AN INDIAN FRIEND.
The next few days Jack spent in the camp, going about from lodge to
lodge with Hugh, being introduced to his friends, being invited to feast
by them, and listening to their speeches and stories, which, of course,
he did not understand at all. There was so much that was strange, in
this simple savage life that he did not get tired of watching the people
and wondering what their different actions meant.
One day Hugh had gone off to the head chief's lodge, and had left Jack
alone in front of their home. The sun shone brightly down on the camp,
but a cool breeze, laden with the breath of the snow fields far above,
swept down from the mountains and made Jack feel chilly. He sat down in
the lee of the lodge, where it was warm and comfortable in the sun.
Before he had been there very long a shadow fell across the ground, and
he looked up to see standing near him an Indian boy about his own age.
Presently the boy sat down beside him and began to make signs, often
pointing up toward the mountains, but Jack understood nothing of what he
wished to say, and at length the boy seemed to become discouraged, and
stopped making signs, and they sat there side by side looking at each
other. Jack saw that he had no braids hanging down on each side of his
face, as all the other children had. His hair seemed to have been cut
off, and now, although it was long and hanging down on his shoulders, it
was not yet long enough to be braided. Instead of being naked, as most
boys of his age in the camp were, this boy wore leggings and a shirt of
buckskin. He had a pleasant, intelligent face.
After sitting there for a little while, to Jack's great astonishment the
boy suddenly said: "How you like it here?"
"Why--why!" stammered Jack, "first class. But what makes you talk
English?"
"Oh," said the boy, "I talk English all right. I was raised with white
people in Benton. I have been to school four or five years, and I can
read and write pretty good. My name's Joe; Bloodman, they call me in
Piegan."
"Well," said Jack, "I'm mighty glad to know you; glad to find anybody
here in the camp that I can talk to besides Hugh and old John Monroe."
"Oh," said Joe, "there's quite a few people in this camp that can talk
some English; there'll be more when they've all moved in. There's some
white men here that have Indian wives, and some of their children can
talk English pretty good, too."
"Yes," said Jack, "Hugh told me about that; but I haven't seen anybody
yet that seemed to be able to talk to me."
"Well," said Joe, "that's a fact. A good many of 'em don't like to talk
English, and I'll tell you why; because they're afraid that they'll make
mistakes, and then maybe you'd laugh at 'em."
"Great Scott!" said Jack, "there wouldn't be any sense in that. I might
just as well never try to learn anything about living here in the camp
for fear that somebody would laugh at me. But say, ain't it great that
you can talk English. Do you live here?"
"Yes," said Joe, "I live right here. The man that raised me died last
year, and his wife went off to the States. She told me she'd take me
along if I wanted to go, but I told her I'd rather stay in this country.
So I came back to the camp, and now I live here with my uncle. He's Fox
Eye, one of the chiefs of the Fat Roaster band. Say," he added, "where
did you come from?"
Jack told him, and how he had come up from the south with Hugh, at John
Monroe's invitation, and that he expected to spend a couple of months
with the tribe.
"Ah," said Joe, "that's good. Pretty soon after we've had the Medicine
Lodge the people will move out onto the prairie to kill buffalo. The
women want new lodge skins, and food will soon be needed. Do you think
you'll like it here?"
"Yes, you bet!" said Jack; "it's the bulliest place I've ever been in. I
never get tired of wondering what the people are doing; and why they're
doing it. Say, you could tell me a lot about all these things, couldn't
you?"
"Maybe so," said Joe; "I know some of the things, but I've been away
from the tribe a whole lot, and then I'm only a boy, so I don't know
much. The old men are the ones who know things; they could tell you. Get
White Bull to ask them about all the different ceremonies and the
customs. Maybe they'd tell him when they wouldn't tell you and me. Do
you like to hunt?" and Jack answered: "You bet I do! I've never done
much hunting, but I've killed some deer and antelope and elk, and down
south of here, as we were coming along, I killed a buffalo."
"You've got a good horse," said Joe. "I've seen him. He'll catch the
fastest cows. Your lodge will always have plenty of meat."
"Yes," said Jack, "he's a good horse; fast, and good to hunt with."
After a little, Joe asked him: "Ever hunt sheep?"
"No, I never exactly hunted 'em. Just after we crossed the Yellowstone,
coming north, three or four sheep pretty nearly came into our camp one
morning, and I killed one there. Those are the only ones I ever saw."
"There are sheep up there," said Joe, pointing to a flat mountain not
many miles away.
"Is that so?" said Jack. "I shouldn't think there'd be any as close to
this camp as that. I should think the Indians'd kill 'em all off."
"Pooh!" said Joe; "these Indians don't hunt in the mountains, they hunt
on the prairie, they kill buffalo, but they don't go much into the
mountains, nor into the timber; they're afraid of bears. Lots of bears
here. S'pose you feel like it, some day you and me go up on the
mountain, maybe kill a sheep."
"Oh, wouldn't I like it," said Jack; "those mountains look so big and
gray and rough. I'd just love to get up on 'em and climb round there."
"Well," said Joe, "s'pose to-morrow's a good day, maybe we go up there."
"All right," said Jack, "I'd like nothing better, and I'll speak to
Hugh about it as soon as he comes back. He's gone off to the head
chief's lodge now."
"Yes," said Joe, "I know; they're having a big talk over there. I don't
know what it's about. I expect maybe it's something about the Medicine
Lodge. That comes pretty soon now."
"Yes," said Jack, "I heard Hugh say that he thought it would come before
long. I want to see that too."
"Well," said Joe, "that'll last four days, and then pretty soon after
that I guess the camp'll move out onto the prairie."
The boys were still talking there when Hugh returned to the lodge, and
Jack at once spoke to him about what Joe had proposed.
"Why yes," said Hugh, "that's a good thing to do. Likely as not you
might kill a sheep up there, and anyhow, it's a good climb, and it'll do
you good to get up onto the high hills and look out over the prairie. I
can't go with you, myself, because the old man over there wants me to
spend the day with him to-morrow, but you and Joe can go, and I guess
you won't get into no mischief. Ever been up there, Joe?"
"Yes, sir," said Joe, "I've been up there a good many times."
"All right," said Hugh; "go along then; but see that you don't get into
no trouble. If you see any bears, don't bother with 'em; just let 'em go
off. Go up there and kill a sheep, if you can, and spend the day, but
try and get in before dark."
The next morning the two boys started. Joe rode a little fat, wiry
pony, without either saddle or bridle, and Jack, as usual, rode Pawnee.
The trail up the mountain was narrow, overgrown and winding, so that in
many places it was hard to see where it went, but Jack noticed that all
along it, the twigs of the aspens had been bent and broken by persons
riding along it, so that it was not difficult to follow. Every now and
then, however, it left the aspens and passed out through a little park
where the grass was long and bent in all directions by the passage of
animals. Some of these were elk, and Jack saw a bear track or two. In
such open parks the trail was quite lost, for in passing across such
open places the Indians no longer follow one behind another in single
file, but spread out, each horse taking his own way. The mountain side
was absolutely wild, and looked as if it might shelter any number of
wild animals, but nothing larger than a squirrel was seen, and at last
they reached the steep, grassy slopes which lay just below the rocks.
Here Joe said they must leave the horses, and they picketed them there.
Not many yards above where they stood, the stones, fallen from the
mountain side, lay piled up steep, and above them rose sharply the
vertical cliffs which formed the summits of the mountain. Jack looked up
at the rocks and said to Joe: "Do we have to get up on the top there?"
"Yes," said Joe, "that's the place to look for sheep. Pretty good climb
up there, ain't it?"
"Yes," said Jack, "it looks a long way, but we've got plenty of time to
do it in."
"That's so," said Joe, and they started, Joe leading and Jack following
close behind, carrying his rifle in his hand. It was hard work climbing
up over these steep rocks, some of which were just balanced so that if
one stepped on them near the edge they tipped, making the footing
uncertain, and to the white boy, accustomed only to the exercise of
riding, the work was hard. Before long he was quite out of breath, and
the exertion made the perspiration stream down his face, though the day
was not a warm one and a cool breeze blew along the mountain side.
Presently Joe stopped and sat down in the lee of the great mass of rock,
saying, as he did so: "Pretty hard work; makes me puff and blow plenty,
and you too."
"Yes," said Jack, as he threw himself on the ground, "I haven't much
wind. I'm not used to being as high up in the air as this, and then I'm
not used to going much on foot. Say, Joe," he added, after a pause, "why
do you carry a bow and arrows?" for the only arms Joe carried except a
knife in his belt were a bow and arrows, in a case attached to a strap
which passed over his shoulder.
"Pretty good reason," said Joe; "I ain't got no gun, and this is all
I've got to hunt with."
"Well," said Jack, "you must have to get up pretty close to your game to
kill 'em with bow and arrow, don't you?"
"Yes," said Joe, "pretty close. Of course buffalo hunting you ride up
right close to the cow. Sheep and deer and antelope you have to crawl up
as near as you can, and then maybe you have to wait, sometimes a long
time, perhaps half a day. Then maybe the animals come near you, or go to
some place where you can get near them, so you kill 'em. This bow shoots
pretty strong. I've sent an arrow so deep into a cow that the feathers
were wet with the blood, but then I never used a bow much. Some boys in
the tribe can send an arrow pretty nearly through a buffalo. Some of the
men, the best hunters, can shoot clear through a buffalo, so that the
arrow falls out on the other side. One man in the camp one time killed
two buffalo with one shot; the arrow went clear through the first one,
and stuck in the second so deep that it killed it. Queer, wasn't it?"
"Well, I should say it was," said Jack. "I'd hate to have anybody shoot
at me with one of those things."
"Yes," said Joe, "a bow shoots pretty strong, and then it don't make any
noise; sometimes you miss a shot with the first arrow, you get a chance
to shoot once or twice or three times more. The animal don't see you or
hear you, just keeps on feeding."
After two or three more rests they found themselves on a stone platform,
just below the foot of what Joe called the reef, meaning the great wall
of rock which rose sheer to the top of the mountain. Here Joe pointed
out several trails, winding about among the stones and sometimes passing
over them, which he said were sheep trails, and now he warned Jack that
they must look out carefully, for they might see sheep at almost any
time. They went forward along one of these trails, climbing up pretty
well toward the foot of the reef, and keeping a good lookout ahead and
below them. As they went on, the reef broke away to their left, and
Jack could see that a narrow and deep valley ran out from the mountain
side, with grass and willows along the course of the stream which flowed
through it. Very slowly and cautiously they proceeded, seeing nothing
and hearing no sounds. They had gone perhaps three-quarters of a mile,
and had followed the sheep trail up to the crest of a little ridge,
beyond which there seemed to be a sag which ran down into the narrow,
rock-strewn valley. Joe had his bow in his hand, an arrow on the string,
and Jack followed him, ready to shoot at an instant's warning. As they
topped the ridge there was a clatter below them, and Joe, suddenly
drawing back his right arm, let fly an arrow at something that Jack
could not see. In a moment Jack stood beside him, and saw not more than
fifty yards away, a sheep running hard, and with a dark smear on its
side, just behind the fore-leg, which showed that it was wounded.
"Shoot him!" said Joe. "Shoot him, quick!" and Jack threw his gun to his
shoulder, but just as his eye settled into the sights, the sheep
staggered, came to its knees, rose and staggered on a few steps, and
then fell on its side. Jack's shot was not needed.
"Hurrah!" he said to Joe, as he slapped him on the shoulder; "that was a
good shot and a quick shot, too. I did not suppose anybody could shoot
like that with a bow and arrow. I'll have to get you to teach me how to
shoot, Joe. I'd a heap rather kill anything with a bow while I'm out
here than use my gun. Wouldn't it be great to go out with the Indians
and hunt buffalo with nothing but a bow and arrow?"
Joe smiled and seemed pleased, partly, perhaps, with his shot, and
partly because Jack was so glad that he had made a good one. They went
down over the steep, slipping stone slide to where the sheep had fallen,
but it did not lie there, for in its dying struggles it had rolled over
and over down the steep slope, until now it lay on its side on a little
grassy bank close to the trickle of water that flowed through the
ravine. The arrow which still remained in its side was broken.
"Well," said Joe, "we've got some meat, anyhow. Now we've got to butcher
and carry it back to the horses. Are you pretty strong? Can you carry a
pretty good load?"
"I don't know," said Jack. "I guess if we're going to take in the whole
sheep we've got to make two trips of it."
"Yes," said Joe, "I guess that's so."
They butchered and skinned the sheep, a yearling ram, but when they
divided it into two parts and each tried to shoulder one they found that
the load was too heavy to be carried; so Joe took a hind quarter and
Jack a fore quarter and the skin, and carried it back to a point on the
mountain nearly above the horses. Then they returned and brought the
second load.
While they were resting, Jack said to Joe: "What is there up on top,
Joe? I'd like to get up there, and take a look over at the country. It's
only about the middle of the day, is it?"
Joe looked at the sun, knowingly, and said: "That's it. Noon."
"Well," said Jack, "we've got three or four hours before we'll have to
start home. Let's climb up on top."
"All right," said Joe; "let's do it."
Before long they started upward toward the foot of the reef, aiming for
a place where the rocks seemed broken away and discoloured, as if water
flowed down there at some time of the year. At Joe's suggestion, Jack
left his coat and the handkerchief he wore about his neck spread out
over the meat, for this, Joe told him, would keep the birds and animals
from feeding on it. The climb up to the top of the reef was not nearly
so hard as Jack had supposed it would be, and it seemed that it did not
take them more than half an hour to gain the high table-land that formed
the mountain's summit. Here they could see a long way in every
direction. The mountain was a great shoulder thrust out toward the
prairie from other higher mountains behind it. Its top was almost flat,
and was covered with fine broken stones. One might ride a horse over it
in almost any direction. No trees grew there and no grass. It was all
gray rock. A few patches of snow still lay on it, although it was now
almost midsummer, and in several deep valleys that pierced the great
shoulder, deep snow banks were still white among the scattering pines.
On either side of this shoulder was a deep, wide valley. In one, lay the
great lake from which flowed the river that Hugh and Jack had crossed on
their way to the camp, in the other was a considerable stream, with a
few small lakes along its course, the valley itself being overgrown with
timber, except for an occasional little open, grassy park. Stretching
away far to the east lay the prairie, green for the most part, but with
the ridges brown, and out of it, a little to the north of east, rose
three shadowy masses, which Jack felt sure must be mountains.
"What are those, Joe?" he said, pointing to them.
"Oh," said Joe, "those are the Three Buttes--Sweet-grass Hills, you
know. That's where the camp will go when they go to hunt buffalo."
"My!" said Jack, "you can see a long way, can't you?"
"Yes," said Joe, "plenty prairie, ain't there?"
"You bet! But it's cold up here, Joe," said Jack; "let's walk around a
little. I'd like to walk over to the other side and look down into that
other valley. It don't look as if anybody had ever been up there. It's
just as wild as wild can be."
"No," said Joe, "not many people go up there. Sometimes Kutenais or
Stonies come down from the north and go up there to hunt. Not often
though."
"Is there much game there, Joe?"
"I don't know," was the answer, "but last year when I was camped here
with my uncle, a little camp of Stonies came down, and went up there and
stayed four days, and when they came back they had two moose, an elk,
and lots of sheep and goats."
"Jerusalem!" said Jack; "there must be lots of game."
"Yes, I suppose there is; plenty for everybody to eat."
They walked over toward the other side of the shoulder, talking as they
went, and as they passed down through a little hollow, suddenly a bird,
about as big as a banty hen, brown and black, with some white on it,
flew up from the ground and struck against Jack's knees, and then
dropped down and began to flutter about at his feet. Joe sprang forward
and struck at it with his bow, but Jack caught his hand and said: "Hold
on, hold on; don't kill it; let's see what it means." They stood there
for a moment or two and watched the little bird, and suddenly Jack said:
"I believe that's a white-tailed ptarmigan, and it's got a nest, or
young ones right here somewhere. Do you know what it is, Joe?"
"No," said Joe, "I don't know what you call it; I've seen plenty of them
before; they live up here in the snow, and in winter they're all white;
it's some kind of a chicken, I guess."
"Yes," said Jack, "that must be what it is. Ain't I glad I've seen one.
I wish though we could find the nest, or see the little ones."
As he said this, Joe very slowly and carefully stooped down, and
reaching out his hand grasped something between two of the stones, and
then standing up again said, "Here's one."
It was the tiniest little chicken that Jack had ever seen, hardly bigger
than his thumb, covered with fluffy yellow and brown down, and looking
fearlessly at its captors with its bright brown eyes. The mother bird
had drawn off a little bit while they were talking, but now seeing that
one of her young was in danger, she rushed at Jack again, pecking
furiously at his trousers, and sometimes holding them and flapping
against his legs with her wing.
"Oh," said Jack, "isn't he a beauty; isn't he a perfect beauty. Wouldn't
I give anything to carry half a dozen of those back to the States, and
try to raise them; but it would be no good I suppose to take this one
down; it never would live down on the prairie, and we couldn't get
anything to feed it, anyhow."
"No," said Joe, "no good to try to raise it, and it's too small to eat."
"That's so," said Jack, and stooping down he opened his hand, when the
little one ran nimbly over the rocks, followed much more slowly by its
mother.
The boys went on over to the edge of the rocks and looked down into the
wide valley below them; then they turned and walked a mile or two up
toward the main range. Joe pointed out to Jack some places where sheep
had recently stamped out beds and lain in them, but nothing living was
seen. At length, as the sun began to sink toward the west, they went
back to the point where they had ascended to the table-land, and going
down to the meat, carried it down to their horses, packed it on them and
returned to camp.