THE MANDANS SING THEIR VICTORY SONG
My uncle was not anxious for a fight with our enemies. I had never seen
him so worried. When Abbott and the Twins had gone out of the lodge, he
said to us: "I was too eager for this undertaking. Carroll and Steell
warned me of its dangers, but I wouldn't listen. I shouldn't have come
down here until I had engaged thirty or forty men to build the fort. We
may all be wiped out! What would become of you, my woman, and of you,
Thomas, if I were to go under now with the load of debt that I have
incurred in St. Louis? And after all my years of endeavor, what a bad
name would be mine!"
"Now, Far Thunder, just you quit that worrying, for everything is going
to come out right for us. I know it! I just know that the gods are with
us," said my almost-mother.
I could think of nothing to say. As I nodded to Pitamakan and we went
out to drive the horses to their night-grazing I wished that I were not
so tongue-tied.
"What was he saying?" Pitamakan asked me. I told him, and back to the
lodge he went, thrust his head inside the doorway and said: "Far
Thunder, you have overlooked our main helper. That loud-mouthed gun of
ours can defeat the cut-throats and all their brother tribes, too."
"Maybe so, if they give us time to point and fire it at them," my uncle
answered; and my almost-brother came back to me lightly humming his
favorite war song.
A cloudy sky made the night very dark. We mounted and drove the loose
stock straight west out of the valley, then went southwest for a couple
of miles and hobbled them. We picketed Is-spai-u and my runner, which
Pitamakan had saddled that evening. We then drew back outside of the
sweep of the long ropes, and were about to spread our buffalo robe and
lie down when we heard the whir of a rattlesnake close in front of us
and another at our right. "Ha! This is worse than facing a war party!"
Pitamakan exclaimed. At the sound of his voice the snakes rattled again,
and a third somewhere close on our left answered them. We were afraid to
move lest we step upon one of the rattlers and get a jab in our
moccasined feet from its poisonous fangs.
"We must get back upon our horses and move on," I said.
"Well, you have matches. Begin lighting them and we will do that," said
Pitamakan.
I felt in the pocket of my buckskin shirt where I usually carried a few
matches wrapped in paper and waterproof bladder skin. The pocket was
empty. I felt in my ball pouch and in my trousers pockets, although I
knew it was useless to do so, and Pitamakan groaned, "You have lost
them?"
"Yes!"
"We just have to pray the gods to guide us," he said.
As we turned, it seemed to our straining ears that snakes rattled upon
all sides of us.
"Go slowly!" Pitamakan cautioned. "Stamp the ground hard, and keep
swinging your rifle out in front of you."
Thus step by step we drew away from the rattlers, fearing all the time
that we should encounter one that would strike before warning us of its
presence.
At last we came to Is-spai-u, a dim shadow in the darkness, and took up
his rope and led him on to the other picketed animal. Our scare was
still with us as we went among the horses and removed their hobbles,
but, getting into our saddles, we drove the stock on for fully a mile.
Before hobbling them again, we circled round and round and made sure
that we were not occupying another patch of snake-infested plain.
"Well, we survived that danger! I believe it is a sign that we are not
to be bitten by the two-legged snakes that will soon attack us," said
Pitamakan after we had spread our robe and were resting comfortably upon
it.
Since I was no believer in signs, I did not say anything on the
subject.
"You sleep; I'll take the first watch," I told him.
The heavy clouds soon disappeared, the moon came up, and I could see our
surroundings very well. The horses were ripping off great mouthfuls of
rich bunch-grass and lustily chewing it. Their deep, satisfied breathing
gave me a glad feeling. All round us wolves were howling and coyotes
were yelping in high falsetto voices. How different were these two
branches of the great wolf family, I thought. The wolves were of a
serious, dignified nature; they seemed never to howl except to
communicate with one another. The coyotes gathered in bands and wandered
aimlessly from ridge to ridge, stopping frequently and raising their
sharp, pointed noses to the sky and yelping.
My thoughts were not long upon the wolves. I remembered how worried my
uncle was when I had left our lodge; how serious was the expression of
Abbott's eyes when he predicted that the attack by the cut-throats was
about to take place.
I stared at the faint, moonlit outlines of the Moccasin Mountains, away
off to the southwest. Somewhere along the trail at the foot of them the
Pikuni were doubtless camping that night. Unwittingly I cried out in
Blackfoot, "Oh, hurry! Hurry to us, you men of the Pikuni, else you will
come too late!"
"What? What did you say? Do you see enemies?" Pitamakan whispered as he
sat up suddenly at my side.
"Oh, nothing. I was just calling to our people to hurry to us. I am so
afraid that they may not get here in time to help us," I answered.
"You forget that the loud-mouthed gun is of great strength. It can shoot
one of those big, hard metal balls a long way. And at short range just
think what it can do with a sackful of our small, soft balls!"
"Yes, true enough. But think how long it takes to move and sight and
fire it! Loud-mouth is now pointing out the south side of the barricade.
Should the cut-throats suddenly attack us from the north side, we should
never even get a chance to fire it!"
"Ha! What a crazy head I am, never to have thought about that!
Loud-mouths are of sure help only when there are two of them, each in a
little outsetting house of its own, at opposite corners of a fort.
Almost-brother, Far Thunder should send us at once to meet our people
and get the warriors here as fast as their horses can carry them."
"You have spoken my thought, too. We will tell him about it in the
morning," I answered.
"Yes, we will do that. Let us drive the horses in very early."
After a time we detected off to the west a dark, wide, cloud-like mass
slowly moving over the plain. It was composed of buffaloes, of course, a
large herd of them grazing straight toward the horses. It would not do
to let them come on, for in the stampede that was sure to occur the
frightened horses might go with them. We went slowly and silently toward
them and suddenly sprang forward, waving our blankets. They paused,
stared at us for a moment, then turned and went thundering off to the
south. There must have been a thousand of them, judging by the noise
that they made.
We returned to our watching-place, and I lay down and soon was asleep.
When I awoke, I knew by the position of the Seven Persons, as the
Blackfeet name the constellation of Ursa Major, that day was not far
off. I said that I would take the remainder of the watch, but Pitamakan
had no more than lain down when the faint, far-off boom of a gun brought
us both to our feet.
"Where was it?" he asked.
"Off to the north," I answered.
Again we heard shots, four or five of them, faint and low, like distant
thunder, then one that was sharper, like the crack of a whip.
"That last one was from Far Thunder's rifle!" Pitamakan exclaimed.
"Yes. Great Rider's words have come true: the cut-throats are attacking
camp!"
We ran to the horses and fumbled at their hobbles; then we coiled the
ropes of our picketed saddle-animals, mounted and drove the little band
on the run for camp.
"There is no more shooting!" I exclaimed.
"Not another shot! It looks bad to me! Maybe our people are wiped out!"
Pitamakan answered.
He expressed my own fear. We forced the horses to their utmost speed. It
was all of three miles to the mouth of the Musselshell, and never were
there such long miles. Day was breaking as we neared the valley rim
overlooking camp. A hundred yards or so away from the edge we slowed up,
dropped the loose stock, and with ready rifles rode slowly on.
When at last we looked down upon the camp, I could have yelled my
relief. I saw smoke peacefully rising from the lodges and a couple of
women going from the barricade to the river for water. Then we heard the
old Mandans singing a song that we had not heard before, a triumphant
song in quick, strongly marked time.
"All is well!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, something pleasant has happened. What can it be?"
With light hearts we turned back to our loose stock, drove them down
near the barricade, and let them go to graze as they would until it was
time for the work of the day to begin. I was in the lead as we drove
into the barricade to unsaddle, and as I passed through the entrance
Is-spai-u gave a sudden turning leap that nearly unseated me, and then
stood staring and snorting at a huge grizzly that lay at one side of the
path. My uncle and Abbott came out of our lodge and grinned broadly at
us.
"Well, boys," said my uncle, "that's a real bear, isn't it!"
"We've had some excitement here, and 't isn't all over yet. Listen to
the old boys in there, singin'!" said Abbott.
"We heard the shots and thought that you were all wiped out, they ceased
so suddenly," I said.
We unsaddled and followed the men into the lodge, where Tsistsaki, who
was preparing breakfast, gave us cheerful greeting.
"This is what happened, as near as we can make out from the old Mandans
and from what we saw of it," my uncle said to us.
"It was about an hour back when old Lame Wolf, who was on guard at the
north side of the barricade, saw a big bear close in front of him. It
was a chance to count a coup that he couldn't resist. Taking good aim
with his old fuke, he fired and let out a yell. But his yell wasn't so
loud as the roar of the bear when the bullet spatted into his side. We
all waked and rushed outside, but the other old watchers were ahead of
us. They ran to Lame Wolf, and the first of them fired at the bear,
which was growling and biting at its wound. At that, the bear came with
a rush over the logs right in among them. He was badly hurt, but would
surely have mauled and killed some of them had it not been for the
powder smoke from their fukes, which blinded him and made him cough. The
old men were running away in all directions, but he couldn't see them.
He sat up to get his bearings, and just then the smoke lifted; and there
he was, a mountain of a bear close in front of me. I took quick sight at
him and broke his neck. It all happened so quickly, and the old men were
so intent upon getting out of reach of the bear, that they never knew
that I gave him the finishing shot. One of them, looking back, shouted
something to the others, and all turned and ran to the bear; and old
Lame Wolf tapped him on the head with the barrel of his fuke and counted
coup on him. He claimed it, no doubt, because he had fired the first
shot into his carcass."
"And what did the engagés do?" Pitamakan asked.
"What did they do! You should have heard Henri Robarre praying to be
saved. The others joined in and ran about among the lodges, carrying
their guns as though they were so many sticks!" Abbott exclaimed.
"They did better than that in our Sliding Beaver fight," I said.
"So they did, and they probably will be of some help when another real
fight takes place. I have just given them my opinion of their actions in
a way they will not soon forget," said my uncle.
We washed and had breakfast while the old men still sang their quaint
song of victory. Afterwards, when we went out, old Lame Wolf was cutting
the claws from his coup. He did not want the hide, nor did we; the hair
was the old, sunburned, and ragged winter coat. So the engagés hitched
an unwilling team to the carcass, dragged it to the edge of the
river-bank, and rolled it into the water. They all then went down into
the grove, and the Tennessee Twins came up from it for their breakfast
and their sleep. The night had been quiet down there. One of them had
come to learn the cause of the firing in camp and had gone back, my
uncle said, almost bursting with anger at the cowardly and disgraceful
exhibition the engagés had made of themselves.
That day Pitamakan and I had Tsistsaki waken us shortly before noon, and
when my uncle and Abbott returned to the lodge for dinner we proposed
that we be allowed to go to meet the Pikuni and bring them on--a part of
the warriors, at any rate--with all haste.
Abbott said he thought we should do that, but my uncle decided against
it. If we did not night-herd the horses, he said, they could not work.
He thought that the Pikuni would arrive in time to fight the
cut-throats.
"I think you are making a mistake, Wesley; you had better let them go
for help; we'll probably be needing it sooner than you think," Abbott
told him.
If my uncle had a fault, it was that he relied too much upon his own
judgment. In reply to Abbott he merely said: "No, we'll take a chance on
another day of good, hard work. Then if the Pikuni don't show up, the
boys can go look for them."
Pitamakan and I had not much enthusiasm for the afternoon work, and
when, about two o'clock, the old Mandans came to us and told us that
they were going to scatter out upon discovery we so longed to go with
them that we fairly hated our log-laying. Tsistsaki stood by, watching
us with pitying eyes, but my uncle, never noticing our dissatisfaction,
whistled as he skillfully swung his axe.
"Thomas, boy," he said, "this log-laying reminds me of a church-raising
that I attended long ago, 'way back in the States. It was a little log
meeting-house that they were putting up, and your father and I lent a
hand with the chinking. Your grandfather was the preacher of that sparse
congregation, and a mighty man with the axe as well as with the Word."
"How did you happen to leave the States?" I asked.
"Your father and I were different," he answered. "Somehow, the farm life
there did not appeal to us. We made a break for the West. Your father,
poor fellow, never got beyond St. Louis. If he had only come on with me!
How he would have enjoyed this life!"
"You know well why he didn't come," I said.
"Of course. It was your mother, dear soul! He promised her that he would
never engage in the Far West trade, and he was a man of his word."
During the afternoon we brought the walls of the building up to a height
of five logs,--about the height of my shoulder,--and as we knocked off
work my uncle said, "Two more rounds of logs, well chinked, and we'll
have a pretty respectable defense against the enemy."
Returning to the barricade, we found that three of the Mandans had come
back, unnoticed by us. They reported that they had been some distance up
the Musselshell Valley and had seen no signs of enemies. Later, while we
were eating supper, old Lame Wolf and his companion came in, and the
moment they passed through the doorway I knew from the expression of
their faces that they had something important to tell. They hurriedly
took seats upon my couch, and Lame Wolf signed to my uncle: "Far
Thunder, chief, enemies are here! We climbed to the top of the point
between the two valleys, the point there across from the grove, and upon
the very top of it found where enemies have been lying, looking down and
watching us!"
"Probably a small war party, too small to attack us and gone upon their
way," my uncle answered.
"Not so! Decidedly not so!" the old man signed on. "They have watched
there for several days--at least five men. They sneaked away when they
saw us coming. Why did they do that when they could easily have
surprised and killed us? Because they are the scouts of a multitude
coming to attack us, and are to tell the chiefs just how to do it."
"I believe that the old man is right!" Abbott exclaimed.
"He may be, but I doubt it," said my uncle. "Up there is the lookout
place for all the war parties passing along this great trail. I doubt
not that one was recently there. I can't believe, however, that five or
six enemies withdrew from the point upon the approach of these two old
men. Had they been there at that time, they would certainly never have
overlooked such an easy opportunity to count two coups."
"Well, whether you believe they are right or not, I advise you to keep a
good guard round the barricade to-night and to keep the horses in, too,"
said Abbott.
"The horses must go out to feed as usual. In any event, they will be
safe off there upon the dark plain."
Abbott threw out his hands with a gesture of despair. "All right, you
for it! I've said my say."
Old Lame Wolf, of course, understood nothing of what was being said. He
waited until the talk apparently was ended, got my uncle's attention
once more and signed, "What shall you do?"
"We shall some of us stand watch with you to-night," my uncle answered.
"That is good. Be sure that the loud-mouthed gun is well loaded and
ready to fire," the old man concluded, and the two went out to their
evening meal.
When supper was over, my uncle called the engagés together, told them
the old Mandans believed that the enemy might attack us during the
night, and ordered them to look well to their guns. He then called the
names of those he wanted for extra guard duty, and of those who were to
help him with the cannon. But to this plan Tsistsaki made strong
objection.
"No," she said; "let each man use his rifle. We will help with the gun."
And my uncle promised that she should have her way.
As Pitamakan and I were preparing to take the horses out, I had a last
word with my uncle.
"If you are attacked to-night, what shall we do?" I asked.
"I would not be sending you out if I believed that was to happen.
However, if it does happen, you must do the best you can; your own
judgment must guide you," he answered.