mountains. The
light dry snowdust, being driven by the wind up the flanks of the high
peaks, was carried over them and into the sky, each peak having its own
snow banner, all pointing the same way, all gleaming and waving against
the blue sky.
That night a nor’wester came roaring over the plains, with a whirling
wind that sought to lift the roof and terrible gusts, which struck the
walls like a battering-ram, until the cabin swayed and trembled.
The scout sat dejected by the fire. He was filled with gloom; and when
I wakened towards midnight he was still there, with his head bowed. I
heard him pray earnestly and in a low voice to the Sun:
“Father, have pity and help us.
I am praying for my people.
The Indians starve and are cold.
Break up the clouds and shine upon us.
Take what I say and send the Chinook.
Father, the Sun, have pity and help my people.”
At last came a day with signs of better weather. At dawn the sky was
vivid green with clouds of pink and gold; and at midday water was
dripping from the roof and the thick frost melted from the windows.
Then on Kutenai I went forth to hunt, following the tops of the ridges.
I saw tracks of a wolf pack, and the large round footprints of a pair
of Rocky Mountain lions, with marks where their long tails dragged in
the snow. But I had no luck. The traveling was bad; the low places and
gullies were choked with snow, and the plains covered with huge drifts,
following one another like billows of the ocean, with smaller waves on
top. The bright sun was blinding on the white surface snow, and the air
filled with particles of floating ice. My horse’s hoofs rang on the icy
crust; sometimes it bore our weight; at others his feet broke through.
One moment his hind quarters were down, at another he seemed to be
standing on his head. Once he slipped on an ice-covered hill and turned
a complete somersault. I flew over his head and landed safely in a
snowdrift. The only game I saw was a bunch of antelope. But they were
feeding on the bare summit of a ridge with no cover near, and I had no
way of stalking them. After that I turned back because the sun was
getting low.
I remember well how the cabin looked that night, after my trip on the
snowy wastes. Our table was covered with a cloth of bright red; the
steam rising from a bountiful supper of rib-roast; the glow of the
firelight over all, and the glistening of frost-covered windows.
Then the south wind rose and the river was covered with mist. Misty
clouds hung along the horizon, and I saw two rainbows at a distance
from the sun. Banks of heavy clouds settled low over the Rocky
Mountains, with another great bank higher up. In the west the sky
became as black as ink and the color of indigo at the zenith. The wind
went down and there came a strange stillness.
Suddenly, from out of the west I heard a dull roar, like the roll of
distant thunder. “Listen!” cried the scout. “The Chinook! At last!
Good-Old-Man comes from the mountains to run out over the plains.”
I looked towards the Rockies and saw dense clouds of snow swept into
the air by the force of a mighty wind. It passed the foothills and came
swiftly over the plains, like banks of driven fog. Then the gale struck
us carrying masses of melting snow, which covered us from head to foot.
In a few minutes the temperature rose forty degrees.
A Chinook wind occurs on the east side of the Rocky Mountains, whenever
a well-developed cyclonic storm passes over the northern part of the
United States. It blows from the direction of the country occupied by
the Chinook Indians. It is not a wind from the Japanese Current of the
Pacific Ocean, as is commonly believed. It is a “descending wind” that
flows over the Rocky Mountains, following the low pressure on the
eastern side, which draws it down the mountains to the plains. Thus the
wind is compressed and has capacity for holding heat. When the Chinook
blows, precipitation ceases, clouds disappear and the air is dry.
That Chinook blew for three days. It went down in the evening after the
sun, but came again in the morning, melting the snow as if by magic. In
a few hours as much snow had melted as by a gentle thaw of many days.
Our river was a wonderful sight. It became a raging torrent that
whirled and foamed and burst its icy covering. The huge drifts of snow
that filled the valleys and were piled along the river banks looked
yellow and shrunken and lost their graceful curves. The cowhouse and
other sheds were flooded. In the night the air was filled with strange
sounds—the running and dripping of water, the slipping and sliding of
melting snow and ice.
For days we were storm-bound, because of the floods and the force of
that mighty wind. Finally the grass-covered summits of the ridges
appeared—the first time in many weeks. Then we gave cattle and horses
their last feed of hay at the ranch, and drove them forth to pasture on
the hills.
CHAPTER XXI
BEGINNING OF SPRING
The end of winter I was camped with my friends Onesta and Nitana, near
the log cabin of Little Creek and his wife Strikes-on-Both-Sides, my
Indian sister. The heavy snow had melted from the prairie, but drifts
still lay under the summits of high ridges. The air was mild with mists
over the valleys; streams overflowing their banks and with soft ice
running. I saw the first flocks of white geese returning from the
south, also ducks and whistling swans, all pressing northward on warm
sunny days when the wind was in the south. And then the big storm,
which Indians say comes every year, “when horses begin to shed their
winter hair.” It began in the night, coming straight from the north.
Then veered to all points of the compass.
During the worst days, we stayed in our lodges and slept. But I was
strangely contented and happy. My mind seemed to have reverted to the
state of a savage. I was alive to everything and alert. Things about me
interested me—the life and simple pleasures of the Indians, the habits
of birds and wild animals, the flowers and trees.
The cabin of Little Creek had one small room, where he lived with his
wife and children, two dogs, a snowshoe rabbit, pet hawk, and a black
ground squirrel. Strikes-on-Both-Sides found it on Sun River. She
rescued it from a band of yellow ground squirrels, which were trying to
kill it because it was black.
On stormy nights I liked to sit by my cosy inside fire, listening to
the wind as it rose and fell, whistling through the lodge-poles and
humming against the ropes, the hissing of whirling snow and beating of
rain and sleet. Sometimes I felt uplifted by a good and controlling
spirit. I wanted to do something to make people happy that they might
have time to think and dream, and be able to enjoy the world of nature.
And, as I lay on my couch of robes and blankets, looking into the
flames of my small lodge-fire, I dreamed of Indian chiefs and medicine
men before the white race came. There was something very lofty and
noble about these aboriginal Americans; deep in their natures, they had
qualities hidden, which white men in their literature have ever failed
to reach.
After being storm-bound many days, I wakened one morning to the musical
song of a lark sparrow seated overhead, on top of one of my
lodge-poles. The clouds had rolled away and the sun shone in a sky of
deepest blue. It was the beginning of spring.
Then we took down our lodges and traveled southward along the Rockies,
until we came to the valley of Two Medicine River. How good it was to
enter that warm and sunny valley after the bleak and wintry plains; we
were protected from cold winds by high cutbanks, groves of big
cottonwood trees and thickest of poplars and willows.
It was one of those rare days in spring, when all nature awakes and
becomes radiant with beauty. Everything was new—grass, leaves, and the
scent of wild flowers. Some of the thickets had small green leaves.
Buds were bursting on the cottonwood trees; balsam poplars had young
leaves in a lovely shade of yellow-green; through every opening in the
trees I saw the deep blue sky. Blue violets grew along the river bank.
In the meadows were daisies, yellow violets, and blue forget-me-nots.
The sun was hot, bringing forth the fragrance of wild flowers, leaves
and buds. Butterflies and bees were abroad. Birds sang in thickets of
alder and willows, in sloughs and water-meadows. All nature was busy
and alive to the joy of living.
We made camp in a meadow; and then I went with Little Creek to explore
the valley. On a rocky cliff, surrounded by sharp pinnacles, the place
where an eagle would build its nest, we found the graves of two women,
one a young wife who died in childbirth, the other killed by a jealous
lover. Their graves were placed on the other side of the valley from
their former home, in the belief that ghosts would not cross a river to
bother the living.
We saw the grave of an aged medicine woman in a big cottonwood tree.
The body rested on a rude scaffold of poles among the branches,
surrounded with utensils and articles of clothing for use in the spirit
world. In another tree were the bodies of two Blood women from Canada,
who had died while on a visit to relatives. From the branches hung
ornaments of beadwork—sacrifices by women who mourned.
On the north side of the valley was a high cliff, over which Indians of
long ago drove herds of buffalo, in the days before they had horses or
firearms. From the top of the precipice a level plain stretched away to
the grass-land of open prairies, with two ancient and overgrown fences
of stones, which had been used by the Indians as guides in buffalo
drives. Near by were signs of an ancient camp—eight circles of large
stones, deeply imbedded in the soil and overgrown with grass, where
eight skin lodges once stood.
That night we sat by our tiny camp-fire and talked about those ancient
hunters and how they chased the buffalo. Onesta said:
“In those days of long ago, summer was the time of plenty. Then our
people used flint knives and arrow-points instead of guns. They had
pots of stone, and bone-scrapers for tanning skins. Dogs were their
beasts of burden instead of horses, and people carried things on their
backs. They killed buffalo in great numbers by driving them over
cliffs. When the herds moved in from the grass-land, they followed our
stone fences; they ran over a cliff and were killed; the wounded were
caught in a corral at the bottom.
“The chief picked a strong runner to lead the buffalo. On the day of
the run, that man rose early and went forth before sunrise. He covered
himself with a robe and wore horns on his head. He kept moving about
until the buffalo herd saw him and stood looking. Then he led them
between the stone piles; and Indians lying hidden rose up; they waved
their robes and shouted; they stampeded the buffalo, which ran over the
cliff and were killed.
“Then the women came to cut up the carcasses. They used the skins of
old animals for lodges and those of young ones for robes. They carried
the meat on dog travois back to their tepees, spreading it on poles to
dry in the sun; making pemmican and mixing it with marrowfat and dried
berries, which they kept in rawhide cases for use in winter.”
Thus Onesta talked that night.
We stayed in Two Medicine Valley, until our horses were through
shedding their hair and became fat on the new grass. Then we broke camp
and moved up towards the Rocky Mountains. It was an Indian custom to go
every spring to the forests on the mountains, to cut new lodge-poles
for their summer camps and to gather roots and wild vegetables for both
eating and healing.
We followed the valley westward, riding through grassy meadows with
gardens of wild flowers. Masses of loco weed were in bloom, growing in
dense spikes of brilliant pink, purple and blue, clusters of gaillardia
with radiant yellow blossoms, and fields of phacelia, a rich carpet of
white and blue, flaming Indian paint-brush, drooping bluebells, and
shooting stars.
Along the banks of the river were thickets of peach-leaf willows,
fragrant balsam poplars, and cottonwood trees, with their cottony tufts
of seeds. Lark sparrows were singing, and willow thrushes with mellow
flutelike notes. A little bird called “black-breast” by the Indians
(horned lark) ran along the ground ahead of our horses. It sang at all
times, through the heat of midday and even at night. On the prairie he
would spring from the grass and soar into the air. Then extending his
wings he would sink slowly to the ground, always against the wind,
hovering like a butterfly and singing his cheerful rippling song like
that of the English linnet.
But the most wonderful of all the birds was the soaring song of the
Missouri skylark. At first I could not see them. They sang so high in
the air, they were like specks in the blue sky. Their sweet strains
came from overhead like a song from heaven. When several skylarks were
singing, the air was filled with the tender strains. Then, after
hovering awhile, they closed their wings and pitched to the ground to
hide themselves in the long grass.
CHAPTER XXII
OUR CAMP IN THE MOUNTAINS
We camped in a broad and sunny valley, with lovely grassy meadows,
groups of firs and tapering spruces; where clear streams of ice-cold
water wound their way through thickets of alder and willows. Across a
lake was a snow-capped peak, with foaming cataracts falling over
timbered cliffs, and a hanging valley where the slopes of two mountains
met in a massive rock wall.
That evening the fish were rising in the lake. After picketing my
horse, I lost no time in getting out my rod and fly-book to fish the
outlet, where the current was broad and swift. From a high bank at the
mouth I made my first cast. The water was clear and many fish in sight,
darting hither and thither over a bottom of clean sand and gravel, with
pebbles of many shapes and colors shining in the sunlight.
Soon I had a strike. My line tightened and there came a holding back, a
palpitation of the rod. Then a big tail flashed in the sunlight and
thrashed the surface. It was an open river with good going along the
shore. I gave my fish plenty of line and held him in the current.
Before long I had a four-pound Dolly Varden flopping on the pebbly
shore. I caught several Dolly Vardens, and then a double catch of brook
trout, a two-pound and a one-pound fish. My largest brook trout weighed
three pounds.
We pitched our lodges near the lake, in a meadow where wild geranium
and blue camas were in bloom. Little Creek and his wife were in one of
the tepees, Onesta and Nitana and their small daughter Yellow Mink in
the other. I slept outside under a pine tree and on the shore of the
lake. Overhead were the feathery arms of the tree, with clusters of
cones at the ends of the branches. The ground was covered with fragrant
pine needles, piles of cone scales and shells where the squirrels had
been feasting.
From my bed I watched the stars come slowly out above the dark
battlements of the mountains. Overhead the nighthawks were feeding,
pitching about and diving with a rushing sound of their wings. I saw a
flock of ducks on the lake and a solitary beaver swimming in the
twilight. After dark the night wind began to blow, sighing through the
branches of my pine tree. I heard the lapping of water along the sandy
shore, roar of an avalanche, and the distant thunder of cataracts
wind-borne across the lake.
There is no sweeter chorus than the songs of birds in the early
northern dawn. I heard thrushes and purple finches in the willows and
Western yellow-throats and evening grosbeaks in groves of quaking
aspen. Along the lake-shore the dominant singers were the white-crowned
sparrows with sweet and uplifted melody.
After sunrise I had a swim luxuriously cold. I dove deep and gazed
through the depths of the clear green water, while little bubbles
floated around my body; then came up into the sunlight and floated on
my back, gazing into a sky of deepest blue. For a moment I lay still
and my body seemed to leave me; then swam into the lake, cutting
through the clear cold water until I landed on a sandy beach, where the
sun felt hot on my back and I tingled from head to foot.
My Indian friends never burdened themselves with work. They lay in the
sun for hours and did not work until they felt like it. We cut the
straight and slender trees of lodge-pole pine for tepee poles, peeling
off the bark and standing them in the sun to dry. The women also
gathered plants and herbs in meadow and forest, both for eating and
healing; and they helped me make a botanical collection [3] of my own.
For vegetables they gathered wild onions, wild potatoes, cow parsnip,
bitterroot and prairie turnip. But the camas was their favorite
vegetable. It had a root like a small potato and had a sweet flavor.
They roasted the stalks of the cow parsnip, when they were tender and
juicy in the spring; and dried the leaves of bearberry for tobacco,
also pipsissewa or princess pine. They used a lichen that grows on pine
trees as yellow dye, a pore fungus for cleaning buckskin, and yellow
orthocarpus for dyeing skins. For eye inflammation they used the
blossoms of horsemint, the long plumed avens for coughs, Oregon grape
for stomach trouble, and gum plant for the liver.
One day I went with Little Creek for a hunting trip on the mountains.
He took his rifle and I my camera for pictures. Little Creek was a good
guide. He had the instinct of an Indian for traveling in the forest and
a wonderful memory for landmarks. He was a fountain of shrewd wisdom
and something of a philosopher.
We crossed a valley to the base of a mountain; then went slowly up the
steep slope, stopping to rest and smoke and listen to the birds, to see
the trees and flowers and look for signs of game. I heard a Gambel
sparrow singing among the spruces. It closely resembles the
white-crowned sparrow and is related to our Eastern white-throat. But
its song has only three notes which are of different tones, like the
sounding of clear bells. Many squirrels chattered at our approach and
ceased from hiding cones to watch us pass. We raised some blue grouse,
saw signs of wapiti and moose and the splay footprints of a wolverine,
called “Mountain Devil” by the Indians, because of its meanness and
wonderful cunning.
We went through a chain of meadows with masses of wild flowers of many
shades and colors, crimson, yellow, pink and blue, growing luxuriantly
among the tall grasses. A warm wind swept across their faces, bearing a
delicious fragrance that reminded me of the sweet clover fields of our
Eastern States in June.
Deep down in the soft grass were anemones and lady’s-slipper, and along
streams masses of pink wild heliotrope, bluebells, and shooting
stars—vivid little red flowers that held their pointed yellow noses
downward towards the ground. In the woods were tiny twin flowers,
golden arnica growing high above the forest floor, and clematis with
lovely purple blossoms, festooning with its vines the shrubs and logs
and lower branches of trees. The Indian called clematis “Ghost’s
Lariat,” because it catches people and trips them up in the dark.
In the forest the largest trees were Engelmann spruce and Douglas fir,
growing in scattered groups, some one hundred feet in height. But the
chief tree was the lodge-pole pine, tall, slender, and clean-shafted.
Near timber-line many trees were broken, having been thrown by the
southwest wind. The forest became open and the trees shorter, till we
passed from the cover and came to battered and storm-twisted
“limber-pines.” Some of them were centuries old, undersized and
imperfect, with trunks only a foot in diameter and several feet in
height; some trailed on the ground, like serpents and long-bodied
animals; others, in exposed places on the mountain side, looked like
tattered and wind-torn banners, with branches all flung out on one side
of the trunk.
On the high slopes it was still early spring; the flowers followed
close upon retreating snowdrifts. There the growing season is so brief,
the spring and autumn flora bloom together. High up I saw blossoms in
all their vernal freshness, that had long ago faded on the prairies.
Along the borders of streams and in mossy bogs, the swamp laurel was in
flower, its blossoms rosy pink, also snow buttercups and the Western
globeflower. Close by a snowbank, I saw a carpet of yellow snow lilies,
a belt of solid gold, false forget-me-nots and chalice cups of
cream-white blossoms and fluffy gold-green centers.
We followed an old game trail across an upland meadow, through a carpet
of heath and heather with delicate pink flowers. On the rocks were
colored lichens; dainty wind-flowers bloomed in every sheltered nook.
In crevices of cliffs were maidenhair ferns, and in moist meadows the
fragrant alpine lady fern.
Little Creek was a tireless climber and as sure-footed as a mountain
goat. We crossed snowdrifts, ledges, broken rock and treacherous shale,
climbing along frowning red precipices where I dared not look down, but
kept my eyes on the sky and rock wall. Finally, we gained the summit
and stood at the edge of a cliff, where the mountain fell abruptly a
thousand feet. Far below in the valley lay our miniature camp, with its
white lodges on the lake-shore. Everywhere were snow-clad peaks and
glistening glaciers, rock-strewn ridges and gorges with rushing
streams, forest slopes and valley lakes of emerald and blue. Far off
the green ocean of the prairie stretched into the eastern horizon and
hundreds of miles beyond.
About us was a wilderness of solitude and silence, not a sound of bird
or beast, only the rushing of the summit wind. Dark blue was the sky;
the air pine-scented, clear and luminous, uplifting the soul and
attuning it to the majesty of our surroundings.
Pointing to a mountain that overlooked the plains, Little Creek said:
“That is the place where Swift Eagle died.”
“How did he come to die there?” I asked.
“He was wounded in a fight with the Flathead Indians,” replied Little
Creek. “He was the leader of a band of warriors. Early one summer they
crossed the mountains after horses. They came to a Flathead camp in a
park, which was surrounded by forest. That night, when they were ready
to make off with the horses of the Flatheads, Swift Eagle came upon an
Indian of the Nez Percé tribe, who was after the same horses. He was a
famous chief named Crazy-Cut-Top-Knot, but Swift Eagle did not know
this.
“The Nez Percé saw the Blackfoot chief and rushed at him with his war
club. They fought hand-to-hand. Swift Eagle struck the stranger with
his knife. But before he died, the Nez Percé swung his terrible war
club and hit Swift Eagle.
“It was night, and the Blackfoot warriors found their chief lying
beside the body of the Nez Percé. They recognized the war club. It was
made from the huge antler of a bull elk and was different from all
others. They knew it belonged to the famous chief, Crazy-Cut-Top-Knot.
“Then they made a litter of poles and carried Swift Eagle across the
mountains. After they had passed the summit, he opened his eyes. His
warriors told him he would soon be home. But he said:
“‘My children, it is useless to carry me farther. Before I started on
this trip I had a strong dream that I would never come back alive.’
“He told them to take him to a high cliff on that mountain. He died
there and his followers left beside him the war club of the Nez Percé
chief.”
After the story we sat awhile on the summit to look out over the
plains, and then descended into a basin, a beautiful amphitheater with
a peaceful little lake, clusters of pines and a moist green meadow with
a sheep-lick. In the meadow were golden snow lilies, sky-blue
forget-me-nots, and the rose-red monkey flower, growing close to a cold
brook that came leaping down the mountain. At the head of the basin was
a lofty rock wall, with silvery waterfalls and a great gray glacier,
close to the saw-tooth cliffs of the Continental Divide.
Then we lay silently behind some stunted spruces and watched the
sheep-lick for game. We saw some conies on the slide-rock, a timid
little rabbit-people who live among the rocks at timber-line. They
scampered about, squeaking and running back and forth with grass and
flowers in their mouths. From a rock-cliff a hoary marmot came waddling
across a barren slope to his feeding grounds on the green turf. He was
gray in color, with short legs and heavy body and a white band round
his nose.
The only sound was the singing of a waterfall at the head of the lake,
and of the brook flowing softly through the grass. Suddenly a stone
came tumbling down, followed by a rattling of shale; a small ram came
into view, making his way leisurely along the mountain, stopping now
and then to take a bite of grass. The spot where he had chosen to feed
was beyond our range and without cover to approach. But the wind was
favorable. Then Little Creek crawled among the rocks to get near enough
for a shot. Finally I saw him lie flat, and with elbows resting on the
ground, he took aim and fired. The ram leaped into the air and started
up the mountain with wonderful speed. At several more shots it scarcely
seemed to touch the ground, but bounded along and disappeared among the
high cliffs.
Then we left the basin and followed the gorge of a mountain torrent,
which descended into the valley. We came down through a series of parks
and meadows with many kinds of grasses, the brightest greens I have
ever seen; and an open forest of alpine firs, with long-pointed crowns
and blue-green leaves and bark so pale and smooth their trunks seemed
carved from stone.
We came upon two black-tail deer, a buck and a doe, and, as we had the
wind in our favor, we approached under cover of the forest to within
one hundred yards. Little Creek rested his rifle in a forked tree and
fired. At the shot the buck stretched out his limbs and bounded away,
running in a zigzag course, then round and round until he fell dead.
And, after cutting up the carcass, we took the meat back to camp.
By our camp-fire my Indian friends talked about a trip to Canada.
Nomads by nature, they loved to wander and were happier on the move.
They liked trips of all kinds, to hunt and fish and visit friends; but
most of all to go among their northern relatives, the Bloods, North
Piegans and North Blackfoot.
Said my Indian sister: “We should start right away; the weather is warm
and clear; this is the best time of year to travel.”
“But we cannot get a permit from our Agent,” replied Onesta. “And
besides the North-West Mounted Police would stop us at the Line. I know
Indians who tried to cross into Canada and were stopped. The police
turned them back and they had to come home.”
For a moment there was silence; and then I said: “Your Agent is my
friend. From him I have a pass to go whither I please. You can all come
with me and we will make the north trip together.”
Then Onesta was glad and said: “We will take you to our friends and
relatives among the Blood Indians, to the tribe of the North Piegans
and camp of Brings-Down-the-Sun. He is my uncle and I shall ask him to
help you. He lives with his children and grandchildren in a camp on Old
Man’s River. He is the wisest of all our medicine men; and knows more
than any one about our legends and worship of the Sun.”
“Let us go at once,” I replied. “I want to visit that uncle of yours.”
Then were all happy and like children they showed it. They wanted to
start next morning at the rising of the sun.
CHAPTER XXIII
OUR NORTH EXPEDITION
We brought in our horses at daybreak and were on our way to Canada soon
after sunrise, following an old Indian trail northward over the
prairie; winding along the benches of round-topped ridges and down
their long slopes, through wide grassy valleys and across streams and
blue-gray rivers, clear and icy cold, always following the best grade
like an old buffalo trail.
The first day we traveled far; we did not stop until evening shadows
were touching the rounded summits of the grass-covered hills, camping
for the night at an old Indian ground thickly strewn with buffalo bones
from former feasts. Broken tepee poles were scattered about, bare
frames of old sweat-lodges and blackened stones of camp-fires.
On the summit of a high ridge stood a pile of stones, sharp and clear
against the sky of evening, like the solitary figure of a sentinel,
marking the grave of a chief named Red Blanket.
That night Onesta told me to picket my saddle horse close to camp
because of a ghost. He warned me, saying:
“Old Red Blanket, who is buried on yonder hill, was a good man and
kind; but his ghost is mean. It does not like people to camp here and
drives away their horses in the night. That hill was his favorite haunt
when he was alive. For many years he went there to meditate and dream.
When he was dying he asked his family to place his body there.”
We did not heed Onesta’s warning and turned our horses loose to feed in
the night. Strangely enough they were all gone in the morning—driven by
the ghost, Onesta said. We had to walk a long distance to find them.
Our next camp was on the open prairie east of Divide Mountain, a
triangular peak of the Rockies, where two great watersheds meet—the
Hudson Bay Divide, a smooth ridge running east and west, and the Rocky
Mountain chain extending north and south.
That evening our women had time to prepare the meat for our journey,
boiling the boss-ribs in a kettle; the rest was cut into strips and
stretched on poles to dry over a fire.
In the meantime with Little Creek I went to the camp of a widow named
Katoya. The bodies of her husband and children were on a hill near her
home. The lonely old woman welcomed us to her lodge and was glad to
tell about the past. In our talk with her she said:
“How happy we used to be at this time of year, the beginning of summer,
when our hunters came home with plenty of meat. Then I said to my
husband: ‘Invite now our friends; this night we shall have a feast.’
“Then he would ask some of the old people in for a smoke. Near the time
of the first big snow in the autumn, we hastened to move away from the
mountains and camp on the prairie. We went down a river, stopping to
camp at our favorite camp-grounds and waiting for buffalo to come near.
We were careful to choose the best place for our long winter camp. In
those days we were happy. There were no white men and we wandered where
we pleased. The buffalo were plentiful; the antelope of the prairies
were fat and made good eating.
“After my husband killed some buffalo, we brought in the hides. I
tanned the skins, stretching them on the ground to dry in the sun; I
oiled them with the brains and liver and made them soft by working
them. Some of the skins I used for making clothes, and others for
parfleches and berry-bags. After I had finished tanning our robes for
winter, I had nothing to worry about. My husband and children had
plenty to eat; they all slept warm on the coldest nights.”
Then we left the old woman and returned to our own camp. Instead of
taking time to pitch our tepees, the women made an ingenious shelter by
stretching a canvas sheet over a wagon tongue for a ridge pole and
fastened it to the ground on both sides. I made my bed outside, on the
grassy bank of a small stream, where the night wind blew fresh from the
mountains, bearing the fragrance of pine forests and flowery meadows.
That night we sat by our camp-fire and talked about ghosts. Because of
the near-by graves on the hill, the Indians thought that spirits were
near. Onesta said:
“The worst kind of ghosts are the ‘haunting spirits.’ I have always
been afraid of them. They prowl around at night and try to harm people.
They are unhappy in the spirit world and envy the living. They are the
ones who use the ghost arrows, which bring sickness and death. Outside
in the dark, they shoot at people. Sometimes they strike people on the
head and make them crazy; they paralyze the limbs of people and make
their faces crooked. Some ghosts don’t like to see people eat in the
night, so they punish them by pulling their mouths crooked; and
sometimes they kill people that are ill.
“I have heard ghosts make a noise at night by striking the lodge-poles;
sometimes they make a queer sound like whistling, overhead in the
smoke-hole of the tepee, and sometimes they laugh. But they never come
inside if a fire is burning; and they are always afraid of the smell of
burning hair.”
Here Onesta stopped abruptly. Just outside the bright circle of our
firelight, we heard something moving through the grass. It sounded like
an animal walking stealthily. Little Creek seized his rifle and was
ready to shoot. This “thing” glided slowly along and into a thicket of
willows. Onesta said it sounded like a cougar. But
Strikes-on-Both-Sides said it acted like an Indian who came to watch
our camp. Then they all agreed it was a ghost. And next morning, when
we went back to see the widow, Katoya, in her tepee, she confirmed that
belief. For she said:
“Last night I could not sleep. I lay awake thinking of the happy days
of the past. Just before dawn, the ghost of my dead son came to see me.
He has been my protector for many years and often visits me at night.
Last night he was hungry. After I gave him food, he said: ‘Mother,
there are strangers here. Be not afraid; they are good people and will
do you no harm. This night I watched their camp. I saw Little Creek,
Onesta, and White Weasel. They were seated beside a fire. I went too
close and they heard me. Little Creek was going to shoot. I was afraid
this might frighten you, so I came away. Then I met the ghost of my
father coming down the hill from his grave. He said he was coming to
watch over you because of strangers. But I told him to go back to his
grave and rest in peace. I promised him no harm would come to you.’”
After that the old woman bowed her head and sat in silence. So we went
away and left her to the companionship of her ghostly dead.
Then came one of those violent changes in the weather, which are common
on the high plateau country of the northwest. Dark clouds came down
from the north and settled over prairies and mountains. We broke camp
in a hurry, and got under way before the storm set in. A bank of angry
clouds advanced rapidly over the prairie; from it extended curving
black streaks, moving in waves downwards toward the earth—the sign of a
severe hail storm.
When the temperature fell, we stopped and unhitched our horses, tying
them with long ropes to the wheels, while we got under the wagons—just
in time. The sky became dark and we heard the distant roar of falling
hail. Then the storm broke with lightning and thunder, and a deluge of
hail that covered the ground.
Heavy clouds enveloped us all the way to the summit of the Hudson Bay
Divide. But on the other side, the northern slope, it was a glorious
day with the sun shining in a clear sky. Before us lay a vast expanse
of grass-covered prairie, level to the horizon; west was the main range
of the Rocky Mountains, peak after peak, snow-capped and snow-mantled,
stretching northward out of sight.
Descending from the divide, we entered a broad and fertile valley,
where our trail led along a shallow stream. At the head of this valley
rose the sharp peak of Chief Mountain, 4000 feet above the surrounding
plain, and an altitude of 9056 feet above the sea. It is a lone citadel
of rock, an eastern spur of the Rocky Mountains, a landmark of the
international boundary line between Canada and the United States. The
Indians named it “Chief,” because they could see it so far from the
plains. It overlooked the Old North Trail of the Indians, which ran
north and south along the foot of the Rockies. In those days of long
ago, what sights could have been seen from the precipitous slopes of
Chief Mountain—great herds of buffalo and graceful antelope, deer,
wapiti and moose, and bands of primitive red men moving north and south
over the broad plateaus and along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.
We came that night to a broad stream called Green Banks by the Indians
(St. Mary’s River), and camped near the lodge of an old medicine man
named Spotted Eagle, a friend of Mad Wolf, my Indian father.
He had a wrinkled, merry old face, with gray hair which was separated
into braids over his shoulders by bands of otter-skin. I found him
lying on a couch of robes and blankets fanning himself with the wing of
an eagle. The day was warm and he was naked except for a loin-cloth.
When I entered, he gave an odd exclamation of surprise, intended to be
humorous. Then he sat up, and made his toilet, shaving by pulling the
straggling gray hairs from his wrinkled face with a pair of small
tweezers, and combing his hair with the bristly tail of a porcupine;
and all the time he talked.
He liked to joke and had a reputation as a wit. After each of his jokes
he laughed and winked. At the barking of a dog or neighing of a horse,
he would give a startled cry as if frightened; and made a grimace. He
did this as a joke and to make me laugh, which I always did to please
him. He loved funny stories, especially of Old Man (Napi), a strange
and mythical character known to many Indian tribes. He was a sort of
creator and teacher, but at the same time a trickster who played evil
pranks. Some of the tales about him were brutal and obscene. But
Indians, both old and young, always liked the Old Man Stories, because
of their power to entertain and make people laugh. Spotted Eagle told
them to me, as he would tell fairy tales. He enjoyed them because of
his keen sense of humor.
After dark by his lodge-fire, when the air had the chill it always
takes after sunset near the foot of the Rockies, Spotted Eagle told me
the story of
OLD MAN AND THE SQUIRRELS
“Old Man was always on the move; he never stayed long in one place.
He could talk with the birds and animals, and often conversed with
them on his travels. One time he came to a place where some
squirrel-people were having a game. They were running around a
fire, squealing and having a big time, all chasing one squirrel. As
soon as that squirrel was caught, they would bury him in the ashes
near a fire until he squealed; then they threw him out in a hurry.
After that another squirrel ran until he was caught and was buried
in the ashes. But, as soon as it got hot and he squealed, they
always dug him out.
“Old Man watched them for a while and then said: ‘Let me do that
too.’
“The leader of the squirrels replied: ‘Come on, elder brother, we
will bury you first.’
“Old Man was careful to squeal as soon as the squirrels covered him
with ashes; and they quickly dug him out.
“Then he said: ‘Now younger brothers it is your turn; since there
are so many of you, I shall bury you all at once.’
“So the squirrels lay down together, and Old Man covered them with
hot ashes. But he told a mother squirrel that stood to one side of
the fire: ‘Just go away from here, so that there may be some young
squirrels for the future.’
“Soon the ashes got too hot and the squirrels squealed to be taken
out. But Old Man heaped on them all the ashes he could. He did not
pull them out until all the squirrels were cooked. Then he sat down
and ate his fill. There were so many he could not eat them all. He
put the rest on poles and lay down to sleep, telling his hind-end,
which always watched for him, to waken him if anything came near.
“Old Man was asleep only a little while, when he heard a noise. He
jumped up and looked around; but he saw only a crow sitting in a
tree. This made him angry, and he said:
“‘Is it for that bird you make such a noise?’
“He went to sleep again and a lynx came around, but Old Man slept
on. When he woke up at last and looked for the squirrels, they were
all gone. The lynx had eaten them up.
“Then Old Man followed that lynx and found him asleep after eating
all the squirrels. Old Man seized him and shouted: ‘I have you
now.’ He took him by the ears and banged his nose against a rock
and made it flat. He stood him on his hind legs and stretched out
his body and his legs to make them long. He broke off most of his
tail and left only a stump. Then he took some hair and stuck it on
his nose for whiskers, and said:
“‘You bob-cats will always look like that. You will have flat
faces, long bodies and long legs and a stump of a tail; and you
will be so short-winded you cannot run far.’
“Old Man was so angry with his own hind-end for not waking him,
that he struck it with a fire-stick. And when the burned place
began to hurt, he held it towards the wind to cool it off and
shouted: ‘Let the wind blow harder and harder.’
“Then the wind came so hard Old Man was blown away. He felt himself
going and caught hold of anything within reach; he tore up trees
and bushes by the roots. At last he held to some birch trees, and
they did not break.
“After the wind went down, Old Man got up and shouted:
“‘Mean old birches! You spoiled all my fun. I was having a good
time being blown by the wind, until you stopped me.’
“He grabbed the birches and slashed them with his knife; all up and
down the trees he cut, until they were covered with slashes. ‘Now
you will always look like that,’ he cried. ‘And forever, all the
birches shall have these same cuts.’ They came from the slashes Old
Man made long ago with his knife.”
By this time it was late, and the old medicine man ended by saying:
“Now the dogs are scratching the ground, having had their evening
meal.” An Indian way of saying: “My story-telling is finished.”
CHAPTER XXIV
ONESTA AND HIS SACRED BEAR SPEAR
Onesta was an older man than Little Creek. He was religious, fond of
rituals, inactive and inclined to sit by the fire. But he had a good
mind and liked to lead ceremonies. It gave him a prominent social
position in the tribe. He was a good story-teller, but only talked when
he felt in the mood, and that did not happen often. He was reserved and
adroit in hiding under an air of candor what he did not want to
discuss; then he had a sort of mask to cover his feelings. Although he
lacked a sense of humor, he was fond of jokes when he felt in the mood;
but he was inclined to be religious and serious rather than
pleasure-loving.
He disliked being questioned, and in all my dealings with him he never
asked me a question and never went directly to the point. He was moody,
as sensitive as a child and easily offended. I never felt sure of him.
To get on with him, it was necessary to gain his confidence. If I
treated him familiarly, it put him on his guard and hurt his pride. He
did not reason, but acted from impulse. Sometimes he got offended for
no apparent reason. Then no explanation would satisfy. It was better to
take no notice, to joke and be friendly and make him forget. Then his
mood would suddenly change and he would feel light-hearted and happy.
He had a certain kind of sentiment. He liked to talk over the good
times we had together, and camps where he had been happy with his
friends.
Onesta was the owner of a sacred bundle called the Bear Spear. On our
travels he always kept it near him and attended to it first, whenever
we came into camp. By day it hung from a tripod in the sunlight; but he
always took it inside the tepee at night. He never exposed it to storm,
nor let it lie on the ground. Once, when he went away from camp, he
asked me to look after the Spear. He said his wife could not attend to
it, because women were not allowed to handle the Bear Spear.
The day before we came into the country of the Blood Indians, Onesta
and his wife Nitana gave a ceremony over the sacred Spear. They said it
was necessary to do this, before approaching a strange camp, to protect
our party from danger and to guard against any “bad medicine.” They put
on their ceremonial clothes of yellow, the color sacred to the Spear.
Nitana washed their small daughter, Yellow Mink, and dressed her in
yellow. They sang chants together and burned sweet grass as incense and
prayed for a safe and successful journey. I helped them with their
songs, because Onesta said my voice added power to their prayers.
Then he brought forth a minkskin and had another ceremony. He prayed
over it and burned dried seeds for incense, which he got from the tops
of the narrow-leaved puccoon. They painted their faces, and Onesta said
to me: “Brother, you had better let me paint your face too, that the
Bloods may know you have become an Indian; the paint will also so
protect your white skin from the hot sun.”
Nitana decorated my moccasins with paint, the way they did their own;
it made them look better, she said.
She was a good-natured woman and easy-going, but liked to bully her
husband. Naturally timid and shy and inclined to stoutness, she lacked
energy. But she had great respect for my Indian sister
Strikes-on-Both-Sides and always followed her lead.
That evening by our camp-fire, Onesta was in the mood for talking. He
told us about the origin of his Bear Spear.
LEGEND OF THE BEAR SPEAR
“The things I now tell you happened long ago, in the days when our
people used dogs instead of horses to carry their baggage. One
evening, when a band of Indians came into camp, the chief announced
that one of his travois dogs was lost. No one remembered seeing the
dog, so Little Mink, youngest son of the chief, asked his father to
let him go back to look for the missing dog. He said:
“‘I am old enough to make the trip alone. I shall go straight to
our old camp-ground.’
“At first the father refused, he thought his son was too young to
make such a long trip alone. But the boy was so eager, he was
allowed to go.
“Little Mink followed the trail back to their last camp-ground,
which was close to the foot of the Rocky Mountains. First he went
to the place where his father’s lodge had stood; he thought the dog
might still be there. Then he walked around the deserted
camp-circle, watching the ground for tracks.
“At last he found a single dog track going towards the mountains.
It led him into a well-worn trail through a rocky ravine, to a cave
whose mouth was hidden by service-berry and chokecherry bushes. And
there he saw the missing travois, but the dog was gone.
“While Little Mink was looking at the travois and wondering what
had become of their dog, he heard a loud roar; and a big grizzly
bear rushed from the cave. Raising himself on his hind legs, he
seized the boy in his arms and carried him into the dark cave. When
Little Mink’s eyes became accustomed to the dark, and he saw the
enormous size of the bear that held him, he fainted. After a while
he wakened and found himself lying on the floor of the cave, so
close to the mouth of the big grizzly he could feel his hot breath.
When he tried to move, the bear thrust out his long sharp claws and
held him tight. After that the boy lay very still; he scarcely even
moved, but gazed straight ahead. At last the bear said:
“‘My son, be not afraid, for I shall do you no harm. I am the chief
of the bears and my power is very great. It was my power that
brought you to this cave. If you are willing to remain here with me
while the snows are deep, I will help you. Before you leave my den
in the spring, I will bestow my power upon you. You will become a
great chief and can help your people.’
“Then the grizzly stood upon his hind legs; he was so big his head
almost touched the roof. First he walked round and round; and
showed the boy a pile of green branches with different kinds of
berries. He said:
“‘You will have plenty of berries for food. The bear eats them
branches and all, but you can pick off the berries.’
“After that the bear took him to the other side of the cave and
showed him a pile of buffalo chips. He changed these into pemmican
through his supernatural power, dancing around the cave and holding
them in his paws.
“All that winter Little Mink stayed in the cave with the bear,
acting just as he did. His eyes became so accustomed to the dark,
he could see as well as the bear himself. While the snow was deep,
the bear lay on one side, he did not even move. But, when the warm
winds of spring began to blow, he began to get restless and move
about. One day the bear rolled over on his back and lay for a long
time with his legs in the air. He sat up and began to yawn. Then he
rose to his feet and walked round and round the cave, and finally
stopped to look outside.
“He said that spring had come and it was time to leave the cave. He
took the boy to the door and told him to look out. A warm wind was
blowing and the snow was melting from the hills. But, before they
left the den, the grizzly bestowed some of his supernatural power
upon Little Mink.
“He took a stick and raised himself on his hind legs, holding out
his arms and extending his long claws. He tossed up his huge head
and snorted and rolled back his lips; he showed his sharp teeth and
chanted:
“‘Behold my nose with its keen scent,
My claws and teeth, they are my weapons.
Everything that lives fears the grizzly bear.’
And then the bear said to Little Mink:
“‘When you get back to your tribe, make a Bear Spear. Take a sharp
stone and fasten it to a long shaft. Fasten bear’s teeth to the
handle, also the nose of a bear, because the nose and teeth should
go together. Cover the staff with bearskin and decorate it with red
paint. Tie grizzly claws to the handle; they will rattle and sound
like a grizzly does when he runs. Whenever you go to war, wear the
claw of a grizzly bear fastened in your hair; and my power will go
with you. Make a nose like a grizzly bear when you charge in
battle; and your enemies will run, because everything that lives
fears the power of a grizzly bear.’
“The bear taught Little Mink how to heal the sick. He showed him
the ceremony to use; how to paint his face and body and the marks
to use for the ‘bear face.’ He told him that the Spear was sacred
and should be used only on important occasions. If any one were
ill, a relative could make a vow to the Bear Spear. After that the
ceremony should be given, and the sick would be restored.
“Then Little Mink left the grizzly and returned to his father’s
camp. The chief was proud of his son. He gave a big feast and
invited the head men to meet him. After they had feasted and
smoked, Little Mink told them how he spent the winter in the den of
the chief of the grizzly bears and showed his Bear Spear.”
CHAPTER XXV
CAMP OF THE BLOOD INDIANS
After fording the St. Mary’s River, we crossed the international line
into the Province of Alberta, a country of rolling prairies with black
soil and luxuriant grass, stretching away in gentle slopes to the
horizon.
We saw many “fairy rings,” both large and small, made by a species of
fungus. Onesta believed they were overgrown trails made years before by
buffalo going in circles. But Little Creek who was more practical said
they were the remains of old buffalo wallows. They are identical with
the mushroom growths common in the fields of our Eastern States, where
they are popularly known as “fairy rings” or “fairy dances.”
On the journey, our Indian women were always on the lookout for herbs
and plants. They gathered them wherever we went and dried them in the
sun or by the camp-fire at night. Some were used for seasoning meats
and stews, others for hair tonic, sore throat and pain in the stomach.
We made a special collection for the medicine man, Brings-Down-the-Sun,
whom we were going to visit—certain herbs he was known to use in
doctoring the sick. The women also kept adding to my botanical
collection, [4] showing me rare plants and telling their Indian names
and uses. We made a collection of the perfumes they used—braids of
sweet grass, dried blossoms of dog fennel and meadow rue, balsam fir,
red cedar, punk from the cottonwood tree, buds from the balsam poplar,
beaver musk and ringbone of a horse.
At last we saw the white lodges of the Bloods in the valley of Belly
River. I rode in advance of our party and was the first to enter their
camp. It was a hot day, and many of the lodges had their doors open and
the sides raised for ventilation. Soon a horseman came to meet me. He
wore a headdress of curving horns and a deerskin suit covered with
colored beads and ermine tails. He addressed me in the sign language,
raising his right hand and moving it to and fro to say: “Who are you
and from whence do you come?”
I signed back: “A friend, I travel with a party of South Piegans.” To
express this, I clasped my hands as though shaking hands; then pointed
to the rest of my party and made the sign for Piegan by closing my
right hand, holding it to the lower part of my right cheek and moving
it in a small circle.
The Blood grunted and nodded that he understood, looking at me all the
while with the steady gaze and keen observation of an Indian. He took
in every detail of myself and my horse. Meanwhile the rest of our party
came up. After a short parley with the Blood, he led us through the
camp to the lodge of One Spot and his wife Snake Woman, who were
relatives of Little Creek.
They were hospitable and invited us to share their tepee. But we made
camp on the shore of the river, in a place sheltered from the wind by
groves of poplars and cottonwood trees. Before we had time to unpack
our wagons, some Blood women came with presents of food, according to
the Indian custom of showing hospitality to visitors. The wife of One
Spot brought dried meat and service berries—the first of the season for
our Indians. So they made an offering to the Sun, before eating any of
the berries. They all waited while Onesta held a berry toward the Sun
with a prayer for plenty; then planted it in the ground, with another
prayer to the Underground Spirits. Then the women of our party carried
a supply of tobacco and food to the Blood camp, in return for their
gifts.
Just before dark, a band of Cree Indians arrived from the north and
went into camp near us on the bank of the river. Soon they had their
shelters ready for the night and camp-fires burning. In the meadows
many horses were feeding, watched by young herders who galloped back
and forth, driving them in bands to drink at the river and making ready
for the night. The evening quiet of the prairies was broken by the
barking of many dogs, neighing of horses, and songs of the herders. I
heard the mournful wailing of an aged woman who stood alone on a hill
near our camp. The Cree Indians brought her the sad news that her only
son had died while on a visit to a distant camp of the North Blackfoot.
That night was sultry and warm. Lying in my blanket-bed on the ground,
I watched the heavy clouds rolling up in the north and west in lofty
thunderheads, giving forth brilliant flashes of silver lightning over
the entire sky and deep rumbling peals of thunder. But not a drop of
rain fell.
Sometime in the night I was wakened by groans, which came at regular
intervals from a thicket near my bed. I straightway thought of my
saddle horse, Kutenai, being strangled by his picket rope. Black clouds
covered the sky and the darkness was intense. But I could not lie and
hear those terrible groans. On hands and knees, I groped my way. When I
came near the edge of the thicket, the groaning ceased. I threw sticks
and stones, but nothing moved; there was not a sound. Careful not to
lose my direction in the dark, I crawled back to bed. No sooner was I
comfortably settled in my blankets, than the groaning began again.
After that I gave up the mystery. And I never did find out whether the
sufferer was a person or some animal.
Next morning we went to the lodge of One Spot. The day was warm with
brilliant sunlight, and the sides of the lodge were raised from the
ground to allow the breeze to sweep through. First we smoked a pipe
together; and then One Spot told me the following story:
RED HEAD
“A girl once lived in one of our camps who had three brothers. They
went to war against the Crow Indians and were all killed by a chief
named Red Head.
“In the same camp with the girl was a good-looking young man; he
was her lover and wanted to marry her. One day he said to his
sweetheart: ‘Let us stay together.’ And she answered:
“‘I promise to live with you if you kill Red Head, the Crow chief.’
“Then the young man mourned, for he knew that Red Head was a
warrior of great power. He went off alone and fasted. He prayed to
the animals and birds and was pitied by wolverines. They gave him
their supernatural power with a sharp elk bone, which the young man
carried hidden in his clothes as a weapon.
“After that he went into the country of the Crow Indians and looked
everywhere for the lodge of Red Head.
“Now it happened that Red Head always camped alone; he pitched his
lodge far away from other people. He lived with his aged mother;
they had no other relatives. But he kept a flock of pet crows,
which sat on top of the lodge-poles and watched for enemies. For
this reason Red Head could not be killed. His crows warned him of
all danger.
“One day when the Crow chief was away on a hunt and his old mother
was alone in the lodge, a good-looking young woman came to her and
said: ‘Mother, I want to marry your son.’
“‘My son will not marry,’ replied the old woman; ‘his pets always
warn him. But I promise to help you. I am getting so old he ought
to have a wife.’ And she kept the young woman in the lodge.
“That evening, when Red Head came home from the hunt, his pet crows
flew to meet him, and kept saying:
“‘Master, look out! Here is a woman with a man’s eyes and a man’s
legs. Kill him.’
“Then his mother went to meet him and said: ‘Listen, my son! There
is a girl here; she has come to marry you. You need a wife, because
I am old and get tired.’
“Red Head went into the lodge and saw that the stranger was young
and good-looking. He seated himself and the girl came to him; she
put her arms round his neck and kissed him; she gave him presents
of dried meat and moccasins, and said:
“‘They treated me badly in the Blackfoot camp, so I ran away. I
want to marry you; I will work and take good care of your tepee.’
And all this time the pet crows sat overhead on the lodge-poles.
They warned Red Head over and over, saying:
“‘Look out, master! She is cheating you. She has a man’s eyes and a
man’s legs.’
“But Red Head wanted the woman. He paid no attention to the
warnings of his pets. He liked to have her near and made her sit
beside him. He ate the dried meat she gave him and wore her
moccasins. At last the pet crows got tired sitting on the
lodge-poles. They flew away to watch for other enemies.
“Then Red Head wanted the woman to go with him into the forest.
They sat under a tree and the chief put his head in her lap. She
took the sharp weapon, which she carried hidden in her clothes, and
drove it into his ear. She hammered it with a stone and killed him;
she took his scalp and went away.
“Then that young warrior came back to the Blackfoot camp. He told
his sweetheart how he killed Red Head and showed her the scalp. He
married the girl and became one of the head men of the tribe.”
CHAPTER XXVI
COUNTRY OF THE NORTH PIEGANS
We stayed several days in the camp of the Bloods, to rest our tired
horses and to visit the family of One Spot. The Bloods were
fine-looking Indians, both men and women. But they were not popular
with other tribes. They were proud and considered themselves the
aristocrats of the plains.
The night before we left their camp we picketed our horses close and
made ready for an early start. In hot summer weather, early morning is
the best time to travel on the plains.
We broke camp before sunrise and followed the shore of the river,
looking for a place to ford. The crossing of a broad, swift river is
always hazardous, because of washouts, hidden boulders, and stumbling
horses. We rode through thickets of poplars and willows. Under the
trees lay the golden light of early morning, with purple shadows. Light
mists floated along the banks of the river. From the grass and bushes
hung countless gems of sparkling dew. Everything was fresh and
blooming, the buds and leaves, flowers and perfumes. The fragrant
breath of the morning came through thickets, with odors of balsam
poplar and wild flowers. Butterflies rested on the first wild roses,
bees hummed in the air. Fragrant primroses were in blossom, wild
hollyhocks, purple fleabane and the large-flowered agoseris.
When we forded the river, I did not hurry my horse, but let him take
his time, holding his head a little upstream, to avoid the full force
of the rushing water, bending my body to help him in his balance and
fixing my eyes on the top of his head, to keep from getting dizzy in
the rapid current.
Out on the open prairie the birds were calling; near and far the air
was filled with their songs. Chestnut-collared longspurs were climbing
high into the blue sky, then fluttering slowly to the ground, always
against the wind, singing their cheerful rippling song. I heard the
calls of ducks and the choruses of prairie chickens, repeating it over
and over, the strange cries of cranes as they soared high overhead, and
the voices of curlew, killdeer, and Western meadow-larks.
Then we climbed to the summit of a ridge and saw before us a great
table-land, bounded on the north and west by high hills and distant
mountains. It was part in light and part in shadow, with the golden sun
rising over a bank of clouds in the east and shining on the snowy peaks
of the Rockies in the west—a wide expanse and without any sign of life.
We took an old Indian trail, which was known to Onesta. It led us
across a plateau and into a hill country, where the sun shone in a
clear sky and the heat was intense. As the day advanced, the sun beat
down with ever-increasing heat. My thermometer registered ninety-eight
degrees in the shade and a hundred and thirty in the sun.
At mid-day we stopped on the shore of a lake, to let our horses feed on
the rich grass. The women made a shelter from the sun by spreading
canvas over a tripod of poles, with the sides raised for the wind to
blow through.
As we rested under our comfortable shelter, Onesta called my attention
to swallows hovering over our horses to get hairs for lining their
nests, and to grasshoppers flying high in the air, saying:
“Their wings have no color until they fly into the sunlight; it makes
them red, yellow, and black.”
He taught me a song by which he made some sandpipers dance on the shore
of the lake. He clapped his hands and sang:
“Ik-sis-a-kuyi! Ik-sis-a-kuyi!” (Meat! Meat!)
He showed me a wild rose bush that was covered with the webs of tent
caterpillars; and made them dance by beating time with his hands and
singing:
“Ko-me-os-cha! Ko-me-os-cha!” (Worms! Worms!)
At first the caterpillars lay perfectly still. But, after he sang a few
moments, they began to wake up and move slowly. Then they all stood up
and waved their heads to and fro, dancing as long as Onesta continued
his song.
When the heat had passed, we harnessed our horses and moved on,
following a trail that led upwards toward the mountains. While making
our way slowly, Onesta and Nitana began chanting a religious song in
unison. I rode closer and joined them in their song.
Then Onesta explained that it was customary to sing on entering a
strange country, as a prayer to the Sun for a safe journey and for
protection against the magical arts of its people. On this occasion, he
said they were also praying for my success among the North Piegans.
Finally, we gained the summit of a massive ridge of the prairie, which
overlooked the country of the North Piegans—a broad river valley with
green meadows and groves of cottonwood trees. On the undulating
hillsides herds of cattle and horses were feeding. And, as far as the
eye could reach, the river rolled eastward from the base of the
Rockies, gleaming in the sunlight like a ribbon of silver.
Nestled among the groves of green trees in the valley, I saw a number
of white Indian tepees, with blue smoke rising from their tops. North
lay the Porcupine Hills covered with forests of pine; west, the snow
peaks of the mountains. Onesta said the hills were called “Porcupine,”
because the bristling trees on their ridges look like the quills on a
porcupine’s back.
He pointed to some rocks on the prairie and said: “A big grizzly once
lived in a cave there. Now many kinds of berries grow around it, from
the seeds carried there by that bear.” He showed me a mountain in the
main range of the Rockies, with a great landslide on its eastern slope,
and said:
“We call it ‘Lodge-Lining-Mountain,’ because it looks like the inside
lining of a lodge. The river that rises there is named after Old Man;
and in the mountains near its source is Old Man’s sliding place and the
place where he gambled.” On our way down from the summit, we met some
young men of the North Piegans, who were watching over their tribal
herds of horses and cattle. One of them, the son of Crow Eagle, a
famous chief, rode with us. He was hospitable and invited us to his
camp. But Onesta told him we were going to visit Brings-Down-the-Sun,
the medicine man. Before the young chief left us, he pointed out the
camp we were seeking, among some big trees on the north side of the
river.
Then we crossed a table-land, which rose gradually from the river, and
descended into the valley. On the face of the hills and in little
ravines were clusters of chokecherry bushes, bearing a fruit like a
wild cherry, only larger and better flavored. I saw a coyote standing
motionless in a ravine, but it was only for a moment; because of his
protective coloring, I quickly lost sight of him.
The river valley, with its fragrant masses of flowers, thickets, and
shady trees, seemed like a Promised Land, after the heat and dust of
the plains. A soft wind blew over the meadows, bearing odors of wild
flowers and ripened grasses. Wild roses were in bloom, sky-blue
forget-me-nots, purple geraniums, yellow clusters of puccoon and
rose-colored heads of horsemint, called “manekape” (young man) by the
Blackfoot. They used its blossoms for inflammation of the eyes.
We followed a trail through rich meadows, and thickets of aspen and
willows; and then entered one of those beautiful groves of cottonwood
timber, that are sometimes found along the larger rivers of the
prairies. Finally we stopped in an open meadow densely sheltered by
poplars and willows and canopied by wide-spreading cottonwood trees.
Through the thick foliage I saw the gleam of white Indian tepees. It
was the camp of Brings-Down-the-Sun, the medicine man, and the end of
our journey. Here he lived surrounded by his children, grandchildren,
and great-grandchildren.
I saw a group of women and children on a high cliff overlooking the
valley. They had been watching our approach, their figures sharply
outlined against the deep blue sky. Onesta recognized one of the women
as Long Hair, favorite daughter of Brings-Down-the-Sun. Her long black
hair was flying in the wind; she had a baby on her back and a group of
children clinging to her skirts.
Then the venerable figure of the patriarch chieftain came from one of
the lodges. With hand shading his eyes, he stood under a cottonwood
tree and gazed intently at our outfit. He recognized his nephew,
Onesta, and welcomed us saying:
“My children, I am glad in my heart that you have come to visit my
camp.”
I went closer and saw that he was an old man, with long gray hair
falling in waves over his shoulders. He had high cheek bones, and
clean-cut Indian features. In his face were deep lines, as though he
were burdened with care and responsibility. He wore a bright-colored
blanket wrapped closely around him, a red band across his forehead and
encircling his head. His tall figure was bent with age; but he had a
keen and penetrating gaze, and the dignified bearing of a chief who was
accustomed to command.
He stood a moment without speaking, and then he said:
“You may pitch your lodges close to mine if you wish. But the best
place to camp is in the open meadow. Sometimes heavy winds come, which
break the big trees. If you should be camped underneath in a storm,
some of the branches might fall and do you harm. Take your horses to
feed on the hills beyond the valley, where the grass is more
nourishing. You will find a cold spring on the north side of the meadow
with good water to drink.”
Thus he spoke and disappeared into his tepee, while we made ready to
camp, choosing a place among the big trees, near the camp of the old
medicine man; and there we unloaded our wagons.
Soon the women of the North Piegans, Bird, the wife of
Brings-Down-the-Sun, with her daughter, Long Hair, and
daughters-in-law, came bearing presents. It was always interesting to
watch the exchange of presents by the women. On this occasion, Nitana
received an old pot, a bag of dried beans, a big knife, and a copper
kettle. She gave in return two blankets, two pairs of moccasins, and
some mineral paints. Such articles, which might seem of little value to
white men, were cherished by Indian women.
That evening we had an invitation from Brings-Down-the-Sun to eat with
him in his tepee. So at sunset, in company with Little Creek and
Onesta, I walked along a well-worn trail that led among the cottonwoods
to the camp of the North Piegans. Near the lodge of the chief, we came
upon a charming picture of a happy and contented Indian family.
A bright fire burned under the big trees, sending a shower of golden
sparks into the air, lighting up the white lodges with their clusters
of tapering poles and shining on the massive trunks and green foliage
of the cottonwoods. Gathered round the fire were women and girls
dressed in bright colors, busily at work, cooking, making moccasins and
clothes; groups of children were at play—all were merry and
light-hearted.
A baby hammock was stretched between two trees, the mother rocking it
gently and singing a cradle song. But the approach of a strange white
man changed this peaceful scene abruptly. A barking dog rushed suddenly
out, and a woman shouted:
“Puks-i-put! Kops-ksisse!” (Come back! Swollen Nose!)
For a moment the merry throng was silent; and then quickly vanished.
CHAPTER XXVII
CAMP OF BRINGS-DOWN-THE-SUN
The chief was waiting inside his lodge. He directed Onesta to a place
on his right, Little Creek and myself to a couch on his left. It was
covered with robes and blankets and had comfortable back-rests, which
were made of small willow sticks bound on both ends with rawhide. The
tepee was scrupulously neat and clean; a small wood fire burned in the
center, surrounded by a circle of smooth round stones; cooking utensils
were near the door; provisions and clothing stored in painted rawhide
cases. At the head of the chief’s couch hung a sacred medicine case
with long fringe hanging down; and from the lodge-poles articles of
clothing decorated with needlework, beads, and colored quills.
For a while we smoked in silence. I listened to the last songs of the
birds and the evening wind in the tree tops. Then Bird, the wife of the
chief, entered the lodge. She was small and slender. From the smile she
gave me and her kindly expression, I knew she had a good heart. She
straightway began to work, and soon set before us a meal of service
berries, dried meat, and hot tea. After we had eaten, we smoked again.
Then Onesta said to Brings-Down-the-Sun:
“We have come a long distance with this white man to see you. Mad Wolf
adopted him as his son and gave him the name of White Weasel; and he is
now a member of our tribe. On our journey we told every one we were
taking White Weasel to visit you. Now I want you to tell him Indian
legends, and our ancient customs and religion. This white man is our
friend; and you are my kinsman; I ask you to do this.”
But the aged chief was strangely cold and silent. For a while he sat
calmly smoking, gazing into the fire. Finally he turned toward me, and,
looking intently into my face, said with spirit:
“This man comes from a race that has always cheated and told us lies.
This spring I made a vow to have nothing more to do with white men.
They have taken away our freedom, our country, and our means of
support. Now they try to take away our religion. They have forbidden us
to give our ceremony that is sacred to the Sun; and for this they give
no reason. The white men have no right to take away our religion. It
was given to us by the Sun and Moon, and as long as the Sun and Moon
are in the sky, I shall continue to worship them. We struggle to keep
up our religion, that our people may lead good lives and be happy; as
they were in the days of the past before the white men came into our
country.
“This spring the white men shut off my rations. They refused to let me
have food for my children, because I was making ready to give the Sun
Dance. I had to give the ceremony to save the life of a child that was
dying; its mother had already made her vow to the Sun. Now my heart is
bitter against all white men; I do not want to make known any of my
knowledge to a white man. But Onesta, you are my relative, and have
made a long journey. This white man can remain in my camp for a few
days to rest; and during that time we may get to know each other
better.”
Then a slender, pretty girl, dressed in soft-tanned deerskin, came into
the lodge. She was the youngest daughter of the chief and was named
“Whistling-All-Night,” because she was born in the moon, “when the jack
rabbit whistles at night in calling its mate.”
Said Brings-Down-the-Sun to Onesta and Little Creek: “My family comes
every summer to gather wild berries in this valley; and we are glad to
have you come too. Berries are plentiful this summer; you had better
gather a supply and dry them for winter, as we are accustomed to do.
But I ask you to be careful of our berry bushes. Do not break the
branches, or injure any of our big trees. I am looking ahead for the
good of my people. I want to preserve the trees and berry bushes for
future generations. I am accustomed to warn my fellow tribesmen not to
be shortsighted like the Blood Indians. They once had big trees like
ours, but they cut them all down for firewood. Now their country is
bare and they have few berry bushes. I told my people to haul their
firewood from the forests on the mountains. They have followed my
advice, and we still have our big-leaf-trees (cottonwoods). The trees
with long leaves we call spear-leaf-trees (balsam poplar); we have also
round-leaf-trees (quaking aspen), and thickets of brush-sticks
(willows). We call the big trees ‘the-old-time-trees,’ and the small
ones ‘young-people-trees.’”
So they talked until darkness settled over valley and Indian camp. I
saw the pale light of the rising moon shining on the tepee walls. And,
while I sat watching this venerable medicine man, I thought: “How
strange that he, of a savage race, an untaught son of the wilderness,
should have the wisdom and foresight of a statesman in trying to
husband their natural resources of big trees and berry bushes; and,
although he had just cause for hating the white race, yet he treated me
with kindness and generosity.”
As I was leaving the tepee, I made presents to all his family—a silk
handkerchief of bright colors to Brings-Down-the-Sun, a blanket to his
wife, and a bracelet of shining white shells to his daughter,
Whistling-All-Night.
That night came the first heavy thunder of the season for the North
Piegans. So, next day, it was necessary for owners of Medicine Pipes to
give a ceremony and distribute tobacco. A messenger came inviting us to
a ceremony at the lodge of Running Antelope. I went with Onesta and
Nitana and some of the members of Brings-Down-the-Sun’s family.
When we arrived, the tepee was already crowded with Indians. But they
made room for us because we were strangers. As soon as I entered, I
recognized the leader of the ceremony. He was Bull Plume, a medicine
man who had visited the camp of my Indian father. When I took my seat
in front of him, he gazed at me in astonishment. He stopped in the
middle of a song and announced to the assembled Indians, that I was the
adopted son of Chief Mad Wolf and my name was Á-pe-ech-e-ken. He asked
me to sit beside him and help him in the songs. He said my voice would
add power to their prayers. So the singers made room for me and I
joined in their chants.
After a number of songs and prayers, Bull Plume took up the Medicine
Pipe, which lay before him, and carried it out-of-doors. He held it up
towards the Sun and prayed for all the people who were present; that
none of them might be killed that year by the Thunder.
Then they had a feast of service-berry soup; and some of the tobacco
from the Pipe Bundle was given to every one. To possess this
consecrated tobacco and to smoke it, was believed to bring a person
into the good will of the Thunder.
After the Medicine Pipe Ceremony, the wife of Running Antelope got Bull
Plume to help her with another ceremony over a sacred headdress. This
was necessary because of a vow she had made in behalf of her son who
was so ill they thought he would die.
That afternoon I went to explore the valley about our camp. I came upon
groups of North Piegan children, like wild sprites of the woods slyly
peeping through the trees, curious to see the feared white man. At
first they fled in terror, but their fear quickly vanished when I gave
them presents of crackers and sweet chocolate, which they took without
thanks and disappeared among the trees and bushes.
I followed a well-worn trail through the woods, leading past the lodge
of Brings-Down-the-Sun to a pool in the river, where he took his
morning bath. It was a lovely spot—a still-water where the deep current
flowed gently; the grassy banks were lined with birch and berry bushes,
fragrant thickets, and leafy arches overhead. Along the trail were
bright yellow flowers of gaillardia, drooping bluebells, Canada
violets, and scarlet Indian paint-brush.
I saw Long Hair, daughter of the chief, come from the river with her
water pails; and Nitana on the shore bathing her small daughter, Yellow
Mink. A young girl was riding on a rude raft of poles, which stuck fast
in midstream. I refrained from going to her assistance, because of the
talk it would cause in the camp. But I took her picture with my camera.
She wore white-shell ear-rings, a long necklace of blue service
berries, and leggings and moccasins decorated with colored beads. Her
deerskin dress was bound at the waist with a girdle of colored beads;
Indian fashion, it had no sleeves, but was cut into a fringed cape
across the shoulders and hung freely over her bare arms.
In the woods many birds were singing, yellow-throat, goldfinch,
catbird, white-crown sparrow and many varieties of warblers. I found
the spring of cold water which the chief had recommended. Around it
were beds of delicious red strawberries, wild cherries, and wonderful
service-berry bushes; they reached high above the ground and were
covered with ripe fruit.
In the soft mud of the river bank were the marks of a family of
beavers—large tracks of old beavers and the tiny footprints of their
children. I saw poplars freshly cut by them, also the stumps of trees
they had felled many years ago. When I told Onesta about them, he said:
“That family of beavers has lived here many years; the Indians have
never disturbed them. Beaver are like people. Some are restless and
keep on the move; they are never satisfied in one place. But this
beaver family is content to stay here, happy in their good home; they
have a sandy beach, mud bottom, and plenty of food.”
I came upon some children of the North Piegans, playing with dolls in
an open glade. They had a miniature camp with little play-tepees, men
and women dolls dressed in skin costumes, with real hair, little belts,
and moccasins and leggings to match the clothes. In the center of the
camp, which was in the form of a circle, was a tepee for the
head-chief; it had diminutive back-rests and painted rawhide cases,
little tanning tools, knife sheaths and squirrel-skins for robes.
The children had a lively game, like our “catcher,” in which all the
players tried to get away from one of their number, at whom they sang
derisively:
A-pi Kái-i só-mitu-yo-Ka-Kè-Kin-ni.
(You are an old skunk with no hair along your mangey backbone)
Boys played a rough game of kicking each other from two opposing sides,
to see which would give way first; and a game called “playing bear,”
that was popular while swimming. They caught one of their number and
tossed him into deep water and scampered away. When he got ashore he
ran after them until he caught another boy, and then they all joined in
tossing him into the water.
The boys also had a curious arrow game, in which they shot at a stake,
trying to hit it, or to come as near as possible. If the second in turn
were doubtful whether he could shoot better than the first, he went to
the stake and danced for power to win, beating time with his arrow on
the stake and singing: “I am the one who can hit the stake arrow
first.”
If the second player made a good shot, the third danced at the stake to
beat him, and so on.
Women had a game of throwing arrows at a target, also a four-stick
gambling game, using marked buffalo bones.
The favorite gambling game with young men was to roll a small wheel
over a smooth stretch of ground. Two players followed it, trying to
throw, so that the wheel would not fall on their arrows. Their comrades
held the stakes and kept score. Whenever a play was finished one side
would shout: “Give us one point”; or the other side: “We get two
points.” If a player gambled away all his possessions, he was said “to
walk the prairie.”
Near sunset I left the valley and climbed Lookout Butte, a high hill
where Brings-Down-the-Sun was accustomed to go to meditate and dream.
Its summit was covered with wiry grass in bunches, and creeping cedar
which grew in great clumps, forming mats with branches growing close to
the ground.
From the top of the butte I had a broad view of the Rocky Mountains,
the pine forests on the Porcupine Hills in the north, and the
surrounding plains for miles. There I waited for the sun to set.
Soon vapors formed along the river valley and shadows extended over the
plains. The air was so clear it was long after sunset before darkness
fell and the stars came out. In the valley at the foot of the butte
were clusters of white Indian tepees, nestled among the trees and
glowing with firelight. The night wind from the mountains, blowing
softly over the valley, brought the faint tinkling of horse-bells and
the rhythmic beating of an Indian drum.
As I sat on that solitary hill and felt the deep peace that comes from
close communion with nature, a doubt came into my mind, whether white
men with all their striving, their wealth, and material success, have
attained as high an average of happiness, contentment, and loyalty to
community interest, as was attained under the simple and natural life
of the average Indian family before the coming of the white man. One
could look in vain among Indian camps near the foot of the Rockies and
by the streams and rivers of the plains for the misery and discontent,
which involve masses of people in our great industrial cities.
CHAPTER XXVIII
ONESTA GIVES HIS CROW WATER CEREMONY
Our camp-ground under the cottonwood trees was covered with a deposit
of sand and fine loam, which got into our food, our blankets and
clothes. The Indians noticed me scratching and had a joke at my
expense. Little Creek said to Onesta, so that I could overhear:
“During the past few days I have been feeling itchy; I believe we have
become lousy from sitting on the blankets of these North Piegans.”
Onesta replied without a smile: “I have had the same trouble, but got
rid of mine by bathing in the river.”
I had my own suspicions as to the cause of our discomfort, but, after
this conversation, I imagined that lice were crawling in my hair and
all over my body. To the joy of the entire camp, I hastened to the
river, where I discovered sand as the real cause of my affliction.
Onesta told me afterwards that few of the Blackfoot were troubled with
vermin, but it was among the Crees and Gros Ventres. He said it made
him feel uncomfortable to even go near the Crees.
We had no regular hours for meals. The women cooked when it was
convenient. It was customary for Indians to have only two meals a day,
morning and evening. When we were on the road, we ate before sunrise
and in the evening after our journey. In a permanent camp the morning
meal might not come until noon; and if the women did not feel in the
mood for cooking, they would omit it entirely. The time for our evening
meal varied from five until nine; sometimes an entire day went by
without any cooking. I adopted the Indian custom of eating dried meat
or pemmican, whenever I felt hungry. Meat was their chief article of
diet—boiled, roasted, or dried. They were especially fond of soups and
meat stews.
Their vegetables were generally roasted or baked. They peeled and split
the stalks of wild parsnip, roasting them over the hot coals to bring
out the juice. They baked the prairie turnip, also camas roots, which
they put in a long hole three feet deep, in layers with grass and
leaves between, and hot stones at the bottom. Then the hole was covered
and a fire kept burning over it for two days and two nights.
The women of our camp were continually at work, gathering wild berries
and firewood, cooking, dressing skins, and making clothes. They had an
ingenious way of getting dry branches for firewood, when they were out
of reach on the big trees, breaking them off with a long pole with a
crook at one end, which they called a “limb-catcher.”
In gathering wild berries, a crowd of women and children generally went
together. They struck the bushes with sticks and caught the berries in
blankets, putting them into bags made from the whole skins of small
animals or unborn calves. On hot days, they worked in the open, seated
together under a large cowskin, which was spread over a tripod of poles
as a sun shelter, making clothes, parfleches, and lodge covers.
The day Onesta gave his Crow Water Ceremony, he asked me to help him in
the singing. He began his drumming before sunrise to waken the people
of the North Piegan camp; and made our women get up early to prepare
the feast, which they cooked in a large kettle over an outside fire.
Then they pitched a large lodge, which was loaned for the occasion by
Brings-Down-the-Sun. It was decorated with symbolic pictures; a band of
dusty stars and mountain peaks at the bottom represented the earth;
round the center were four red bands, representing the trails of the
Thunder Bird or lightning; the top was black for a cloudy sky at night,
with a cross at the back for the Butterfly, or Bringer-of-Dreams. They
called it the Thunder Tepee.
The Crow Water Ceremony came to the Blackfoot tribe in recent years
from the Crow Indians. It was a society of both men and women for
singing and dancing. It was believed to have power to make its members
wealthy, to fulfill their desires, and to cure the sick. The women did
most of the singing, while the men beat drums and helped in the songs.
When it was time for the ceremony to begin, Onesta carried his sacred
bundles to the Thunder Tepee, beating on his drum as a signal for the
Indians to assemble. Many came from the near-by camps and from a
distance—men, women, and children. The Crow Water Ceremony was new to
the North Piegans; they were eager to hear the songs and see the
dances.
Onesta as leader sat in the place of honor at the back of the lodge,
surrounded by sacred bundles. His face was painted yellow and he had a
long eagle plume in his hair. On both sides of him sat men with painted
medicine drums who helped in the ceremony. The women who took part were
seated on his left. They arose from time to time and danced to the
singing and drumming. The leader made motions with the skin of a bird
or animal; and the women dancers imitated him with their hands.
I saw a visiting Indian who came for the ceremony, holding himself
aloof. Instead of entering the tepee with his family, he sat at a
distance, near the edge of the woods. His mother-in-law had already
arrived and it would be a breach of etiquette for him to go into her
presence. If she met him face-to-face she would feel outraged and he
must make her a fine present.
Brings-Down-the-Sun attended with his family. They all sat outside and
did not mingle with the crowd. He was a religious leader and his wife
one of the wise women. They had their position to maintain; and must be
careful of their actions in public, so as not to be criticized.
When the ceremony finally came to an end, Onesta burned sweet grass on
one side of the fire; and the berry soup was distributed among the
people. But before eating, each person took a berry and held it up with
a prayer. Then they all held their dishes of food over their heads;
and, after setting them down again, began to eat.
Onesta asked me to spend that night in the Thunder Tepee as it was
against the rules of its medicine to leave it unoccupied. He urged me,
saying:
“If no one sleeps there, trouble is sure to come. But if you stay in
the sacred tepee, you may have a wonderful dream, like one of our
medicine men.”
I agreed, and straightway made preparations for the night, by carrying
my blankets inside and gathering a plentiful supply of firewood.
That evening many people came to see me in the Thunder Tepee; the
Indians of our party and North Piegans, too. They were a jolly crowd,
as light-hearted and happy as children. After the feast of that day
they were in a merry mood, chaffing each other good-naturedly and
finding fun in everything—their old clothes and the holes in their
moccasins, the children and dogs, and their own talk; they laughed and
joked until they were tired.
Then they asked me to sing Indian songs. I agreed, on condition that
Running Wolf, the oldest son of the North Piegan chief, would sing a
song for every one of mine. Quickly the news of our song contest spread
through the camp and more Indians crowded into the Thunder Tepee. But
Brings-Down-the-Sun did not come. He still held himself aloof.
I was the first to sing and chose a night song—one used by young men
and their sweethearts, when they rode together at night.
In his turn, Running Wolf sang a song of war. He said:
“In the old times our people had a custom. Youths who wanted to become
warriors had to prove their bravery. They stood naked round a burning
pine tree, holding hands and singing. Two warriors with long poles
scraped the burning bark, making showers of sparks, which fell on the
bare skin of the dancers. Those who had brave hearts kept on dancing
and singing in spite of their burns.”
After my dance song, Running Wolf gave a song used in an old game. He
said:
“Long ago our people played a game by going in single file. They
followed a leader who carried two burning brands, holding each other
and singing while he led them, his brands striking together and
throwing off showers of sparks. They had to keep in line in spite of
the sparks.”
Then I sang a love song, which interested the women; they asked for it
over and over. I learned it in the camp of my Indian father, from a
young brave whom I heard singing
to his sweetheart. Strikes-on-Both-Sides recognized the song and made
known the name of the lover to the North Piegan women. Then the
youngest daughter of Brings-Down-the-Sun came late, and they made me
sing the love song again for her.
Running Wolf sang the song of a maiden who was disappointed in love,
with the words:
“My lover looked like an eagle,
When I saw him at a distance.
But, alas! He came near,
And I found he was nothing but a buzzard.”
It was after midnight when that merry crowd broke up. Before Onesta
left, he warned me of certain taboos for the Thunder Tepee—things to be
avoided, lest they bring me bad luck. He said:
“Be careful not to leave the door open, nor to lean a pole against the
tepee; neither should you blow on the fire, or allow any dogs to come
inside; keep the fire burning throughout the night; don’t let it die
out. If you should neglect any of these things, trouble is sure to
come.”
Running Wolf said with grim humor: “A skunk may visit you in the early
morning. He generally comes here, just before daybreak. But if you lie
still, he is not likely to bother you.”
By this time the evening constellations had swept far into the west.
Already the Great Dipper, that clock of the night-sky, had its handle
pointed downward to the horizon; day would soon dawn. I built up the
fire and lay on my couch, listening to the sound of the river rapids
and the wind in the tree tops. I thought about my Indian friends and
their close communion with nature, their feeling of brotherhood with
the birds and wild animals of the prairies and mountains. As I gazed
into the dying fire, the pictures on my tepee walls took weird shapes.
I thought of a large eagle that I had seen soaring over the camp. In my
dream he came to my lodge; he stood by my side; he communed with me and
gave me a message to the Indians of the North Piegans.
When I awoke, the bright rays of the sun were shining through the trees
and the open door of my Thunder Tepee. How glorious are the first rays
of the morning sun! The high summits of the Rocky Mountains looked like
islands in a sea of fire. The women of our camp were already cooking
breakfast. I saw the blue smoke rising slowly on the still air, curling
gracefully from the tops of our lodges under the cotton woods.
After I had a swim in the river, Onesta asked me whether anything had
happened in the night. I said, “Yes,” and remained silent.
When we were all seated by our fire after breakfast, Onesta asked me
again if I had any dream. I replied:
“Just before daybreak I had a strong dream. An eagle came and stood by
my side, saying:
“‘My son, I am chief of all the eagles. I am going to help you, because
you are alone and among strange people. Good luck will come to you in
the camp of the North Piegans, and to any one who helps you.’”
Then I stopped and looked around the circle of my Indian friends. I was
serious and did not smile; I counted on their sense of humor and not in
vain. They laughed and told my dream to the North Piegans. Soon it was
repeated throughout all their camps. The people were not fooled, nor
did I expect them to be. Nevertheless, after my night in the Thunder
Tepee, I was in high favor among the North Piegans, and from that time
all went well.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE RIVAL MEDICINE MEN
Human nature is the same the world over. Bull Plume, the medicine man,
was jealous of Brings-Down-the-Sun because I was in his camp. Bull
Plume was of humble descent, ambitious for power and social position.
On the other hand, Brings-Down-the-Sun came from a famous line of
chiefs—one of the best families in the tribe. The older medicine man
was revered by all the people for his noble character and kindness of
heart, his wisdom and knowledge of their ceremonies.
On the day of Onesta’s ceremony, I had my first public recognition from
Brings-Down-the-Sun. I was outside the Thunder Tepee, where I could
watch both dancers and the crowd of spectators. In the midst of the
ceremony, Brings-Down-the-Sun left his family and took a seat by my
side.
This straightway roused the jealousy of Bull Plume, which he did not
try to hide. He was seated next to Onesta and said so that any one
could hear:
“White Weasel has not come to visit my camp. He was my friend before he
came into this part of the country. Now I know who has turned him
against me.”
Next morning Bull Plume came to our camp. He was a fine looking Indian
of over six feet, muscular and well-proportioned, with a roman nose and
high cheek bones. His voice was strong and resonant and of a quality
well suited for leading ceremonies. When he talked he had a nervous
habit of tossing his head and throwing back a long lock of hair which
fell over his forehead.
On this occasion I knew that Bull Plume had something on his mind. He
was morose and ill at ease. We talked for a while, but soon fell into a
gloomy silence. Then he said:
“My heart is heavy because you are in the camp of another. You were
once my friend, but now you do not come to see me.”
I was loth to offend him and began to make excuses. But he said
abruptly:
“I ask you to come to my lodge now. It is not far, on the other side of
the river. I have tribal records to show you. Some of them are very
old; they are picture records made on buffalo hides, which were handed
down from my grandfather. If you come with me to-day, I will allow you
to copy these old records.”
I assured him I wanted to see his records, but again made excuses for
that day, because our horses were feeding on the hills and there was no
way for me to cross the river to his tepee.
Then Bull Plume was angry. He arose and drawing his blanket around him,
stalked from our camp. That was the last I ever saw of him. He took
down his tepee and left the country.
As soon as Brings-Down-the-Sun heard of the visit of Bull Plume, he
came to our camp for the first time. He seated himself by our fire.
After smoking awhile in silence, he said slowly and deliberately:
“If you would rather go to the camp of Bull Plume than remain here with
me, I will not stand in your way.”
“But I have no idea of going,” I replied. “I would rather stay with
you.”
Said Brings-Down-the-Sun: “I would prefer to have you stay here. Ever
since the day Onesta brought you to my lodge, I have been preparing
myself; now I have many things ready to tell you.”
Again I assured him that I wanted to remain in his camp, saying:
“We made this long journey on purpose to see you; Onesta told me about
you. He said you were the wisest of all the medicine men; that you
could tell more than all the others. I do not want to go to Bull Plume;
I want to learn from you alone.”
Then Brings-Down-the-Sun said with deep feeling:
“For a long time I have borne in silence many things from Bull Plume;
but now it is time for me to speak plainly. He told you about the
tribal records handed down from his grandfather. He got that
information from me. No one knows who his grandfather was. I can
remember him as a small boy, barefoot and poor; he walked behind the
travois when our tribe moved camp. Not until he became a man did he
gather information for the records of which he boasts. He lied to you,
but you were not deceived.”
For a moment Brings-Down-the-Sun was silent. Then he turned and said
earnestly:
“I can read a man’s character in his eyes and by the look I see in his
face. I now take you for my son. From this time forth, I shall be your
Indian father in the north; and the people of my tribe shall be your
brothers and sisters. Now I give myself up to you; and will tell you
anything you want to know. Your relatives who live far away towards the
rising sun, I take as my friends; my heart feels warm towards them; I
shake hands with all of them.”
Then he pointed reverently towards the sun, which was setting over the
mountains, and said:
“Behold! Our Father, the Sun. He looks down upon us here together and
hears everything we say. I am going to tell you many stories and
legends, about our religious ceremonies and ancient customs before the
white men came. Before the Sun, I promise to tell you nothing but the
truth.”
After that, the old chief came regularly to our camp. He had a fine
mind and a wonderful memory. He talked day after day and filled my
notebooks with information and stories—the way they had been handed
down from father to son through many generations of ancestors.
CHAPTER XXX
BRINGS-DOWN-THE-SUN TELLS ABOUT HIS FATHER
When Brings-Down-the-Sun came to our camp the following evening, he
took a seat by the fire. For a while he meditated, smoking his everyday
pipe in silence, and then he began:
“There is a trail we call ‘The Old North Trail.’ It runs along the
Rocky Mountains outside the foothills. It is so old no one knows how
long it was used. The horse trail and travois tracks were worn deep
into the ground by many generations of Indians.
“My father told me that this old trail was started ages ago by an
Indian tribe coming down from the north; and other tribes followed in
their tracks. I have followed the Old North Trail so often I know every
mountain, stream, and river of its course. It ran from the Barren Lands
in the north to the south country, where people have dark skins and
long hair over their faces (Mexico).”
By this time it was growing dark and the fire burned low. No one spoke
until the silence was broken by the mournful howling of a wolf in the
near-by hills. Then Brings-Down-the-Sun continued:
“The wolf is our friend and we do him no harm. The Indians have a
saying, ‘The gun that shoots a wolf or coyote will never again shoot
straight.’
“I never heard of a wolf that did not wander. They raise their young in
one place and then move on to another. They like to run all over the
country.
“My father’s first name was Running Wolf. His father, Little Mountain,
gave him that name, because a wolf appeared in a dream and advised him,
saying:
“‘I am the head-chief of all the wolves and my name is Running Wolf.
You often hear my voice; my tracks are everywhere and I shall always
continue to wander. Name one of your sons after me; and if he has a
son, let that name be handed down; all of your descendants who bear my
name will have long life and good luck.’
“I have now the wolf-nature, because my father bestowed the name of
Running Wolf upon me. Like the wolf I wander over the plains and
through the mountains; I never like to stay long in one place.
“Now I am going to tell you more about my father—how my grandfather,
Little Mountain, happened to honor him with the name of Running Wolf,
although he had two older brothers.
“One day in early summer, when my father was only a boy, he saw a band
of warriors gather near my grandfather’s lodge; he was then head-chief
of the tribe. They were dressed for war and had their horses painted
with war signs. They stood in a circle, holding a big rawhide between
them, upon which they beat with sticks like a drum and sang a wolf
song. They marched singing through the camp, saying farewell to friends
and relatives; and then started south on a war expedition.
“Now this was very exciting to my father; his two older brothers were
among the warriors. He wanted to go too. But he knew they would not
take him because he was too young.
“After the expedition had gone, the boy ran into the lodge and took a
bow and arrows. He told his father, the head-chief, he was going for a
hunt; but he rode fast and overtook the war party. They tried to send
him back. But one of his brothers said:
“‘If he is so eager, let him come; he can look after one of the pack
horses.’ Thus it happened that my father went with that war party.
“One night, after they crossed the Yellowstone River, the boy was
wakened by a noise. He scouted around and saw a band of hostile Indians
coming into camp. They were some of the Snakes and he gave the alarm.
The Blackfoot warriors made ready to attack, but waited until just
before dawn.
“In the fight my father made a wonderful shot and killed a Snake
Indian. It was the only scalp they took on that trip. When the warriors
came back to the Blackfoot camp, they waited on the summit of a hill,
until a big crowd came out to meet them.
“Then they made known to the people how the boy was the only one to
kill an enemy. They showed the Snake scalp and the head-chief was proud
of his son. He tied that scalp to a long pole and told the boy to hold
it aloft, and to shout as they rode triumphantly through the camp: ‘My
name is Running Wolf; I am the youngest of the war party and the only
one to kill an enemy. Behold! Here is the scalp.’ Thus it happened that
my father got the name of Running Wolf.
“When my father was head-chief of the tribe, he went by the name of
Iron Shirt, because he was accustomed to wear a shirt which was
decorated with shining pieces of metal. He was also head man of the
band of Grease Melters. He was a large and muscular man, with fine mind
and a wonderful memory. He knew all the legends and lore of his tribe.
He could tell the age of a horse by its whinny and of a man by the
sound of his voice. He kept ‘winter-counts’ by making pictures on
buffalo robes. He recorded important events in the history of the
tribe—places of tribal camps, battles and the names of war chiefs,
years of smallpox, summers of drought and winters when snows were deep
and food scarce. He kept count of the winter when many of our people
died from the cough-sickness, the winter when the children broke
through the ice, when some moose came into our camp, also the winter
when we had to eat dogs to keep from starving, the time a herd of
antelope broke through the ice, when we caught some antelope in the
deep snow, when buffalo were scarce, and the time we made the first
treaty with white men.
“Sixty-one winters have passed since we had our first great sickness of
smallpox (1836); forty-two, since we had the big camp on the
Yellowstone River (1855), the time eight Indian tribes came together
and our head-chiefs were Little Dog, Big Snake, and Lame Bull;
twenty-seven winters since the coming of the North-West Mounted Police
(1870), and twenty-one since the bad winter, when many of our horses
were frozen to death (1876).
“I was born in the spring, the year the first white men appeared in our
country. And I was still a young boy when my father became the owner of
his first Medicine Pipe. This happened in one of our tribal camps,
which was being held in mid-summer. Wolf Child was the owner of a Pipe
and chose my father as his successor. He told the medicine pipe men he
wanted them to take my father.
“Now it happened that my father was a ‘bear-man’—that is, his power
came from the grizzly bear. He had a sacred bearskin inside his lodge,
which he kept hanging from the lodge-poles, just over his couch. The
word ‘bear’ must never be spoken in the presence of a Medicine Pipe; it
has an evil influence. For this reason the medicine pipe men were
always afraid to offer a Pipe to my father, with the sacred bearskin so
near.
“But Wolf Child, the owner of this Pipe, advised there was no danger
from the skin. He said my father had great power; besides it was
possible for them to drive away the evil by burning sweet pine as
incense.
“Thus Wolf Child persuaded his friends and overcame their fears. It was
after midnight, when I heard the medicine pipe men stealthily enter our
lodge. Wolf Child came first, with the sacred Pipe hidden under his
robe. They caught my father asleep; and, when he woke up, they offered
him the Pipe. He took it in both hands and they all began to drum and
sing. After that my father smoked the Pipe and said:
“‘I am the owner of many horses, which of them do you want?’
“Wolf Child answered: ‘Your black buffalo-horse.’ Now this was the most
valued horse in my father’s herds. He was a famous race horse, the
fastest in the tribe; he was so high-spirited it took three rawhide
bridles to hold him.
“But my father did not hesitate. He answered quickly: ‘Take him, he is
yours.’ So Wolf Child got the horse and my father became the owner of a
Medicine Pipe. It was an honor to be chosen, although the Pipe was a
great burden. But my father could not refuse; no one ever dares to turn
down a Medicine Pipe. I know of an Indian who tried it, because he did
not want to give up a valuable horse. Misfortune came upon him. His
father-in-law died, then the horse; and finally the man died himself.
All because he refused to take over a Medicine Pipe when it was offered
to him.”
ORIGIN OF HIS FATHER’S THUNDER PIPE
“Once I was camped with my father and grandfather on the St. Mary’s
River. We were near the mountains after beaver, which were
plentiful then. One day my father went alone on a hunt, following
the trail of some elk to Chief Mountain. At timber-line he came
upon a band of mountain sheep and trailed them towards the summit.
Near the top of the mountain, he came upon bad-smelling smoke
coming from a deep hole. Into it he rolled a stone. He waited to
hear it fall. But no sound came back; only a cloud of smoke so
dense he could hardly breathe. Then he saw a thunder cloud coming
down the mountain and started to run. There came a crash and he
fell to the ground. A woman stood over him; her face was painted
black and she had red zigzag streaks for lightning below her eyes.
Behind her stood a man with a huge weapon. My father heard him say:
“‘I told you to kill him quickly, but you stand there and pity
him.’
“He heard the woman chant: ‘When it rains, the sound of the Thunder
is my medicine.’
“Then the man sang and fired his big weapon; it sounded like the
crashing of thunder, and my father saw lightning coming from the
hole in the mountain. Suddenly he found himself inside a cave; he
could not speak, neither could he raise his head. He heard a voice
say:
“‘This is the person who threw the stone into our fireplace.’
“He heard some one beating a drum; and after the fourth beating, he
was able to sit up and look around. He was in the home of the
Thunder. He saw the Thunder Chief in the form of a huge bird, with
his wife and children around him. They all had drums painted with
the claws of the Thunder Bird, and its beak from which came streaks
of lightning.
“Whenever the Thunder Chief smoked his Pipe, he blew two whiffs
towards the sky, then two to the earth; and after each whiff the
thunder crashed. Finally the Thunder Chief said to my father:
“‘I am the Thunder Maker and my name is “Many Drums.” You have seen
my great power and can now go in safety. As soon as you return to
your camp, make a Pipe just like the one you see me smoking. When
you hear the first thunder in the spring, you will know I have come
from my cave. Then it is time for you to take out your Pipe and
hold it up. If you are ever in a bad thunderstorm and feel afraid,
pray to me saying:
“‘Pity me! Many Drums, for the sake of your youngest child,’ and no
harm will come to you.
“Thus it happened that my father became the owner of a Thunder
Pipe. When he knew he was going to die, he gave this Pipe into my
care. He said it was a ‘long-time-pipe’ and must not be buried with
him. I still have the Thunder Pipe and smoke it only on important
occasions.
“My father was skilled in the catching of eagles. He taught me how
to take eagles alive, and for many years the catching of eagles has
helped to support my family. But it was a hard and dangerous
calling. I had to go to a solitary place near the foot of the
mountains and dig a hole in the ground deep enough for me to stand
in. I killed a coyote and stretched the hide on sticks, laying raw
meat along the sides, to look as if it were freshly killed. I
entered the pit before daylight, in order that no eagle could see;
and covered it over with branches and leaves. The coyote bait lay
on top, just over my head. I stood in that pit all day without food
or drink. I could not even smoke, lest the eagles might get the
scent. Throughout the day I chanted the coyote song, ‘I want the
eagles to eat my body,’ because it had the power to attract eagles
to my bait.
“The Long Tails (magpies) generally came first. They walked around
the meat, chattering and saying to each other over and over, ‘Long
Tails go ahead and hang your sack upon a tree.’
“After a while an eagle would see the magpies eating the bait and
come near. At first he would be suspicious. When he walked upon the
blind and started to eat, I thrust both hands through the branches
and seized him by the legs. I drew him quickly into the pit and
killed him by breaking his neck with my foot, so that the wings
fell to both sides and the feathers were not injured.
“Golden eagles were the most profitable to catch; the Indians
wanted them because of their white tail feathers with black tips
which they used for headdresses and sacred bundles. Bald eagles
were scarce and hard to catch. Some of them were so powerful they
almost dragged me from the pit.
“In those days eagle-catching was a dangerous occupation, because
of grizzly bears. I remember an Indian, who held fast to his bait
when a big grizzly started to drag it away. The bear pulled off the
branches and saw the man in the pit. He pulled him out and tore him
to pieces. When his relatives came, there was nothing left but his
bones.
“My father did not die in battle, nor of sickness, but of old age.
After his death, I became interested in religious things and came
north to live. One night I slept alone on a high hill of the
prairies. I had a strong dream. The Sun God came to me and said:
“‘My son, be not afraid. I give you my power and will guard you
through life.’
“I took an interest in the Sun Dance and became one of its leaders.
From that time, I was no longer called Running Wolf. People called
me Brings-Down-the-Sun (Natósin-népe-e), because I had the power of
the Sun.
“I have nine children living, four sons and five daughters. The
names of my sons are, Running Wolf, Iron Shirt, Double Walker, and
Three Eagles. The girls are, Long Hair, Turns-Back-the-Herd-Alone,
Good Kill, Double-Gun-Woman, and Whistling-All-Night.
“Towards the north lies the highest summit of the Porcupine Hills.
No trail leads to it and it is surrounded by a dense forest. The
top is steep and is covered with stunted pines. From that direction
come our hardest storms. When my oldest son died I went to that
lonely summit. I did not want to see any one. I stayed there night
and day and fasted. Then I had a dream. The Spirit of the Mountain
came to me and gave me a Medicine Robe; [5] and with it went
supernatural power—power to heal the sick. This wonderful Robe had
many skins of birds and wild animals attached. There were marks to
represent the Sun and Morning Star, also the constellations of the
Bunch Stars and the Seven Persons. I wore it in the ceremony of the
Sun Dance, when I stood before the people; and it gave me power to
doctor the sick.
“That Spirit of the Mountain warned me to give up using the
sweat-lodge, lest more of my children die; and to wash daily in the
river. Since that time I have always bathed in the river every
morning, even in winter when I have to break the ice. I tell my
sons to bathe regularly; and after they finish, the women go in. I
believe sickness can be warded off by keeping the body clean and
using sweet smoke for incense.”
CHAPTER XXXI
BRINGS-DOWN-THE-SUN TELLS ABOUT MEN’S SOCIETIES
THE BRAVES
“I am a member of the Society of Braves. It was started long ago by
an Indian. He had a strong dream in which he saw a band of dogs and
the way they acted. The Braves ruled the camp and helped our chiefs
to keep order. We punished men and women who quarreled; we
sometimes killed people who disobeyed our orders.
“When it was time for our tribe to move camp, we marched with the
beating of drums and singing, each member carrying a knife and a
bow and quiver full of arrows. We went to the center of camp and
spent the night curled up on the ground like dogs. The day our
tribe moved, we stayed behind and acted like dogs, eating all the
food that was left; like dogs we followed slowly and entered camp
after all the lodges were pitched.
“We placed our big lodge in the center of camp, taking possession
early, on the morning we danced. Our leader wore a coyote skin for
a headdress with the tail hanging down behind. He was called
Wolf-Skin-Man and carried a short lance, which was decorated with
feathers. The next in rank carried a willow branch. He wore a robe
with buffalo hoofs attached, which rattled when he danced.
“On the left of our leader sat the ‘white braves,’ with white
painted lances stuck into the ground in front of their seats. Their
bodies were painted white; and they had yellow stripes across nose
and eyes. Two other members called ‘water braves’ were painted
black; they carried bladders on their backs for water pails and
bags for back-fat and pemmican. There were also ‘black braves’
carrying black lances, with bodies painted black and black stripes
across their faces; and ‘red braves’ with red lances and red
painted bodies.
“Two other braves carried bows and arrows instead of lances. They
had their faces painted to impress the spectators; their bodies
were covered with red and on their faces was the bear sign—black
streaks down over the eyes and at each corner of the mouth. They
wore their front hair short and made it stand straight up by
covering it with paint. They had fringed shirts made from the
smoked tops of old lodge covers, belts of bearskin and arm-bands of
bearskin with bear claws attached; for headdresses they had strips
of skin with bear ears and two claws attached to look like double
ears.
“Whenever we danced outside our society lodge, we sat in an open
circle with four drummers in the center, our lances stuck into the
ground with points down. Wolf-Skin-Man as leader was at the head of
our circle, opposite the opening, with the two bear braves outside.
They covered themselves with robes, as if they were bears lying in
a den.
“Our leader, Wolf-Skin-Man, danced first, blowing his bone whistle
as a signal for the others to follow. Then we dropped our robes and
followed him, blowing whistles and bearing our lances. We danced
slowly in a circle, leaning forward and holding our lances near the
ground and acting like dogs looking for places to lie down. The
white-painted braves drove the others before them with their
lances, but stopped as soon as the two water braves appeared. Then
came the brave with the willow branch, who could not stop dancing
until the two grizzly bears appeared.
“The bears only danced when they felt like it. They lay in their
den and did as they pleased. Sometimes the spectators threw things
at them to make them dance. When they were ready they got up
slowly, holding their hands the way bears do their paws. They
danced leaning over, hopping along in short jumps with their feet
together, as bears are accustomed to do. They aimed with bows and
arrows, and drove the other dancers back to their seats.
“When we wanted to bring our dance to a close, the two bears
pretended they were going to shoot at the spectators with
sharp-pointed arrows; but they changed quickly to painted arrows
without points and shot them over the heads of the people. Then we
ran over the prairie, in the direction the arrows flew, taking off
our moccasins and throwing them away.
“We marched through camp singing our society song and shouted our
orders to the people. It was our custom to take anything we wanted,
even food from the kettle, as dogs do. We stopped to dance at the
lodges of prominent chiefs, who were expected to give us presents
of food and clothes. If any people bothered us or held us back, the
bears shot at them with their arrows.
“If our leader told us to allow no one to chase buffalo, then we
were the watchmen of the herds. If the buffalo were frightened and
ran away, scared by some one who chased secretly, we followed that
man and took away his horse and weapons; we tore off his clothes
and whipped him; we sent him back to camp naked and on foot. We
alone could look for buffalo; and, when we found plenty of them, we
moved the tribe that way. We also punished women who picked berries
against our orders by tearing their lodges to pieces.
“Men who joined the Society of Braves had to face danger whenever
it came; they could not turn away. When we decided it was time to
change our camping place, we made a feast in our society lodge and
invited the head-chief. After we had eaten and were smoking
together, our head-chief would say:
“‘My children, why have you asked me to come here? What is it that
you want’?
“And our leader would answer: ‘Grass is scarce for the horses; the
water is poor and the ground no longer clean; it is time for us to
move to another place.’
“Then the head-chief would reply: ‘In the morning we shall break
camp; it is too late to-day. Tell the people to bring in their
horses from the hills and to picket them close to their lodges; we
shall start at the rising of the sun.’”
THE SOCIETY OF MOSQUITOES
“This society was formed many years ago by an Indian who hunted in
a place where there were great numbers of mosquitoes. They came in
swarms and bit him all over; he lay on the ground and lost all
feeling; he heard strange voices singing:
“‘Mosquitoes, mosquitoes, get together, get together.
Mosquitoes, get together,
Our friend is nearly dead.’
“And then he saw mosquitoes beginning to dance. Some were red and
others yellow. They had claws attached to their wrists and long
plumes hanging from their hair. They sat in a circle and sang; they
jumped up and down, springing this way and that, always dancing in
the direction of the sun. He heard a voice say:
“‘Brother, because you were generous and let us drink freely from
your body, we give you our society of mosquitoes; we make you the
leader.’
“Then that man came safely home and started the Society of
Mosquitoes. Its members wore buffalo robes with the hair side out.
Some painted themselves red and others yellow, with stripes across
nose and eyes. They wore plumes in their hair and eagle claws
attached to their wrists to represent the bills of mosquitoes.
“When the mosquito society gave their dance, they sat in a circle
around the drummers; the leader was at the head, with yellow
mosquitoes on both sides. After each song, they held down their
heads and made a buzzing noise in imitation of mosquitoes. After
repeating this dance four times, they scattered and went through
the camp. Any person they met, they scratched with their
eagle-claws, and said: ‘Now I shall take blood from you.’
“Any one who resisted or tried to run away, they caught and
scratched hard. But those who offered themselves freely, and
invited them to take their fill, they did not hurt. Because, if a
mosquito is left alone, its bite does no harm.”
THE SOCIETY OF KIT FOXES
“This was one of the oldest of all our societies. It was started by
an Indian named Elk Tongue, who dreamed about a kit fox. It invited
him into its den. And there he saw the chief of the foxes with many
foxes seated around him. Before he left their den, the fox chief
said:
“‘When you return to your tribe, take a foxskin for your medicine;
wear it always on your back and my power will go with you. Form a
Society of Kit Foxes. Gather together some young men and show them
how to dress and to dance. Tell them, if they do these things and
never kill any foxes, they will have benefit. But it will be bad
luck for them to harm a fox.’
“After Elk Tongue came home he started the Society of Kit Foxes.
The members had great power. The ceremony was secret and the people
were afraid; it was dangerous to talk about it. Elk Tongue was
their leader. He alone knew the secrets and told the other members
what to do. Before he died he taught the ceremony to his son and
told him all the secrets. After that the power of the foxskin was
handed down from father to son through many years; and the members
of that society taught their children never to harm a fox.
“When the Kit Foxes gave their ceremony, they opened up two lodges
and made them into one. For four days and four nights they sat
inside, painting and dressing themselves, singing and making ready,
only appearing outside their dance lodge at night.
“But, on the fifth day, they came out and marched through the camp.
Their leader wore the foxskin with its head in front, the ears on
top, and the skin itself, with small bells attached to the tail,
hanging down his back. He carried a bow and arrows, which were
painted green; his body was also painted red, his face green, to
look as frightful as possible and to make people afraid.
“The second in rank, called the white-circle-man, carried a long
lance, with one end bent into the form of a hook; it was covered
with white swan’s-down and had white eagle feathers attached at
regular intervals along its staff.
“The next in rank had a long lance in the form of a hook, which was
wrapped with otter-skin and had black and red feathers attached.
The other members carried pointed lances decorated with feathers,
and small pipes painted red. They all painted their faces and wore
eagle feathers in their back hair. Around their legs were wide
bands of otter-skin with small bells attached.
“When the Kit Foxes marched through the camp, they formed in the
shape of a fox head. The chief went first to represent the nose;
behind him were the second and third men for the eyes; then came
the other members in a group, all together representing the head of
a fox. The two second men, as the eyes, watched the chief who was
the nose, or leader; they acted as he directed and the rest
followed after.
“For their dance, they sat in lines, with the regular members in
the first line. If any were withdrawing from the society—giving up
their lances to new candidates—they sat in a second line; and the
wives of the members sat behind.
“As soon as the drums began, the leader started the dance; and the
two circle-men with white lances followed. After them came the
other members with plain spears. They danced in pairs, the way Kit
Foxes run together. They gave short, even jumps with feet close
together, imitating the movements of a fox. They barked and moved
about, first in one direction, then in another, just as a fox is
accustomed to do. The two circle-men (eyes), barking and swinging
their spears, danced between the two lines. They did not move in a
straight line, because a fox never goes straight; his tail always
seems to guide him. When the white-circle-men shouted, ‘It is
enough,’ the dance stopped and the members returned to their seats.
But, after a short rest, they began again. And that is what I know
about our societies.”
CHAPTER XXXII
BRINGS-DOWN-THE-SUN TELLS ABOUT THE BIRDS AND THE STARS
We were seated by our camp-fire with the old chief and his family. My
Indian sister, Strikes-on-Both-Sides, and Long Hair delighted the
children, making whistles from cottonwood bark and toy lodges from
leaves of the balsam poplar, winding them around their fingers into the
shape of little tepees and fastening them together with twigs. They set
them up like real lodges and made them into a big camp in the form of a
circle.
Then we gave Brings-Down-the-Sun the collection of roots and herbs we
gathered especially for him; and a rare medicinal root called “sharp
vine” by the Indians, one of his favorite remedies for breaks and
sprains. He was so glad to get it that he chanted and prayed over it.
After putting our present carefully in an old medicine sack, he seated
himself apart from the others, and with dignity waited for the women
and children to become quiet.
From his manner I knew he was ready for his Indian stories and hastened
to prepare notebooks and writing equipment. The old chief was watching,
for he said with a smile:
“My white son there reminds me of a squirrel; he runs in one direction
as if to steal something, then darts quickly in another; he never sits
still a moment; he is always on the move.”
At that moment a woodpecker with red-crested head called from a tree
top. Brings-Down-the-Sun pointed to the bird and said: “He calls to the
worms and bugs to stick out their heads; he is hungry and wants to eat
them.”
I asked the chief to tell about other birds and their songs. He
replied:
“We called the yellow-breast (Western meadow-lark) ‘big-rump-bird,’
because he is so broad across the back. He is one of the first birds to
come in the spring. We are always glad to see him; when he comes we
know that summer is near. He has different songs: ‘Good whistler (his
wife) is a selfish woman’; also, ‘Your sister has a black skin.’
“The black breast (horned lark) sings in the air: ‘Spread out your
blanket and I will light upon it.’
“Summer bringers (white-throats) sing: ‘The leaves are budding and
summer is coming.’
“We call the bird that chatters among the bushes, when women are
gathering berries, ‘stingy-with-their-berries’ (kingbird). A bird with
long legs and black breast (spotted sandpiper) we call
‘shadow-in-the-water,’ because it stands in shallow water and looks at
its own shadow.
“My father taught me how to read the future, by watching the flights of
birds and the habits of wild animals. Of all the birds, we look upon
the raven as the wisest. When I see one soaring over our camp, I know a
messenger is coming from a distance. If two ravens sit near a trail
with their heads close together, it is a sign an enemy is near. On a
hunt, if I see a flock of ravens playing together, I go in that
direction and am sure to find game.
“My father told me how to read the signs in the sky—if the sun paints
his face (sun dogs), a big storm is coming; when the ‘fires of the
northmen’ (aurora) show in the sky, a heavy wind is coming; a ‘feeding
star’ (comet), is a sign of famine and sickness; and if the sun hides
his face (eclipse), a great chief is about to die. The rainbow is the
‘lariat’; it is the Thunder roping the rain; and the storm will slow
up.”
CALENDAR OF MOONS
“The first moon of winter (November) is the ‘wind-moon,’ or ‘time
of the first big snow.’
“Last of December and early January, ‘moon of the first warm wind’
(chinook).
“January, ‘moon when the jack rabbit whistles at night.’
“February, ‘moon of heavy snows,’ or ‘when buffalo calves are
black.’
“March, ‘moon of sore eyes,’ or ‘moon when the geese fly north.’
“April, ‘moon when ice breaks up in the rivers.’
“The spring moon has different names—‘time when the trees are
budding,’ ‘when buffalo calves are yellow,’ ‘when the buffalo plant
is in flower,’ ‘when the grass begins to grow.’
“May, ‘moon when the leaves come out.’
“June, ‘moon of high water.’
“Late June and July, ‘moon of flowers,’ ‘when strawberries get
ripe.’
“We call August, ‘home days.’
“September, ‘moon when the leaves turn yellow.’
“October, ‘moon when the leaves fall.’
“Last of October and early November, ‘moon when the geese fly
south.’
“My father used to sit by the lodge-fire on long winter evenings
and tell us stories and the wonderful things that happened in his
life. He told about the Stars and the Sun and the Moon, saying:
THE BUNCHED STARS
“There is a family of small stars in the sky; we call them Bunched
Stars. They are some children that got lost from an Indian camp on
the plains long ago.
“This happened in the spring, the moon when the buffalo calves are
yellow. Some hunters were driving buffalo over a cliff. When they
went back to camp, they gave the little yellow skins of the buffalo
calves to their children, who wore them in playing.
“There was a poor family in the camp, whose children did not get
any of the calfskins; and the others made fun of them.
“Then the poor children were ashamed, because they were not dressed
like the others. They ran away from the camp and got lost on the
plains. They had no place to go, so they went up to the sky. We
know they are the Bunched Stars (Pleiades), because they never show
themselves in the spring—the time buffalo calves are yellow. But,
in the fall, when the calves are brown, you can see the Bunched
Stars in the sky every night.”
THE SEVEN STARS (Ursa Major)
“There is a constellation in the north sky we call the Seven Stars.
They belonged to a family of nine children, two girls and seven
boys. The oldest girl had many suitors, but she would not marry.
She went every day into the forest to gather wood.
“One day her little sister followed; and when they were in the
forest together, the older girl left her and went off alone. She
stayed a long while and came back with her clothes covered with
earth and leaves. The younger girl said to herself: ‘There is
something my sister does when she goes alone; and now I shall find
out.’ Next day she followed secretly; she saw her sister having a
good time with a big grizzly bear; and came home and told her
father.
“Then the father was angry. He said to his oldest daughter: ‘Now I
know why you do not marry any of our young men; you have a grizzly
bear for your lover.’
“He went through the camp and called to the people: ‘I have a
grizzly bear for a son-in-law; he waits near by in the forest; let
us all go forth and kill him.’ So they went out and killed him.
“Then the girl stood by the body of her bear lover and mourned. His
spirit came to her in a dream and bestowed his supernatural power
upon her. After that she wore a piece of his skin for a charm and
could do wonderful things.
“One day she suddenly changed herself into a big grizzly bear. She
went through the camp and killed all the people; she spared only
her little brother and sister. And the three of them lived
together. But all this time the six older brothers were away on the
warpath.
“One day the little sister went to the river with her water pails
and met the brothers coming home from war. She told them about
Bear-Skin-Woman—how she had killed all the people and would surely
kill them too.
“Then the brothers planned to save their little brother and sister.
They gathered prickly pears and scattered them in the dark, leaving
only a narrow path from the tepee. That night the two children ran
away in the dark and joined their waiting brothers by the river.
“As soon as Bear-Skin-Woman knew they had gone, she turned herself
into a grizzly bear and followed them. But the prickly pears got
into her feet and she had to stop to pull them out.
“It turned out that the little brother, whose name was Body Chief,
was a medicine man with great power. He carried a bow with magical
arrows and wore an eagle feather in his hair. When he heard their
bear sister coming, he took his feather and made a lake between
them and the bear; again he made a thicket to hold her back; and
another time they all climbed into a tree.
“When the bear came to the tree, she said: ‘Now where can you go? I
am going to kill all of you.’
“She climbed into the tree and knocked six of the brothers down;
only Body Chief and his little sister were left. Then a little bird
lighted in the tree near Body Chief and sang:
“‘Shoot her in the top-knot.
Shoot her in the top-knot.
You must shoot the top of her head.’
“By this time the bear was near Body Chief, so he took one of his
magical arrows and shot her. She fell dead, and Body Chief came
down from the tree.
“Now six of the brothers were dead. But Body Chief shot six of his
arrows into the air. Each time he brought a brother back to life,
until they were all alive again.
“Then Body Chief said: ‘Now what shall we do? Our relatives and
friends are all dead and we have no place to go.’
“The oldest brother said: ‘Let us go to the sky and become seven
stars in the north. Then people will always know that the morning
comes from us.’
“So Body Chief took one of his eagle feathers. He waved it over his
head, and the brothers went up to the sky one after the other. They
took the same places they had in the tree, with the four oldest at
the bottom. Body Chief, the medicine man, is the end star in the
constellation, and their little sister the small star at one side.
Every night you can see the brothers move around the sky, until
their heads are up in the morning. And that is how the Seven Stars
(Ursa Major) came to be.”
Then Brings-Down-the-Sun arose and pointing to the bright constellation
in the north, said: “Behold! The last brother is pointing down towards
the prairie and the light of day will soon come.”
CHAPTER XXXIII
LEGENDS OF STAR BOY AND SCARFACE
Our last evening in the North Piegan camp many Indians came to visit.
So we gathered logs and built up the fire, until the flames lighted up
our white tepees and the surrounding woods.
Brings-Down-the-Sun took his customary seat on a log by our fire and
silently smoked his redstone pipe. The fire burned low and there came a
silence. I heard the last birds chirping in the thickets and frogs
croaking in a near-by swamp. Finally I asked the old chief to tell
about two bright stars (Venus and Jupiter) then in conjunction; they
rose in the early morning before the sun. He knocked the ashes from his
pipe, and for a moment gazed meditatively into the fire. Then he said:
“The things I am going to tell you happened long ago, long before we
had the Sun Dance; when our people used stone weapons and had dogs
instead of horses for beasts of burden.
STAR BOY
“It was a night in early summer. The sky was clear and a warm wind
blew over the prairies. Two sisters were sleeping on the grass
outside their father’s lodge. The youngest, whose name was Feather
Woman, wakened before daybreak and saw Morning Star rising from the
prairie. For a while she watched this wonderful star; and she
talked to him as if he were her lover. At last she woke her sister
and said: ‘See Morning Star! He is beautiful and must be very wise.
I want him for my husband.’
“This happened in the spring. In the ‘moon when leaves were turning
yellow,’ the sister who loved the star found herself with child.
The people learned her secret and taunted her until she wanted to
die.
“One day, at the time when geese were flying south, Feather Woman
went alone to the river for water. On her way back to camp, a young
man met her in the trail. He stood in her way and she said:
“‘Why do you want to head me off? None of the young men have ever
bothered me before.’
“And he answered: ‘I am Morning Star. One night in spring you took
me for your husband. Now I have come from the sky to take you to
the lodge of my father and mother, the Sun and Moon. We shall be
together and you will have no more trouble.’
“Then the girl remembered that night in the early summer and knew
Morning Star was the father of her child. He wore a yellow plume in
his hair and held a juniper branch with a spider-web hanging from
one end. He was tall and straight and his hair was long and
shining. His beautiful clothes were of soft-tanned skins; and had a
fragrance of pine and sweet grass.
“She wanted to tell her father and mother; but Morning Star allowed
her to speak to no one. He fastened his plume in her hair and told
her to close her eyes. He gave her the branch with the spider-web
to hold; and thus she was drawn up to the sky. When she opened her
eyes, she was standing with Morning Star before a large lodge. He
said: ‘This is the home of my father and mother, the Sun and Moon.’
“It was daytime and the Sun was away on his long journey, but the
Moon was at home. Morning Star said to his mother: ‘I saw this girl
asleep on the prairie; I loved her and she is now my wife.’
“Then the Moon was glad and took the girl into their lodge. She
gave her a dress of soft-tanned deerskin, trimmed with elk teeth,
wristlets of elk teeth, and an elkskin robe, and said: ‘I give you
these because you married our son.’
“So Feather Woman lived with Morning Star in the home of the Sun.
She was happy and learned many wonderful things. When her child was
born, they called him Star Boy; then the Moon gave her a sacred
root-digger, saying:
“‘It is used only by good women; with it you can dig all kinds of
roots; but do not dig up the big turnip that grows near the home of
the Spider Man.’
“Everywhere Feather Woman went, she carried the root-digger and
Star Boy. She often looked at the big turnip, but was afraid to
touch it. But one day she felt curious to see what was underneath;
she thought how strange was the warning of her mother-in-law, the
Moon.
“She laid Star Boy on the ground and started to dig; but the
root-digger stuck fast. Two large cranes came flying from the east;
and she called on them for help. The man-crane stood on one side,
his wife on the other. He took the turnip in his long bill and
moved it slowly backwards and forwards. They chanted four songs in
the four directions. Then they pulled up the turnip; and Feather
Woman saw a hole in the sky.
“She looked down to the earth, and saw the prairies and rivers, the
meadows and lodges of her people. For a long time she sat watching
the familiar scenes; women tanning skins and making lodges,
gathering berries on the hills and crossing the meadows to and fro
for water. It made her unhappy and she began to cry. She felt
lonely and wanted to go back to her own people on the prairies.
“Then Feather Woman returned to the lodge of the Sun. As soon as
she entered, Morning Star saw she was unhappy and said:
“‘Alas! You have dug up the sacred turnip.’ And, when she made no
reply, the Moon said: ‘I warned you, because I did not want to lose
Star Boy.’
“Nothing more was said, because the Sun Chief was still away on his
long journey through the sky. In the evening when he came home, he
said:
“‘What is the matter with my daughter-in-law? She looks unhappy and
must be in trouble.’
“Feather Woman answered: ‘Yes, I looked down to the earth and feel
homesick for my people.’
“Then the Sun God was angry and said to Morning Star: ‘She has
disobeyed and must go back to the earth. She can no longer be happy
with us.’
“After that Morning Star took Feather Woman to the home of the
Spider Man, whose long web had drawn her up to the sky. He laid
Star Boy on her breast and wrapped them both in the elkskin robe;
he bade them farewell and let them down to the earth.
“This happened in midsummer, the time ‘when berries were ripe.’ In
the Blackfoot camp many people were outside their lodges, watching
a crowd of young men play a game of rolling the wheel. Suddenly
they beheld something coming down from the sky. And when they came
to the place where the bundle lay, they saw the woman and her baby.
“They took her to her father’s lodge and she lived there. But after
that she was not happy. She used to go alone to the summit of a
hill and mourn for her husband. One night she slept on the hill;
and, at daybreak, when Morning Star rose over the prairies, she
begged him to take her back.
“Before Feather Woman died, she told all these things to her father
and mother. Then the grandparents of Star Boy died, and he was left
alone in the camp. He was so poor he had no clothes, not even
moccasins to wear. He did not play with other children; they made
fun of him and stoned him. Whenever the tribe moved camp, he had to
walk barefoot behind the rest of the people. He had a ridge-scar on
his face; and they called him Scarface.
SCARFACE
“Now when Scarface became a young man he loved the daughter of a
chief. She had many suitors, but refused all of them. Scarface
asked her to marry him. But the chief’s daughter ridiculed Scarface
and said: ‘I shall not marry you until your scar can be seen no
more.’
“Then Scarface was ashamed and went away from the camp. He wandered
alone; he fasted, and prayed to the birds and wild animals for
power. Finally an eagle took him to the home of a wise old woman.
She asked him why he traveled so far, and he replied: ‘Because of
this, my scar.’
“Then the old woman said: ‘Ah, yes, I know, I understand. You must
go to the place where the sun sets, beyond the mountains and down
the other side, to the big water. There you must wait, for you will
be near the home of the Sun. In the evening he comes home to his
lodge; and before dawn his only son, the Morning Star, comes out.
He will tell you how to live.’
“The old medicine woman pitied Scarface and gave him food to eat,
and moccasins to wear, for his feet were torn and bleeding. Then he
left her and traveled again, across the mountains and down the
other side, until he came at last to the shore of the big water.
There it was so hot he knew he was near the lodge of the Sun. So he
lay down and waited.
“In the early morning a young man with a beautiful face came forth.
It was Morning Star. He saw Scarface and said:
“‘Brother, I shall hide you. Soon my father, the Sun, will appear
and would kill you. In the morning he comes from his lodge and
starts on his long journey through the sky.’
“So Morning Star hid Scarface. And after the Sun had gone, he took
him to his mother, the Moon, and said:
“‘I want this fellow for my comrade. He has come a long way and I
ask you to pity him.’
“The Moon answered: ‘Wait until your father comes home to-night; I
am afraid he won’t allow the young man to stay.’
“That evening, as soon as the Sun entered the lodge, he said to his
wife: ‘Whew! Old woman, I smell a human here.’
“And the Moon replied: ‘Yes, your son has a chum hidden yonder.’
“Then the Sun would have killed Scarface, but the Moon interceded
and saved his life. Morning Star burned juniper and sweet grass. He
put Scarface in the sweet-smelling smoke; and after that the Sun
allowed him to stay in the lodge.
“Thus Scarface became the comrade of Morning Star; and the two
young men went everywhere together. On one of their trips, some
huge birds with sharp bills attacked Morning Star. They would have
killed him, but Scarface cut off all their heads and saved his
life. Four of the heads he gave to the Sun and three to the Moon.
Then the Sun praised Scarface. He said he was a chief and gave him
a war shirt, which was trimmed with scalps and ermine and with
leggings to match. On each legging the Sun made seven black lines
to represent the seven enemies he had killed. Because of this our
warriors have always painted their leggings with the number of
enemies they kill in battle.
“The Sun asked Scarface why he traveled so far, and he replied:
“‘A girl said she would not marry me until my scar was healed.’
“Then the Sun doctored Scarface in four sweat-lodges, until he and
Morning Star looked alike in every way. Even the Moon could not
tell them apart. When the Sun asked his wife which of the two was
Morning Star, she pointed to Scarface. For this reason the Indians
sometimes call him Morning-Star-by-Mistake.
“When it was time for Scarface to leave the sky and return to the
earth, the Sun gave him power to heal the sick. He told him about
the Sun Dance and taught him the songs and prayers, saying: ‘It
must be given in midsummer, when my power is greatest. If a
virtuous woman makes a vow to the Sun and gives this ceremony
sacred to me, the sick will be restored to health.’
“At parting, Morning Star showed Scarface the Wolf Trail (Milky
Way), the short path across the sky to the earth. He gave him a
magic flute and a song with which to charm the girl he loved. So
Scarface left the home of the Sun and returned to the earth. He
brought the Sun Dance to the Indians and power to heal the sick.
Then he was taken back to the sky and became another Morning Star,
just like his father.”
Thus spake Brings-Down-the-Sun. And after a short silence he
continued, saying:
“I remember another time years ago, when these two stars rose close
together in the early morning before the sun; also when I was a
boy, I remember my father waking me one morning when we were going
on a journey, saying: ‘Get up, my son! Morning Star and Star Boy
are rising over the prairie. Day will soon dawn and it is time we
were off.’
“Sometimes these two stars separate and travel alone through the
sky. I have also seen them together in the evening sky, going down
after the sun. Now they are together in the morning. You can see
them before dawn. Scarface comes up first, his father soon after,
and then his grandfather, the Sun.”
When the old chief ended his talk, no one spoke for a while,
because of the magic of his words and the spell of the night.
Suddenly a bright meteor flashed across the heavens and burst into
a shower of sparks near the horizon. Some of the Indians thought it
an evil omen. But Brings-Down-the-Sun said:
“That falling star is a sign a great chief has just died—a man who
had a good heart and lived a straight life. The Sun God is
all-powerful; he sees everything and watches over every one.
“And now our story-telling is ended, for the dogs have separated,
having had their evening meal.”
After Brings-Down-the-Sun and his followers had gone and our Indians
were asleep in their tepees, I lay on my blanket-bed under the
cottonwoods, thinking of Star Boy and Scarface, and watching the moon,
very broad and big, mount slowly into a cloudless heaven, higher and
higher, until the great trees were bathed in its silvery light. I heard
the night wind in the trees, the murmuring of the river, and once the
mournful cry of some night bird. In the peace and quiet of that
wilderness camp, my home in civilization seemed like another world.
At dawn I wakened and saw our women making a fire to cook breakfast.
After a plunge in the cold river, I went to find our horses, along the
wooded trail in the valley, past the silent white lodges of the North
Piegans. Out on the open prairie a gentle breeze was blowing, bearing
the sweet fragrance of woods and meadows.
In the east were the two bright morning stars in conjunction, Star Boy
and his father, the planets Jupiter and Venus. Star Boy (Jupiter) came
up first, and was followed by Morning Star.
The first birds were chirping in the thickets and from the hills came
the wailing cries of bands of coyotes. Soon a rosy glow spread over the
Rocky Mountains, over the snow-capped peaks and the forests of the
lower slopes. By the time I found our horses, the sun itself came up
and flooded the prairies with light.
When our lodges were down and wagons packed, Brings-Down-the-Sun came
to say farewell, leading his favorite horse, Soks-kinne (Loud Voice).
Soks-kinne was a handsome stallion with silvery mane and tail, the
fastest race horse of the North Piegans. What a chest he had! Long legs
and brightest of eyes. The old chief cared for him as for an old and
faithful friend. But he led his horse forth and gave him to us.
When we refused to take him, Brings-Down-the-Sun handed me his favorite
pipe of redstone, and said:
“My son, I give you my ‘everyday’ pipe—the one I have smoked for many
years. Keep it as a remembrance of your Indian father. My heart feels
heavy because you are going; and I shall be lonely every time I see
your deserted camp-ground. Never have I gone into another camp to talk
day after day as I have with you.”
Then he shook hands; and, as I turned to go, the old chief gazed
towards the rising sun and prayed:
“Father, the Sun!
May he go safely while traveling afar!
May we live long and continue to be friends!
May we both meet and be happy again!”
As we left the valley for the open plains, I turned in the saddle for a
last look, and saw Brings-Down-the-Sun with bowed head, going along the
trail to his lodge, leading his horse and followed by his old dog,
Kops-ksisse.
CHAPTER XXXIV
BEGINNING OF THE SUN DANCE
The Blackfoot Indians did not have a personal God. They looked to the
Sun as the source of all power, believing he was everywhere—in the
mountains, lakes and rivers, birds and wild animals. They believed that
Sun Power could be transferred to man. Any one might be the favored
person; an individual was powerless to gain it, but he could put
himself in the way of receiving the gift.
If an Indian wanted a religious experience, or to gain supernatural
power, he went alone to a remote place to fast and pray, sometimes for
many days. The gift came generally through the medium of some wild
animal, bird, or supernatural being, whose compassion was aroused by
his fasting and by his exhausted condition; often through one of the
more powerful animals—the buffalo, grizzly bear, beaver, wolf, eagle,
Thunder, or the Maker of Storms and Blizzards. If the grizzly bear
bestowed his power, the man who received it was believed to attain the
great strength and vitality of the bear.
The tribe had many sacred bundles containing supernatural power; all
had songs for their rituals, and all the songs were different. The
medicine men who led the ceremonies had to know the songs of the
different bundles. This required many years of patient study and was an
important part in the preparation of a medicine man.
In the ceremonies of these bundles, the objects they contained were of
minor importance; the songs were the means of contact with religious
power. Some of the ceremonies were believed to have power to heal the
sick, others to promote the welfare of the people, or to bring success
in war. But each bundle was owned by an individual who, in turn, could
transfer it to another.
The Sun Dance was the only ceremony in which all the people
participated. It was a great tribal festival held every year at
midsummer when the grass was long and food plentiful. It always had its
origin in a woman’s vow to the Sun generally in behalf of a relative
who was dying. Some attended to fast and pray, others to fulfill vows;
but most of the people came for social enjoyment, and to see the
ceremonies and social dances.
Mad Wolf, my Indian father, and his wife were the givers of a Sun
Dance. One day in the early summer, I rode Kutenai, my saddle horse,
across the prairie to attend their opening ceremony. When I came to a
long ridge-like summit that led down to his camp, I dismounted to rest
and view the landscape.
In the wide and grassy valleys were herds of fat horses and cattle.
Sharp against the western horizon stood the snowy peak of Divide
Mountain, where two continental divides meet, and the rocky summit of a
mountain called “Chief” by the Indians, because it stands apart and is
higher than the other peaks. It was evening and the hills and mountains
were bathed in the rosy light of sunset. On all sides I heard the sweet
sounds of prairie birds—the Western meadowlark and lark sparrow and the
serene and exalted song of the willow thrush.
But the dogs of Mad Wolf’s camp soon broke the spell; they got wind of
the approaching white man and began an incessant barking. So I leaped
into the saddle and rode down to his camp.
When I entered the lodge, the chief and his wife Gives-to-the-Sun were
seated together at the back, their heads bowed in prayer. He looked at
me with his keen glance, then shook hands and, directing me to a seat
on a couch, said:
“I am glad in my heart that you have come to our Sun Dance. Ever since
you went away, I have prayed to the Sun for your safe return. Now you
can see our ceremony. I shall tell you everything and you can explain
it to the white men; for I believe you are straight and will tell them
the truth.”
I asked Mad Wolf how it happened they were giving a Sun Dance, and he
replied:
“Last winter, at the time of the second big blizzard, Small Otter, our
youngest grandchild, was ill. Snow lay deep over the prairie; it was
cold and for many days the sun did not shine. The doctors, White Grass
and Ear-Rings, came. They gave root medicines; they danced and sang and
beat upon their medicine drums. But our child grew weaker; they said he
was going to die.
“One evening the clouds broke and the sun shone through. My wife went
outside the lodge; she looked up to the Sun and prayed:
“‘Sun, have pity!
I am praying for my grandson,
The one that is dying.
May he get well!
Sun, you must listen.
I swear I am pure.
All my life I lived straight.
Sun, I promise to give your ceremony,
If our child gets well.
We shall call in all the people.
Sun, have pity and hear my prayer.’
“Then she went to the bedside of Small Otter and said: ‘Rise up, my
child, and get well; for your sake I have vowed to give a Sun Dance.’
“After that my wife went to see Bull Child, the medicine man, and told
him of her vow. Next morning they stood together facing the rising sun;
and Bull Child prayed:
“‘Sun, I know this woman has led a pure life. If her sick grandchild
recovers, I promise she will give the ceremony for you; she will fast
before all the people and become a medicine woman.’
“The following spring, by the time the snow had melted, Small Otter was
well. So when the warm winds began to blow and the grass was green, we
began to save tongues and make ready to fulfill our vow to the Sun. Now
we are going to prepare them for the sacred food.”
Before Mad Wolf and Gives-to-the-Sun started on the tongues, they asked
White Calf, the head-chief, and his wife to help and guide them in the
ceremony. They were the givers of the Sun Dance the year before. So
they came to our camp and went through the ceremony of painting Mad
Wolf and his wife and Small Otter, for whom the vow was made. They
prayed with them and sang many songs. And the two couples stood
together outside the lodge, while White Calf prayed to the Sun,
promising that the Sun Dance would be given. White Calf repeated this
promise in the four directions, while they faced in turn, north, south,
east, and west.
Then they smoked a pipe together, and White Calf and his wife promised
to lead and instruct and to act as “father” and “mother” throughout the
long ceremony of the Sun Dance. And from them Gives-to-the-Sun
purchased a “natóas” (sun-dance bundle), containing a sacred headdress
and other articles, which were used by the woman who made a vow to the
Sun. Thus it became known throughout the tribe that the Sun Festival
would be given that summer by the Mad Wolf family.
After many tongues had been gathered and dried ready for use, Mad Wolf
moved his camp to another place and summoned his relatives and friends
to assist him in the ceremony. Then came many well-known Indians and
their families and joined the camp, White Grass, Ear-Rings, Curly Bear,
Middle Calf, Double Runner, Morning Plume, and Blessed Weasel—the men
to help in the singing and prayers, the women in preparing tongues.
Throughout these long rites my Indian father gave me instruction and
every facility to learn; he stopped the ceremony that I might write
down the chants and prayers and make photographic records. All his
friends and relatives were well-disposed and the way was open.
The consecrating of the tongues lasted several days, the same ceremony
being repeated for every lot of tongues brought in. They chanted and
prayed and burned incense. White Calf and his wife directed. Throughout
the entire ceremony of the Sun Dance, they were known as the “father”
and “mother,” Mad Wolf and his wife as the “son” and “daughter.”
Gives-to-the-Sun, as the medicine woman, sat directly back of the fire
in the central position, with Mad Wolf on her left and the wife of
White Calf on her right. Next to Mad Wolf sat the head-chief, White
Calf, and the other men. The men were all together on the north side of
the lodge, while the women were together on the opposite side and in
the same order as their husbands.
The wife of White Calf, as the “mother,” took the tongues from the
cases and laid them in rows on a rawhide. It was her privilege to hand
them to the other women for slicing and skinning. She gave the first
one to Gives-to-the-Sun, because she made the vow to the Sun. This
tongue was then painted black on one side and red on the other, to
distinguish it from the others; and as soon as Gives-to-the-Sun had
taken it, she renewed her vow by praying:
“Sun, I have lived a straight life.
Ever since I came to my husband,
I have been faithful to him.
Sun, help me! What I say is true.
Help me to cut this tongue without mistake.”
During the preparing of the tongues, if any of the women cut themselves
or made a mistake, it was taken as a sign they were not virtuous.
After the tongues were cut into slices, two women went to the river for
water, carrying a kettle between them. Before starting and all through
their movements, they made prayers and sang. On their way to the river
they stopped four times, each time standing with bowed heads, praying
earnestly to the Sun. While dipping the water, they also sang and
prayed and made four pauses for prayer on their way back to the lodge.
When the women placed the kettle of tongues on the fire, they burned
sweet grass as incense. And while the tongues were boiling, they
chanted and prayed, burning sweet grass and throwing it into the
kettle. At this time the women made vows to the Sun that they were
virtuous. They recounted their temptations—the occasions when they were
improperly approached by men; they made known the names of the men and
told how they had resisted.
After the boiling of the tongues, the kettle was taken from the fire
and held in the sweet smoke, while White Calf sang to the Sun, Moon,
and Morning Star. Then they had another ceremony for drying the
tongues, and still another one for placing them in cases. Thus the meat
was consecrated and made ready for taking to sun-dance camp, where the
entire tribe would assemble.
CHAPTER XXXV
FORMING THE GREAT CIRCLE CAMP
Indians with their families kept coming to Mad Wolf’s camp until their
lodges spread far out upon the plain. The days were warm with clear
sunshine and all were eager to move to the sun-dance camp.
At last the ceremony of the tongues was finished and they were packed
in parfleches. One evening, when the sun was sinking into the west, I
saw Mad Wolf come from his lodge and heard his strong voice ring out
over the quiet plain, saying:
“Hear, my children. The time has come to move to the circle camp.
Berries are ripe and the grass is now long over the prairies. To-morrow
we shall go to the big flat on Willow Creek. Bring in your horses
to-night and be ready to start at the rising of the sun.”
Next morning I wakened soon after dawn and went out from my lodge.
Along the horizon of the prairie was the golden glow of sunrise. Smoke
was already rising from some of the tepees where the women were cooking
breakfast. In the meadows many larks were singing and from the hills
came the wailing of coyotes.
At Mad Wolf’s tepee I saw Gives-to-the-Sun seated outside, with her
head bowed in prayer; she faced south, the direction the tribe would
move to the circle camp. As sacred woman she could do no work; she had
women assistants, the wives of White Grass, Ear-Rings, Middle Calf, and
Morning Plume, who took charge of moving her tepee. The wife of White
Calf, as the “mother,” looked after the wants of Gives-to-the-Sun. All
through the preparations for moving, she kept praying—while placing the
sacred travois before the woman and loading it with the cases of
tongues and the ceremonial clothes—the elkskin dress of
Gives-to-the-Sun with beaded leggings and moccasins to match, her
headdress and robe of soft-tanned elkskin, and juniper for the altar.
She hitched Gives-to-the-Sun’s own riding horse to the travois, which
was painted red; also the saddle, harness, and all of her equipment.
Gives-to-the-Sun was so weakened by fasting and by sitting day after
day in the same position that she had to be lifted upon her horse.
When it was time to break camp, the Indians watched the lodge of Mad
Wolf for the signal to move. As soon as they saw the poles being
removed from his tepee, the entire camp became a scene of confusion.
All the white lodges came down together; quickly they were waving and
flapping in the wind, and then lay flat on the ground. The horses stood
ready and were soon loaded; and the people fell into line according to
their different bands.
Chief Mad Wolf mounted his horse while singing a chant. He rode a short
distance with White Calf by his side, and was followed by the sacred
woman and her “mother.” They rode in single file to a near-by hill; and
there they waited for the rest of the people to fall into line.
Then Mad Wolf and White Calf slowly led the way across the open
prairie. In the procession that followed were prominent Indians with
their families—White Grass the medicine man, Ear-Rings the doctor,
Heavy Breast, Bull Child, Middle Calf, Double Runner, Three Bears,
Morning Plume, Bear Child, Blessed Weasel, Cream Antelope, and Medicine
Weasel. I rode with the Mad Wolf family and among his relatives and
friends.
It was still early morning when we started. The undulating hills were
glorious under a bright July sun. Western meadow-larks were singing and
I saw many wild flowers—pink roses, purple asters, and yellow
gaillardia with dark-brown centers. On my face the sun felt hot, but a
fragrant west breeze came from the mountains.
The plain we crossed stretched many miles in every direction and swept
upwards towards the mountains, with snow-capped peaks in the distance.
Then we climbed to a broad table-land, which was covered with tussocks
of tough wiry grass, and here and there the skulls and bleaching bones
of buffalo.
When we came to a range of grass-covered hills, I left my place and
rode ahead to the summit of a butte to see the line pass. That was many
years ago, but in memory, I can still see clearly that primitive
procession of Mad Wolf and his redskin followers, as they slowly
crossed the summit, their figures sharply outlined against the deep
blue sky.
Mad Wolf was in the lead, tall and erect, with head thrown proudly
back. The venerable head chief, White Calf, rode by his side; he was
older than Mad Wolf and was somewhat stooped, his long gray hair
falling in waves over his shoulders. The women followed with the sacred
travois, its poles crossed in front, high over the horse’s head, and
the ends dragging behind on the ground. Then came a group of women
helpers in bright-colored clothing. They rode horses with beaded
ornaments on heads and breasts, having saddles with deer antlers for
pommels and beaded buckskin flaps for the flanks.
In the van was a group of warriors with war bonnets of eagle feathers;
they carried weapons, also a sacred Lance and a Shield. Their limbs
were bare, and their clean copper skins shone in the sunlight. They
were a hardy lot, with lithe muscular figures, riding gracefully, with
an easy careless air and the haughty military bearing of warriors.
Then came many travois laden with baggage, groups of old men and women,
children and young girls. The granddaughters of Mad Wolf and White
Calf, Anatapsa and Dives-Under-Water, were both astride a pinto horse.
Anatapsa rode in front, her long black hair flying in the wind; round
her slender waist, a blanket of bright scarlet was fastened by a belt
of colored beads. She was pretty and vivacious, continually striking
the sides of their old saddle horse with her small moccasined feet. All
the time the hands of both girls moved gracefully in the sign language,
for Dives-Under-Water was deaf and dumb.
I saw a travois with three old squaws, drawn by an aged rawboned horse.
When he refused to go farther, the old women dismounted and beat him
with ropes; but it was in vain. He stood as if asleep, with eyes closed
and head down, oblivious to both their blows and curses.
Our procession wound in and out among the grassy hills, until we came
to the broad plain chosen by Mad Wolf for the circle camp. It was
covered with rich bunch grass, still green from the rains of early
summer. On the west side of the plain was Willow Creek, a small trout
stream, which was lined with willows and marshy meadows. Toward the
east were the open plains, south, a range of grass-covered hills, and
north, a ridge with a huge rock near the center.
The Indians all waited while Mad Wolf and White Calf chose the place
for the sun lodge; and then the sacred woman and her attendants
dismounted. Mad Wolf and White Calf seated themselves beside the
medicine bundles and smoked, while the women helpers pitched the Mad
Wolf tepee over the place where the sacred bundles lay. They placed
green branches against the back, also the sacred travois—a sign to the
people that the fasting woman was inside and must not be disturbed.
Around the lodge of Mad Wolf, the great circle camp was formed
according to bands or blood relatives. Each family knew where their
lodge belonged and took their accustomed places, each band under a head
man.
Mad Wolf was the head man of the “Hard-Top-Knot” band, which were on
the north side of the camp. They were called Hard-Top-Knots, because of
the way they wore their hair. Other bands were called—Small Robes,
because of the size of their robes; Fat Melters, who liked to eat
melted fat; Don’t Laughs, Worm People, Skunks, Buffalo Chips, and Lone
Fighters. There was a band called All Chiefs, because their men all
acted like chiefs; Lone Eaters, who were selfish and ate by themselves;
Eat-Before-Others, because they had their meals before others were
ready.
Then Mad Wolf sent a messenger to the southern division of the tribe,
who were assembled under Running Crane many miles to the south, calling
on them to move to the circle camp on Willow Creek.
Now Running Crane was a venerable chief, loved and respected throughout
the tribe. He was head man of the band of Fat Melters, a wise counselor
and one who acted as a father to all the people. He was brave in war,
yet of a gentle and benevolent spirit. He gave freely to the poor, and
was always ready to help those who were in trouble. I found him simple
in his manners, modest, yet full of dignity.
In the afternoon of that same day, Running Crane arrived with his
followers of the southern division. Among them were the war chiefs,
Little Plume and Little Dog, Bear Chief, Spotted Eagle, Big Moon,
Shoots-in-the-Air, Black Bear, Flat Tail, Strangling Wolf, and other
prominent chiefs with their families.
Throughout that entire day people continued to come, until two thousand
Indians were gathered together in the circle camp. Families came from
many other tribes of the northwest, traveling long distances to
attend—Mandans and Sioux from the Dakotas, Flatheads, Pend d’Oreilles
and Nez Percés from across the Rockies. From the far north came Sarcees
and Crees, North Blackfoot, Bloods, and North Piegans; also Bannocks
and Crows from the south.
The big camp was over a mile in circumference, with the lodges of the
head men of different bands on the inside circle; the small and
inferior tepees of the poorer class were relegated to the outskirts.
Near the center of the camp, and apart from the others, the powerful
society of Brave Dogs had their lodges where they kept their weapons
and dance clothes. In their society lodge they gathered to feast and
dress for their ceremonies and social dances, which took place at all
times, both day and night. They were the police of the tribal camp. The
head men looked to the Brave Dogs to enforce their orders. They saw
that all the tepees were in their proper places and the big camp was
symmetrically formed.
CHAPTER XXXVI
LIFE IN THE CIRCLE CAMP
The first day of the big camp, the Indians were all outside their
lodges, eager to see friends and on the lookout to greet those who came
from a distance.
Excitement was in the air. Packs of dogs ran barking through the camp.
Men and boys galloped over the hills, shouting and singing, rounding up
bands of horses and driving them to water, picketing them in the
meadows and driving others to feed on the grassy hills. Women were at
work cooking, stacking lodge-poles or handling unwieldy covers flapping
in the wind.
My lodge was pitched in the band of the Hard-Top-Knots, near Mad Wolf’s
tepee, where the ceremony of the Sun Dance was taking place. I shared
it with Little Creek and Strikes-on-Both-Sides, my Indian sister, and
their children, also Tears-in-Her-Eyes, a niece of Mad Wolf’s, a baby
of six months whom Strikes-on-Both-Sides adopted, because the mother
had died in childbirth.
Near by was the lodge of Morning Eagle, an aged warrior, the hero of
many battles. He was so old and decrepit he had to be lifted from his
horse. Every morning before sunrise, he wakened me, singing his
medicine songs. He was not musical and they all sounded alike; the only
variation being slight changes in the rhythm, or in the bird or animal
calls, at the end of each song. On a cold and rainy day, he crawled
from his tepee to drive back the storm. In spite of his age and
rheumatism, he sat in the wind and rain, singing and praying to the
Maker of the Storm.
Another neighbor was Little Owl, who had a large family. I watched them
every day at their outside fire. His pretty young wife, Coming Running,
was tall and slender, with jet-black hair, which hung in heavy braids
below her waist. Strong and healthy, she was always at work, with a
flock of small children about her. She had many cares—a babe in arms
and a small daughter with a dangerous abscess, and two visitors to
entertain from the Flathead tribe. Yet she was always smiling and in a
good humor. I did not hear her complain or speak an angry word.
She had a little play-tepee for the children, made by a blanket
fastened round a cluster of poles. There they kept their
playthings—dolls with deerskin suits decorated with real beads and
feathers, dolls in baby cases, also little robes and blankets and
cooking utensils. The boys had bows and arrows, and stilts made of
cottonwood, crooked sticks for hobbyhorses and wooden tops.
At the tepee of Running Fisher, I saw a pet coyote puppy, and at
another place a tame magpie sitting on top of a lodge-pole. In former
days these Indians had many pets—hawks, eagles and cranes, beavers,
wolves and antelope. A chief had two grizzly bears for pets. They were
so well trained he could make them lie down with noses between their
paws.
Another Indian had a pet crane, which followed him everywhere, and was
said to be very wise. The man and the crane went so much together the
people called them father and son. Whenever he left the crane behind,
it mourned and was unhappy, going through the camp, even into tepees,
until it found its master and stood beside him.
I met an elderly man from the north, whose name was Natosin (Sun
Chief). He was over six feet in height and had long gray hair falling
over his shoulders. He was venerable in appearance and his face had a
kindly expression. He occupied a small traveling-lodge and had two
travois to carry his baggage, one with a wicker frame of green branches
built over the seat, to shield him and his aged wife from the sun. When
I asked him how it happened they came so far to attend a Sun Dance, he
said:
“Last winter I was very ill; the doctors said I was going to die. But I
made a vow to the Sun; if I recovered I would attend the next Sun
Dance, wherever it might be. In the spring I heard that Mad Wolf and
his wife were giving the ceremony, so I came from the north to fulfill
my vow and eat one of the sacred tongues.”
I saw two women tanning a deerhide stretched on the ground, hair-side
down, and held in place by wooden stakes. They raked it with large
tools of bone sharpened at one end. Then they used an adzelike tool,
removing the surface of the hide in chips, and made it of uniform
thickness. When they had finished the flesh side, they turned the hide
over and scraped off the hair and left it to bleach and cure in the
sun.
At another lodge, I saw an aged woman with snow-white hair seated in
the doorway, soft-tanning a skin by sawing it back and forth through a
loop of twisted sinew fastened to a pole. Then she whitened it by
rubbing it with a piece of fungus and the skin was ready for use.
The wife of Running Fisher was making decorated parfleches at the Otter
Tepee, to be used as cases for packing with horses. And at the Buffalo
Tepee of Wolf Plume, I saw a group of women at work, sewing a large
lodge cover, which was spread between them on the ground. They enjoyed
their work, smoking, gossiping, and feasting. The lodge covers were so
large one woman could not handle them alone. It was the custom for a
number of women to coöperate, making it a social affair with light
refreshments. When the women finished at one lodge, they moved on to
another.
A marked feature of Indian life was the superiority of the women in all
household arts; they were trained in them from childhood. Though women
performed most of the menial work and men were the providers and
defenders, the women were not dissatisfied. A mother trained her
daughter from childhood in tanning skins and making them into clothes
and shelter; also in the knowledge of herbs and wild vegetables, which
were used for eating and healing. Women considered this their special
vocation and allowed no interference from the men, who were unfitted
for the work.
In front of the War Tepee of Running Rabbit were two women drying and
curing meat. They cut it into thin slices and smoked it, hanging it on
a scaffold of poles and left it to cure in sun and wind. They made
pemmican from choice pieces of dried meat, pounding it with stone
hammers and mixing with crushed wild cherries, together with marrowfat
and tallow. For the marrow, they boiled cracked bones and skimmed off
the fat. They split tongues the long way and dried them in the sun. The
tongues were a great delicacy together with beaver tails.
Meat was the chief article of diet for the Blackfoot; they were unhappy
without it. In former years, when wild game was plentiful, they lived
mostly on the flesh of buffalo and the deer species, but of late years
on cattle. Their favorite way of preparing meat was by boiling, or in
the form of soup. Sometimes they ate dogs at ceremonial feasts; but
this was not a common custom.
In the circle camp, I saw preparations for a dog feast by a band of
visiting Assiniboine Indians. Near our lodge was Eagle Child, who owned
a litter of fat puppies. He had a miniature tepee for them, where they
slept and had shelter from the hot sun. I saw them playing daily before
my door. One night all of the puppies mysteriously disappeared; Eagle
Child and none of his neighbors knew what had become of them. But I
finally solved the mystery. While walking among the lodges of the
Assiniboines, who were on the outskirts of the big camp, I saw their
women cooking over an outside fire. In the hot ashes were the remains
of my puppy neighbors with their hair singed off, while some were
boiling in a kettle. Nothing was wasted. At one side was a pile of
little puppy legs and paws to be used for soup.
CHAPTER XXXVII
PAINTED TEPEES AND PICTURE WRITING
The circle camp, on the prairies at the foot of the Rocky Mountains,
had a strange and fascinating interest. Even after many years, the
scenes are still fresh in my mind. Night and day there was generally
something going on. Morning was the quietest time, when few people were
stirring. Never did the meadows look fresher or lovelier than in the
golden sunlight of a July morning. Flowers and grass were hung with
sparkling lace and shining gems of dew.
On my way to the stream for my morning bath, I waded through masses of
golden sunflowers and blue and purple vetches up to my knees. Dim on
the eastern horizon, where the sun was rising, were the blue outlines
of the Sweet Grass Hills; and in the west the mighty frontier range of
the Rockies, with glistening glaciers and snowfields. In the long grass
I saw a prairie hare, a pair of kit foxes, and ground squirrels running
about, chirping in the sunlight. Along the shore of the lake were
killdeer, long-billed curlew, and spotted sandpipers.
All the birds were singing, robins, yellow-throats, and lovely mountain
bluebirds; horned larks were fluttering and trilling, hovering like
butterflies against the deep blue sky. Along the stream were thickets
of willows and snowberry bushes in flower, and in marshy places blue
flags, scarlet painted-cups, and blue-eyed grasses.
After a plunge in the cold water of the brook, I went back to my lodge
and had breakfast; looked after my horses, watered them and changed
their picket places, then sat outside in the sunlight.
Health is a wonderful thing. On lovely summer mornings, when nature was
at her best over the prairie, my heart felt light and I was happy; the
civilized world was easily forgotten. With my horses, cameras, and
notebooks, I could always occupy myself and had plenty of work to do.
In the circle camp I counted three hundred and fifty lodges—thirty of
them were Painted Tepees with symbolic decorations. They belonged to
the head men of different bands and were pitched in prominent places on
the inner circle. The owners were proud of them. The ceremonies that
went with them gave a social prestige and a good standing in the tribe.
At first it was hard to find out anything about the Painted
Tepees—about their symbolic declarations, ceremonies, and the legends
of their origin. The owner believed that the divulging of the secrets
weakened their supernatural power. Each Painted Tepee had a sacred
bundle and a separate ceremony. The pictures on the tepee cover and the
ceremony that went with them could not be separated. They came
originally through a dream and belonged exclusively to the founder, who
might transfer them to another; but no one could copy them. They were
believed to have protective power for the owners and their families.
Both men and women made vows to them in time of danger and in behalf of
the sick. If the tepee cover with its decorations wore out, a new one
with the same pictures took its place. But the old one was sacrificed
to the Sun—destroyed by spreading upon the surface of a lake and
sinking it under the water.
I learned about an Otter Tepee by living in one for a week, watching
the owner in his ceremonies and his care of it. The supernatural power
came to the founder in a dream, when he visited the home of an otter.
The top of this Otter Tepee was painted black, with a yellow cross at
the back for the Morning Star. Round the center were four male and four
female otters; above the otters red bands representing ripples on the
surface of the water, which an otter makes while swimming; and at the
bottom of the tepee, a broad red band for the earth, surmounted by
triangular figures for mountains.
The owner had a large otter-skin, which he sometimes took from his
sacred bundle and hung from a pole over the tepee, to float in the wind
like a flag, also a drum and a number of bird and animal skins. These
he kept in a rawhide case, which hung from a tripod outside the tepee
in good weather, but were always brought inside at night, or during a
storm.
For the ceremony, he held the sacred bundle in the smoke of burning
sweet grass, then laid it on the grass. When he opened his bundle and
took out the contents, he sang songs and prayed. He painted his body
yellow to represent the shore of a lake, with red marks for otter
trails and tracks in the soft earth. A circle on his forehead stood for
the home of the otter, another on his breast for a hole in the river
bank through which the otter passes.
In the tribal camp, I counted five different Otter Tepees; also two
Crow Tepees, two Eagle, and one each of the Snake, Water Animal, Big
Rock, Deer, Elk, Mountain Sheep, Antelope, Horse, Rainbow, Thunder,
Snow, Pine Tree, Bear, Buffalo Head, beside many others.
The owners of Painted Tepees guarded them jealously, because of their
supernatural power and value to the tribe. It was long before I could
purchase one. But I finally secured an Otter Tepee, because the owner
lost faith in it. His wife and children had all died and he no longer
believed in its protective power.
I saw Wolf Tail, a son of the head-chief White Calf, take over the
Big-Stripe Tepee. He made a vow to purchase it during the winter. At
the time of the circle camp, he went to Wipes-His-Eyes, the owner, and
made known his vow. Now Wipes-His-Eyes did not want to sell; and his
wife and children were sorry to give up their comfortable home. But
because of the vow, they dared not refuse. So Wolf Tail took down their
tepee and pitched it in another place in the circle camp.
The first lodge I owned had no pictures on the cover. Then I knew
nothing about Painted Tepees—their rules and regulations. I wanted mine
decorated, so I went to Medicine Weasel, a friend of Mad Wolf; he had a
reputation as an artist and was willing to do the work. But, when I
told him to paint otters on my tepee, he was frightened. He said it
might cause his death; he had no right to use the otter design and
asked that he be released from painting my tepee under any
circumstances.
Then I went to White Grass, the medicine man, who was shrewd and more
resourceful. He was not willing to paint the otter design, but found a
way out of the difficulty. He proposed my using the Pine Tree, saying
he could paint that design, because he had dreamed it himself while
sleeping under a pine tree in the mountains.
So White Grass painted my lodge and made it into the Pine Tree Tepee.
It had a black top for the night sky, the Morning Star in blue, also
the constellations of the Great Bear and the Pleiades on both sides. At
the bottom was a red band for the earth, on which were white discs for
fallen stars, triangular projections for mountains and a yellow
pine-cone at the back to symbolize the Pine Tree.
I also had a small traveling-lodge, which my friend Big Eyes gave me
because I was kind to his children. It was decorated with pictures of
both war and hunting—events which had happened in his own career. There
were figures of men and animals and Indian camps in colors, red,
yellow, and black, an attack by a band of hostile Sioux, a hand-to-hand
conflict of Big Eyes with the chief of the Sioux, also battles with
Cree Indians and with the Crows, and an attack they made on a
settlement of white men.
On the north side of my traveling-lodge was the picture of a fight,
which Big Eyes had with a band of five grizzly bears in the Rocky
Mountains—a mother bear with two large cubs and two other grizzlies. In
one of the scenes he was plunging his knife into the breast of the
mother grizzly, and in another she was tearing him with her teeth and
claws; and then she left him for dead to attack his horse.
Two of the most prominent tepees on the inner circle were the Yellow
Buffalo and Black Buffalo—the oldest of all the Painted Tepees; and
they were believed to have the greatest supernatural power; their
bundles and the secrets of their ceremonies had been handed down
through many years. Their founders were two warriors, who once looked
down into a river and saw two lodges with decorations. Both had black
tops, on which were white discs for stars, and a black band round the
bottom with fallen stars; each had a pair of buffaloes painted about
the center, using yellow for one tepee and black for the other, and the
skins of buffalo calves for door-flaps. Their rituals were associated
with power to call the buffalo in time of need or starvation. There
were taboos against allowing dogs to come inside, the fire must not die
out, the door must not be allowed to stand open, nor should any one
strike the side of the tepee.
The founder of the Snow Tepee was caught on the open plains in a bad
winter blizzard. He lay for days under a deep drift, and had a dream in
which the Maker of Storms and Blizzards gave him the decorations and
ceremony. The Snow Tepee was not often pitched in summer camps. It was
a bad-weather-lodge and was believed to have power to bring storms and
cold weather. It had a yellow top, like the color of the sky at
sunrise, with a cluster of seven stars for the constellation of the
Great Bear on the north side, the direction blizzards come from, and
Pleiades on the other. At the back was a red disc for the sun, with a
buffalo tail attached. Under the yellow top, and at the four sides
where stood the four main lodge-poles, were four claws to represent the
Thunder Bird. At the bottom was a yellow band for the earth, with green
discs, the ice color. On both sides of the door were horse tails for
good luck; and bunches of crow feathers, with small bells attached to
tinkle in the wind, were fastened to the tops of the ear-poles. Inside
no drumming was allowed, the fire must not go out, nor moccasins hung
up; dogs were not allowed to enter, nor the tepee cover to be raised.
Medicine Owl was the owner of a large Snake Tepee, with black top for
the night sky and the Morning Star and constellations of stars on both
sides. Two large serpents were painted round the middle, with the male
serpent on the south side and the female on the north. Above the snakes
were four red bands for their trails and their den at the back of the
tepee. No bones should be broken inside, lest the owner’s horses go
lame.
The Crow Tepee had a broad red band around its center, with a
procession of crows holding pieces of meat in their bills. A buffalo
head was painted over the door; at the back was a row of buffalo tails;
and at the top a cross for the Moth, the Sleep Bringer—a symbol that
the tepee had come to the owner in a dream. In the legend of its
origin, the founder slept one night in the Rocky Mountains, where great
flocks of crows came to roost. In his dream the crows gave their
supernatural power which went with the tepee.
There was another Crow Tepee, which had a strip of fringed buckskin
round the center part for a trail. A row of crows were walking in
single file towards the front of the lodge, holding pieces of red
flannel in their bills for meat. Under the top of this tepee were red
and yellow bands, to represent the color of clouds at sunrise.
The Thunder Tepee was believed to bring fair weather. Its ceremony gave
protection from storms and had power to clear the sky. Near the ground
and at the back was painted a large yellow disc; the north half dotted
with small blue spots for hail, the south half with yellow spots for
rain. Near the top of this disc the Thunder Bird was represented with
outstretched wings and flashes of lightning coming from its beak. At
the time of the first thunder in the spring, a ceremony and feast were
given.
The Rainbow Tepee had a red band at the bottom, surmounted by figures
representing the heads of enemies. At the back was a figure for the
founder of the tepee, with a pipe in one hand and a shield in the
other, which he held as an offering to the Sun. The rainbow was
represented by two curved lines in the form of an arch, and a red band
for the color of clouds at sunrise.
The Beaver Tepee had a beaver painted at the top, with its chief organs
in different colors—the kidneys, liver, brain, and life-line. Under the
black top, with the groups of star constellations, were four bands to
represent beaver trails. A ceremony was given at the end of the winter,
the time beavers are accustomed to leave their winter dens.
The Big Stripe Tepee had a broad red band round the center. Its founder
said it had been given to him by both the beaver and the otter. On the
red band were figures of six otters going towards their home in the
river bank. Their den was painted in red over the door. Inside this
tepee was a string of buffalo hoofs, which rattled whenever any one
entered.
The Water Monster Tepee came from the Sun. It had two serpent-like
figures in red and blue round the center, with yellow and green plumes
extending from their heads. Figures were painted on the back, to
represent the crescent moon and the Morning Star; and on its altar were
symbols for the Moon, Morning Star, Mistake-Morning-Star, sun dogs and
the rays of the sun.
There were two Eagle Tepees, one for the bald-headed eagle, with red
top and yellow band for the color of the sky and clouds at sunrise; the
other had a pair of eagles and a band round the center to represent a
river. The Deer Tepee had figures of a buck deer and a doe, with two
red bands for deer trails and hoof marks, with mountains at the bottom.
The Mountain Sheep Tepee had a procession of rams and ewes going from
the rear of the lodge towards the door; at the bottom were triangular
figures for mountains, and under the black top four red bands for
mountain sheep trails. There was also an Elk Tepee, another covered
with stars; and a Big Rock Tepee, representing a sacred rock on the
prairies.
But the most interesting of all these decorated lodges was the War
Tepee, covered with pictures of war and adventure. It belonged to an
old chief named Running Rabbit; the men who had been associated with
him on raids and hunts were also joint owners. The records represented
the deeds of the owner and his nearest friends. Some of the songs they
used in the ceremony were their individual war songs.
At the back of the War Tepee was the figure of a person holding a pipe,
which was symbolic of the vision of the founder. On the left side of
the door was a circle enclosing four figures surrounded by many others,
to represent Running Rabbit as leader with three companions, standing
in a pit and holding back a number of enemies. A series of crossed
lines, representing picket stakes to which horses were tied, recorded
the capture of a number of horses. There was one symbol for the number
of times Running Rabbit was leader of war expeditions, and another for
his being detailed as scout. The sign for scout was a curved line to
represent the waiting warriors; and a zigzag line going off, to show
his irregular course while scouting, in order to hide the position of
his followers from the enemy.
Other brave deeds recorded were the cutting loose of a horse picketed
close to the lodge of a Gros Ventre Indian and a dog barking; the enemy
pursuing and their narrow escape; the seizing of a gun from the hand of
an enemy; also the taking of a war bonnet, a lance, and a shield; there
was the picture of a brave warrior who saved the lives of two wounded
comrades, carrying one on his own horse and leading the horse with the
other; their wounds were marked by dashes of red for blood; another
picture showed Running Rabbit taking part in the making of a treaty
with the white men.
In these pictures, the travois mark was used to indicate the direction
taken by a war party; stops by day and traveling by night were marked
by different colors—yellow for day and black for night. Mountains were
marked, also lakes, streams, and rivers; a long crooked line ending in
a fork represented a river; a red mark in the bend of this river showed
where a fight took place with a war party of Crow Indians.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
A NATIVE DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT
One evening I crossed the meadow and climbed the ridge on the north
side of the plain to the big rock, which commanded a broad view of the
circle camp, the billowy hills stretching away to the horizon, north,
south, east, and in the west the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains.
The sun was setting and the birds were calling. High over the mountains
the sky was like a golden sea with many tints, broken into bays and
inlets by cloud promontories, in purple and somber red.
The lodges of the big camp were a ghostly white in the fading twilight;
and soon became illuminated by bright inside fires, until the camp
looked like an enormous group of colored Japanese lanterns, the
flickering lights of many outside fires resembling fireflies in a
summer’s dusk.
From my lofty seat on the hill, I heard the clear notes of a young
brave singing a love song to his sweetheart, asking her to come forth
to meet him. He waited in a meadow just outside the camp, until she
came with her water pails; and they went together to the stream—the
common meeting place for Indian lovers.
Then, when the moon rose over the plains, the night-singers appeared.
They rode around the camp circle, singing to an accompaniment of
jingling bells, keeping time with the slow jog-trot of their horses and
giving shrill war-whoops at the end of each song.
From different lodges came the sound of drumming, where dances and
ceremonies were taking place. In one tepee the Brave Dog Society was
giving a dance, shaking their rattles and singing; in another, a band
of young men were singing and beating drums as a prayer for their Grass
Dance on the morrow. And from Mad Wolf’s lodge I heard the sound of
solemn chanting by many voices in unison, both men and women,
accompanied by rhythmical beating of rattles on the ground.
After dark I went down from the hill and entered the camp. But I soon
lost my way; the plain was level with no paths to guide. The big Indian
camp was over a mile in circumference and at night all the tepees
looked alike. Then I met Rattler, the doctor, and his wife, First
Strike, with drums and sacks of roots and herbs, on their way to visit
a patient. I joined them and they took me to the lodge of Stuyimi, an
old friend of mine who had been ill for many months.
We found the patient lying on a couch of robes and blankets. His wife
and two daughters were seated on another couch across the lodge.
Rattler and I took places at the back of the lodge, while his wife,
First Strike, joined the women. I was no sooner seated than a small
coyote puppy crawled from the blankets at my side. It had a long
pointed nose and bright eyes, and his coat was soft and fluffy. I put
forth my hand to stroke it. Like a flash it snapped viciously and
narrowly missed; then snarled and showed his fangs, until one of the
girls called him by name, “Apis” (Wolf), when he ran to her, hopping on
three legs and dragging his hind quarters, after the manner of coyotes,
and soon fell asleep in her arms.
They also had a pet dog named “Sa-sak-si” (Freckle Face). To show off
his tricks, one of the girls said: “Ai im skotos” (laugh at him); the
dog lifted his upper lip for a smile and wagged his tail. Then she
called: “Iks katsit” (watch it), and the dog sat glaring at the door.
All this time the women were talking and gossiping and eating dried
meat and service berries, while old Rattler waited in silence; he
wanted to begin his doctoring. He was a large man, over six feet in
height, with massive head and long gray hair, which fell in waves over
his broad shoulders. He was genial and good-natured. Every one liked
Rattler. He feigned an air of confidence in his own wisdom and power,
which helped him with his patients and added greatly to his success as
a doctor.
Finally, as a hint to the women, he took the cover from his medicine
drum and began to warm it over the fire. It was painted yellow to
represent a clear sky at sunset, with a red ball in the center for the
sun. Then he signed for his wife to make ready; she left the other
women and put four round stones to heat in the fire.
Never had I been allowed to see an Indian doctor at work; spectators
were believed to weaken his power; even the members of a patient’s
family were expected to withdraw. I started to go with the others, when
Rattler signed for me to remain. He asked me to join with him in the
songs; it would give him greater power and would help him in his
doctoring. I agreed to sing, on condition that he would allow me to
bring my cameras next day, and make pictures of him doctoring his
patient. Rattler hesitated; it was a strange request, and his wife,
too, was afraid it might bring bad luck to their patient. But the sick
man interceded in my behalf; he wanted me to take the pictures, that I
might be able to show them to the white men in civilization. He
persuaded Rattler; and thus it happened that I saw the doctoring of a
patient and secured a set of pictures.
Now an Indian has the same confidence in the native doctor that a child
of civilization has in the family physician. Susceptible to mental
impressions, the Indian has faith in the methods of his doctor. The
doctor inspires in his patient a feeling of confidence and hope of
recovery, which acts favorably upon the body. The weird songs,
incantations and drumming of the medicine man, are often more effective
for the Indian than the skilled white doctor whom he does not trust.
With the medicine men, suggestion had a great power for healing. Some
of them practiced in good faith; others were frauds and quacks, in
about the same proportion as in civilized communities. Many of them
were inspired and had faith in their art. They relieved suffering and
held positions of influence in their tribe. Thus modern science had its
origin in the blind gropings of primitive doctors and medicine men.
Rattler and his wife stripped the patient to his waist. He lay on a
couch, with his head against the back-rest. The woman doctored first,
while Rattler and I sat together at the back of the lodge to help by
our singing.
She took some roots and herbs from an old sack and brewed them over the
fire for a hot drink. She burned sweet pine as incense, holding both
hands in the rising smoke and praying to her helper, the Buffalo
Spirit, that he would give her power to heal. She kneeled by the
patient’s side, holding her hands in the sweet smoke and laying them on
his body and feeling him gently with her fingers; she said the trouble
was in his chest, and was bad on the left side. Then she took a hot
stone from the fire, and placing it in a kettle of water, prayed:
“Sun, pity and help me.
Listen, Sun, to what I say.
Help this sick man, that he may live to old age.
Take heed and pity him, for the sake of wife and children.
May they live long.
May they all be happy and see many snows.”
Then Rattler signed that it was time for us to sing. He raised his
medicine drum and beat slowly and rhythmically. Holding his head back
and with eyes closed, he began to sing, while I joined with him. In the
meantime, his wife was going through dancing motions on her knees,
moving her body in time with the beating of the drum and joining with
us in a chant.
Her power to heal came through the medium of a dream. A buffalo bull
appeared and said: “You will profit from my body. Behold! I give these
herbs whereby you can heal the sick.”
In her doctoring, First Strike imitated the actions of her
dream-buffalo, the way she saw it doctoring another buffalo. She
covered herself with a buffalo robe and knelt beside the patient. She
pawed the ground, hooked with her head, and imitated the sounds of a
buffalo. Then she breathed on a piece of buffalo-skin to give it power;
she held it towards the patient, swaying her body in time with the
beating of the drum. She laid the buffalo-skin on a hot stone and then
placed it quickly on the left side of the sick man, the place where the
trouble lay. She put her hands into the root medicine; she touched a
hot stone with the wet tips of her fingers and, with a quick movement,
placed them on the body of her patient. In this way she made hot
applications on both sides of his body, using three hot stones, one
after the other.
When First Strike had finished her doctoring, Rattler made ready. With
his massive figure and benign countenance, his long gray hair in waves
over his shoulders, he was an imposing doctor, one to inspire
confidence in a sick person. Rattler did not make use of herbs or
roots. In his dream an eagle had bestowed upon him power to heal,
directing him how to proceed and showing him the motions to use.
First, Rattler beat loudly on his medicine drum. He signed to me to
join him in a song and swayed his body in time with the drumming. Then
he used an eagle wing, imitating the flying of an eagle; he beat the
wing against the body of his patient—the way he saw the eagle do in his
dream. He sprayed yellow paint through the hollow wing-bones of eagles,
first over his arms and breast, then over his entire body, and prayed:
“Listen! I beseech you, the power in my dream.
Help me cure this sick man.
Do not deceive me.
You said this was the way to doctor.
Here is the wing; I use it right.
Sun, help me, pity me.
Help me cure this sick person.”
But Stuyimi did not recover. One night he called to his wife that the
ghost of his dead father was outside the lodge, and said:
“Listen! He says he has been waiting for me and it is time for me to go
with him to the Sand Hills.”
After that the sick man kept seeing the ghost all the time. He said it
did not go away; and he died that same night.
For burial they dressed him in his best clothes—a suit of soft-tanned
deerskin, with leggings and moccasins to match. They wrapped the body
in a robe and placed it on the summit of a high ridge—his favorite
place to sit and dream.
The Blackfoot believed that the spirit went eastward to the Sand Hills,
a barren country on the plains. It was inhabited by the ghosts of
people and animals, which exist together as in this life.
They placed their dead upon scaffolds in trees, on the summit of a
hill, or in a death lodge hidden away among the trees. The dead were
clothed according to their station in life, believing they went to the
Sand Hills in their burial clothes. Often the things a person valued
most were left beside the grave. Sometimes the best horses of a chief
were killed, that they might go with him to the Spirit Land.
In mourning they denied and tortured themselves to excite the pity of
the Great Spirit, to show their indifference to pain and to manifest
their high regard for the dead. During the time of mourning, which
lasted several months, they went daily at sunset and sunrise to a
lonely hill, to weep and cut themselves with arrow-points and knives.
As a sign of deep mourning, they cut off a finger, generally the first
joint of the small finger. Sometimes they made the tepee smaller to
bring discomfort to all the family. When a prominent chief died, his
family would place their lodge at a distance from the others. Parents
who lost a son led his saddle horse through the camp and made public
lamentations. People in mourning wore old clothes; they gave up
painting themselves and all ornaments. They kept away from public
gatherings, dances, and religious ceremonies. Sometimes they wore
neither moccasins nor leggings; they cut off the manes of their saddle
horses, but they had a superstition against the cutting of their
horses’ tails.
No Chief, a prominent man, mourned so deeply at the death of his
brother that he journeyed several hundred miles to the place where he
was killed and brought the body home. After that he carried the
skeleton in a rawhide case wherever he went, and had it buried beside
him when he died.
It was customary for a man and his wife to give their sacred bundles
into the care of another couple who were expected to make new clothes
and give ceremonies for the couple in mourning. Finally friends of the
mourners came and tried to make them forget their sorrow, and to
persuade them to return to their ordinary life.
CHAPTER XXXIX
DANCE OF THE HAIR-PARTERS (GRASS DANCE)
One morning Elk Horn, the herald, galloped through the camp, holding
aloft a standard with eagle feathers along its staff. He called in a
loud voice that the Grass Dancers would hold their ceremony, and
invited every one to come. He wore a deerskin suit, a beaded breast
ornament of many strands, and a blanket draped about his waist. His
horse was painted, and decorated with clusters of feathers and sleigh
bells; and there were coyote tails hanging from his stirrups.
The Grass Dancers, or Hair-Parters, was an association of young men.
They held their meetings through the winter months, and a public
ceremony at the time of the Sun Dance. Any one who had a suitable dance
outfit could take part. They had four unmarried women as members, who
rode around the camp with them at night and helped them in their
singing.
Their drummers opened the ceremony by seating themselves where the
dance would take place. They beat the drums steadily and in perfect
rhythm—the signal for the people to come together.
Soon the dancers began to assemble. Some were naked, except for
loin-cloths and beaded dance moccasins, and had their faces and bodies
variously painted. Others wore fine costumes, with war shirts of
soft-tanned buckskin, which were decorated with colored beads and
trimmed over the shoulders and legs with black-tipped ermine tails.
They had breast ornaments and necklaces of beads, of elk teeth and
grizzly bear claws. They carried tomahawks, bows and arrows, and
rattles made of bunches of deer and elk hoofs; and wore war bonnets of
eagle feathers and headdresses made of colored horsehair and
porcupine-skins, caps of otter and mink skins, which were wound about
their heads and had the tails hanging down behind. They had skin
ankle-bands with small bells attached, and strings of sleigh bells
strapped about their legs and hanging from their waists.
The dancers sat in a circle, with the drummers in the center, having
large cowhide drums of different colors. They used single drumsticks
with which they beat with spirit; they sang rhythmically and in perfect
unison. In the dance the drumming was a continued booming that did not
break, growing faster and faster, until it ended suddenly with a crash
and in a chorus of shrill war-whoops. Such was the music the
Hair-Parters had for their ceremony.
Some of the dancers had distinguishing marks; and their movements had
meanings, which an outsider would not understand. One warrior wore
leggings with eight parallel black lines, to show the number of men he
had killed in battle. Another had a war shirt covered with marks,
representing picket stakes with short ropes attached, to show the
number of horses he had captured from enemies, cutting them loose at
the risk of his life. Another, who was a noted taker of horses, carried
a painted horse carved from wood. Others had long whips, feathered
wands and fringed bags decorated with colored beads and porcupine
quills.
They had one dance figure, in which only warriors took part; those who
had escaped after being surrounded in battle. Another dance was for men
who had never turned away from a fight; and another in which only
generous men took part—those who were known to give freely of their
possessions.
When an eagle feather fell in the dance from the war bonnet of Night
Gun, he did not try to recover it himself; this might bring him bad
luck. He chose Bear Chief, a famous warrior, to pick it up. Then, led
by Bear Chief, the dancers circled three times round the feather; the
fourth time, Bear Chief took the feather; and, after recounting four of
his brave deeds in battle, he gave it back to the owner.
There was a special dance for those who had been wounded in battle.
Wolf Eagle, a warrior with only one arm, danced with spirit and
abandon, carrying in his single hand the decorated bone of his missing
arm. Another dancer, “Behind-the-Ears” by name, held his rifle ready to
shoot. In battle he had once made a good shot and hit an enemy behind
the ear; in this dance, he went through similar motions to recall that
deed.
The leader of the Hair-Parters was Black Weasel. His seat in the dance
circle was marked by a wand decorated with eagle feathers and driven
into the ground. He wore a war bonnet of selected eagle feathers and a
soft-tanned suit of deerskin trimmed with ermine tails. Across his
shoulders and along arms and legs were broad strips of quill work.
Black Weasel opened the dance by moving about the circle, striking the
seated warriors with his feathered wand to make them join in and
whipping any who lagged behind. It was also his duty to look out for
strangers, and to see that women and children had seats.
Among the spectators was Nokoa, a small boy with his mother. He wore a
fringed buckskin suit and a beaded necklace of many strands. During one
of the figures his father, Wolverine, took him into the dance. At first
he was abashed before so many people, but soon forgot himself and
danced fearlessly, his moccasined feet keeping time with the rhythmic
beating of drums, swaying his small body like the warriors and aiming a
stick for a gun.
The Grass Dance lasted throughout the day and ended after sunset with a
feast. During intermissions, they had speeches and stories of brave
deeds in war. Mountain Chief stood up and told how he used to dance in
former days. He urged the Hair-Parters to be generous and to give many
horses to visitors, especially those who came from a distance. In his
hand he held a stick which represented a horse. He crossed the circle
and handed the stick to a visiting Sioux Indian. Then from the
spectators came shouts of approval; and an aged chief sang: “Good man,
to give away your horse so generously.”
During the feast, the venerable chief, Running Crane, stood up and
spoke, saying:
“My children, I am glad in my heart to see you gathered here, the young
men all dressed in fine clothes. Only at the Sun Dance, which comes
once a year, can we have a good time together. Our Great Grandfather
(President of the United States) should not put an end to our Sun
Dance; it makes our people happy and we do no harm to white men. Let
the old people restrain our young men, that we may return to our homes
without trouble. That is all. My name is Running Crane.”
On this same day, and in a different part of the camp, were sham
battles of former fights with hostile Indian tribes—dances by warriors
on foot and mounted on horses. Their functions were to excite the
people, both old and young, and to stir up enthusiasm for war and make
young men eager to fight.
One of these sham battles on foot enacted a fight between Crows and
Blackfoot. The warriors, representing the Crow Indians, were led by
Flat Tail; and the Blackfoot by Little Dog, their war chief. They
advanced in line with rifles, beating drums and singing war songs. When
the waiting warriors fired their guns, some of the enemy fell and the
rest retreated. Then the visitors scalped the dead amid cheers and
war-whoops from the spectators.
The horseback dances were spectacular sham battles by mounted men. In
former days, warriors took part before starting on the warpath, to
stimulate their courage. The mounted men were dressed in war clothes
and had their horses painted with war signs—pictures of weapons, guns,
bows and arrows; a red hand stood for blood lust and red marks for men
wounded or killed in battle. They wore headdresses of eagle feathers
and horned bonnets, and carried war bundles—the sacred War Bridle, the
Lance, and the Shield. They used decorated saddles and bridles and tied
up the tails of their horses; and had strings of bells strapped to
their legs and around the necks of their horses.
I saw a group of men and women gathered in a circle, drumming and
singing, waiting for the horsemen to come. Soon the riders appeared on
the summit of a hill, where they stood for a while in sight of the
people; then rode down at a gallop in single file, with Little Plume
their war chief in the lead. First they rode round the inner circle
with shrill war-whoops, and came to the place where the people were
gathered. They circled round and round, shouting and firing their
rifles. Then they gave horseback dances, reënacting scenes of former
battles. One band rode at full speed against another, maneuvering with
war cries and shooting. Then they formed in line, and with Little Plume
in the lead, marched slowly through the camp, with rifles in position,
singing a song of victory and holding aloft their sacred Lance.
Just outside the circle camp was the race track, a level stretch along
a low range of hills. The head of the course lay towards the
snow-capped Rockies and extended eastward toward the open plains. On
one side were grass-covered prairies, decked with lovely wild flowers;
and on the other the outskirts of the big camp with its smoke-colored
tepees.
For the most exciting race of that day, a large crowd of Indians
gathered at the finish; they wagered horses, robes, and blankets. The
young riders were naked, wearing only loin-cloths and moccasins. They
rode wild broncos without saddles, using rawhide ropes for bridles. At
the start I heard shouts, and saw a cloud of dust moving swiftly. The
riders came, lying low along the backs of their broncos and beating
them with rawhide whips. A famous race horse named “Bull Shoe” won,
amid shouts from the throng of spectators.
Then Elk Horn, the herald, rode through the camp and announced that
White Grass, the medicine man, would take out his Dancing Pipe; he
invited every one to come to the ceremony.
Now the Dancing Pipe was the oldest and most powerful of the medicine
pipes. Many came to follow it, both men and women, dressed in their
best, each carrying some sacred object to which they prayed. A throng
soon filled the lodge of White Grass and crowded about the outside.
They watched him remove the wrappings from the pipe, one by one, each
with a different song, until at last he held up the long stem. It was
wrapped with fur and decorated with eagle feathers and bright-colored
plumes.
White Grass lifted the Pipe reverently, holding it to the north, south,
east, and west; and prayed to the Sun for all the people. Two chiefs
arose and recounted their brave deeds in war; and, after that, four men
sounded their drums.
Then White Grass stood up and held the Pipe in front of him. He danced
slowly from the lodge, men and women and even children following in
single file, until there was a long line of dancing Indians moving in
and out among the tepees. White Grass and the four drummers led the
dancers, beating their drums and singing the songs of the Dancing Pipe.
They moved once around the big camp circle and then back to the lodge
of White Grass.
Another crowd gathered at the tepee of Night Gun, to see some women
choose their men in the Kissing Dance. The men stood in line on one
side of the lodge, the women on the other. When the lines came close
together, the man who was chosen put a blanket over his head and the
woman’s, and they kissed each other while dancing between the lines.
For this favor, the man had to make the woman a present, generally a
blanket, though sometimes other gifts were added.
But a tragedy put an end to the Kissing Dance. There was a married
woman who liked the dance so much she neglected home and children. When
her husband found out that she kept choosing a former lover, he came to
the dance lodge and killed her.
I saw a band of visiting Sioux warriors parade on horseback, singing a
Celebration Song. Lone Dog was their leader; also Red Boy, Bear Paw,
and White Eagle. They wore feathered shields fastened to their backs
and carried rifles and feathered wands. Their horses were painted and
had bunches of feathers attached to manes and tails. They also had head
ornaments and beaded flaps of rawhide, which were fastened to their
stirrups. While parading the camp circle, they sang:
“Oh, Blackfoot! In the past we heard you boast,
You would never live like white men.
But we see you now,
With few of your fine Indian clothes left.”
According to an old custom, these visiting Sioux warriors stopped to
sing at the lodges of prominent men who gave them presents and food.
After going once around the camp circle, they stopped at the lodge of
Áhkiona, who gave a Pipe Ceremony for them. A few years before, while
visiting the Sioux in North Dakota, they gave him a Medicine Pipe; and
now they were going to take it home.
In the evening a party of warriors came to the lodge of the head-chief
to sing a Wolf Song, according to an ancient war custom. They stood in
a circle holding a large rawhide between them, upon which they beat
with sticks. They sang no words, but gave the wolf howl at intervals.
Their wives and sweethearts who stood near did not sing, but joined in
the wolf howls. In former days, the Blackfoot sang the Wolf Song before
starting to war or on a hunt, in the belief that the spirit of the
wolf, the craftiest of all wild animals, would lead and inspire them
with his cunning. To express the desire of the singer, the song always
ended with the wolf call, because a wolf always howls when it hunts.
That same night, I was wakened by a dog fight close to our lodge.
Quickly other dogs came and joined in a mass fight, with barking, yelps
and snarls. Then hundreds of dogs in all parts of the circle camp,
roused by the noise of the fight, united in a deep-throated and
mournful howl—a weird sound, like the wailing of a great wolf-pack.
When their dismal chorus died away, I went outside the lodge. It was a
glorious night; the sky was clear and a full moon rising over the
prairie. All about me were white tepees with their picturesque clusters
of tapering poles. In the west a brilliant planet was sinking behind
the dim outlines of the Rocky Mountains. The camp was throbbing with
life. On all sides I heard singing and drumming. The Sioux warriors
were again making their rounds, singing a Traveling Song. Then Red Fox
and his sweetheart passed, singing in unison a Riding Song. The girl
sat in front of her lover, wearing his war bonnet. His robe of
soft-tanned elkskin flowed gracefully back as they rode. Some of the
night-singers were riding, mounted two on a horse, singing and marking
time with clusters of sleigh bells, in perfect time with the slow
jog-trot of their horses.
It was an old custom for young people to ride all night and sing, while
guarding camp and protecting the horse herds. Then it became a social
custom with special songs, sung in unison by different groups riding
two on a horse.
CHAPTER XL
SOCIETY OF BRAVE DOGS
My tepee was near the three dance lodges of the Brave Dog Society,
which were somewhat apart from the others, near the center of the
circle camp. There they kept their costumes and weapons and dressed for
parades and dances. Day after day I watched them in their interesting
customs.
As a society they had power, because of their reputation for bravery.
Every one feared to oppose them. They did not maltreat people, but
sometimes punished severely offenders against the public welfare. Their
function in the tribal camp was primarily to preserve order.
The first evening of the camp, they rode round the circle shouting
their orders to the people, saying:
“Let every one be quiet to-night. Young people must not act
thoughtlessly or play pranks. The sacred woman has important ceremonies
and should not be disturbed.”
For parades and dances out of doors, the Brave Dogs went forth in their
best costumes. They marched by twos. Short Robe, their leader, wore a
beaded suit of deerskin trimmed over shoulders and arms with
black-tipped weasel-skins; also a large coyote-skin, with his head
thrust through a slit in the middle of the skin and the tail hanging
down his back. According to their society custom, he carried a rattle
in his right hand and a blanket over his left arm. Sometimes in their
parades, Short Robe’s youngest son, a boy of twelve, walked by his
father’s side, wearing a miniature costume like the chief.
Next in rank to Short Robe were two mounted men, Big Moon and Elk Horn.
They were the assistant leaders, and wore war bonnets of selected eagle
feathers. Their horses were painted with war pictures, representing the
brave deeds of their riders.
Two members, Lone Chief and Cream Antelope, represented grizzly bears.
They alone of the society carried bows and arrows. Their faces were
painted with the “bear face” pattern—red all over, with black marks
downward from the eyes and corners of the mouth. They wore headdresses
of bearskin, with bear’s ears and two bear claws on top for horns; and
on their arms were bands made of bearskin with bear claws attached. The
lower part of their bodies was naked and painted with bright colors.
They wore loin-cloths and beaded belts with daggers and short-sleeved
shirts of soft-tanned skins covered with fringe.
Four other members were known as “Old Men Comrades.” They were Flat
Tail, Mountain Chief, Drags-His-Robe, and Blood. They carried rattles
and wore eagle feathers in their hair. Flat Tail had a beaver-skin cap,
Mountain Chief a red band round his head and carried a skin shield
decorated with clusters of eagle feathers. It was the duty of the Old
Men Comrades to call the society together, to act as advisers in the
ceremonies, also as heralds and to make announcements to the people.
The lay members wore whatever they pleased. They were mostly from
prominent families, who were chosen because of their fine costumes;
also because their relatives had property and could make liberal
presents to the society. They were—Lazy Husband, Raven Eyes, Drags
Behind, Makes-Cold-Weather, Bad Married, Big Spring, Bird Rattler, Bear
Shoe, Three Bears, Two Spears, and Black Bear. In parades it was their
custom to carry blankets over their left arms and rattles in their
right hands. They painted their faces to correspond with the designs on
their rattles. These rattles were looked upon as ceremonial objects and
were all different. If a member wanted to withdraw from the society, he
sold his rattle. Thus the transfer consisted in the purchase of a
rattle.
In parades the four drummers walked behind, wearing blankets tied about
their waists, beating on drums and singing. Some of the members carried
sacred objects; Drags-His-Robe had a Medicine Pipe, Mountain Chief a
Shield, and Big Moon, one of the mounted men, the War Bridle.
They all marched in time with the beating of drums and sang. A throng
of women and children, the families of members, followed in the rear.
Every now and then they stopped in their march, and, turning about,
faced the drummers and danced backwards and forwards; then reversed and
moved on. Sometimes they stopped to give a formal dance in front of the
lodge of a prominent man. They seated themselves in a circle in their
regular positions on both sides of the door. Short Robe, as chief of
the society, was at the head with his son; and then the four Old Men
Comrades. The two grizzly bears were at the other end of the circle,
with the lay members between. The families of members stood near and
helped in the singing.
In the dance they rose in their places. The two mounted men rode round
and round the circle in opposite directions, forcing the dancers toward
the center, and at last pretended to ride them down. This figure was
used, because the founder of the society had a way of killing enemies
by riding them down with his horse. Finally, all members who had
performed the brave feat of unhorsing an enemy, took hold of the two
mounted men and dragged them from their horses. Then they all danced
together. When they were ready to stop, they held their rattles high in
the air and the drummers their drums; they shouted and returned to
their seats.
Whenever the Brave Dogs stopped at a lodge and gave their dance, the
owner was expected to give them a feast, They kept on dancing until
food appeared. Any man of prominence dared not refuse, lest people
think him stingy.
After their feasts, the head men of the society were accustomed to make
speeches; and they all sang together accompanied by the beating of
drums. One of their songs was: “It is bad to live to be old; it is
better to die young, fighting bravely in battle.”
One evening, I saw the Brave Dogs marching through camp in the golden
light of sunset. They went to the beating of drums, singing in unison
and shaking their rattles, dressed in gorgeous costumes of wild animal
skins and war bonnets, carrying weapons and their standards of
black-tipped eagle feathers. Elk Horn, as herald, rode in advance,
shouting their orders and warnings; and announced their society dance.
That night I saw the lodges of the Brave Dogs, glowing with light from
inside fires. Their drums beat steadily and became louder and louder.
Then people began to assemble, coming from all parts of the camp, until
the dance lodge was thronged.
I stood outside, listening to the war-whoops and singing. The
rhythmical beating of the drums increased until it reached a climax;
then, with loud beating and shouts, would suddenly cease.
For a while I waited; then crawled under the canvas and found myself
inside, among a crowd of women and children—the families of the Brave
Dogs. But, they were so interested in the dance, they took no notice of
my sudden appearance in their midst.
The dance was at its height and the Brave Dogs had laid aside their
costumes and blankets. They looked savage and wild, with the red glow
of the fire on painted faces and bodies. They wore only loin-cloths and
moccasins. Some had bone whistles in their mouths on which they blew
shrilly, others sang and gave war-whoops at intervals.
Short Robe as leader wore his large coyote-skin, with head thrust
through a slit in the middle, the tail hanging down his back and almost
touching the ground. Four of the dancers were covered with white clay
and represented gray wolves. They carried long sticks decorated with
eagle feathers. They imitated wolves driving buffalo, circling round
the dancers. Their step was an alternate lifting of the feet, slow or
fast, according to the beat of the drums.
The two grizzly bear dancers sat in a hole for a den. They wore the
bear headdress, with bear’s ears and bear claws on top for double
horns. Their faces were painted red with black streaks across the eyes
and corners of the mouth, representing the “bear face.”
Whenever the spectators wanted to see them dance, they threw at them;
but, like bears, they were lazy and stayed in their den until a point
in the dance when the wolf dancers had herded the buffalo and were
closing in; then the two bears rose slowly and entered the dance,
driving back the wolves from the buffalo, after which they returned to
their den and all the dancers sat down. This figure was repeated many
times.
Before they separated, the Brave Dogs had a feast; and then marched
through the camp, singing their society song and shouting:
“Let every one be quiet to-night. Do not disturb the sacred woman. All
the young men should rest and be ready to help. To-morrow we will build
the Sun Lodge and will make it a great day.”
CHAPTER XLI
A MEDICINE-PIPE CEREMONY
It was twilight in the camp. Bright fires lighted up the inner circle
of Painted Tepees and revealed in soft colors their fanciful bird and
animal pictures. A fresh breeze blew from the mountains, whistling
through the ropes of the lodges, tinkling the small bells on top of the
ear-poles and rattling the bunches of deer hoofs over the doors.
While wandering among the tepees, I saw a group of young men on their
way to a dance, singing to an accompaniment of jingling bells, then two
night-singers making their rounds on a horse. Suddenly a crowd rushed
from a lodge and laid hold of the two riders; their horse bucked and
plunged, but the singers held fast and galloped away amid shouts of
laughter.
Then I came to a small lodge of a poor family, where the fire burned
low, and heard a medicine man doctoring a patient, snuffing and
grunting and stamping his feet.
In another lodge I heard a man shout angrily, so his neighbors could
hear: “What has become of the woman who went for water?”
Soon he shouted again, louder and more angrily: “What has become of the
woman who went for water? She has been gone a long time.”
And then I heard a strange method of public rebuke. Indians in near-by
lodges took up his cry; they mocked his impatient and angry tone,
shouting one after the other: “What has become of the woman who went
for water?” It spread quickly from one band to another; and ended in
laughter and a general disturbance throughout the camp.
While I stood in the shadow listening to the many interesting sounds of
camp life, I saw two figures muffled in blankets move stealthily from
lodge to lodge. Finally they stopped at the tepee of Big Spring, a
well-known chief. It glowed with light from an inside fire and they
peered cautiously through a crack in the door. They were medicine-pipe
scouts on the lookout for a victim. That night Lone Chief was giving up
his sacred Pipe. He told some of his friends secretly; he wanted to
catch Big Spring and make him his successor; he was prominent and could
afford to pay well for the Pipe.
The owner of a Medicine Pipe could force any one to purchase it,
regardless of the wishes of his victim, provided he could catch him. If
he found him asleep and touched him with the Pipe, he dared not resist;
death and ill luck were the penalties for refusing a Medicine Pipe.
But Big Spring had warning that Lone Chief was after him. He did not
want the care and expense of owning a Pipe. So he stayed away from his
tepee that night. The scouts could not find him and Lone Chief had to
make another choice.
Some medicine-pipe men were assembled in the lodge of Lone Chief. They
had opened his Pipe Bundle and were singing and drinking. They kept on
with the ceremony, waiting for their scouts to report favorably. Then
they would go forth together. In their actions they imitated the
grizzly bear, stealing quietly upon their victim, to take him by
surprise in the night, the way a bear does; because the power of the
Pipe came from the grizzly bear. They sang bear songs and imitated the
sound the grizzly makes when he charges, also owl songs to cast a spell
over their victim, so he could not escape; the owl is a bird of night
and its power also belongs to the Pipe. So Lone Chief and his friends
kept on with their ceremony throughout the night, awaiting their
scouts.
In the meantime, I returned to my lodge and lay down on my couch. That
night the noise and confusion of the camp kept every one in our tepee
awake. Even the baby, Tears-in-Her-Eyes, was restless in her little
hammock-bed. Strikes-on-Both-Sides sang to her, rocking the hammock,
singing over and over the old Indian cradle song: “Come, wolf, eat this
baby if she don’t sleep.”
It was clear moonlight. The dogs were restless, barking and fighting
and on foraging expeditions. Near midnight, a dog came silently into
our lodge and tried to steal a side of bacon, but Strikes-on-Both-Sides
followed him so closely he dropped his prize and fled yelping through
the door.
Then a party of young men came close to the lodge and gave a begging
dance, expecting me as the owner to make presents; it added to the
prestige of every lodge owner in the camp to have a reputation for
generosity. After we gave them food, they went to dance at another
tepee. In this way it was customary for a party to visit four places,
and then disband for the night.
Morning Plume’s lodge was so close I could hear every sound. His small
son was restless and bothered his aged grandmother. When the fire
burned low he was cold and began to cry. He wanted her to cover him
warmly. She was no sooner back in her own bed than he cried again for
water. This wakened his baby brother. So the mother sang a cradle song
and rocked him to sleep.
Near by was the lodge of a young man named Two Eagles. That night his
only child was ill. I heard a medicine man enter and begin his
monotonous drumming. The beating was soft and regular, unlike the
lively drumming for a ceremony or dance; this was slow and steady and
sounded muffled, like the steady throbbing of a human heart. After
midnight the beating suddenly ceased, and I knew the child had died.
For a moment there was silence; I heard the mother sobbing as she took
up the lifeless body; then realizing it was dead, she broke into a
mournful wail.
Just before dawn a rider galloped through the camp, calling for every
one to get up and go to work. But it was only a joke; no one took it
seriously; every one knew it was a man who was humorously inclined.
Then came the morning breeze from the mountains, making a humming sound
against the ropes; and the ears of our lodge began to flap. I heard the
beating of a horse’s hoofs on the soft turf, going towards the meadow
where the tribal herds were feeding; and knew it was the day man going
to relieve the night herder.
Suddenly the sound of drums, with shouts and singing, came from the
band of Fat Melters. At last Lone Chief had caught some one with his
Pipe.
Then Elk Horn, the herald, rode forth beating a drum. He shouted as he
galloped through the camp:
“You Fat Melters! Get up and cook breakfast. Wolf Plume has been caught
with the Pipe. Let every one help. He must pay many horses, robes and
blankets. Do not delay; the sun will soon rise. The dance will take
place in the lodge of Wolf Plume. Let every one come.”
Quickly I dressed and made ready my cameras. When I went out from the
lodge, a bright morning star was rising over the prairie. In the dim
light, I saw a crowd gathered about one of the tepees. Then the drums
began again—the signal for Lone Chief and his friends to come forth
with the sacred Pipe. I saw them march through the camp and made
picture records of these interesting events, though the sun had not
risen.
Lone Chief and Wolf Plume were at the head of the procession with the
Medicine Pipe. Then came their wives carrying the sacred bundles. The
drummers were behind; also prominent men with their wives, who were to
help Lone Chief in the ceremony.
When they came to Wolf Plume’s tepee, they halted; but the singing and
drumming continued. In the doorway of the lodge stood the aged mother
of Wolf Plume. She had snow-white hair and leaned heavily on a staff.
When she saw Wolf Plume with the Pipe, and heard the singing and
drumming, she was so overcome with emotion that she joined in the song.
She waved her stick in the air and shouted: “Good boy! Wolf Plume! Good
boy! My son! You are now a great chief.”
Then the drumming ceased and the procession entered the lodge. The
women laid their sacred bundles at the back, and all took seats. Lone
Chief, as the officiating pipe man, sat in the center. Wolf Plume, the
new pipe man, was on his right; and the seven men who would help in the
singing and drumming, on his left.
Next to Wolf Plume sat his wife and the wife of Lone Chief. Beyond them
were the head wives of the seven drummers, also the aged and people of
prominence. Indians came from all parts of camp and crowded into the
tepee.
Members of Wolf Plume’s band (blood relatives) and his friends brought
presents to help him in the payment. Lone Chief was paid forty horses
for the Pipe, and besides a large pile of clothing, blankets, and
provisions. Tearing Lodge, father-in-law of Wolf Plume, received them,
calling in a loud voice the names of each giver. My present, a blanket
of bright colors, was announced with the rest.
Then Lone Chief dressed Wolf Plume in the ceremonial clothes—a headband
of white goatskin with an eagle feather, beaded buckskin shirt trimmed
with ermine tails, and leggings and moccasins to match. He also gave
him a horse, which could only be ridden by the pipe owner, and a
saddle, bridle, whip and lariat, to go with the horse.
The ceremony of transfer began while the sun was still low over the
prairie. Its first golden rays streamed into the open front of the
lodge and fell upon the seven singers with their painted medicine
drums. Sweet pine burned as incense. Lone Chief and his wife placed
their hands in the rising smoke and sang the first song of a series of
seven. During these songs the women removed the outer coverings from
the bundle. Then they all sang the Buffalo Song, making the buffalo
sign with forefingers curved, while Wolf Plume and his wife untied the
outer thongs of buffalo-skin. During the Antelope Song the singers
imitated with their hands the graceful motions of antelope. While
loosing the wrapper of elkskin they sang the Elk Song, making the elk
sign by holding their hands to their heads with fingers extended to
represent antlers; and the women shook their heads at the bundle, as if
they were elk about to charge and tear loose the wrapper with their
horns. Thus the sacred bundle of the Medicine Pipe was opened, exposing
many skins of birds and animals and other relics.
Now came the time for dancing with the Pipe. Only pipe owners could
dance with a Medicine Pipe; but, if a man had made a vow, he could
fulfill that vow by dancing with one of the sacred skins, which was
taken from the bundle. Whenever a prominent man arose to dance, he was
applauded and received with special attention by the spectators.
Because Wolf Plume was receiving the Pipe, he did not rise to dance; he
sat beside the bundle and received the skins and relics from those who
took part in the ceremony.
For the grizzly bear dance, the drummers sang the words:
“In the spring I grow restless.”
In this dance, Lone Chief imitated the actions of a bear coming from
its winter den; and sang while he danced:
“I wander in the summer.”
Then he took the Pipe, and holding it in both hands, sang:
“Sacred Chief, every one shall see you.”
He slowly raised the Pipe, that all might see it, and sang:
“The Chief is powerful.”
After that, they beat on the drums and sang bear songs, while Lone
Chief arose and danced like a bear, holding his hands as a bear does
its paws; and imitated a bear by putting his feet together, moving
backwards and forwards with short jumps and breathing hard; he also
imitated the awkward motions of a bear running, digging in the ground
and turning over stones for insects.
For the Thunder Dance, Lone Chief blew shrilly on his whistle, made
from the wing bone of an eagle, to represent the sound the Thunder Bird
makes with its wings when it first comes in the spring; also the time
the bear leaves its winter den. Then he danced, holding the Pipe in his
right hand and spreading out the fingers of his left, to represent the
wings of the Thunder Bird.
During the singing of the Swan Song, Bear Child danced alone. He
represented the chief swan, the leader of the flock. He made the swan
sign, by holding both hands extended with fingers spread out in
imitation of a swan flying.
In the Antelope Dance, Red Fox made motions with his hands to imitate
an antelope running; and moved his head like an antelope on the alert
for danger.
When the drummers sang the Crane Song, several dancers arose. They all
gave the crane call and imitated the motions of flying cranes. Several
songs were sung for different water birds and for ducks and geese. And,
after a short rest, while both men and women smoked, seven owl songs
were sung; and buffalo songs for the white-skin band worn about the
head of the pipe owner. The ceremony came to an end with the singing of
the Good Luck Song for Wolf Plume, the new pipe owner; thereafter, he
must always sing it if he wanted anything very badly.
At sunset, Lone Chief and his wife led the new pipe owners outside the
lodge. They faced the four directions in turn and sang:
(Towards the west)
“Over there, towards the sunset, are the mountains.
May you see them as long as you live.
From them you will get your sweet pine as incense.
(North)
“Over there, is the star-that-never-moves (Pole Star).
May you live to see that star for many years.
(East)
“Over there, you will get old age.
From the east comes the light of the Sun.
(South)
“Over there, are warriors coming with scalps.
May the warm wind of the south bring plenty of food.”
It took Lone Chief four days to confer upon Wolf Plume the rights of
the Pipe—to instruct him in its care and impart the secrets of the
ceremony. As owner of a Medicine Pipe, there were taboos that Wolf
Plume and his wife must avoid; it would inconvenience them both and
interfere with their daily life.
They must never point at a person with fingers, only with the thumb.
They must never move anything burning with a knife, lest it cause their
teeth to ache. They must not pick up a lost article without first
singing a certain song. They must never allow a dog to leap upon them;
it would cause the body to ache. If Wolf Plume let any one ride or use
his medicine horse, some of his herd would sicken and die. The word
“bear” must never be used near the Pipe; it would cause bad dreams and
bring sickness. But the evil power might be averted by burning sweet
pine for incense. Sweet pine must be burned every morning before
lighting the fire, also before taking out the Pipe and before carrying
it back in the evening.
It was customary for a pipe owner to take a seat at the back of a
lodge, never by the door. No one should walk in front of him, lest it
cause blindness or sore eyes. He must not light his pipe with a willow
stick, but must use either cottonwood or service berry. The firewood
inside his tepee must always lie in the same direction with the Pipe;
and none of the firewood could be taken from the lodge. Near the place
where the Pipe Bundle was kept, no one should talk loud, aim a gun, or
throw anything. The owner must never touch a dead person, or say
anything against the character of any one.
A Medicine Pipe was not allowed to hang outside in bad weather. It must
be taken out after sunrise on a clear day and hung from a tripod behind
the lodge. It was carried out by the south side and returned by the
north, using the same direction the sun moves through the sky.
As soon as the first thunder was heard in the spring, the pipe owner
gave a ceremony. He invited the people to come, both old and young. And
they came gladly, in order to be prayed for and given tobacco from the
Pipe Bundle; it brought one under the good will of the Thunder. During
the pipe ceremony in the spring an owner took his pipe out of doors and
held it towards the sky, praying for every one present, that none of
them might be killed during that year by the Thunder.
A Medicine Pipe was a great burden to both husband and wife, but
especially to the woman. On the other hand, its possession gave them
both a prominent position in the tribe; they gained social and
religious recognition. It was said of Lone Chief, that he profited by
his Pipe. His property increased. He followed carefully its rules and
had good luck throughout his ownership.
CHAPTER XLII
A SACRED CEREMONY IN MAD WOLF’S TEPEE
Mad Wolf called upon the Society of Brave Dogs to build the framework
of the sweat-lodge. It held a prominent place in the Sun Dance.
Then the Brave Dogs rode to the river valley for willow branches to be
used in constructing the framework of the lodge; and on their return,
they entered the camp on the east side, parading around the circle and
the tepee of Mad Wolf, where the sacred woman was fasting and praying,
singing in unison and holding aloft their green branches, which they
finally deposited on the side of camp toward the setting sun. There
they built the sweat-lodge by sticking the willow branches into the
ground and bending them into the form of an oval; they interlocked them
on top and made the entrance toward the rising sun, digging a hole
inside for the heated stones and covering the entire structure with
robes and blankets.
When the Brave Dogs had everything ready, the medicine men and women
came from Mad Wolf’s tepee. White Calf, as the “father,” was in the
lead; then came Mad Wolf, and Spotted Eagle, the head medicine man; and
then the wife of White Calf with Gives-to-the-Sun, the fasting woman.
They walked in single file, slowly and by stages, with eyes fixed upon
the ground, passing around the south side of the sweat-lodge from east
to west, following the direction of the sun through the heavens. They
stopped on the west side, where Gives-to-the-Sun took her seat beside
the structure with the wife of White Calf; the men stood on the south
side, while the two women bowed their heads in prayer.
Then Mad Wolf, White Calf, and Spotted Eagle removed their clothing and
entered the sweat-lodge. The fasting woman prayed over the skull of a
buffalo bull, which the Brave Dogs handed to Mad Wolf inside the lodge.
He laid the skull on a bunch of meadow grass, because it was the
favorite food of the buffalo.
Then Spotted Eagle painted black marks on the skull to represent stars,
and red for the Sun; and they chanted together, while Spotted Eagle put
meadow grass into the nose and eyes of the skull, to symbolize the
feeding of the buffalo. The Brave Dogs took the skull outside,
fastening it on top of the sweat-lodge with the nose pointing towards
the rising sun.
Then the Brave Dogs passed hot stones to Mad Wolf inside the lodge. He
laid sweet grass upon them and held his hands in the rising smoke,
rubbing them over his body for purification, and sang this prayer to
the Sun:
“May our lives be as strong as these stones.”
He sprayed water on the hot stones; as the steam rose, he sang:
“May our lives be straight.
May we live to be old and always have water to drink.”
Throughout the ceremony, Mad Wolf and his associates prayed to the Sun,
Moon, and Morning Star. Then the procession returned to Mad Wolf’s
tepee, walking slowly and in single file, with heads bowed and eyes
fixed on the ground, carefully avoiding the trail by which they came
out.
On this same day the tribe had a parade, in which men, women, and
children took part. They dressed in their best and painted their faces.
The two war chiefs, Little Plume and Little Dog, were in the lead,
wearing fine costumes of deerskin decorated with colored beads and
black-tipped tails of weasels. Little Plume had a foxskin wound around
his head for a cap, with the tail hanging down behind and two eagle
feathers in his hair.
Some of the women riders wore dresses decorated with quill work and elk
teeth; their saddles had pommels of deer antlers, beaded pendants, and
buckskin cruppers; clusters of eagle feathers hung from the necks of
their horses and bright-colored feathers from their tails.
Red Fox was dressed as a clown or jester. He rode a black horse and had
his face and hands painted black; his robe too was black and extended
from his shoulders, back over the tail of his horse, waving gracefully
in the wind when he rode at a gallop.
Before the parade, Two Spears rode through the camp, leading the white
horse of Morning Eagle, the aged warrior. It was covered with painted
pictures, to remind the people of Morning Eagle’s brave deeds in war,
both as leader and as a scout.
The pictures told how he cut loose a horse close to the lodge of an
enemy—a hand with a knife, a picket pin and a horse; also the time he
took many horses in an open fight; how he killed some Gros Ventres and
took their weapons—a lance, a shield, and bows and arrows. He even
seized a gun from the hand of an enemy and escaped without hurting him;
and killed a Crow Indian who entered his camp at night and tried to
steal his horses. While Two Spears rode through the camp, leading this
horse of victory, he proclaimed in a loud voice the brave deeds of old
Morning Eagle and then joined in the parade.
When the tribe had assembled, they marched slowly around the inner
circle, with their two war chiefs in the lead, and singing in unison.
Some held aloft human scalps tied to long branches; others held
standards of eagle feathers, guns and lances and feathered shields
fastened to poles.
That evening, Mad Wolf invited to his lodge prominent men and women who
had taken part in former Sun Dances, to pray and sing throughout the
night. And the Brave Dogs sang in their lodge the dancing songs of the
weather makers, to keep the weather clear. Then they rode through camp
and commanded the people to be quiet and not disturb the medicine men
and women in their ceremony in Mad Wolfs tepee; next day would take
place the building of the sun lodge and the ceremony of raising the
center pole.
Round the outside of Mad Wolf’s lodge green branches were placed—the
sign of an important ceremony and only those invited should enter. For
a while I watched from my tepee the chiefs and their wives coming to
the ceremony. I went nearer and listened to a solemn chant led by Mad
Wolf and White Calf. At intervals the low monotone of the men was
joined by the higher voices of the women. Then I stood close to the
door and heard the song die away. In the silence that followed I
decided to enter. So I raised the door-flap and looked inside. Mad Wolf
and White Calf were seated at the back, behind a sort of altar, made by
cutting away the grass and forming sod-walls on three sides, with an
open space toward the rising sun. An Indian seated by the door motioned
me to withdraw, but my Indian father signed for me to stay, so I took
my place among the singers and priests. At one side sweet grass was
burning on a hot coal as incense. The base of the altar was covered
with light-colored earth and had painted symbols to represent sun dogs,
the Moon, Morning Star, and Mistake-Morning-Star.
Mad Wolf and his wife sat quietly in their places, with heads bowed in
prayer and eyes cast down. As the fasting woman, she was the central
figure; all the serious and solemn aspects of the Sun Dance centered
about her. She wore a tanned buffalo robe, which covered her from head
to foot; her hair was unbraided and concealed her face. She and Mad
Wolf did nothing for themselves; others took care of their lodge and
looked after the fire. No one spoke aloud; every one whispered. All who
came to the ceremony entered quietly and reverently. That night
throughout the big camp no noise was allowed, because of the fasting
woman and her ceremony.
It was Morning Plume’s duty to attend to the fire. He kept the blaze
down, so that the light was subdued. Every one sat quietly in their
places without talking, and left the moving about to Morning Plume. If
Mad Wolf or his wife had anything to say, they whispered it to White
Calf or his wife; and they repeated it in a low voice to the others.
Morning Plume also attended to cutting the tobacco and filling the
pipes for all the company. Beside him was a tobacco outfit—a large
beaded bag, extra pipe stems and a cutting-board. Two redstone pipes
were passed around the circle, one for men and the other for women.
Whenever they burned out, they were handed back to Morning Plume, who
emptied the ashes into a hole in the ground and refilled them with
tobacco. After food had been distributed, they were ready to begin the
ceremony.
White Calf brought forth some buffalo rawhides, which were spread on
the ground in front of the men singers, and pairs of rattles
distributed. My Indian father asked that two of the rattles be given to
me, so that I could join them in the singing.
White Calf opened the ceremony with a prayer. Then Bear Child took a
hot ember from the fire with the prongs and laid it before White Calf;
he placed sweet grass upon it to burn as incense and sang to the
Morning Star. Then we all joined in singing seven songs to Morning Star
and seven each to the Sun and Moon. There were seven songs for a sacred
eagle feather; in the Sun Dance legend, the Sun God used an eagle
feather to brush the scar from the face of Scarface. We also sang songs
to the raven and songs to the sacred headdress, which was worn by the
fasting woman. There was a song for everything that made up this
bonnet—the white weasel-skin, the feathers and plumes, flint
arrow-point, snipe, buffalo tail, and a small bundle filled with seeds
of the tobacco.
Then White Calf, the head-chief, prayed, saying:
“Father, the Sun, I am praying for my people.
May they be happy in the summer and live through the cold of
winter.
Many are sick and hungry,
Pity them and let them live.
May we go through this ceremony right,
The way you taught our people to do in the days of long ago.
If we make mistakes, pity us.
Mother Earth, pity us, help us; may the grass and berries grow.
Morning Star, shine into our lodge and give us long life.
Father, the Sun, bless our children, relatives and visitors.
May our trails lie straight through a happy life; may we live
to be old.
We are all your children and ask these things with good hearts.”
During this prayer, the Indians sat silently and with heads bowed
reverently; and at the close, they united in a long-drawn
“ah-h-h-h-h-h” to express their approval, while some added a few words
of prayer.
This ceremony lasted until long after midnight; day was beginning to
dawn when the company went away. But before they separated, White Calf
as the “father” gave instructions for the important events of next
day—the big day of the camp. Then the Sun Dance Bundle would be
transferred to Mad Wolf and his wife; they would have the tribal feast,
when the sacred tongues would be distributed; women would make their
vows before all the people; and at sunset they would raise the center
pole and finish the sun lodge.
CHAPTER XLIII
THE TRIBAL DANCING-LODGE
Early the following morning, Elk Horn, the herald, rode around the camp
circle beating a drum, and announced:
“This is the great day; now we raise the sun pole; it is time to get
ready; every band should send men to help; bring trees and branches
from the river valley; all must do their share and take part in
building the dancing-lodge.”
Then the different bands sent young men to help in the work. Young
women dressed themselves in their best costumes and rode forth on
horseback to help drag in the trees, using lariats fastened to the
pommels of their saddles. They returned from the river valley and
entered camp amid shouting and firing of guns. They dragged the trees
and branches to the place for the sun lodge in the center of the camp
circle. In the construction of the big lodge, nine forked tree trunks
were used for posts; also long branches for stringers and rafters, and
a lot of green boughs to cover the sides.
The men who were chosen to get the center pole went forth as a war
party and cut down the tree with a ceremony. They selected a large
cottonwood with forked branches. Double Runner was the warrior chosen
for the honor of felling it, because of his brave deeds in war. He came
forward with an axe, the blade painted red. First, he told a war
story—how he had killed an enemy in battle, then struck the tree with
his axe. In this manner, after recounting four brave deeds, Double
Runner cut down the tree. When it began to fall, the waiting warriors
shouted and gave war-whoops and fired their guns into its crown; as it
struck the ground, they made a rush and broke off the branches,
counting “coups” as trophies of war. Then they trimmed the trees and
rested the forked end on a travois. Indians on horses helped with
lariats; and in this way they bore the center pole to camp, placing it
beside the open hole in the medicine lodge, with its forks pointing
toward the setting sun.
Prominent men were chosen for the honor of digging the post-holes. They
also put the stringers into place and long poles for rafters. Thus they
made everything ready for raising the center pole at sunset, when all
the bands of the tribe would assemble and do their share.
In the meantime, the ceremony of transferring the Sun Dance Bundle was
taking place in the lodge of Mad Wolf. Then the people had their first
chance to see the fasting woman, and a large crowd assembled. The men
who sang and beat with rattles sat together on the north side of the
lodge; across from them were the women, who had made vows at former sun
dances. Directly behind the altar and in the center were Mad Wolf and
his wife, as the givers of the Sun Dance, together with White Calf and
his wife who were giving up the bundle.
First, a small cottonwood tree was planted in the ground close to the
altar by Middle Calf, who recounted four of his brave deeds in war.
Gives-to-the-Sun and the “mother” kneeled together and sang. They made
dancing movements in unison, as they took up the sacred headdress and
hung it upon the tree.
Then the “mother,” still kneeling beside the headdress and swaying her
body in time with the beating of rattles on the ground, made hooking
motions at the tree and imitated an elk; she rubbed her head against
the branches and made a whistling sound like an elk. Finally she took
the headdress and, with many symbolical movements, placed it upon
Gives-to-the-Sun. While clothing her in the ceremonial dress of deer
and antelope-skins, the women attendants sang in unison. They placed
the elkskin robe about her and sang the Elk Song, making the elk sign
and imitating the movements of elk, swaying their bodies like trotting
elk and giving the elk call.
In the meantime the entire tribe had assembled about the unfinished sun
lodge, seating themselves in long rows on the prairie, waiting for the
feast. When they heard the women singing the Elk Song in Mad Wolf’s
tepee—the last song in clothing the fasting woman, they knew it was
time for the medicine woman to come out.
When she finally appeared, the throng was so great prominent men stood
on both sides of the doorway to hold the people back. First in the line
came White Calf, the head-chief, followed by Mad Wolf; then the wife of
White Calf as the “mother,” and Gives-to-the-Sun, the fasting woman,
with her attendants bearing the parfleches of sacred tongues. They
moved by slow stages, all with heads reverently bowed and eyes fixed on
the ground. The face of Gives-to-the-Sun was hidden by her headdress.
Weakened by her fast, she walked slowly and feebly, leaning on a staff.
Mad Wolf also used a staff and kept his head bowed, holding aloft a
stalk of wild parsnip, with eagle feathers on the branches.
This solemn procession moved slowly around the unfinished sun lodge,
going from the east towards the south, following the sun’s daily course
through the sky; and finally entered a temporary shelter, to remain
there during the tribal feast.
Then many Indians came before them, bearing offerings, which they
presented to White Calf; and, with each offering, White Calf prayed to
the Sun in behalf of the giver and painted his face. Women who brought
offerings, handed them to the wife of White Calf who also prayed and
painted their faces.
A fresh hide was stretched on the ground in front of the shelter, to be
cut into strips for binding the rafters of the sun lodge. For this
honor, Bear Chief, a warrior of renown, was chosen by Eagle Head, who
had cut these thongs at the former Sun Dance. Then Eagle Head
transferred to Bear Chief the right to cut; and the relatives of Bear
Chief came forward with gifts to help him pay for the honor.
In the ceremony of transfer, Bear Chief was painted over the face and
body by Eagle Head, who prayed to the Sun that Bear Chief might have
power to cut the hide without mistake.
Then Bear Chief stood before the people with a knife painted half red
for the Sun and half black for the Moon. Holding it aloft, he prayed
for power. Then he recounted four of his brave deeds in war, making a
stroke after each tale, as though he were cutting the hide, saying:
“Hear! Men and women, for what I tell you is true. I went to war in the
south against our enemies the Crows. I took a band of horses and killed
two warriors.”
After making a stroke towards the hide, Bear Chief counted another
“coup”:
“Behold! I went again to war in the north and fought with a chief of
the Crees; I killed him and took his scalp.”
In this manner, Bear Chief told four tales; and then cut the hide into
strips, while his relatives stood near and shouted words of praise.
Women, who had made vows, came forward and took pieces of the sacred
tongues, standing beside the persons in behalf of whom they had vowed
and facing the setting sun. They prayed aloud so that every one could
hear and confessed their temptations. Some made known the names of men
who wanted them to commit adultery. They told the Sun how they had
power to resist. But none of the men who were implicated came forward
to defend themselves.
These groups of praying women, standing in the evening sunlight, before
the venerable medicine men and women, and the long rows of Indians,
men, women and children seated on the prairie, was a solemn and
impressive scene.
The aged wife of Tearing Lodge came forward and prayed in behalf of her
daughter who was ill; and the wife of Heavy Breast prayed for her
husband who stood beside her. But one of the most interesting of all
the groups was old Awasáki, wife of Painted Wing, with four small
grandchildren. She stood them in line before the throng of people;
after eating one of the tongues, she faced the setting sun and prayed:
“Sun! Behold! Pity us, help us!
You know I have lived straight; I give you my life to-day.
Now I eat this tongue that my grandchild may live,
The boy who is ill.
I pray also for these children who stand before you.
May they grow and be strong.
May they never suffer from hunger.
May all of them have long life.
Sun, hear us and pity us.”
After this prayer, the old woman planted a piece of the tongue in the
ground as a sacrifice to the Underground Spirits and divided the
remainder among her relatives, that they might be able to lead better
lives.
By this time the sun was nearing the summits of the Rocky Mountains.
White Calf, the head-chief, arose and called upon the people to make
ready for raising the sun pole. The men returned to their lodges and
dressed in their best costumes. They gathered into lines at the four
quarters of the camp, bearing long lodge-poles, which were tied in
pairs near their tops, each pair carried by two men, for lifting into
place the heavy rafters of the dancing-lodge.
The band that was first in line started to sing the tribal hymn,
“Raising the Sun Pole”; it was quickly taken up by other bands as they
formed into line. The Indians believed this song was given by the Sun
through Scarface, the founder of the Sun Dance. It was sung as a prayer
by all the people for the safe raising of the center pole.
In the meantime, White Calf and Mad Wolf walked slowly to the prostrate
pole and stood upon its trunk, while their wives took positions by its
forks. Then the four lines of warriors, holding aloft their poles,
advanced by four stages. During the pauses, they waited to sing the
hymn to the pole, each band singing in unison regardless of the other
bands, in different intervals of time and pitch; and, as the notes of
the melody all belonged to one chord, the different groups combined
harmoniously in a sort of grand fugal effect, the deep and resonant
voices of the warriors booming and sliding up to the last notes of the
song. Finally, the four lines met in a large circle round the sun
lodge, and stood while all the people, men, women and children joined
in singing the tribal hymn.
Then the head-chief called in a loud voice to raise the pole. Mad Wolf
blew his medicine whistle; he threw off his black-colored robe and
jumped from the pole. With shouts and war-whoops, the circle of
warriors ran towards the unfinished lodge, followed by the throng of
Indians. The pole was quickly raised with ropes; and the warriors with
lodge-poles lifted the rafters into place, tying them to the frame with
rawhide thongs, and placed green cottonwood branches against the sides.
Thus the dancing-lodge was finished and made ready for the tribe. There
the people assembled during the remaining days of the circle camp, to
hear tales of war by prominent chiefs, to witness the rites of the
Weather Dancers and the dances and ceremonies of the men’s societies.
CHAPTER XLIV
END OF THE SUN DANCE AND FAREWELL OF MY INDIAN FATHER
Next day Elk Horn rode through the camp and summoned every one to the
dancing-lodge. The first to go were the three Weather Dancers, the
medicine men, Spotted Eagle, Bull Child, and Medicine Bull. When the
sun was high they appeared, coming from their tepees in different parts
of the camp, wearing their medicine charms and with faces and bodies
painted.
The Indians looked to the Weather Dancers to drive away all storms;
during the time of the dancing-lodge, they were expected to keep the
weather clear. Through their medicine charms, incantations, and dances,
they were believed to have power over nature.
Bull Child wore a ceremonial robe, [6] which came from
Brings-Down-the-Sun, the famous medicine man of the north. It was
yellow in color and had blue corners; many skins and feathers of birds
were attached. Clusters of stars were painted over its surface, to
represent the constellations of the Great Bear and the Pleiades. Near
the center was a circle with a blue border for the Sun; below, a blue
crescent for the Moon and a small cross for the Morning Star. Wound
around his head was an otter-skin, with a plume in front and long eagle
feathers behind. The plume came from the Thunder and gave him power
over the weather. In one hand he held an eagle wing and a wand of raven
feathers in the other. The painted designs on his body had been
revealed to him by the Sun in a dream. On his forehead was a red disc
to represent the Sun; across his temples, yellow streaks for sun dogs;
clusters of stars were on both cheeks, and on his arms marks to
represent the rainbow.
The three Weather Makers were followed by drummers, who beat time for
their songs. On their way to the sun lodge, they stopped four times to
dance and sing. In their dances they moved up and down in time with the
drumming, holding bone whistles in their mouths, on which they blew
steadily while gazing fixedly at the sun, facing in turn the rising and
setting sun and making motions with both arms extended.
Thus Spotted Eagle, Bull Child, and Medicine Bull, came before the
people as weather makers, and entered the booth inside the
dancing-lodge. The floor of this booth was made of earth from the foot
of the sun pole, with a surface of white clay. On three of its sides
were low walls of sod, which were covered with creeping juniper. The
back and sides of the booth were interwoven with branches of ground
pine, to shield the medicine men from the curious gaze of the
spectators.
Then many Indians came before the three Weather Makers, to have their
faces painted and to be blessed with sun power—men, women and children.
They took young children in their arms, gazing steadily into the Sun,
and prayed for long life and good fortune.
In the dancing-lodge a place was reserved for Mad Wolf and his wife
near the center pole and close to the booth of the Weather Dancers.
Gives-to-the-Sun had now finished her fast and was happy. Her work and
troubles were over; family and relatives were proud of her position in
the tribe; she was the most honored and revered of all the women.
Then a fire-pit was dug in front of the sun pole, and a famous warrior
was called upon to start the fire. After his war story came other
warriors. Each of them took a piece of firewood and, holding it up,
related one of his brave deeds in battle; after which he put the stick
upon the fire, amid the beating of drums and “cheering-songs” by the
musicians. The bravest warriors were those who narrated so many brave
deeds they made the fire blaze high.
Mountain Chief, a warrior of renown, stood before the people with his
weapons—a shield and bow and arrows. He gave his war cry; and, drawing
his bow, aimed it in different directions, telling how he killed an
enemy and took his scalp. After his story, Mountain Chief sat down,
amid the beating of drums and shrill war cries from the spectators.
Then Bear Chief, a famous war leader, his horse painted with war
pictures, rode into the dancing-lodge with a band of warriors and acted
out a sham battle. He was chief of a band that went against the Sioux
Indians. In the sham battle, Bear Chief kept firing his rifle into the
air, over the heads of the crowd; and after every shot an acting
warrior fell dead. An old woman, a relative of Bear Chief, stood up and
sang a song of gladness, proclaiming his bravery; and one of the head
men made a speech, in which he urged all the young men to emulate the
brave deeds of Bear Chief.
In the meantime a storm was gathering over the Rocky Mountains and
extended toward the plains. The Indians in the dancing-lodge eagerly
watched the black clouds, to see if the Weather Makers would drive them
back.
Now it happened there were two rivals among the medicine men. Medicine
Bull was clearing the weather and Spotted Eagle praying for rain.
Medicine Bull came first from the booth and faced the clouds. He blew
shrilly on his bone whistle and called in a loud voice:
“Behold! A storm comes from the mountains. But I have power over the
weather. I shall dance and drive it back.”
Short and sinewy, he danced gracefully in a circle, holding his
otter-skin toward the storm; and with a final sweep waved it over his
head, as if driving back the clouds. Suddenly the wind changed; the
clouds divided and the sun shone.
Then Spotted Eagle, jealous of his rival’s success, came from the
booth. He wore medicine charms, which had been handed down from Four
Bears, a famous medicine man and weather maker of former days—a belt of
great power and an otter-skin cap. In one hand he held a minkskin and
in the other an eagle feather. With these powerful charms, he stood
confidently before the people and announced that he would bring back
the storm, saying:
“My power over the weather comes from the Sun; it is very strong.
Behold! The clouds will come together again and it will rain.”
Spotted Eagle danced and prayed and made motions toward the storm
clouds, which continued to spread, until they passed over the camp with
a heavy rain.
The Blackfoot were hero worshipers. They believed that men who were
brave and were successful in war attained a certain power to help
relatives who were ill. For this reason Wolf Plume, a famous warrior,
stood before the people and prayed:
“Sun, have pity and hear me.
My mother is ill. May she become strong and well.”
After this prayer, Wolf Plume enacted a sham battle—a night attack he
had made on a hostile camp. He built a miniature lodge of branches; he
showed how he entered the tepee of an enemy and took two scalps.
Then Big Beaver came forward with his sister and said:
“Hear, men and women, for what I speak is true. In the winter-moon I
went with Two Eagles on a visit to the Crow Indians. We crossed the
Yellowstone River on the ice and my partner was drowned. I thought my
time to die had also come. But I made a vow to the Sun—if I ever came
out of that danger alive, my sister would come forward with me and take
one of the sacred tongues at the next Sun Dance.”
Then his sister held up a tongue and prayed to the Sun; while Big
Beaver announced that he gave his saddle horse and its equipment to
Spotted Eagle, the medicine man, and asked him to pray for him.
Then a woman aroused the interest of all by singing a mourning song to
her dead lover, saying:
“The dancing-lodge is the place where I was last with my lover.
Now I am lonely.
He left me and went to the Spirit World.
Where I want to join him soon.”
Shortly after this, the woman committed suicide by jumping from a cliff
in view of the people of her camp.
In former days, when the Indians were free, there was self-torture at
the Sun Dance, by warriors who had made vows to the Sun in time of
peril. Slits were cut on both sides of the breast and sticks were
inserted under the muscles. By means of rawhide ropes hanging from the
center pole and fastened to these sticks, the warriors danced before
the people, amid the beating of drums and applause of the spectators,
until the sticks were torn loose from the flesh. Many of these warriors
did not live long after the torture. It was believed they gave
themselves to the Sun and the Sun took them.
Throughout the ceremonies, Mad Wolf and Gives-to-the-Sun came regularly
to the dancing-lodge. He took his pipe and plenty of tobacco and gave
to those who sat near. She wore her best clothes—deerskin trimmed with
elk teeth and with leggings and moccasins to match.
Then the men’s societies, the All-Brave-Dogs, Pigeons, and Mosquitoes,
gave their rituals and dances; and their members told of brave deeds in
war. They also gave war dances and counted “coups,” accompanied by the
beating of drums and of rattles on a rawhide; they had a feast and
passed around a Medicine Pipe for every one to smoke and pray.
On the last day of the Sun Dance, when the time had come for the tribe
to break camp and separate, Mad Wolf stood before the people. He spoke
to them in a strong voice so that all could hear, saying:
“Hear, my children, for I speak to you with a good heart. It does
us all good to come together once every year for the Sun Dance. We
have smoked the Medicine Pipe and the rising smoke has carried away
all of our bad feelings. Some have fulfilled their vows and others
made presents to the Sun. The old people have fasted and prayed and
now feel better in their hearts. The young men have heard the wise
counsels of our chiefs, and young girls have seen the medicine
women who fast and pray, because their lives are pure and they are
good to every one.
“The Sun is our father. He is kind. He covers the trees with leaves
and makes the grass green in the spring. He also gave the Indians
good hearts, that they might be kind and help each other.
“The grass is now long and the sun is warm over the prairie; but
the cold and frost of winter, with its deep snows and biting winds
will soon come; and I know not where our women and children will
get their food.
“We are not moving; we are just standing still. The buffalo are all
gone, the antelope and the rest of the game also. The white men
continue to drive us towards the setting sun; but now the Rocky
Mountains face us like a wall, and we can go no farther. I do not
care for myself; I shall soon go to the Great Spirit. But I am
anxious for our little children; I know not what will become of
them.
“You have all heard of our Great Father (President of the United
States), who calls us his red children. He is the only one upon
whom we can depend. Now, you must look to him, as in the past we
looked to the Sun God. My children, you must obey his laws and give
heed to his advice. He lives far away toward the rising sun. I
shake hands with him now, for our hearts feel warm toward him.
“Prepare to return to your homes and to care for your horses and
cattle. Look after them well and send your children to school. If
they learn the language of the white men, they will be a great help
to us; for the way of the white man is now on top.
“My children, I shake hands with all of you. I want you to feel the
sunshine of joy in your hearts and to have no trouble. What I speak
with my mouth, I feel in my heart. Farewell!”
Early on the following morning, Running Crane and his bands of Indians
took down their lodges and started south. Then Mad Wolf with his
followers departed for the north. The great tribal camp melted quickly
away; and I was left alone on the prairie.
The golden rays of the rising sun shone over the rounded uplands with
their long grass-covered slopes and wide valleys; upon the giant peaks
of the Rockies with towering precipices, dark forests and everlasting
snow. Many birds were singing, meadow-larks, white-crowns, and
thrushes. The west wind bore the scent of pine and cedar from the
mountains, the fragrance of prairie wild flowers and sweet grass. I
took a last look at the broad plain with its great circle of deserted
lodge-fires; and turned my face toward the rising sun. That was the
last I ever saw of Mad Wolf, my Indian father. He soon went over the
Wolf Trail to the ghostly Sand Hills. And now all that old generation
of Indians have followed him.
THE END
APPENDIX
MEDICINAL AND USEFUL PLANTS OF THE BLACKFOOT INDIANS [7]
By WALTER McCLINTOCK
The following collection of herbs and plants with their Indian names,
uses, and methods of preparation by the Blackfoot, is deposited in the
Carnegie Museum of Pittsburgh. The specimens were identified by Mr. O.
E. Jennings, Curator of Botany in the Museum and Professor of Botany in
the University of Pittsburgh.
1. MATERIA MEDICA OF THE BLACKFOOT
Katoya. Sweet Pine. Balsam Fir. Abies lasiocarpa. Burned for incense in
ceremonials. It was used in poultices for fevers and colds in the
chest, also for hair oil by mixing with grease and for perfume. It is
more fragrant than ordinary balsam. When it grows in dry places it has
a more concentrated and sweet odor.
Se-pat-semo. Sweet Grass. Vanilla Grass. Savastana odorata. After
drying, Sweet Grass was generally kept by plaiting several strands. It
was burned for incense and used also for making hair tonic by soaking
in water. In northern Europe and Sweden it is called Holy Grass,
because with other sweet-scented grasses, it is strewn before the
churches. It is found throughout the world in the cold north-temperate
zone, northern Europe and Asia, Newfoundland to Alaska, south to New
Jersey and Wisconsin to Colorado.
Ek-siso-ke. Sharp Vine. Bear Grass. Yucca glauca. The roots were boiled
in water and used as a tonic for falling hair. The Blackfoot thought
there was no better remedy than the Ek-siso-ke for breaks and sprains.
The roots were grated and placed in boiling water. The inflammation was
reduced by holding the injured member in the rising steam. The roots
were also placed upon cuts to stop bleeding and to allay inflammation.
Nits-ik-opa. Double-Root. Squaw-Root. Carum Gairdneri. Used for sore
throat and placed on swellings to draw out inflammation. It was also
eaten raw or boiled as a vegetable and used for flavoring stews.
Oks-pi-poku. Sticky-Root, also called Ap-aks-iboku. Wide Leaves. Tufted
Primrose or Alkali Lily. Pachylobus caespitosus. The root was pounded
up and applied wet to sores and swellings to allay inflammation. It
grows in alkali soil and is generally found in gravel beds.
Apos-ipoco. Tastes Dry. Alumn-Root. Heuchera parvifolia. It was pounded
up and used wet as an application for sores and swellings. It grows on
gravel bottoms and alkali flats.
Matoa-koa-ksi. Yellow-Root, or Swamp-Root. Willow-leaved Dock. Rumex
salicifolius. It was boiled and used for many complaints but generally
for swellings. It grows in swamps.
Mais-to-nata. Crow-Root. Dotted Blazing-Star. Lacinaria punctata. Named
because of the scarlet brilliancy of its flowers. It was called
Crow-Root by the Blackfoot because it was eaten by crows and ravens in
the autumn. The root was boiled and applied to swellings. A tea was
also made with it for stomach-ache. It was sometimes eaten raw.
O-muck-kas. Big Turnip. Parsnip. Leptotaenia multifida. Belonging to
the carrot family, the Big Turnip is found on the sides of hills,
growing in sandy loamy soil. It was gathered in the fall, the root
being used to make a hot drink as a tonic for people in a weakened
condition and to make them fat. The root was also pounded up and burned
for incense. When horses had the distemper they were made to inhale
smoke from this root. It was also mixed with brains and used in soft
tanning.
Pa-kito-ki. Gray Leaves. Double Bladder-Pod. Physaria didymocarpa. It
is to be found growing on gravel bottoms. The Blackfoot chewed the
plant for sore throats, also for cramps and stomach trouble. It was
also placed in water with hot rocks and used to allay swelling.
A-sat-chiot-ake. Rattle-Weed. Purple Loco-Weed, Crazy-Weed. Aragallus
lagopus. Some of the flowers are purple, others blue, yellow, and
white. It grows on gravel bottoms. The Blackfoot chewed it for sore
throat, also to allay swelling.
A-sa-po-pin-ats. Looks-like-a-plume. Wind-Flower or Round-fruited
Anemone. Anemone globosa. It is adapted for a windy place and is found
growing on hillsides where the wind strikes it, either on the plains,
or in the mountains. In midsummer the flower turns into cotton, which
the Blackfoot burn on a hot coal for headache.
Et-a-wa-asi. Makes-you-sneeze (Snuff). American White Hellebore.
Veratrum speciosum. The plant grows to be about six feet high and is
found in the mountain forests. The root is poisonous to eat. It was
gathered by the Blackfoot both in the fall and in the spring and was
used for headache. They broke off a small piece of the root, which was
very dry, and snuffed it up the nose.
Sixa-wa-kasim. Black-Root. Red Bane-Berry. Actaea arguta. The berries
are both red and white. It is found near the mountains in the
underbrush along rivers. The roots were boiled and used for coughs and
colds.
Siximas. Black-Root. White Bane-Berry. Actaea eburnea. The root was
boiled and used for coughs and colds.
Six-ocasim. Indian Horehound. It is not found on the prairies but in
the mountains along streams. It was generally used, after mixing with
other plants, for baby colds.
Kaksamis. She Sage. Sweet Sage, Old Man, Pasturage Sage-Brush.
Artemisia frigida. The roots or tops were boiled and used as a drink
for mountain fever. It was also chewed for heart-burn. Sage was
generally tied to articles that were sacrificed to the Sun.
Otsque-eina. Blue Berry. Oregon Grape. Berberis aquifolium. The roots
were boiled and used for stomach trouble, also for hemorrhages. It grew
in the forest on the mountains.
A-poks-ikim. Smell-Foot. Northern Valerian. Valeriana septentrionalis.
A hot drink was made from the roots for stomach trouble.
A-much-ko-iyatsis. Red-Mouth Bush. Paper-Leaf Alder. Alnus tenuifolia.
A hot drink was made of the bark and taken for scrofula. The bark split
readily and was also used for making stirrups, which were covered with
raw-hide. The Indian name originated because it was observed that when
people chewed the bark it colored their mouths red.
Ma-ne-ka-pe. Young Man. Horse-Mint. Monarda scabra. An eye-wash was
made by placing the blossoms in warm water and was used to allay
inflammation.
So-ya-its. Lies-on-his-belly. Long-plumed Avens. Sieversia ciliata. It
grows on the plains and in the mountains. The Blackfoot boiled it in
water and used for sore and inflamed eyes.
Kine. Rose Berries or Apis-is-kitsa-wa. Tomato-Flower. Say’s Rose. Rosa
Sayi. A drink was made of the root and given to children for diarrhea.
The berries were sometimes eaten raw.
Omaka-ka-tane-wan. Gopher-Berries. Wild Potato, Ground Cherry,
Cut-leaved Nightshade. Solatium triflorum. The berries were boiled and
given to children for diarrhea. The plants grow on prairie-dog hills.
Kita-kop-sim. Garter-Root, or Pachsi, Dry-Root. Silver-Weed. Argentina
anserina. The root was used for diarrhea.
Nuxapist. Little Blanket. Indian Hemp, Dogbane. Apocynum cannabinum. A
drink was made by boiling the root in water and taken for a laxative.
It was also used as a wash to prevent hair falling out. It grows on
high cliffs and was gathered at all times of year.
A-po-pik-a-tiss. Makes-your-hair-gray. Pore Fungus. Polyporus. A small
quantity was used as a purgative. It was said to make the hair gray if
too large a dose was taken. It was also used for cleaning buckskin.
At-si-po-koa. Fire-Taste. Sharp-leaved Beard-Tongue. Pentstemon
acuminatus. The Blackfoot named it At-si-po-koa because of its biting
flavor. It was boiled in water and taken internally for cramps and
pains in the stomach. It was also used to stop vomiting.
Six-in-oko. Juniper. Red Cedar. Juniperus scopulorum. The berries were
made into a tea to stop vomiting. The Juniper was used on the altar of
the sacred woman at the Sun Dance.
Aks-peis. Sticky-Weed. Gum-Plant. Grindelia squarrosa. The root was
boiled and taken internally for liver trouble. It grows on the
prairies.
Opet-at-sapia. Gutierrezia diversifolia. Grows on the prairies in the
foothills to the mountains. The roots were used by medicine men in
doctoring. Red-hot stones were placed in water with the roots. Fumes
arose with the steam.
E-simatch-sis. Dye. Evernia vulpina. A lichen that grows on pine trees.
It was used as a yellow dye for porcupine quills. The quills were
placed with the dye in boiling water. It was also used for headache.
E-simatch-sis. Dye. The Yellow Orthocarpus. Orthocarpus luteus. Used
for dyeing gopher skins red. The plant was first pounded up and then
pressed firmly upon the skin. It grows on the prairies.
Ana-wawa-toks-tima. Buffalo-Food. Yellow Cancer-Root. Thalesia
fasciculata. Used by Buffalo medicine men in doctoring wounds. They
chewed and blew it upon the wound.
Sa-po-tun-a-kio-toi-yis. Joint Grass. Scouring Rush. Equisetum hiemale.
The grass was boiled in water and used as a drink, for horse medicine.
Pach-co-i-au-saukas. Smell-Mouth. Western Sweet Cicely. Washingtonia
divaricata. It was given to mares in winter. The Blackfoot say that it
put them in good condition for foaling. They placed it in the mares’
mouths and made them chew it. A pleasant drink was made with a small
piece of the Western Sweet Cicely root, a little more of the Sixocasim
(Indian Horehound) to three cups of water. It was taken hot for colds
or tickling in the throat.
Tobacco
Ka-ka-sin. Larb, or Kinnekinick Bearberry. Arctostaphylus uva-ursi. The
leaves, which are thick and evergreen, were dried and used for tobacco.
The berries were eaten raw and also used mashed in fat and fried. It
grows in Northern North America, also Northern Europe and Asia.
O-makse-ka-ka-sin. Big Larb. Pipsissewa, Prince’s Pine. Chimaphila
umbellata. It flourishes among decaying leaves in a sandy soil in the
mountain forests of Northern North America. The dried leaves were used
for tobacco by all the Mountain Indians. The Blackfoot had a special
preference for the Big Larb in smoking.
2. PLANTS FOR CEREMONIALS
Pono-kau-sinni. Turnip. Elk-Food. Narrow-leaved Puccoon. Lithospermum
linearifolium. The tops were dried and used for burning as incense in
ceremonials.
So-yo-toi-yis. Spring Grass or I-ta-pat-anis, Cut-your-finger. Slough
Grass Sedge. Carex nebrascensis praevia. The Blackfoot said it was the
favorite grass of the buffalo and for this reason the medicine men tied
it around the horns of the sacred Buffalo head used in the Sun Dance
ceremonials. It grows in marshy places on the prairies.
A-pono-kauki. Paper-Leaves or O-to-kap-atsis. Yellow Flower.
Arrow-leaved Balsam-Root. Balsamorrhiza sagittata. The large leaves
were used in roasting Camas roots.
3. BERRIES AND WILD VEGETABLES USED FOR EATING
Ok-kun-okin. Berry. Sarvis-Berry, June-Berry, Service-Berry, Shadbush,
May Cherry. Amelanchier oblongifolia. A tall shrub or small tree
growing on the prairies along side-hills and in river bottoms. The
berries ripen in midsummer generally about the middle of July. The
Blackfoot used them in great quantities with stews, soups, and meat.
They also dried them for winter use. Violent pains often followed the
eating of raw Sarvis-Berries.
Pukkeep. Chokecherry. Western Wild Cherry. Prunus demissa. The
Blackfoot say it does not ripen till later than the Sarvis-Berry,
generally September or even October. They were used for soups, eaten
raw and pounded up and mixed with meat. The bark was boiled and used
internally in combination with roots of the Western Sweet Cicely,
Northern Valerian, and Sixocasim (Indian Horehound).
Miss-is-a-misoi. Stink-Wood. Buffalo-Berry, Silver-Berry. Elaeagnus
argentea. The Blackfoot gave it the name of Stink-Wood because of the
bad smell of the smoke. In gathering firewood a person was ridiculed if
he brought in Stink-Wood. The berries were used for soup. The bark was
very tough and made strong rope for tying skins and parfleches when
rawhide was not at hand.
Im-a-toch-kot. Dog-Feet. Disporum trachycarpum. It bears yellow
berries, which are eaten raw.
Po-kint-somo. Wild Rhubarb. Cow Parsnip. Heracleum lanatum. In the
spring the stalks were eaten after roasting over hot coals. The
Blackfoot say the stalks are of two kinds, which they designate by
Napim (He) and Skim (She). They peeled and split the stalk of the Skim
before roasting but only peeled the Napim. A stalk of the Po-kint-somo
was placed on the altar of the Sun Dance ceremonial.
Pach-op-it-skinni. Lumpy-Head. Wild Potato, Spring-Beauty. Claytonia
lanceolata. The Wild Potato grew on the prairies and in the foothills
of the mountains. The Blackfoot dug them in spring for eating,
preparing them for eating by boiling.
Ek-sik-a-pato-api. Looks Back. Smartweed. Polygonum bistortoides. The
root was used in soups and stews.
Pesat-se-nekim. Funny Vine. Wild Onion. Allium recurvatum. Eaten raw
and also used for flavoring.
Kach-a-tan. Tender-Root. Carolina Milk Vetch. Astragalus carolinianus.
The root was gathered in the spring or fall and eaten raw or cooked by
boiling in water. It grows on the gravel bottoms or side-hills of the
prairies.
Exixix. White-Root. Bitter-Root, State Flower of Montana, Red-Head
Louisa. Lewisia rediviva. The Blackfoot believed it was healthy food.
They prepared it by boiling in water. It grows plentifully in the
mountains.
Sax-ika-kitsim. Quick Smell. American Wild Mint. Mentha canadensis. The
leaves were placed in parfleches to flavor dried meat. It was also used
to make tea.
Mass. Wild Turnip. Elk Food. Lithospermum linearifolium. The roots were
prepared for eating by boiling or roasting. It grows on the prairies.
O-muck-ai-ix-ixi. Big White-Root. Evening Primrose, Alkali Lily.
Musenium divaricatum. The Blackfoot say the root has no flavor until
dried. It was gathered in the fall and eaten raw. It grows on the
prairies.
Miss-issa. Camas. Camassia esculenta. The roots were generally dug in
the fall after the blossoms had fallen. They were baked by placing in a
deep hole with heated rocks, leaves, and grass. A fire was also kept
burning on top of the ground. It was said to require two days and two
nights to cook them thoroughly in this way.
4. PERFUMES
At-sina-mo. Gros Ventre Scent. Meadow-Rue. Thalictrum occidentale. The
berries were dried and placed in small buckskin bags for perfumery.
Katoya. Sweet Pine. Balsam Fir. Abies lasiocarpa. The leaves had a
delightful odor when confined in a buckskin bag. Sweet Pine was also
mixed with grease in making hair oil to add fragrance.
Mat-o-at-sim. Perfumed Plant. Rayless Camomile, Oregon Dog-Root, Dog
Fennel. Matricaria matricarioides. The blossoms were dried and used for
perfumery.
Se-pat-semo. Sweet Grass. Vanilla Grass. Sevastana odorata. Sweet Grass
was the most popular perfumery among the Blackfoot. It was made into
braids and placed with their clothes or carried around in small bags.
It was also used for a hair-wash and as incense.
Pieces of punk from the Cottonwood tree, leaves of the Balsam Poplar
and the ring-bone from a horse’s leg were used for perfumes.
BLACKFOOT NAMES FOR FLOWERS
Sik-a-pis-chis. White Flower. Aster commutatus.
Ota-kap-is-chis-kit-sima. Yellow Flower. Clasping-leaved Arnica. Arnica
amplexifolia.
A-pis-is-kit-sa-wa. Tomato-Flower. Red Rose. Rosa Sayi.
Ot-ska-a-pis-is-kit-sa. Blue Flower. Oblong-leaved Gentian. Gentiana
affinis.
A-sa-po-pin-ats. Looks-like-a-plume. Round-Fruited Anemone. Anemone
globosa. Its name was derived from the appearance of the flower when it
turns into cotton and resembles a soft, downy feather.
A-po-no-kau-ki. Paper-Leaves. Arrow-leaved Balsam-Root. Balsamorrhiza
sagittata. In the hot weather its large leaves become very dry and
resemble paper.
Sto-o-kat-sis. Ghost’s Lariat. Columbian Virgin’s-Bower. Atragene
columbiana. A vine, with a beautiful light blue flower, that trails
along the ground and also climbs trees. The Blackfoot have named it
Ghost’s Lariat because it catches people and trips them up
unexpectedly.
NOTES
[1] This incident is referred to in the Report of General W. T.
Sherman, Secretary of War, 1876, p. 33.
[2] For descriptions of Beaver Bundle, see Chapters VII and VIII.
[3] Medicinal and Useful Plants of the Blackfoot Indians. See Appendix.
[4] Medicinal and Useful Plants of the Blackfoot Indians. See Appendix.
[5] This Medicine Robe of Brings-Down-the-Sun is now in the Blackfoot
Collection, American Museum of Natural History, New York City.
[6] This robe is now in the Indian collection of the American Museum of
Natural History, New York City.
[7] Published in Zeitschrift für Ethnologie, Berlin, Heft 2. 1909.
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