deal of noise when they fight. The elk is always silent and does nothing
that is unbecoming. Those others are something like the white men, who
curse and broil much among one another," Bee concluded, with an air of
triumph.
"I have several times witnessed a combat between the elk and the
grizzly. I have also seen the battle between the buffalo bull and the
elk, and victory is usually with the latter, although I have known him
to be mortally wounded."
"And I have witnessed many times the duels between great elk chiefs,"
joined in Many Arrows.
"These people go in large bands from this time until the winter, when
they scatter in smaller bands. The elk leads a bachelor's life from
January until midsummer, and about July he begins to look for company."
This was Antler's observation.
"There are two large herds near Smoky Hill, upon the river meadows. It
will be easy to catch some of the does in the evening, when they return
to their fawns. They hide the fawns well.
"Some leave them in the woods, others take them into the deep ravines.
My wife is anxious that I should bring her a fawn's skin for a fancy
bag," suggested Black Hawk.
"It will take some good running to catch a fawn at this time of the
year. They are quite large now, and the earliest fawns are already out
with the herds," remarked Many Arrows. "The moon of strawberries is
really the best time to catch the doe and fawn with a birchen whistle.
However, there are some still hidden, and as long as the doe suckles her
fawn she will always come back to it at evening."
Having received such encouraging reports from their advance scout, the
wild hunters immediately removed their camp to the vicinity of the great
herd. It was a glorious September morning, and the men all left for the
field at daybreak to steal upon the game. They hurried along in single
file until near enough, then they broke ranks, separated, and crept
around an immense herd of elk. The river here made a quick turn, forming
a complete semicircle. A lovely plain was bounded by the stream, and at
each end of the curve the river and woods met the side of the upper
plateau. The whole scene was commanded by the highest point of the
ridge, called by the Indians Smoky Hill.
The elk people had now reached the climax of their summer gayety and
love-making. Each herd was ruled by a polygamous monarch of the
plains--a great chieftain elk! Not a doe dared to leave the outskirts of
the herd, nor could the younger bucks venture to face their mighty
rival of the many-branched horns and the experience of half a score of
seasons.
Of this particular herd the ruler was truly a noble monarch. He had all
the majesty that we might expect of one who had become the master of a
thousand does.
The elk women were in their best attire and their happiest spirits. The
fawns were now big enough to graze and no longer dependent upon their
mothers' milk, therefore the mothers had given themselves over wholly to
social conquests. Every doe was on the alert, and used her keen sight,
ear, and scent to the utmost to discover the handsomest elk young man,
who, though not permitted to show himself within the kingdom of the
monarch, might warily approach its boundaries.
Hehaka, the monarch, was dressed in his finest coat and had but lately
rubbed the velvet from his huge and branchy antlers. His blood was
richest and bluest of the elk folk. He stood upon the outer edge and
continually circled the entire herd--a faithful guardian and watchful of
his rights.
Around this herd the wild hunters converged and, each taking up his
assigned position, were ready to begin the attack. But they delayed
long, because of their great admiration for the elk chieftain. His
bearing was magnificent. The unseen spectators noted his every movement,
and observed with interest the behavior of the elk women.
Now and then a doe would start for the edge of the woods, and the ruler
would have to run after her to remind her of his claim. Whenever this
happened, a close scrutiny would reveal that a young buck elk had shown
his broadside there for a moment, desiring to entice one of the
monarch's elk women away. These young bucks do not offer a challenge;
they dare not fight, for that would mean certain death; so that they
show the better part of valor in avoiding the eye of the jealous
monarch. But they exert the greatest attraction over the susceptible elk
women. All they need do is to show themselves, and the does will run
towards them. So the Indians say of certain young men, "He has a good
elk medicine, for he is always fortunate in courtship."
About the middle or end of August these young bucks begin to call. They
travel singly over hill and plain, calling for their mates until their
voices grow hoarse and fail utterly. All this finally ends in the
breaking-up of the monarch's harem.
The call of the elk when new is a high-pitched whistle, pleasant to hear
as well as fascinating and full of pathos. The love-call of the Indian
youth is modelled upon the whistle of the elk.
Now, the Yanktons, unknown to our party, had routed a large herd of elk
on the day before on the plains south of the high ridge, but the great
chieftain of the herd had escaped into the hills.
His herd destroyed, the chief was all alone. He could not forget the
disaster that had befallen his people. He came out upon the highest
point of the ridge and surveyed the plains below--the succession of
beautiful hills and valleys where he had roamed as lord. Now he saw
nothing there except that immediately below him, upon a grassy plateau,
were one or two circular rows of the white, egg-shaped homes of those
dreadful wild men who had destroyed or scattered all his elk women. He
snorted and sniffed the air and tossed his immense horns, maddened by
this humiliation.
"It is now calling-time. I have acquired the largest number of branches
on my horns. It is my right to meet any king among my people who thinks
himself better able than I to gather and keep a harem." Though weary and
disappointed, he now grew bold and determined. "It is now calling-time,"
he seemed to say to himself. "To-morrow at sunrise my voice shall open
the call upon the old elk hill! I know that there must be many elk women
not far away. If any buck should desire to meet me in battle, I am
ready!"
The lonely elk passed a wretched night. He could not forget what had
happened on the day before. At dawn hunger seized him, and he ate of the
fine dew-moistened grass until he was satisfied. Then he followed the
oak ridges along the side of Smoky Hill, travelling faster as the day
began to break. He thought he saw here and there a herd of elk women
loom large through the misty air, but as the shadows vanished he
discovered his mistake. At last he stood upon the summit, facing the
sunrise.
The plains below were speckled far and wide with herds of antelope and
of bison. The Big Sioux River lazily wound its way through the beautiful
elk land. He saw five teepees upon a rich plain almost surrounded by a
bend of the river, and not far away there grazed a great band of elk
women, herded apparently by a noble buck.
The heart of the lonely one leaped with gladness, and then stung him
with grief and shame. He had not heard one elk-call that year as yet. It
was time. Something told him so. It would not break the elk's custom if
he should call.
His blood arose. His eyes sparkled and nostrils dilated. He tossed his
branchy, mighty antlers and shook them in the air, he hardly knew why,
except that it was his way of saying, "I dare any one to face me!"
He trotted upon the very top of Smoky Hill. The air was fresh and full
of life. He forgot at that moment everything that had passed since his
mother left him, and his mind was wholly upon the elk people who were
gathered there below him in a glorious band. He felt that he must now
call, and that his voice should sound the beginning of the elk-calling
of that season upon the Big Sioux.
Flying Bee had notified his fellow-hunters by means of a small mirror of
the presence of a grizzly in their midst, and each one was on the alert.
Soon all had located him, and moved to a point of safety. They preferred
to see him attack the herd rather than one of themselves, and they were
certain that the monarch of the Big Sioux would give him a pitched
battle. He was the protector of every doe in his band, and he had
doubtless assured them of that when he took them into the herd.
"Whoo-o-o-o!" a long, clear whistle dropped apparently out of the blue
sky. A wonderful wave of excitement passed through the great herd. Every
tobacco-leaf-shaped ear was quickly cast toward Smoky Hill. The monarch
at once accepted the challenge. He stepped in front of his elk women and
lifted his immense head high up to sniff the morning air. Soon he began
to paw and throw up the earth with his fore and hind hoofs alternately.
Just then the second call came--a piercing and wonderful love-call! The
whole band of elk women started in the direction of the challenger.
Every one of them gave the doe's response, and the air was filled with
their stamping and calling.
The monarch started to intercept them in great rage and madness. The
hunters all ran for the nearest tall trees from which they might witness
the pending duel, for they knew well that when two of these rulers of
the wilderness meet at this season it can be for nothing less than a
battle to death. As Bee settled himself among the boughs of a large ash
that stood well up on the brow of the river-bank, he easily commanded
the scene.
He saw the challenger standing upon the highest point of Smoky Hill. In
a moment he descended the slope and ran swiftly to the level of the
plain. Here he paused to give the third challenge and the love-call--the
call that the Indian youth adopted and made their own.
Again the elk women were excited and stamped their hoofs. The monarch
now let them alone, and started on a run to meet the challenger. Bee
could not restrain himself; he had to give a sympathetic whoop or two,
in which his fellows willingly joined. The elk paid no attention, but
when old grizzly found that he was among many warriors, he retreated to
an adjoining creek to hide.
The challenger saw his adversary coming, and he hurried forward without
a pause. The elk women were thrown into the greatest confusion, and even
the five warrior-hunters became much excited, for they always admired a
brave act, whether the performer were a man like themselves or one of
the four-footed folk.
When the monarch saw that the challenger was in earnest, he took up his
position in front of his herd. On came the other, never pausing after
the third call. When he was within a hundred paces, the monarch again
advanced, and the two came together with a great clash of mighty
antlers. Both trembled violently for an instant; then each became tense
in every muscle of his body as they went into action.
Now one was pushed bodily along for some distance, and now the other was
pressed back. At one time both kneeled down and held each other fast
with locked horns. Again they were up and tugging with all their
strength. The elk women were excitedly calling and stamping in a circle
around their lovers and champions, who paid no heed to them.
At last the monarch made a rush with all the strength that was left him.
He turned the body of the challenger half-way round. Quick as a flash he
pulled off and jabbed three prongs of his horns deep into the other's
side. But, alas! at that moment he received an equal wound in his own
body. Exhausted by loss of blood, they soon abandoned the contest. Each
walked a few steps in an opposite direction, and lay down, never to rise
again!
All of the hunters now descended and hurried to the spot, while the elk
women fled in a great thunder of hoofs. They wished to give to the two
combatants a warrior's homage.
The challenger was already dead. The monarch was still living, but his
life was ebbing so fast that he did not even notice their approach.
Flying Bee held his filled pipe toward the fallen king. "Let thy spirit
partake of this smoke, Hehaka!" he exclaimed. "May I have thy courage
and strength when I meet my enemy in battle!"
It is the belief of the Indian that many a brave warrior has the spirit
of a noble animal working in him.
The five hunters were so greatly touched by this event that they
returned to camp empty-handed out of respect for the brave dead. They
left handfuls of cut tobacco beside each of the elk, and Black Hawk took
off one of the two eagle feathers that he always wore and tied it to the
monarch's head.
Wild Animals from the Indian Stand-point
"Tula, tula, kola, the game is plentiful--once more the flats of the
Cheyenne are covered with buffalo--winter is still at a distance and all
is well!"
Thus laughingly exclaimed old Hohay as he approached the teepee of
Sheyaka, a renowned hunter of the Sioux.
"Ugh, you are all here, even Kangee and Katola. What is in your minds?"
he continued, as he entered and took his seat.
"Ho, brother-in-law, it is good of you to join us. We are merely
enjoying our smoke," replied the genial host. "Ah, you are still the
coyote that you were in your younger days! Smoke never entered your
nostrils without drawing you as by a rope. But now that you are here you
must decide between us. Kangee maintains that the doe never fights. I
have said that she has been known to defend herself even more fiercely
than her brother," urged Sheyaka.
"It is agreed by all our hunters that you have studied the ways of the
animals more closely than any of us," chimed in Kangee. "Of course, we
have all heard the traditions of the old hunters as they have been
handed down from our fathers, but the things that we ourselves have seen
and known are straight and strong in our minds as a newly made arrow,"
he added.
Hohay had been pulling silently at his long-stemmed pipe, but in a
minute he passed the pipe on to Kangee and tightened the robe about his
knees to get himself into a story-teller's attitude, for he had no idea
of dismissing this favorite subject in a few words.
"We must remember," he began, slowly, "that the four-footed people do
not speak after our fashion. But what of that? Do we not talk with our
eyes, lips, fingers? Love is made and murder done by the wink of an eye
or by a single motion of the hand. Even we ourselves do not depend
altogether upon speech for our communication with one another. Who can
say that they have not a language?"
"Ho, ho, henaka," interrupted Kangee. "I will help you a little here,
good Hohay! It is well known that the alarm-call of the loon, the crane,
and the wild goose is understood by all of the winged people that swim
the lakes. This is not all. Many of the four-footed people of the woods
know it as well. It often happens when I hunt water-fowl that one gives
the alarm and immediately all the ducks will swim out, away from the
shore. Those that cannot swim crouch down to conceal themselves, and
even small animals stealthily and swiftly dodge back into the woods. Yet
the same birds' love and play calls were not heeded nor did they disturb
the peace, although they were at times very noisy and talkative."
"Ho, ho," they all said.
"Tadota and I," continued Kangee, "once saw a doe call to her fawn to
lie down and hide. It happened in this way. We were hunting up a ravine
and came upon the doe and fawn about a hundred paces apart. They were
both standing to graze, as it was early in the evening. As soon as the
doe saw us she gave her warning call, which usually causes the fawn to
run toward her. But in this case the little creature dropped instantly
into the tall grass. After we had shot the doe we came up to her, but
she lay perfectly still and refused to rise. I may be wrong, but I
believe the doe told the fawn to drop.
"I have also seen a doe and fawn playing," he went on, "when plainly the
mother directed her young to leap a stream which she herself had just
crossed. The fawn was timid and would not jump. Three times the doe
called, pounding the ground with her fore-foot. At last she sprang back
and caressed the fawn with her nose and stood with her a little while,
and then once more leaped the stream. The young fawn came to the very
edge of the bank and nervously smelled and examined it. Meanwhile the
doe called emphatically, and finally the little one jumped. So I think
there is good ground for saying that the wild animals have a language to
which we have not the key."
"Kangee is right," spoke up Sheyaka.
"Ugh," said Katola, who had not spoken before. "He has made the doe and
fawn real people. They can neither speak nor reason," added the
doubter, "and the fawn hides because it is its nature to hide, not
because the mother has instructed it."
"Hun-hun-hay!" exclaimed Hohay, who was older than the other three. "The
animals do teach their young, and the proof is that the young often fail
to perform the commonest acts of their parents when captured very early
and kept by man. It is common knowledge among us that the buffalo calf
and fawn have refused to swim when tamed, and do not run swiftly and
well as when trained by the mother, and, in fact, have no disposition to
run when let loose with the prairie before them.
"Again, it is well known that all elk are not equally good runners. Some
of them we could run down on foot and that shortly, while others try the
strength of the best running horse, all in the same season of the year
and even in the same herd. It looks to me as if some mothers were better
trainers than others.
"This training is very important, because wild life is a constant
warfare, and their lives often depend upon their speed in flight. The
meat-eating animals, too, must be in good trim, as they are compelled to
chase their game daily.
"The bear is one of the hardest trainers among the wild mothers. In the
midsummer moon she gives them a regular trial-heat. It is an unlimited
run, only measured by the endurance of the mother. The poor cubs drop
out of the race one by one, whenever one is winded. But in case one
holds out, he remains with her in the same den during the following
winter. That is the prize of the victor."
"Who has seen or killed the mother-bear in the winter with a single
cub?" asked Katola.
"I have seen it," replied Hohay.
"And I also," added Sheyaka.
"But I still do not believe that they teach their young, like the Red
people," Katola said. "Some run better than others because they are
stronger, not because of their better training."
"Sheyaka wants to hear about the doe," resumed Hohay, "but I have talked
much on other points so as to get my mind fairly on the trail. The doe
is the most sensitive animal of all that man hunts. She is the woman in
every way, depending upon her quickness and cunning in hiding and the
turns she takes in her flight. Perhaps she has the best nose and ears of
all animals, but she has a very small idea of the hunter's acuteness.
She knows well the animal hunters, who can smell and run, but of man she
knows little, except that, though clumsy, he is dangerous.
"This delicate little squaw can fight desperately when she is cornered
or in defence of her young. She has even been known to attempt the life
of a man under those circumstances! But, Sheyaka, it is time to smoke,"
said the wild philosopher at this point.
"Ho, koda, chandee ota," replied Sheyaka, as he graciously produced the
finely cut tobacco and willow bark. "Katola, you have a good voice; sing
us a hunting song," added the good-natured host.
"Ho, ho," the company spoke in approval of the suggestion.
Katola gave them a song without words, the musical, high-pitched
syllables forming a simple minor cadence, and ending with a trill. There
was a sort of chorus, in which all the men joined, while Katola kept
time with two sticks, striking one against the other, and Washaka, the
little son of the host, danced in front of them around the embers of the
central fire. The song finished, the pipe was silently smoked, passed
and re-passed around the circle.
At last old Hohay laid it aside, and struck a dignified attitude, ready
to give the rest of his story.
"Katola is right in one way," he admitted. "He cannot be blamed for
having never seen what has been witnessed by other hunters. We believe
what we ourselves see, and we are guided by our own reason and not that
of another. Stop me when I tell you a thing hard to believe. I may know
it to be true, but I cannot compel you to believe it."
Kangee could not contain himself any longer, but exclaimed:
"I have even known the coyote to make her pups carry and pile the bones
of the buffalo away from their den!"
"Ugh, ugh!" responded the old man. "You compel me to join Katola. That
is hard to prove, and while the coyote is a good trainer and orderly,
and it is true that their old bones are sometimes found outside the
den, I have never before heard that she makes the little ones pile them.
I am not willing to put that into my bag of stories.
"Now, as to the ability of the doe to fight. When I was a boy, I hunted
much with my father. He was a good coyote--he trained well and early.
One spring we were living in the woods where there was very little game,
and had nothing to eat but musk-rats. My father took me with him on a
long deer-hunt. We found a deer-lick beside a swollen pond. The ground
was soft around the pond, with reeds and rushes.
"'Here we shall wait,' said my father.
"We lay concealed in the edge of the woods facing a deer-path opposite.
In a little while a doe appeared on the trail. We saw that she was in
full flight, for her tongue was protruding and she breathed hard. She
immediately waded out to the middle of the pond and stood with only her
head out of water.
"On her trail a large gray wolf came running, followed by his mate. The
first, without hesitation, swam out to the doe. She reared upon her
hind-feet as he approached, raising both of her front hoofs above the
water. The wolf came on with mouth wide open and grinning rows of teeth
to catch her tender throat, but her pointed hoofs struck his head again
and again, so rapidly that we could not count the blows, which sounded
like a war-club striking against a rock. The wolf disappeared under the
water.
"Just at this moment the other wolf emerged from the rushes and hastened
to the assistance of her mate. The doe looked harmless, and she swam up
to her. But the same blows were given to her, and she, too, disappeared.
In a little while two furry things floated upon the surface of the pond.
"My father could not restrain his admiration for her brave act; he gave
a war-whoop, and I joined him heartily."
"Ho, ho! You did not shoot the doe, did you?" they asked.
"If we did that, we would be cowards," replied the story-teller. "We let
her go free, although we were in need of food. It was then I knew for
the first time that even the doe while in flight watches every chance to
make a good defence. She was helpless on dry land, so she deliberately
awaited the wolves in the deep water, where she could overcome them.
Thereafter, when I hunt I keep this in my mind. My game is fully awake
to the situation, and I must use my best efforts and all my wits to get
him. They think, and think well, too."
"It is all true," Kangee assented, enthusiastically. "The buffalo is the
wisest of all the larger four-footed people," he went on, "in training
the young calf."
"Ugh, ugh! they do not train their young, I tell you!" interrupted
Katola, again.
"Wait until Kangee tells what he knows and then tell us your thought,"
interposed Hohay. "It is not fair to doubt the word of a fellow-hunter."
"I want to tell what I myself saw," resumed Kangee. "Near the Black
Hills, in the early spring, we hunted the bison. My brother and I
followed two cows with their small calves. They disappeared over a ridge
into a deep valley.
"We hastened on and saw only one cow running on the other side without
her calf. In the ravine we came upon the other, and saw her vigorously
push the calf down two or three times, but each time it rose again."
"Ha, ha, ha! The calf refused to hide," they all laughed.
"When she saw us, she turned and ran on with her calf. Presently she
entered another valley, and emerged on the other side without the little
one. At the first ravine, one cow succeeded in cacheing her calf--the
other failed. She had a disobedient child, but finally she got rid of
it. After a time the calf understands its mother's wishes; then she
always succeeds in cacheing her young when pursued."
"Tula, tula, kola! That is common knowledge of all hunters; surely
Katola cannot doubt that," remarked Hohay.