Far stretches of prairie, winding watercourses, leagues of white desert
with only the clouds in the sky and the shadow of the clouds on the
blistering sand, an army of buttes and crags, storm carved, forests whose
primeval stillness mocks the calendar of man, the haunts of the eagle, the
antelope, the deer and the buffalo—and the edge of the curtain is lifted
on the land where the Indian roamed and where he made his home.
Game has been found, a semi-circle of cone-shaped tepees dot the green of
the plain; a stream, tree-fringed, fresh from the mountains, flows by the
camp—a camp that in earlier times was pitched upon some tableland as an
outlook for the enemy, white or red. Horses are browsing near at hand or
far afield; old warriors and medicine men sit in the shade and smoke the
long-stemmed, red sandstone pipe, and tell of the days of yore. Gayly
clad figures dart hither and yon as the women are bent upon their tasks.
Great loads of wood are brought into camp on an Indian woman’s back. She
carries water from the river, bakes the cake, upturned against the fire,
boils the coffee and then all are seated on the ground when they partake
of jerked beef, coffee, bread, and berries. Hands are better than knives
and forks, one cup answers for many, and the strip of dried beef is passed
along that all may cut off his desired portion. A noisy, gleeful group of
children play with their dolls and their dogs—dogs that are made to serve
as beasts of burden and instruments of torture. At night beds are made on
the ground around the interior circle of the tepee and the chill of frost
is driven out by a fire in the very centre—the most perfectly ventilated
structure in the world—the air passing underneath the edge of the tepee in
the loop where it is tied at the bottom of the poles, then passing on out
through the opening at the top, carrying with it all dust and smoke. The
Indian never knew anything about tuberculosis until the white man confined
him in log cabins where a score of people live in one room, the cracks and
keyhole entirely filled, and where they breath each other over times
without number. Within the tepee the chief has the place of honour. A
rest is made with supports like an easel. A lattice-work of slender willow
rods passed down the front, which is covered by a long strip of buffalo
hide. Against this the chief rests. Each member of the family has his
allotted place inside the lodge and he may decorate his own section
according to ability or fancy. Here the warrior hangs his war-bonnet and
sometimes records his achievements in the chase or on the warpath. Lying
all about the circle are many highly coloured parflesche bags containing
the minor details of dress or any personal possession. Many of the tepees
in an Indian village are embellished with Indian paintings setting forth
the heroic deeds of the warriors who abide in the lodge. The figures are
often grotesque and without parallel in the realm of art. The medicine is
given a conspicuous place in the lodge. No one sits or lies down on the
side of the tepee where they have placed the medicine of the household,
and when they pass it on entering or leaving the lodge all heads are
bowed. The medicine tepee is distinct from all others. It is painted a
maroon, with a moon in green surrounded by a yellow circle. The medicine
of the ordinary Indian family is hung over the entrance of the doorway or
suspended on a pole, and may consist of a wolf skin or a dark blanket
rolled in oblong fashion containing the sacred tokens of the family.
Every Indian family takes pride in the ownership of a bevy of dogs. They
are rich in dogs. In our camp of about thirty tepees a reliable Indian
estimated that there were over three hundred dogs. These canines have
free run of the lodge, and at night they crawl in under the edge of the
canvas and sleep by their Indian master. Let an intruder enter the camp
during the hours of darkness and they rush out simultaneously, howling
like a pack of wolves until one might think the bowels of the earth had
given forth an eruption of dogs. The Indian warrior makes a companion of
his dog, and he can show no greater hospitality to a guest than to kill
his favourite friend and serve his visitor with dog soup. To refuse this
diet is an insult most vital.
[An Indian Burden Bearer]