Many years ago there was a Nez Percé Indian whose name was Ragged Head.
He wore the long hair on the front of his head tied up in a bunch, and
the ends hanging over were ragged and of different lengths. This was
why they gave him this name. This man was a great warrior. He could not
be killed. When he was a young man his dream helper had come to him in
his sleep and had spoken to him, saying:
“My son, you are a man who need not fear to go into battle, for neither
arrow nor bullet nor lance nor knife can hurt you. You may rush into
the very midst of the enemy, and they will all run away from you. Take
courage, therefore, take great courage.” Then his dream helper smoked
with him.
But when the dream helper had spoken to him in his sleep, and had told
him that he need not be afraid of his enemies, and had smoked with him,
it had said further:
“My son, some day you must die, and it may be that you will be killed
by your enemy, for there is one thing that can hurt you. Only one
thing, but of this you must be careful. If you should be shot with a
ramrod, it will pierce your flesh and you will die.”
After Ragged Head had returned to the camp, he told this part of his
dream to no one, except to two of his close friends, for he did not
wish it to be known and talked about. None of these three men thought
much about it, nor felt afraid, for every one knows that people when
they are in battle and are trying to kill their enemies, do not shoot
ramrods at them, but bullets.
When this man went to war he did not carry a gun, nor arrows, nor a
lance. His weapon was a great war-club, made from the butt of an elk
antler. With this he used to beat down his enemies. In the end of the
club he had put a lash, and he used it also as a riding quirt.
Every summer Ragged Head used to cross the mountains from his country
to the plains, to hunt buffalo and to make war on the Piegans. When he
saw a party of his enemies, he would charge down upon them, shaking his
war-club and shouting out the war-cry; and when the Piegans saw who it
was that was coming they all tried to get out of his way, for they knew
that he could not be killed, and that they could not do anything to
hurt him. So he killed many of his enemies, and had great fame among
his own people and among those against whom he fought. He was a leader
of war-parties and always successful. Everybody was afraid of him, for
all people knew that he had strong spiritual power, and that he could
not be killed.
It was early summer. The grass had started. The snow was melting on the
mountains. Already the streams were high. It was time to go to war.
From their camp on the plains a party of Piegans set out on the
war-path to cross the mountains and take horses from their enemies on
the other side—Snakes, Flat Heads, or Nez Percés. On foot they made
their way along the lower hills, climbed up through the narrow pass,
and at length stood on the top of the mountain range, from which they
could look out over the lower country to the west. There, in the wide
gray plain before them, they could trace the winding courses of many
streams, and from some of them rose smokes which showed that people
were camped there, and they knew that these people were their enemies.
While they were stopping here, overlooking the country, the leader of
the war-party said to his young men:
“Now, here we will separate and go off in small parties to see what we
can discover, and after ten nights we will all meet again at the Round
Butte at the foot of this mountain, and return to our camp together.”
So here the party divided, going off by twos and threes to try to find
the camps of their enemies.
There were two young Piegans who went off together. The younger of the
two carried a bow and arrows, and the other had an old shot-gun the
barrels of which had been cut off short, so that he could carry it
under his robe without its being seen. The tube which had held the
ramrod in its place had been broken off, and there was no way to carry
the rod except in the barrel of the gun. When the boy was shooting, he
held the ramrod in his hand.
After a few days’ travel these young men found a trail where people had
passed not long before, and following this trail, they saw a camp, and
hid themselves near by to wait for night and then to go to it and take
horses. This was the camp of the Nez Percés, and Ragged Head was its
chief.
In the night, after it was dark and the camp had become quiet, the
young men crept down to the river, close to the lodges, to see what
they might do. The older boy said to his companion, “I will go first
into the camp and see how things are there, and perhaps take a horse or
two, and then I will come back here and tell you, and we can both go
back and take more horses if all goes well.” The other said, “It is
good; I will wait for you here.”
The older boy crossed the stream and crept into the camp and looked
about. The people were sleeping; it was all quiet, and in front of the
lodges were tied many fine horses. He found two that he liked, and cut
the ropes that held them, and led them back across the stream to where
he had left his friend; but when he reached the place his friend was
not waiting there. So the young man led the horses into the brush and
tied them, and crossed the stream again for more. As he was wading
through the water, carrying his gun muzzle up so that the ramrod should
not fall out, and when he was near the other bank, he saw a man
standing there, and thought it was his friend.
When he came close to him he said: “Why did you not wait for me on the
other side, as you said you would?” The person did not answer, but
stretched out his left hand and caught the boy by the hair, pulled him
forward, and raised a great club, as if to strike him.
Then the young Piegan was frightened. He put up his left hand to ward
off the blow, and with his right he pushed the muzzle of his shot-gun
against the person’s body and pulled both triggers. The gun went off.
The man fell, and the young Piegan quickly ran away.
At the sound of the shot all the Nez Percés rushed out of their lodges
and up and down the stream to learn what had happened. On the
river-bank they found Ragged Head dead. In his body was the splintered
ramrod.