IN THE BLACKFOOT COUNTRY.
One keen, sunny afternoon in autumn, a certain Indian youth executed a
war dance among the foothills to the east of the Rocky Mountains. The
only spectator of the fantastic performance was a superb black
stallion, who, so far as can be judged, found a good deal of
entertainment in the sight. It was long before the days of kodaks and
their snapshots, which add so much to our enjoyment of everyday
incidents.
Although Deerfoot did not waste any time, it took him a fortnight to
thread his way through that immense range which ribs the western part
of our continent. After using the last of the crimson berries that
benefited his sprain so much, he spent several hours in hunting for the
herb; but search high and low as much as he might, he not only failed
to find it, but was never able to discover the fruit in any part of the
West.
On the morning following his first encampment in the mountain pass he
found himself strong enough, by using care, to walk upon the hurt
ankle. He was too wise to push matters too fast, which fact, added to
his perfect physical condition and the effect of the herb, carried him
swiftly along the road to recovery. At the end of a week not a trace of
lameness remained. He was cured.
His prudence restrained him until he emerged from the mountain proper
into the foothills, when, knowing he was as strong as ever, he indulged
in the exuberant outburst. Leaving his blanket upon the back of
Whirlwind, but holding his rifle in one hand, Deerfoot leaped into the
air, spun around first on one foot and then the other, sent his shapely
legs flying seemingly in a dozen different directions at the same
moment, swung his arms, bent his body, cavorted and made contortions
that would have honored a professional acrobat. Not only that, but he
punctuated the extravagant display by a series of whoops such as had
nerved the Shawanoe warriors many a time to rush into battle.
All this time Whirlwind stood calmly watching the performance. It is
reasonable to believe he was interested, and had he possessed the power
of laughter he would have thrown back his head and "cracked his sides"
at the sight. What a pity that George and Victor Shelton could not have
peeped out from some concealment. They would have remembered the
picture all their lives.
Only by this grotesque exercise could the young Shawanoe find vent for
his overflowing spirits. There is nothing in all the world that can
take the place of physical vigor and health--a truth which unnumbered
thousands do not realize until too late. Temperance, right living,
obedience to the laws of hygiene, and a clear conscience, never fail to
bring their reward and to give to this life a foretaste of the blessed
one to come.
Deerfoot had chosen an open space, walled in by rocks, boulders and
stunted undergrowth for his physical outburst. When the performance had
gone on for some time, he danced up to the side of Whirlwind and
planted one of his feet against his ribs so sharply that the stallion
was forced back for a step. Instantly he wheeled, partly reared and
struck at his insulter, but he was so afraid of hitting him that the
blow was awkward and missed the Shawanoe by a goodly distance. As he
dropped on his feet, Deerfoot darted under his belly and repeated the
blow from the other side. The white teeth of the steed snapped within a
few inches of the shoulder of the youth, who slapped the nose before it
could be withdrawn.
Whirlwind wheeled to face his master, who landed lightly on his back
and pounded his sides with his heels. The contest recalled that other
struggle between the two, months before on the prairie, when it was a
battle royal indeed. But the great difference lay in the fact that the
present one was good-natured on both sides, and it is easy to believe
that the stallion wished the youth to prove himself once again his
master. An intelligent animal loves to obey him who has proved his
superiority.
There is no telling all that was done by the Shawanoe. He sharply
pinched the glossy hide. He griped the nostrils of the steed as if to
shut off his breath, but was too considerate to continue this long,
since the horse seems unable to breathe through his mouth. He placed
his hand and forearm over the eyes of Whirlwind as if he meant to play
blind-man's buff with him. He yanked the forelock and reproached him as
being of no account.
The stallion did his part in the way of defense and retaliation, but he
was continually handicapped by his dread of hurting his master. And yet
it would seem that, recalling that other conflict, he ought to have had
no such apprehension, for he had done his best on that occasion to kill
the Indian youth, who was not harmed at all, and overcame the creature
that possessed ten times his strength.
Whirlwind showed signs of fatigue before Deerfoot did. A comparatively
clear path stretched in front. Dropping from the back of the horse, the
Shawanoe challenged him to a race. Bounding off at his highest bent,
the youth dashed across the country with the speed of the wind. He ran
as he did when on the second half of his race with Ralph Genther.
Ah, Whirlwind had him now! No danger of hurting his audacious master,
except so far as his feelings were concerned, and the stallion did not
spare them. Despite the favorable ground, more than one boulder or
bunch of matted undergrowth had to be leaped, and the two went over
them like a couple of flying birds. But the steed steadily drew away
from the fleet Shawanoe, who at the end of two or three hundred yards,
finding himself hopelessly to the rear, gave up.
"Deerfoot is only a child when he races with Whirlwind; have mercy on
him."
Hearing his call, the steed ceased his running, wheeled about and
waited for his master to come up. Deerfoot patted him affectionately
and vaulted upon his back, happy as he could be over the triumph of his
matchless animal that was as well pleased as he.
The journey through the Rocky Mountains was accompanied by many
interesting experiences which cannot be dwelt upon. It need hardly be
said that so peerless a hunter as the young Shawanoe never lacked for
food. That region is still a royal one for game, and it was such to a
more marked degree a century ago. Antelope, deer, bison and the famous
Rocky Mountain sheep were often seen, and when Deerfoot felt the need
of the food it was simple sport to obtain it.
One day, while walking in front of Whirlwind, he came upon an enormous
grizzly bear that seemed disposed to dispute their way. The stallion
trembled with fear, but his master soothed him and prepared for a
desperate fight. Deerfoot never killed an animal in wantonness, and,
though he did not doubt that he could overcome this colossal terror, he
preferred to make a detour of the broad pass and leave him undisputed
monarch of the solitude.
But, if the youth showed mercy to animals, he was not so considerate of
reptiles--especially when they crawled the earth. He detested a serpent
with unspeakable disgust, and believed he was doing good work in
reducing, as opportunity presented, the noxious pests. His experience
with the rattlesnake which caused his wrenched ankle did not lessen
this hatred of the species. When, therefore, a warning rattle told him
one afternoon that he had disturbed another of the venomous things
beside the path, his enmity flared up. No fear of the Shawanoe being
caught unawares, as when climbing the wall of the canyon, for he had
slain too many of the reptiles in his distant home not to understand
their nature. Whirlwind, like all of his kind, had a mortal dread of
every species of serpents, and he showed his timidity the moment the
locust-like whirring sounded from the bush at the side of the path the
two were following.
Deerfoot caught sight of the hideous reptile, which was evidently
gliding over the earth when it detected his approach. It instantly
threw itself into coil, and with its flat triangular head upraised and
slowly oscillating back and forth, waited for the intruder to come
within reach of its deadly fangs.
Deerfoot uttered an expression of astonishment, for it was the largest
specimen upon which he had ever looked, and he had seen many of
enormous size. He stood for a few minutes, surveying the horrible
thing, a single bite from which would have been fatal to man or animal.
It would have been easy to clip off its head with a rifle shot from
where he stood, but he scorned to waste powder and ball upon its
species. Three stones, almost the size of his fist, did the work
effectually. When no semblance of life remained, Deerfoot approached
nigh enough to count the rattles. They were twenty-eight in number. The
time was near for serpents and bears to take to winter quarters, and
the fate of this extraordinary _crotalus_ forcibly illustrated the
truth that delays are often dangerous.
Several times on the road, Deerfoot met those of his own race.
Sometimes they were warriors riding their ponies, and again they were
on foot. The Indian seems to be migratory by nature, and many of these
families were shifting their homes, apparently in obedience to the
yearning for change which is not confined to uncivilized people alone.
It is worthy of note that the Shawanoe not once had any trouble with
these strangers. They were hospitable and made their meaning known by
the universal sign language. Whirlwind could not fail to draw much
admiration, and Deerfoot saw more than one envious eye cast on the
stallion. It may have been due to the Shawanoe's caution and tact that
no attempt was made to rob him of his treasure.
Winter was near, and, though only one or two flurries of snow were
encountered, the temperature often sank below the freezing point. Soon
after entering the foothills a driving storm of sleet set in which
stopped progress on the part of the Shawanoe and his horse. The youth
sought out the most sheltered nook he could find among the rocks and
kept a fire going. While he felt no discomfort himself, his companion
suffered considerably. He often slept on his feet, but now and then lay
down. Deerfoot compelled him to share his blanket, and this, with the
warmth of the blaze, did much to make the steed comfortable. It was
difficult at times for him to obtain grazing, and Deerfoot gave him
aid, as he did months before, when suffering from his lamed knee.
Several days later the youth left the side of the stallion and climbed
to the top of a rocky elevation, which commanded an extensive view in
every direction. His eye had roved over the expanse but a few minutes
when it rested on an Indian village that lay a dozen miles to the
northeast. Adjusting the spyglass he carefully studied the collection
of tepees, which numbered about a hundred, scattered over several
acres. At the rear stretched a forest, and in front flowed a large,
winding stream that eventually found its outlet in some of the
tributaries of the Missouri.
The question with the Shawanoe was whether or not this was the village
he was seeking. Since he had never seen it before, and since it was the
custom of all Indian tribes to locate near running water, he could not
make certain on that point from the description given by Mul-tal-la.
The glass was an excellent one, and through its aid he could discern
the figures of people moving aimlessly hither and thither. He saw two
men enter a canoe, formed from a hollowed log, and paddle to the other
side of the stream, where they stepped out and advanced into a rocky
wood. He thought one of these warriors carried a gun and the other a
bow, but could not assure himself on that point. At the rear of the
village, in a large open space, fully a score of boys and girls were
playing with as much vigor as if they were civilized. They seemed to
have a ball that was knocked to and fro and chased by the happy
contestants, who often tumbled over one another and again were piled up
like so many foot-ball players.
Knowing he might gaze and speculate for hours without gaining any
certain knowledge, Deerfoot was about to lower his instrument when he
observed three horsemen emerging from the settlement and riding in
Indian file toward him. He decided to go forward and meet them, for
they could give the information he was so anxious to obtain.
Within the following hour the Shawanoe, riding Whirlwind, came face to
face with the horsemen, whom he recognized from their dress and general
appearance as Blackfeet. He saluted and addressed them in their own
tongue, causing manifest surprise. They replied to his signs and
expressions of good-will and checked their animals to hear what he had
to say. Let us interpret the conversation with more than usual freedom.
"Do my brothers belong to the Blackfoot tribe of red men?" asked
Deerfoot.
"We are of that tribe," replied the one who acted as leader.
"I come from the Shawanoes, who live a long way toward the rising sun."
"Why does the Shawanoe travel so far from the lodges of his people?"
"I am seeking friends who are with the Blackfeet. They left many moons
ago, but parted company with me in the land of the Nez Perces. I am
trying to join them. They are two pale-faced lads who have as their
guide a good Blackfoot, Mul-tal-la, that has made the long journey to
the home of the Shawanoes."
Upon hearing these words the latter turned his head and spoke for
several minutes to his companions, but his words were so low that
Deerfoot could not overhear them.
"Is Mul-tal-la in the home of my brothers?"
"No," was the response. "He does not live there."
"Where does he live?"
Instead of directly answering this question the Blackfoot leader said:
"He lives in another village. What is the name of his chief?"
"He told me it was Taggarak."
"He is the great war chief of the Blackfeet. There is no sachem or
chief like him. His arm is powerful and has slain many Assiniboines and
Nez Perces and Shoshones."
"The words of my brothers were told to me long ago by Mul-tal-la. I am
sure they are true. Where shall I seek Taggarak?"
The Blackfoot pointed to the northwest.
"Ride that way till night comes and the sun is again overhead, and he
will look upon the village of Taggarak and the home of Mul-tal-la."
This was acceptable information, but a vague fear caused Deerfoot to
inquire further.
"Have my brothers seen Mul-tal-la since he came home from his long
journey?"
"No; we have heard that he has come back, but he did not bring his
comrade with him."
"Have my brothers met the pale-faced youths who went to the village of
Taggarak?"
"No; we have not seen them, nor have we heard of them."
This was discomforting news, for it would seem that if tidings had come
of the return of Mul-tal-la, something also would have been said of his
companions, who belonged to another race. Deerfoot asked only a few
more questions, when he bade the Blackfeet good-bye and set out to hunt
the village of the war chief Taggarak, where, if all had gone well, he
would meet Mul-tal-la and the brothers, George and Victor Shelton.