"Where is Red Wolf?" asked Curtis.
"He is away with Tailfeathers to keep the cowboys from our land. We are
growing afraid, Little Father."
"We will talk more of that by-and-by--we must now camp. Call your people
together and at mid-afternoon we will council," replied Curtis.
Driving a little above the village, Curtis found a sheltered spot behind
some low-growing pines and not far from the lake, and there they
hastened to camp. The news flew from camp to camp that the Little Father
was come, but no one crowded unseasonably to look at him. "We will
council," Many Coups announced, and began to array himself for the
ceremony. Horsemen galloped away to call Red Wolf and others who lived
down the valley. Never before had an agent visited them in their homes,
and they were disposed to make the most of it.
By the time the white people had eaten their lunch all the red women
were in their best dresses. The pappooses were shining with the
scrubbing they had suffered and each small warrior wore a cunning
buckskin coat elaborate with beads and quills. A semicircular wall of
canvas was being erected to shield the old men from the mountain wind,
and a detail of cooks had started in upon the task of preparing the
feast which would end the council.
Said Curtis: "You will find in this camp the Tetong comparatively
unchanged. Red Wolf's band is the most primitive encampment I know." A
few minutes later he added, "Here comes Many Coups and his son in
official garb."
The two chieftains greeted their visitors as if they had not hitherto
been seen--with all the dignity of ambassadors to a foreign court.
"Please treat them with the same formality," warned Curtis. "It will pay
you for the glimpse of the old-time ceremony."
The younger man was unpainted, save for some small blue figures on his
forehead. On his head he wore a wide Mexican hat which vastly became
him. His face was one of the handsomest and most typical of his race.
"This young man is the son of Many Coups, and is called Blue Fox, or
'The Southern Traveller,' because he has been down where the Mexicans
are. His hat he got there, and he is very proud of it," explained
Curtis.
Jennie gave each of them a cup of coffee and a biscuit, of which they
partook without haste, discussing meanwhile the coming council.
"We did not know you were coming; some of our people will not get here
in time," said Many Coups.
"To-night, after the council, we wish to dance," said Blue Fox, meaning
it as a request.
"It is forbidden in Washington to dance in the old way."
"We have heard of that, but we will dance for your wives. They will be
glad to see it."
"Very well, you may dance, but not too long. No war-dance--only the
visitors' dance."
"Ay, we understand," said Many Coups as he rose and drew his blanket
about him. "In one hour we will come to council. Red Wolf will be there,
and Hump Shoulder and his son. It may be others will return in time."
The women were delighted at the promise of both a council and a dance,
and Lawson unlimbered his camera in order to take some views of both
functions, though he expressed some dissatisfaction.
"The noble redman is thin and crooked in the legs," he said to Curtis.
"Why is this?"
"All the plains Indians, who ride the horse almost from their babyhood,
are bow-legged. They never walk, and they are seldom symmetrically
developed."
"They are significant, but not beautiful," said Lawson.
As they walked about the camp Elsie exclaimed: "This is the way all
redmen should live," and, indeed, the scene was very beautiful. They
were far above the agency, and the long valleys could be seen descending
like folds in a vast robe reaching to the plain. The ridges were dark
with pines for a space, but grew smooth and green at lower levels, and
at last melted into haze. The camp was a summer camp, and all about, in
pleasant places among the pines, stood the tepees, swarming with happy
children and puppies. Under low lodges of canvas or bowers of pine
branches the women were at work boiling meat or cooking a rude sort of
cruller. They were very shy, and mostly hung their heads as their
visitors passed, though they soon yielded to Jennie, who could speak a
few words to them.
"There's nothing in them for sculpture," said Parker, critically. "At
least not for beauty. They might be treated as Raffaelle paints--for
character."
"They grow heavy early," Jennie added, "but the little girls are
beautiful--see that little one!"
The crier, a tall old man, toothless and wrinkled and gray, began to cry
in a hollow, monotonous voice, "Come to the council place," and Curtis
led his flock to their places in the midst of the circle.
The council began with all the old-time forms, with gravity and decorum.
Red Wolf was in the centre, with Many Coups at his left. The pipe of
peace went round, and those whose minds were not yet prepared for speech
drew deep inspirations of the fragrant smoke in the hope that their
thoughts might be clarified, and when they lifted their eyes they seemed
not to perceive their visitors or those who passed to and fro among the
tepees. The sun, westering, fell with untempered light on their heads,
but they faced it with the calm unconcern of eagles.
To please his guests, Curtis allowed the utmost formality, and did not
hasten, interrupt, or excise. The speeches were translated into English
by Lawson, and at each telling point or period in Red Wolf's speech the
women looked at each other in surprise.
"Did he really say that?" asked Elsie. "Didn't you make it up?"
"Rather good for a ragamuffin, don't you think?" said Lawson, as the old
man took his seat.
Many Coups spoke slowly, sadly, as though half communing with himself,
with nothing of the bombast the visitors had expected, and he grew in
dignity and power as his thought began to make itself felt through his
interpreter.
"He is speaking for his race," remarked Lawson to Elsie.
"By Jove! the old fellow is a good lawyer!" cried Parker. "I don't see
any answer to his indictment."
Curtis sat listening as though each point the old man made were new--and
this attitude pleased the chieftains very much.
The speech, in its general tenor, was similar to many others he had
heard from thoughtful redmen. Briefly he described the time when the
redmen were happy in a land filled with deer and buffalo, before the
white man was. "We lived as the Great Spirit made us. Then the white man
came--and now we are bewildered with his commands. Our eyes are blinded,
we know not where to go. We know not whom to believe or trust. I am old,
I am going to my grave troubled over the fate of my children. Agents
come and go. The good ones go too soon--the bad ones stay too long, but
they all go. There is no one in whose care to leave my children. It is
better to die here in the hills than to live the slave of the white man,
ragged and spiritless, slinking about like a dog without a friend. We do
not want to make war any more--we ask only to live as our fathers lived,
and die here in the hills."
As he spoke these final tragic words his voice grew deep and trembled,
and Elsie felt some strong force gripping at her throat, and burning
tears filled her eyes. In the city it was easy to say, "The way of
civilization lies over the graves of the primitive races," but here,
under the sun, among the trees, when one of those about to die looked
over and beyond her to the hills as though choosing his grave--the
utterance of the pitiless phrase was difficult in any tone--impossible
in the boasting shout of the white promoter. She rose suddenly and
walked away--being ashamed of her tears, a painful constriction in her
throat.
The speakers who followed spoke in much the same way--all but Blue Fox,
who sharply insisted that the government should help them. "You have put
us here on barren land where we can only live by raising stock. You
should help us fence the reservation, and get us cattle to start with.
Then by-and-by we can build good houses and have plenty to eat. This is
right, for you have destroyed our game--and you will not let us go to
the mountains to hunt. You must do something besides furnish us ploughs
in a land where the rain does not come."
In answer to all this, Curtis replied, using the sign language. He
admitted that Red Wolf was right. "The Tetongs have been cheated, but
good days are coming. I am going to help you. I am going to stay with
you till you are safely on the white man's road. We intend to buy out
the settlers, and take the water in the streams so that you may raise
potatoes for your children, and you will then be glad because your
gardens will bear many things good to eat. Do not despair, the white
people are coming to understand the situation now. You have many
friends who will help."
As Many Coups rose and shook hands with the agent he was smiling again,
and he said, "Your words are good."
The old crier went forth again calling: "Come to the dance-hall. The
white people desire to see you dance. Come clothed in your best
garments."
Then the drum began to utter its spasmodic signal, and the herald's
voice sounded faint and far off as he descended the path to the second
group of tepees.
"Shall we go now?" asked Mrs. Parker.
"Oh no, it will be two hours before they begin. The young men must go
and dress. We have time to sup and smoke a pipe."
"Oh! I'm so glad we're going to see a real Indian dance. I didn't
suppose it could be seen now--not the real thing."
Lawson smiled. "You'll think this is the real thing before you get
inside the door. I've known tenderfeet to weaken at the last moment."
Parker pretended to be a little nervous. "Suppose they should get hold
of some liquor."
"This band is too far away from the white man to have his vices,"
replied Curtis with a slight smile. He had wondered at Elsie's going,
but concluded she had grown weary of the old chief's speech.
"There is great charm in this life," said Lawson, as they all gathered
before their tent and sat overlooking the village and the lake. "I
sometimes wonder whether we have not complicated life without adding to
the sum of human happiness."
"I'm thinking of this in winter," said Elsie. "O-o-o! It must be
terrible! No furnace, no bath-tubs."
The others laughed heartily at the sincerity of her shudder, and Curtis
said:
"Well, now, you'd be surprised to know how comfortable they keep in
their tepees. In the old skin tepee they were quite warm even on the
coldest days. They always camp in sheltered places out of the wind, and
where fuel is plenty."
"At the same time I prefer my own way of living to theirs--when winter
comes."
"I know something of your logic," replied Curtis. "But I think I
understand the reluctance of these people when asked to give up the old
things. I love their life--their daily actions--this man coiling a
lariat--that child's outline against the tepee--the smell of their fresh
bread--the smoke of their little fires. I can understand a Tetong when
he says: 'All this is as sweet to me as your own life--why should I give
it up?' Feeling as I do, I never insist on their giving up anything
which is not an impediment. I argue with them, and show that some of
their ways are evil or a hinderance in the struggle for life under new
conditions, and they always meet me half-way."
"Supper is ready," called Jennie, and his audience rose.
While still at meat, the drum, which had been sounding at intervals,
suddenly took on a wilder energy, followed immediately by a high,
shrill, yelping call, which was instantly augmented by a half-dozen
others, all as savage and startling as the sudden burst of howling from
a pack of wolves. This clamor fell away into a deep, throbbing chant,
only to rise again to the yelping, whimpering cries with which it began.
Every woman stiffened with terror, with wide eyes questioning Curtis.
"What is all that?"
"The opening chorus," he explained, much amused. "A song of the chase."
The dusk was beginning to fall, and the tepees, with their small,
sparkling fires close beside, and the shadowy, blanketed forms
assembling slowly, silently, gave a wonderful remoteness and wildness to
the scene. To Curtis it was quite like the old-time village. The husky
voice of the aged crier seemed like a call from out of the years
primeval before the white race with its devastating energy and its
killing problems had appeared in the east. The artist in Elsie, now
fully awake, dominated the daughter of wealth. "Oh, this is beautiful! I
never expected to see anything so primitive."
Knowing that his guests were eager to view it all, Curtis led the way
towards the dance-lodge. Elsie was moved to take her place beside him,
but checked herself and turned to Lawson, leaving Mrs. Parker to walk at
the Captain's elbow.
To the ears of the city dwellers the uproar was appalling--full of
murder and sudden death. As they approached the lodge the frenzied
booming of the drum, the wild, yelping howls, the shrill whooping,
brought up in their minds all the stories of dreadful deeds they had
ever read, and Parker said to Jennie:
"Do you really think the Captain will be able to control them?"
Jennie laughed. "I'm used to this clamor; it's only their way of
singing."
Elsie said: "They must be flourishing bloody scalping-knives in there;
it is direful."
"Wait and see," said Lawson.
The dance-house was a large octagonal hut built of pine logs, partly
roofed with grass and soil. It was lighted by a leaping fire in the
centre, and by four lanterns on the walls, and as Curtis and his party
entered, the clamor (in their honor) redoubled. In a first swift glance
Elsie apprehended only a confused, jingling, fluttering mass of color--a
chaos of leaping, half-naked forms and a small circle of singers
fiercely assaulting a drum which sat on the floor at the right of the
door.
Then Red Wolf, calm, stately, courtly, came before them carrying his
wand of office and conducted them to seats at the left of the fire, and
the girl's heart ceased to pound so fiercely. Looking back she saw
Jennie shaking hands with one of the fiercest of the painted and
beplumed dancers, and recognized him as Blue Fox. Turning, she fixed her
eyes on a middle-aged man who was dancing as sedately as Washington
might have led the minuet, his handsome face calm of line and the clip
of his lips genial and placid. Plainly the ferocity did not extend to
the dancers; the singers alone seemed to express hate and lust and war.
The music suddenly ceased, and in an instant the girl's mind cleared.
She perceived that the singers were laughing as they rolled their
cigarettes, and that the savage warrior dancers were gossiping together
as they rested, while all about her sat plump young girls in gay
dresses, very conscious of the eyes of the young men. In her early life
Elsie had attended a country dance, and her changed impressions of this
mad, blood-thirsty revel was indicated in her tone as she said:
"Why, it's just an old-fashioned country hoe-down."
Curtis laughed. "I congratulate you on your penetration," he mockingly
said.
The old men came up to shake hands with the agent, and on being
presented to Elsie smiled reassuringly. Their manners were very good,
indeed. Several of them gravely made a swift sign which caused Curtis to
color and look confused, and when his answering sign caused them all to
look at Lawson, Elsie demanded to know what it was all about.
"Do you think you'd better know?" he asked.
"Certainly, I insist on knowing," she added, as he hesitated again.
He looked at her, but a little unsteadily. "They asked if you were my
bride, and I replied no, that you came with Lawson."
It was her turn to look confused. "The impudent things!" was all she
could find to say at the moment.
Red Wolf called out a few imperative words, the song began with its
imitation of the wolves at war as before, then settled into a pounding
chant--deep, resonant, and inspiriting. The dancers sprang forth--not
all, but a part of them--as though their names had been called, while a
curious little bent and withered old man crept in like a gnome and built
up the fire till it blazed brightly. As they danced the younger men
re-enacted with abrupt, swift, violent, yet graceful gestures the drama
of wild life. They trailed game, rescued lost warriors, and defeated
enemies.
"You see it proceeds with decorum," said Curtis to Elsie and Mrs.
Parker, as the dancers returned to their seats. "They enjoy it just as
white people enjoy a cotillion, and, barring the noise of the singers,
it is quite as formal and harmless."
A little boy in full dancing costume now came on with the rest, and the
visitors exclaimed in delight of his grace and dignity. He could not
have been more than six years of age. His companion, an old man of
seventy, was a good deal of a wag, and danced in comic-wise to make the
on-lookers laugh.
Parker was fairly hooking his chin over Curtis's shoulder to hear every
word uttered and to see all that went on, and Curtis was in the midst of
an explanation of the significance of the drama of the dance, when a
short, sturdy, bow-legged Tetong, dressed in a policeman's uniform,
pushed his way in at the door and thrust a letter at his agent's hand.
Instantly every eye was fixed on Curtis's bent head as he opened the
letter. The dancers took their seats, whispering and muttering, the drum
ceased, and the singers, turned into bronze figures, stared solemnly. A
nervous chill ran though Elsie's blood and Parker turned pale and cold.
"What's up--what's up?" he asked, hurriedly. "This is a creepy pause."
Lawson laid a hand on his arm and shut down on it like a vice.
Red Wolf brought a lantern and held it at the Captain's shoulder.
Jennie, leaning over, caught the words, "There's been a row over on the
Willow--"
Curtis calmly folded the paper, nodded and smiled his thanks to Red
Wolf, and then lifting his hand he signed to the policeman, in full view
of all the dancers:
"Go back and tell Wilson to issue just the same amount of flour this
week that he did last, and that Red Wolf wants a new mowing-machine for
his people. You need not return till morning." Then, turning to Red
Wolf, he said: "Go on with the dance; my friends are much pleased."
The tension instantly gave way, every one being deceived but Jennie, who
understood the situation and tried to help on the deception, but her
round face was plainly anxious.
Elsie, as she ceased to wonder concerning the forms and regulations of
the dance, grew absorbed in the swirling forms, the harsh clashing of
colors, the short, shrill cries, the gleam of round and polished limbs,
the haughty fling of tall head-dresses, and the lightness of the small
and beautifully modelled feet drumming upon the ground; but most of all
she was moved by the aloofness of expression on the faces of many of the
dancers. For the most part they seemed to dream--to revisit the
past--especially the old men. Their lips were sad, their eyes
pensive--singularly so--and mentally the girl said: "I must paint my
next portrait of this quality--an old man dreaming of the olden time. I
wonder if they really were happy in those days--happier than our
civilization can make them?" and thoughts came to her which shook her
confidence in the city and the mart. For the first time in her life she
doubted the sanctity of the steam-engine and the ore-crusher.
As they took their seats from time to time the older men smoked their
long pipes; only the young men rolled their cigarettes. To them the past
was a child's recollection, not the irrevocable dream of age. They were
the links between the old and the new.
As the time came to go, Curtis rose and addressed his people in signs.
"We are glad to be here," he said. "All my friends are pleased. My heart
is joyous when you dance. I do not forbid it. Sometimes Washington tells
me to do something, and I must obey. They say you must not dance the
war-dance any more, and so I must forbid it. This dance was pleasant--it
is not bad. My heart is made warm to be with you. I am visiting all my
people, and I must go to-morrow. Do not quarrel with the white man. Be
patient, and Washington will do you good."
Each promise was greeted by the old men with cries of: "Ay! Ay!" and the
drummers thumped the drums most furiously in applause. And so the agent
said, "Good-night," and withdrew.