The woman went back to her lodge with the water, and, sitting down near the
fireplace, she began to act very strangely. She took up pieces of charred
wood, dirt, and ashes in her hands and ate them, and made queer noises.
"What is it?" asked the man who had taken her for a wife. "What is the
matter with you?" He spoke in signs.
The woman also spoke in signs. She answered him: "The Sun told me that
there are seven persons across the river in that piece of timber. Five of
them are middle-aged, another is a young boy with very long hair, another
is a man who mourns. His hair is cut short."
The Snake did not know what to do, so he called in some chiefs and old men
to advise with him. They thought that the woman might be very strong
medicine. At all events, it would be a good thing to go and look. So the
news was shouted out, and in a short time all the warriors had mounted
their best horses, and started across the river. It was then almost dark,
so they surrounded the piece of timber, and waited for morning to begin the
search.
"_Kyi_," said one of the woman's relations to her husband. "Did I not
speak the truth? You see now what that woman has done for us."
At daylight the poor husband strung his bow, took a handful of arrows from
his quiver, and said: "This is my fault. I have brought you to this. It is
right that I should die first," and he started to go out of the timber.
"Wait," said the eldest relative. "It shall not be so. I am the first to
go. I cannot stay back to see my brother die. You shall go out last." So he
jumped out of the brush, and began shooting his arrows, but was soon
killed.
"My brother is too far on the road alone,"[1] cried another relation, and
he jumped out and fought, too. What use, one against so many? The Snakes
soon had his scalp.
[Footnote 1: Meaning that his brother's spirit, or shadow, was travelling
alone the road to the Sand Hills, and that he must overtake him.]
So they went out, one after another, and at last the husband was alone. He
rushed out very brave, and shot his arrows as fast as he could. "Hold!"
cried the Snake man to his people. "Do not kill him; catch him. This is the
one my wife said to bring back alive. See! his hair is cut short." So, when
the man had shot away all his arrows, they seized and tied him, and, taking
the scalps of the others, returned to camp.
They took the prisoner into the lodge where his wife was. His hands were
tied behind his back, and they tied his feet, too. He could not move.
As soon as the man saw his wife, he cried. He was not afraid. He did not
care now how soon he died. He cried because he was thinking of all the
trouble and death this woman had caused. "What have I done to you," he
asked his wife, "that you should treat me this way? Did I not always use
you well? I never struck you. I never made you work hard."
"What does he say?" asked the Snake man.
"He says," replied the woman, "that when you are done smoking, you must
knock the ashes and fire out of your pipe on his breast."
The Snake was not a bad-hearted man, but he thought now that this woman had
strong medicine, that she had Sun power; so he thought that everything must
be done as she said. When the man had finished smoking, he emptied the pipe
on the Piegan's breast, and the fire burned him badly.
Then the poor man cried again, not from the pain, but to think what a bad
heart this woman had. Again he spoke to her. "You cannot be a person," he
said. "I think you are some fearful animal, changed to look like a woman."
"What is he saying now?" asked the Snake.
"He wants some boiling water poured on his head," replied the woman.
"It shall be as he says," said the Snake; and he had his women heat some
water. When it was ready, one of them poured a little of it here and there
on the captive's head and shoulders. Wherever the hot water touched, the
hair came out and the skin peeled off. The pain was so bad that the Piegan
nearly fainted. When he revived, he said to his wife: "Pity me. I have
suffered enough. Let them kill me now. Let me hurry to join those who are
already travelling to the Sand Hills."
The woman turned to the Snake chief, and said, "The man says that he wants
you to give him to the Sun."
"It is good," said the Snake. "To-morrow we move camp. Before we leave
here, we will give him to the Sun."
There was an old woman in this camp who lived all alone, in a little lodge
of her own. She had some friends and relations, but she said she liked to
live by herself. She had heard that a Piegan had been captured, and went to
the lodge where he was. When she saw them pour the boiling water on him,
she cried and felt badly. This old woman had a very good heart. She went
home and lay down by her dog, and kept crying, she felt so sorry for this
poor man. Pretty soon she heard people shouting out the orders of the
chief. They said: "Listen! listen! To-morrow we move camp. Get ready now
and pack up everything. Before we go, the Piegan man will be given to the
Sun."
Then the old woman knew what to do. She tied a piece of buckskin around her
dog's mouth, so he could not bark, and then she took him way out in the
timber and tied him where he could not be seen. She also filled a small
sack with pemmican, dried meat, and berries, and put it near the dog.
In the morning the people rose early. They smoothed a cotton-wood tree, by
taking off the bark, and painted it black. Then they stood the Piegan up
against it, and fastened him there with a great many ropes. When they had
tied him so he could not move, they painted his face black, and the chief
Snake made a prayer, and gave him to the Sun.
Every one was now busy getting ready to move camp. This old woman had lost
her dog, and kept calling out for him and looking all around. "_Tsis'-i!_"
she cried. "_Tsis'-i!_ Come here. Knock the dog on the head![1] Wait till I
find him, and I'll break his neck."
[Footnote 1: A Blackfoot curse.]
The people were now all packed up, and some had already started on the
trail. "Don't wait for me," the old woman said. "Go on, I'll look again for
my dog, and catch up with you."
When all were gone, the old woman went and untied her dog, and then, going
up to where the Piegan was tied, she cut the ropes, and he was free. But
already the man was very weak, and he fell down on the ground. She rubbed
his limbs, and pretty soon he felt better. The old woman was so sorry for
him that she cried again, and kissed him. Then the man cried, too. He was
so glad that some one pitied him. By and by he ate some of the food the old
woman had given him, and felt strong again. He said to her in signs: "I am
not done. I shall go back home now, but I will come again. I will bring all
the Piegans with me, and we will have revenge."
"You say well," signed the old woman.
"Help me," again said the man. "If, on the road you are travelling, this
camp should separate, mark the trail my wife takes with a stick. You, too,
follow the party she goes with, and always put your lodge at the far end of
the village. When I return with my people, I will enter your lodge, and
tell you what to do."
"I take your speech," replied the old woman. "As you say, so it shall be."
Then she kissed him again, and started on after her people. The man went to
the river, swam across, and started for the North.