Among the American Indians truth was respected as most sacred. Parents
took great pains to teach their children that above all else, a good
Indian was one who had honor and spoke nothing but the truth, or, as the
Indians would say, spoke with a straight tongue. It is about the power
of truth that this story is told.
The Blackfoot Indians were a wandering tribe of the Western plains.
Their very lives depended upon the great buffalo herds. From the buffalo
meat and hides, the Blackfeet were able to get their food, skins for
clothing, and their tepees; and from the head, horns, and tail,
decorations for costume and headdress.
Blackfoot villages were always moving, since they were set up near the
grazing herds of buffalo. When the herd moved, the whole tribe would tie
its belongings onto travois drawn by horses, and move with the buffalo
until the animals stopped once again to graze where there was more
prairie grass.
Young Deerfoot, the son of a great warrior of the Blackfeet, Sleeping
Bear, prided himself on being one of the strongest of the tribe’s young
braves. While growing into young manhood, he had won many honors in his
tribe as a warrior and a great hunter. Blind Dog was another young brave
about Deerfoot’s age. The son of Black Dog, he also had become quite
famous among the Blackfeet for his honors in war and hunting.
Both young braves were guarding the tribe’s horses, one very warm summer
evening as the chiefs of the Blackfeet were gathered in the center of
the village around the blazing campfires. The chiefs had met to talk of
tribal problems and to plan ahead for fall and winter. At this time,
life had been unusually peaceful on the plains. There had been some
horse stealing and a few occasional skirmishes among small parties of
raiders from different tribes. Outside of that, there had not been much
excitement.
As the chiefs sat around the fire, Blind Dog and Deerfoot were taking
their job of standing guard over the horses very seriously. The quiet
was broken by a noise off to one side of the herd of horses. Deerfoot
signaled silently to Blind Dog to draw near so that they might speak.
When Blind Dog had reached Deerfoot’s side the two crouched low behind
the horses, and Deerfoot whispered that he had heard a noise slightly to
the west of the herd.
The two braves crept forward on their hands and knees, keeping the
horses between themselves and whatever had made the noise. The horses
began moving uneasily as the two young braves drew closer to the spot
from which the noise had come.
Deerfoot stopped abruptly. He slapped Blind Dog’s shoulder and began to
laugh. Not two paces from them was a small mongrel dog which had
wandered down among the horses seeking a cool place in which to lie and
rest for a while. When Blind Dog saw what had amused Deerfoot so much,
he laughed too, because they had been so alarmed by a dog.
“If it were not so quiet tonight,” Deerfoot remarked, “we would not have
been so worried by anything so unimportant as a puppy.”
“Yes,” Blind Dog agreed, “it has been much too quiet. We have not had
much excitement. Things have been far too peaceful.”
“Do you wish to have a war on your hands, Blind Dog?” Deerfoot asked
with a smile.
“Well, it would be a very welcome change from horse herd duty at night,
and repairing bridles and broken weapons in the daytime.”
“You are getting restless, my friend.” Deerfoot spoke soberly now. “That
is not good. When one gets restless, one becomes careless. That can be
dangerous.”
At first, Blind Dog refused to be serious. “Oh, do not worry, Deerfoot.
I may have become restless, but I will never become careless.” Then he
added gravely, “To become careless even for a moment might mean death to
a warrior like myself. There is many a brave in other tribes who would
love to see my scalp hanging from his tepee pole. But I like the feel of
my scalp right where it is. Anyway, nothing—not even a puppy—will ever
catch me off guard.”
“Do not be so sure of yourself, Blind Dog. Being so sure can make any
brave careless. You must always be alert. It may seem too peaceful to us
here now, but even the quiet shadows of this very night could conceal
our enemies. As we sit here talking noisily about not being careless,
they could be stealing some of our best horses. Let us go back to our
guard posts so that we can watch the herd as we should.”
Deerfoot and Blind Dog mounted their horses and had started to circle
the herd to see that nothing had disturbed the horses. When they had
finished checking and had dismounted, Blind Dog complained that he felt
ill.
“Since we have just checked the herd and everything is all right,”
Deerfoot said, “why don’t you return to the village, Blind Dog, and go
to your tepee? It is almost time for the other guards to take our
places. I can stand guard alone for that short time.”
Blind Dog said that he should not leave his friend, but with Deerfoot’s
urging, he finally agreed and walked slowly back toward the village.
Arriving at his tepee, he found that his father must still be at the
council meeting. The night air had become chilly and he wrapped himself
in a warm buffalo robe and curled up in the corner of the tepee. Blind
Dog was just about to fall off to sleep when he heard men shouting
excitedly and horses snorting and pounding their hoofs. He struggled out
of the robe and stepped outside of the tepee in time to see several
chieftains break from the council ring and head toward the horses.
As they reached the edge of the herd, they called out for the guard but
there was no response. They called again and again, but their only
answer was the stomping of horses and the frightened neighing of ponies.
It was very dark and it was some time before the chieftains discovered
that about six of their finest animals were missing. Where were the
guards, they wondered, and how had the horses gotten loose? Then someone
noticed Blind Dog and called to him.
“Blind Dog, were you not on watch with Deerfoot? What did you see? What
happened? Who raided our herd?”
Blind Dog looked at Great Owl and his father, Black Dog, who stood
waiting for his answer. Just then they heard the clopping of a single
pony’s hoofs. Peering into the darkness, they could make out the figure
of a lone horseman riding wildly toward the standing group. As the rider
came nearer, Blind Dog saw that it was his friend. Deerfoot jumped from
his pony and stood, breathless and bleeding, before the chieftains,
waiting for silence so that he could report what had happened. When
everyone was quiet, Deerfoot began his story. For the moment, Blind Dog
was forgotten.
“Blind Dog and I were on guard here at the horse herd,” Deerfoot said,
“when we heard a strange noise. We found that it was only a stray dog
that had wandered down here to the horse herd. We went back to our guard
posts and settled down again, keeping careful watch.
“After some time had passed, I heard another noise much like the dog had
made so I did not pay any attention. Suddenly, the horses became uneasy.
When I went to see what the trouble was, I was struck a blow on the side
of my head. It was not too hard a blow and only made me a little dizzy.
As I shook off the shadows from my brain, I spotted a small group of
warriors who were cutting some of our best ponies loose from the herd.
Then I called for Blind Dog and started after the raiders. By the time I
had reached the place the raiders had been, they were already heading
back into the night, driving several of our ponies before them. I
quickly mounted a pony and started to chase the thieves, but I lost them
in the darkness. Perhaps I was closer to them than I realized because
they let some of the stolen ponies go. I have been able to round up some
of the ponies, but I believe there are still a few missing. I will mount
up again and start after them immediately.”
But Chief Great Owl stopped Deerfoot with a wave of his hand and said,
“No, Deerfoot, let some of the other braves round them up. You are hurt
and need rest. But first we must speak with Blind Dog. Who has seen
Blind Dog?”
Without any hesitation, Blind Dog stepped from the circle of braves and
stood next to Deerfoot.
“You summoned me, Chief Great Owl?” he asked politely.
“Blind Dog, were you on herd guard duty tonight with Deerfoot?”
“Yes, Great Chief, I was.”
“When Deerfoot called you to assist him, why did you not answer?”
“Because I was not where I could hear Deerfoot.”
“Where were you then?”
“When Deerfoot called for help, I was in my tepee just about to go off
to sleep.”
Great Owl glared at Blind Dog. “Do you mean that you had left your guard
post to sleep in your tepee, leaving Deerfoot here alone to watch the
herd?”
Black Dog waited for his son to answer. “Speak, my son,” he pleaded.
“Tell Great Owl that you did not desert your friend and leave him alone
on duty.”
“I am sorry, father, but what he says is true. I was not at my guard
post when the raiders came in the night. I did neglect my duty and for
that I shall take proper punishment.”
“My son,” Black Dog said with great sorrow in his voice, “do you know
what you are saying? You are admitting that you have shirked your duty.
Is guarding the herd not important to the whole tribe?”
“Yes, father, it is very important. I am ashamed of what I have done.”
Great Owl ordered Blind Dog to be held under guard until the council
should decide his punishment.
Quietly, Blind Dog went with the guards. He glanced back toward
Deerfoot, but Deerfoot would not meet his gaze. Dropping his head upon
his chest, Blind Dog was troubled that Deerfoot had avoided looking at
him. He was worried, too, about why Deerfoot had not told the rest of
the story—how Deerfoot had insisted that he go to his tepee when he had
felt ill. Then he guessed that Deerfoot must have had a good reason, so
Blind Dog would not change his friend’s story unless he really had to.
He vowed, however, that he would try to speak with Deerfoot and discover
for himself just why Deerfoot had not told them the whole story.
The tepee in which Blind Dog was held under guard was close to the
center of the village where the council had met. Suddenly, he heard many
voices talking excitedly and realized that the council had gathered
again. What had been a calm council before had now become an angry group
of men seeking revenge upon the horse stealers. He heard Deerfoot
repeating his story and the chieftains questioning him closely. Above
all they wanted to know of what tribe the raiders were members. Then he
could hear Deerfoot reply vaguely, “It was dark and I was still confused
from the blow upon my head. I would not want to accuse any tribe unless
I were sure. But who could be this close to us?”
Many of the chiefs shook their heads in doubt, but Sleeping Bear rose to
plead for war, repeating by his own son’s account of the stealing of
fine horses by a neighboring tribe.
Crouched in the tepee, Blind Dog realized now why Deerfoot had not told
the complete story. Rushing to the entrance of the tepee, he begged the
guards to take him before Chief Great Owl and the council. One of the
guards ran to the council and reported the prisoner’s mysterious
request. Chief Great Owl said that Blind Dog should be permitted to
enter the council ring and speak to the council.
With head held high, Blind Dog stepped to the center of the ring and
gazed around at the unfriendly eyes which peered at him from faces of
stone. Finally Blind Dog spoke.
“Since I was but a tiny boy holding tightly to my father’s hand so that
I would not stumble, I have been taught to respect the property of
others. I have been taught to honor my parents and the elders of our
tribe. I have been taught to learn well the many things a good brave
should learn. Above all, I have learned the power of truth.
“My father has told me many times that I would never gain by telling a
lie. I have seen the truth of this often. Now, more strongly than ever,
I see the power that truth can have. I wondered a while ago why Deerfoot
had not told the whole story, but now I know.
“Yes, we were on guard duty together, as he told you, and we did hear a
noise after that of the dog. We circled the herd to see that all was
well. Upon returning to our starting place, I told Deerfoot that I was
not feeling well. I had suddenly become chilled and sick to my stomach.
Deerfoot reminded me that it was almost time for us to be relieved, but
that I should go immediately to my tepee to rest. He said that he would
be glad to stand guard alone. I realized that what I did then was wrong,
but I felt so sick that I followed Deerfoot’s suggestion and went to my
father’s tepee. There I rolled myself in a buffalo blanket and lay in
pain for some time until I, too, heard Deerfoot’s shouts and the
hoofbeats of the horses running away from our camp.
“I, too, rushed to the herd and reached there a short time before most
of you. I looked around quickly for signs that would show how many
raiders there had been. But oh, Great Chieftain, there were no tracks of
any ponies other than our own.
“Deerfoot has used this story to try to arouse our tribe to a war. He
thirsts for the excitement that fighting would bring him. Now I am sure
that Deerfoot ran those ponies off himself in order to cause a war
between our tribe and our nearest neighbors. If I am lying now, punish
me doubly; but if I am right, let the punishment fall where it belongs,
even upon my friend.”
Great Owl rose and called upon Deerfoot to defend himself. All eyes were
turned in his direction as Deerfoot rose to face Blind Dog.
“Oh, Great Chief,” said Deerfoot, “all that Blind Dog has told you is
true. I sent him from the herd and I ran the ponies off into the night.
I made the wound that you see on my head. We had no raiders in our camp
tonight. Blind Dog has just taught me the true meaning of loyalty to my
tribe.
“The fact that he was placed under guard and was to be punished made
little difference to him. But when he discovered that my plan was to
hurt more than him and me, he spoke out for what he believed was the
truth. Yes, I had hoped to force our tribe into war. I hoped that I
might be honored for bravery in war, even though I would sacrifice the
honor and friendship of my boyhood companion, Blind Dog, and many of our
braves might be killed in useless fighting. To make myself once again a
man in Blind Dog’s sight, let me repeat his words. ‘I am ashamed of what
I have done.’ Let the council punish me so that I will not forget again
the sacredness of truth and friendship and loyalty to my tribe.”
The incident around which this story is woven was told to the author
by Sam Carpin, trapper, hunter, and former member of the Butte,
Montana, Police Force.