The story of this war-scarred Gros Ventres veteran emphasizes with double
pathos the many times expressed sentiment of this book that the Indian is
a vanishing race, for he died within two weeks after returning home from
the last Great Indian Council. His words, therefore, are deeply
significant: “I feel sad at the thought of not meeting these chiefs again,
for I would like to meet them all once more, but I feel pretty sure we
will never meet again.”
Chief Running Fisher had measured threescore years of life, and for forty
years of that time he had averaged a battle for every other year. Battles
in Canada, battles in the mountains, and battles on the plains. He had
fought the Sioux, the Blackfeet, the Nez Perce, the Crows, the Shoshones,
and the Piegans. He said: “I have twenty shots in my body received in
battle. I have had my arm broken and wrist sprained. A bullet went right
through one of my arms. In early days I fought with the bow and arrow.
In one battle I killed two men, shooting a single arrow through them both.
The greatest event of my life occurred when I was shot at the battle of
Big Spring and left for dead on the field. My friends kept back the enemy
as long as they could and when they saw that I did not revive they left
me. I was bleeding from the inside, a coughing of blood out of the throat
brought me to. When I came to I found the enemy had departed and I
followed the tracks of my own tribe. Some of my friends were shot and I
could see by the blood stains on the snow the path they had taken. I was
nineteen years of age at this time. It was a long time before I overtook
the band. They travelled much faster than I could, but I finally reached
the camp and recovered. We had no surgeons and but little care. Every
Indian had to be his own doctor. I will tell you about another close call
I had. The event that I am now about to relate is the main thing that
makes a chief out of a warrior. We had a fight with the Piegans. One of
the Piegans had a gun and a dagger, one in each hand. This Piegan ran at
me and I ran at him. As we came together I grabbed the Piegan’s gun with
one hand and his dagger with the other and as I warded off his charge, his
gun was fired, and I took the gun and the dagger away from him. Then my
friends rushed to my rescue and killed the Piegan and scalped him.”
Turning from battles and wounds, let this old chieftain recur to his
boyhood days: “I remember when I was quite a boy the wonderful sun dance.
It greatly impressed me. I could not understand it and I asked my father
about it and he told me that I could not take part in the sun dance until
I had earned my title as a warrior. The sun dance is a custom among the
Indians which seeks to elevate a spirit of honour among men as well as
women. No young woman dare take part in the sun dance unless she is
virtuous, for she is sure to be pointed out and put to shame, and if she
does not take part, then suspicion falls upon her and she is likewise put
to shame. The men emulate the deeds of their fathers in order that they
may take part in the sun dance. And thus this wonderful dance becomes a
school for patriotism among the tribes and a stimulus to deeds of valour
as well as an incentive to virtue. I do not think that anything has ever
made a stronger impression upon me than the sun dance. It was always held
in May, a beautiful time of the year, and as we young people watched the
various phases of the dance, both young men and young women desired to do
right that we might have our share in this wonderful ceremony.”
This passing allusion to one of the great Indian rites and its influence
upon Indian character may lead the reader to follow further into this
weird enactment.
Another chieftain has been folded in his blanket. The war-bonnet and
war-shirt he wears in the picture we made of him were laid beside him in
his last sleep, emblems of his last battle and tokens of his final
conquest.
[Chief Bull Snake]