CURIOSITIES AROUND PAINT ROCKS
For two days we camped among the Paint Rocks, studying them, but could
find nothing that indicated battle or fighting. Neither did we find any
dead, nor graves, nor even bones. If, like the Crows, they buried in the
trees, the last trace was gone. There were no mounds of earth, or
indications of earth burials. The rocks were mostly covered with
likenesses of nude men, women, and children, and with emblems. In places
the artist evidently stood on some elevation of wood or stone, for the
carving was higher than the average man could reach. Along a crest of
sandstone I saw some very odd formations; they looked like huge inverted
cones, that some giant sculptor had carved there. Perhaps they were
formed by the erosion of centuries, or it may have been the wear caused
by the rubbing of the buffaloes, for we found many of their bones
there, and I have often seen telegraph poles rubbed to the breaking
point. When the buffalo is annoyed by buffalo gnats and his great coat
is filled with mud and sand, he soon wears away a pretty strong pole.
This was a strange place, and in our search we found geodes, petrified
snakes, and short sections of fish. We also found several petrified
jaw-bones, of what looked to be wolves, still containing the teeth, and
fossils of many kinds. Some looked like vegetables, some were hexagonal,
and some looked as though made of floor tiling. We found many water and
moss agates of various sizes. The ground was covered with some meteoric
rock full of iron.
Here we passed the day hunting for some graves, but it was no use. Tree
burial seems to have been their method of disposing of the dead. In this
method of burial the body is taken to some low bushy tree, rolled in
fine robes and blankets, and with green strips of elk hide, wrapped to
two or more limbs. This secures it very firmly, and as the sun and wind
dry out the skin the thongs tighten, until only years of sun and rain,
mice and bugs, eat away the thongs, and the blankets, bones, and skins
are carried away by the wind. In this method of burial the body lasts
about twenty years or less.
We were tired and hungry when we returned to camp, but we soon had a
blazing fire with all the odors of good things on the breeze. Just as we
sat down to eat, I heard a horse's footfall, and turned to see who it
was. A young brave rode into the trail, and I caught up my gun. His
hands went up like a flash giving me the sign of a Crow. As all the
hunters and trappers in the west, north and south of the Yellowstone
River, know the Crows to be peaceful, I put up my gun and gave him the
sign that I understood what he said.
Young braves are always the very hardest members of the tribe to engage
in conversation, except a young girl of marriageable age. Both do all
their courting by making eyes at each other.
I knew him. He was a chief's son. Years before I had got some papers to
Washington for his father. Also I knew he could talk some broken English
and Crow, and was a superb sign talker.
We began to eat and I made signs for him to picket his horse and join us
at supper. I knew he was trailing the camp outfit, which had gone and
was many miles away by this time. He pretended not to understand, but
looking much disappointed, started to ride away. I hailed him and told
him to go back and get his packs, and come have supper with us, and
picket his horses with ours. His face remained blank, and he showed no
sign of understanding till I added that I was a friend of the Little
Bear chief, and had kept the officers from arresting his braves at Razor
Creek many moons ago. Then his face lighted up. "Ugh, me see you before.
How you know me got pack horses? You no see 'em."
"Never mind, I know Injin," I replied, "I heap plenty see."
He turned down the trail and soon returned with three good looking
packs, well loaded. I showed him a good place to unpack and he made
short work of it. And then what a supper that Indian did eat!
After supper I told him the story of the Reil rebellion in Canada, and
how when they got whipped the halfbreeds and Indians came across the
line into the United States; and the history of his grandfather, the Big
Bear, and his father, the Little Bear. All of this amused him and put
him on very easy terms for the night. I asked him why he would not talk
with me when he first came up.
He said, "Sometimes Injin say too much. Me no talk much. Better so. Some
white man want to know heap too much. You my friend. You Little Bear
friend, my papa."
"Yes," I said, "I understand, but you can talk like the pale face some,
and you have a Cree alphabet."
"Me no can say what you mean," he replied.
I took a paper and showed him some of the letters which ran like this
[Illustrations: Triangular Symbols]
"Yes, me heap understand."
"I got some letters from Canada, which were written to your father. Your
sister read them to me in English, and I sent letters to the Great
Father at Washington, to get a place for your tribe with the Crows."
"Yes, me heap savy now," he said.
[Illustration: ROCKY MOUNTAIN BIG HORN]