WE were encamped at one time on the Souris or Mouse river, a tributary
of the Assiniboine. The buffaloes were still plenty; hence we were
living on the “fat of the land.” One afternoon a scout came in with the
announcement that a body of United States troops was approaching! This
report, of course, caused much uneasiness among our people.
A council was held immediately, in the course of which the scout was put
through a rigid examination. Before a decision had been reached, another
scout came in from the field. He declared that the moving train reported
as a body of troops was in reality a train of Canadian carts.
The two reports differed so widely that it was deemed wise to send
out more runners to observe this moving body closely, and ascertain
definitely its character. These soon returned with the positive
information that the Canadians were at hand, “for,” said they, “there
are no bright metals in the moving train to send forth flashes of light.
The separate bodies are short, like carts with ponies, and not like the
long, four-wheeled wagon drawn by four or six mules, that the soldiers
use. They are not buffaloes, and they cannot be mounted troops, with
pack-mules, because the individual bodies are too long for that.
Besides, the soldiers usually have their chief, with his guards, leading
the train; and the little chiefs are also separated from the main body
and ride at one side!”
From these observations it was concluded that we were soon to meet with
the bois brules, as the French call their mixed-bloods, presumably from
the color of their complexions. Some say that they are named from the
“burned forests” which, as wood-cutters, they are accustomed to leave
behind them. Two or three hours later, at about sunset, our ears began
to distinguish the peculiar music that always accompanied a moving train
of their carts. It is like the grunting and squealing of many animals,
and is due to the fact that the wheels and all other parts of these
vehicles are made of wood. Our dogs gleefully augmented the volume of
inharmonious sound.
They stopped a little way from our camp, upon a grassy plain, and the
ponies were made to wheel their clumsy burdens into a perfect
circle, the shafts being turned inward. Thus was formed a sort of
barricade--quite a usual and necessary precaution in their nomadic and
adventurous life. Within this circle the tents were pitched, and many
cheerful fires were soon kindled. The garcons were hurriedly driving
the ponies to water, with much cracking of whips and outbursting of
impatient oaths.
Our chief and his principal warriors briefly conferred with the
strangers, and it was understood by both parties that no thought of
hostilities lurked in the minds of either.
After having observed the exchange of presents that always follows
a “peace council,” there were friendly and hospitable feasts in both
camps. The bois brules had been long away from any fort or trading-post,
and it so happened that their inevitable whiskey keg was almost empty.
They had diluted the few gills remaining with several large kettles full
of water. In order to have any sort of offensive taste, it was necessary
to add cayenne pepper and a little gentian.
Our men were treated to this concoction; and seeing that two or three
of the half-breeds pretended to become intoxicated, our braves followed
their example. They made night intolerable with their shouts and singing
until past midnight, when gradually all disturbance ceased, and both
camps appeared to be wrapped in deep slumber.
Suddenly the loud report of a gun stirred the sleepers. Many more
reports were heard in quick succession, all coming from the camp of the
bois brules. Every man among the Sioux sprang to his feet, weapon in
hand, and many ran towards their ponies. But there was one significant
point about the untimely firing of the guns--they were all directed
heavenward! One of our old men, who understood better than any one else
the manners of the half-breeds, thus proclaimed at the top of his voice:
“Let the people sleep! This that we have heard is the announcement of
a boy’s advent into the world! It is their custom to introduce with
gunpowder a new-born boy!”
Again quiet was restored in the neighboring camps, and for a time the
night reigned undisturbed. But scarcely had we fallen into a sound sleep
when we were for the second time rudely aroused by the firing of guns
and the yelling of warriors. This time it was discovered that almost all
the ponies, including those of our neighbors, had been stealthily driven
off by horse-thieves of another tribe.
These miscreants were adepts in their profession, for they had
accomplished their purpose with much skill, almost under the very eyes
of the foe, and had it not been for the invincible superstition of Slow
Dog, they would have met with complete success. As it was, they caused
us no little trouble and anxiety, but after a hot pursuit of a whole
day, with the assistance of the halfbreeds our horses were recaptured.
Slow Dog was one of those Indians who are filled with conceit, and
boasting loudly their pretensions as medicine men, without any success,
only bring upon themselves an unnecessary amount of embarrassment and
ridicule. Yet there is one quality always possessed by such persons,
among a savage people as elsewhere--namely, great perseverance and
tenacity in their self-assertion. So the blessing of ignorance kept Slow
Dog always cheerful; and he seemed, if anything, to derive some pleasure
from the endless insinuations and ridicule of the people!
Now Slow Dog had loudly proclaimed, on the night before this event, that
he had received the warning of a bad dream, in which he had seen all the
ponies belonging to the tribe stampeded and driven westward.
“But who cares for Slow Dog’s dream?” said everybody; “none of the
really great medicine men have had any such visions!”
Therefore our little community, given as they were to superstition,
anticipated no special danger. It is true that when the first scout
reported the approach of troops some of the people had weakened, and
said to one another:
“After all, perhaps poor Slow Dog may be right; but we are always too
ready to laugh at him!”
However, this feeling quickly passed away when the jovial Canadians
arrived, and the old man was left alone to brood upon his warning.
He was faithful to his dream. During all the hilarity of the feast and
the drinking of the mock whiskey, be acted as self-constituted sentinel.
Finally, when everybody else had succumbed to sleep, he gathered
together several broken and discarded lariats of various
materials--leather, buffalo’s hair and horse’s hair. Having lengthened
this variegated rope with innumerable knots, he fastened one end of it
around the neck of his old war-horse, and tied the other to his wrist.
Instead of sleeping inside the tent as usual, he rolled himself in a
buffalo robe and lay down in its shadow. From this place he watched
until the moon had disappeared behind the western horizon; and just as
the grey dawn began to appear in the east his eyes were attracted to
what seemed to be a dog moving among the picketed ponies. Upon a closer
scrutiny, he saw that its actions were unnatural.
“Toka abe do! toka abe do!” (the enemy! the enemy!) exclaimed Slow Dog.
With a warwhoop he sprang toward the intruder, who rose up and leaped
upon the back of Slow Dog’s warsteed. He had cut the hobble, as well as
the device of the old medicine man.
The Sioux now bent his bow to shoot, but it was too late. The other
quickly dodged behind the animal, and from under its chest he sent a
deadly arrow to Slow Dog’s bosom. Then he remounted the pony and set off
at full speed after his comrades, who had already started.
As the Sioux braves responded to the alarm, and passed by the daring old
warrior in pursuit of their enemies, who had stampeded most of the loose
ponies, the old man cried out:
“I, brave Slow Dog, who have so often made a path for you on the field
of battle, am now about to make one to the land of spirits!”
So speaking, the old man died. The Sioux were joined in the chase by the
friendly mixedbloods, and in the end the Blackfeet were compelled to pay
dearly for the blood of the poor old man.
On that beautiful morning all Nature seemed brilliant and smiling, but
the Sioux were mourning and wailing for the death of one who had been
an object of ridicule during most of his life. They appreciated the part
that Slow Dog had played in this last event, and his memory was honored
by all the tribe.