Footgear often proclaimed the tribal relation, the peculiar cut and
decoration of the moccasin denoting a man’s tribe. The war-shirt was
frequently ornamented to represent the life story of the man wearing it.
The breast contained a prayer for protection, and on the back might be
found woven in beaded tapestry the symbols of victory. He had conquered
the trail behind him. The shirt was often decorated with a fringe of
human hair, the more warlike appending the scalps of the slain. The
warrior wore no regalia so imposing as his war-bonnet with its crown of
golden eagle feathers. Before the coming of the horse the flap at the
back rarely extended below the waist, but when the warriors came to be
mounted, the ruff of feathers was so lengthened that when the Indian was
dismounted it trailed on the ground. The making of a war-bonnet was
accompanied by song and ceremony. Each feather before it was placed in
position was held in the hand and had recounted over it the story of some
war honour. A bonnet could not be made without the consent of all the
warriors and it stood as a record of tribal valour and a special mark of
distinction granted to the man by his tribe. Every Indian takes great joy
in laying out his colour scheme. It becomes a mosaic of artistic talent.
Feathers are gathered from the eagles’ flight. Skins are taken from the
wild beasts. Bones, beads, sparkling metals, soft-tinted sea shells, and
all of them blended with the varicoloured paints that he has compounded in
nature’s mortar. The woman enters into the work with intelligent zest,
and when completed the whole array of blended colours is beyond the
criticism of the tribe. The back of an Indian’s war-bonnet and war-shirt
is always more gaudy and sumptuous than the front view and this because
when Indians pass each other their salutation is brief and formal. They
ride right on. But after the meeting they turn in the saddle and look
back to take an inventory. The wealth of the Indian, his position in the
tribe, his ceremonial attainment are all passed upon and estimate entered.
This colour scheme goes on through the entire Indian wardrobe to pipe
sack, coup stick and moccasins. The Indian could not have received his
suggestion for a colour scheme from the tinted leaves of autumn for they
are dull in comparison. He may have had a hint from the glowing sunsets
that in that western land fill earth and sky with a glory so transcendent
that mere rhetoric is a profanation. More likely is it that when free and
unrestrained he roamed over plain and hill his soul became enamoured with
the dazzling array of colours, beyond the genius of the proudest palette,
to be found in the marvellous formations that surround the great geysers
of the Yellowstone, colours more exquisitely beautiful than the supremest
refinement of art. Every-whither down the cone-shaped mounds are tiny
steam-heated rivulets interlacing each other, edged with gold and
vermilion and turquoise and orange and opal. Indian trails have been
found also interlacing each other all through this wonderland. Deep
furrows in the grassy slopes of these ancient footprints are still plainly
visible. Thither we may believe came the red man imbued with the spirit of
reverence and awe before all this majesty and beauty, and from this
exhaustless laboratory claimed the vivid colouring for the expression of
his life of faith.
[A Sunset in Camp]