OLD INDIAN TRAILS
BY
WALTER McCLINTOCK, M.A.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1923
TO MY MOTHER
CLARA CHILDS McCLINTOCK
PREFACE
In the spring of 1896 I went into northwestern Montana as a member of a
Government expedition which was appointed by President Cleveland to
recommend a national policy for the United States Forest Reserves and
to advise the Secretary of the Interior as to the reserving of certain
other forests.
Our expedition, which went in advance of the main Commission, was
composed of Gifford Pinchot, Chief of the Forest Service (now Governor
of Pennsylvania), and Henry S. Graves, later Chief Forester and Dean of
the Yale School of Forestry; I went as photographer and to help in the
forest surveys. We had two guides, William Jackson, an Indian scout of
the Blackfoot tribe, and Jack Munroe, a white man who was married into
that tribe.
We examined the forests in northwestern Montana, both on the eastern
and western slopes of the Rocky Mountains. We came into contact with
the natives of the region, both white men and Indians. We made surveys
in the country where the Flathead Forest Reserve was later established,
and in the region now known as Glacier National Park. Then it was a
paradise for hunting and fishing, a wild and unfrequented country,
visited only by Indians, trappers, and a few hunters of big game.
We made our last survey in the heavy forest on the western side of the
Rocky Mountains. Then Graves set out for Kalispell and civilization;
Pinchot, with Jack Munroe and our bear dogs, started south for Fort
Missoula; I was left alone with the Indian scout.
We crossed the mountains together and joined the tribal camp of the
Blackfoot Indians on the plains. There I met many of their leading men;
among them Chief Mad Wolf, who adopted me as his son, in ceremonies
lasting through two days, and made me a member of his tribe.
I maintained intimate associations with my Indian father and his tribe
through many years, keeping records of everything that I saw and
heard—their customs and legends and religious beliefs, our hunting
trips, and the flora and wild life of their country.
But into the region where we wandered civilization came with its
automobile highways and great modern hotels. The old generation of
Indians have died and their children are civilized. The Blackfoot are
no longer nomads and hunters, following the great herds of buffalo and
other game; they till the soil and live in houses like white men. Their
ancient customs and tribal life have passed away forever.
My purpose, therefore, in writing this book, is to record the results
of fifteen years’ close association with the old Blackfoot chiefs,
medicine men, and common people. I have retained the narrative form of
my original notes, in order to give as faithful a record as possible of
their character, environment, and family life.
W. McC.
CONTENTS
I. My Indian Guide 3
II. Crossing the Rocky Mountains 8
III. Our Camp near the Summit 15
IV. Home of the Scout 21
V. Stories by the Scout’s Mother-in-Law 32
VI. My Adoption by Mad Wolf 35
VII. Mad Wolf tells the Legend of the Beaver Bundle 42
VIII. I am given an Indian Name and made a Member of
the Blackfoot Tribe 54
IX. Home of Mad Wolf 68
X. Marriage Customs 80
XI. The Head-Chief and his Wife 85
XII. Legend of the Smoking Star 92
XIII. My Night Experience with a Grizzly Bear 100
XIV. Indian Summer 109
XV. A Frontier Dance 119
XVI. Hunting Rocky Mountain Goats 124
XVII. The Blizzard 130
XVIII. Snow-Bound 139
XIX. The Mad Indian 144
XX. Coming of the Chinook 149
XXI. Beginning of Spring 153
XXII. Our Camp in the Mountains 158
XXIII. Our North Expedition 166
XXIV. Onesta and his Sacred Bear Spear 174
XXV. Camp of the Blood Indians 179
XXVI. Country of the North Piegans 184
XXVII. Camp of Brings-Down-the-Sun 191
XXVIII. Onesta gives his Crow Water Ceremony 199
XXIX. The Rival Medicine Men 206
XXX. Brings-Down-the-Sun tells about his Father 210
XXXI. Brings-Down-the-Sun tells about Men’s Societies 219
XXXII. Brings-Down-the-Sun tells about the Birds and
the Stars 226
XXXIII. Legends of Star Boy and Scarface 232
XXXIV. Beginning of the Sun Dance 241
XXXV. Forming the Great Circle Camp 247
XXXVI. Life in the Circle Camp 253
XXXVII. Painted Tepees and Picture Writing 258
XXXVIII. A Native Doctor and his Patient 267
XXXIX. Dance of the Hair-Parters (Grass Dance) 274
XL. Society of Brave Dogs 284
XLI. A Medicine-Pipe Ceremony 289
XLII. A Sacred Ceremony in Mad Wolf’s Tepee 298
XLIII. The Tribal Dancing-Lodge 304
XLIV. End of the Sun Dance and Farewell of my
Indian Father 310
Appendix: Medicinal and Useful Plants of the
Blackfoot Indians 319
ILLUSTRATIONS
Sunset from Lookout Butte Colored frontispiece
A Small Lake on the Western Slope of the Rockies 4
Our Indian Tepee 4
An Old Indian Trail 16
Tribal Camp of Blackfoot on the Prairie 20
Mad Wolf 36
Mad Wolf praying 40
Mad Wolf’s Sacred Beaver Bundle 40
Woman under a Sun-Shelter: Bead and Quill Work; Meat
drying on Poles 70
Woman repairing a Tepee-Cover 70
Scaffold Burial 78
A Grave on a Hilltop 78
White Grass, the Medicine Man
Showing Interior Arrangement of his Tepee 92
Sunrise at our Hunting Camp in the Rockies (in color) 112
Onesta 154
Nitana 174
The Country of the North Piegans 186
Onesta entering the Thunder Tepee with his Sacred Bundles 200
The Crow Water Ceremony of Onesta in the Thunder Tepee 200
Brings-Down-the-Sun and the Author 210
Three Chiefs, Followers of Mad Wolf 250
A Line of Warriors with War Bonnets 250
Drying and Softening a Skin 256
Fleshing a Hide 256
Circle Camp of the Blackfoot 260
Inner Circle of the Tribal Camp, with Crow Tepee in
Foreground (in color) 264
Rattler doctoring Stuyimi 272
Elk Horn, Herald of the Brave Dog Society 280
Society of Brave Dogs marching through the Camp 284
Characteristic Costumes of Brave Dogs 284
Brave Dogs giving their Society Dance 286
Mountain Chief 292
Wolf Plume 292
A Blackfoot Camp on the Prairie (in color) 296
Ceremony of the Sun Dance inside the Sacred Tepee 302
Raising the Center Pole for the Sun Lodge 308
The Sun Lodge Finished and Ready for the Tribe 308
Twilight in the Circle Camp: Tepees illuminated by
Inside Fires 314
OLD INDIAN TRAILS
CHAPTER I
MY INDIAN GUIDE
It was an evening in early summer. The stars shone bright and our
Indian tepee glowed with light from its inside fire. My guide, a famous
scout of the Blackfoot tribe, smoked in silence; while I lay on my
comfortable bed of robes and blankets, listening to the sounds from the
forest—chirping of crickets, last songs of the thrushes and vibrating
chant of an ovenbird.
That night by our lodge-fire I said to the scout: “Tell me about your
home.” And he replied:
“On the prairie beyond the Rockies, I have a ranch with many horses and
cattle. The mountains are near, the hunting good; our streams and
rivers are full of fish. Come with me to my country, to my tribe, the
Blackfoot Indians. In our valley the head men of the tribe live; you
will meet there our leading chiefs.”
For a moment I was silent. The plan of the scout accorded with my own
desire. All my life I wanted to live away from the city, among the
mountains and wilds. I was weary of the turmoil of the city, the dreary
grind and slavery of business, from early morn until night in an
office-prison; away from the sunlight and from birds and flowers in the
spring-time. I wanted to shake off the shackles of social convention,
to leave the worry and stress of the modern city, where business and
the making of money are the chief end of man.
I thought to myself: “If I go with my guide, I can live out-of-doors
all day and all night. I shall become strong in body and mind and be
happy. And, instead of striving for money, I will go on a quest. I will
stay with the scout and visit his tribe, to find whether they are more
happy and contented in their primitive life, than civilized people in
great modern cities.”
Now Indians have a way of masking their feelings; they never show
enthusiasm. So I said quietly to the scout: “I want to go to your home
and your Indian tribe.” This ended our talk for that night; but I had a
keen desire to go.
My guide was near middle age. He had the swarthy complexion, black hair
and high cheek bones of an Indian; but he did not look like a
full-blood. He was tall and slender, with an impressive manner; fluent
of speech and polite and suave. His father was a white man named
Jackson, an early pioneer, a Rocky Mountain hunter and trapper, his
mother an Indian woman. The son was called Billy Jackson by white men
and Siksikaí-koan (Blackfoot Man) by the Indians.
But Siksikaí-koan was an unusual half-breed. He raised himself above
the popular prejudice against half-breeds. He was liked and respected
by both white men and Indians. Honest and industrious, generous and
kind, he was always ready to help any who came to his ranch. He stood
high in the councils of the Blackfoot tribe; and served honorably as
scout for Generals Custer, Miles, and Reno in the Indian wars.
The scout was a good guide in the wilderness; on him I could depend. He
knew the trails of the plains and mountains and handled with skill the
wild Indian horses. Self-reliant in time of danger, he had the quiet
manliness and courage that knew no fear; a keen sense of humor and a
wonderful knowledge of nature—information not gained from books.
He knew woodcraft; that moss generally grows on the north side of
trees, more on evergreens than on those which shed their leaves in
winter; that pines are more frequently struck by lightning than birch
or cottonwood; that the toughest side of a tree is to the north,
because the winter winds and cold come from that direction.
He knew Indian legends and traditions and stories of war and adventure.
He told me about a family of lost children who went to the sky and
became the constellation of the Pleiades, and the woman who left home
and children to live with the Man-in-the-Moon. He spoke English
fluently, also the Blackfoot, Cree, and Sioux tongues; and was familiar
with the ancient customs and traditions of his Indian tribe.
Our camp was on a small lake on the western slope of the Rocky
Mountains, in the region now known as the Flathead Forest Reserve. We
had a good “pack outfit,” a herd of fifteen horses, a comfortable
Indian tepee and plenty of food. Our government work was finished and
we were free to wander.
Next morning the mists were heavy over the lake, which lay like a
mirror beneath the surrounding mountains and forests. The sun came up
red and flashed bright shafts of light through the big trees; the
shadows from their branches made odd patterns on their smooth trunks.
Grass and undergrowth were wet with heavy dew and hanging cobwebs shone
like diamonds in the sunlight. By the time we broke camp and had our
horses packed, the sun’s rays were hot on our backs.
The scout led the way through the forest, while I followed and drove
the pack horses. How different they were from the horses of
civilization! They had learned to think for themselves and to rustle
their own food. On the trail they were always scheming; I had to watch
them and be on the alert. Their leader was a crafty mare with a bell
fastened to her neck. All the herd were devotedly attached to her. She
was a good baggage carrier and careful of her pack. She never let it
scrape or bump trees. But she knew how to make things easy for herself.
No matter how poor the feed, she was always fat and in good condition.
She took the lead and kept the other horses in order. If one of them
tried to pass, she met him with bite or kick and put him back in his
place.
All of our pack were gregarious by nature. My saddle horse was uneasy
whenever I dropped behind. He pawed the ground, whinnied and danced
until I started; then ran with delight to join the others. This feeling
held all of our horses together on the trail, and kept them from
wandering at night.
It was the beginning of summer—just the time for birds and wild
flowers. I saw fields of Indian basket grass with tall stalks and dense
caps of cream white flowers; along the trail were beds of yellow
adder’s-tongues, pink twin flowers, white lilies and flowering dogwood.
I heard the wild cry of a loon from a lonely lake and olive-backed
thrushes along the shores. In the deep forest were winter wrens,
golden-crown kinglets and myrtle warblers. Then, for the first time, I
heard the flight song of a Macgillivray warbler; and found his nest in
some blackberry bushes close to a lake.
Finally we entered the valley of the Flathead and camped in a grove of
larch and yellow pine. In that broad and fertile valley with plenty of
free sunshine, the yellow pine is a noble tree with symmetrical spire,
straight round trunk and slender shaft. The needles are long and yellow
green, the bark smooth with deep fissures and arranged in massive
plates.
There was plenty of good grass, a godsend to our horses after their
long stay in the forest. We removed packs and saddles, attended to sore
backs and picketed the bell-mare. It was our custom to keep her near
camp at night, that it might be easy to catch the rest of the herd in
the morning.
I slept outside under the stars, making my bed close to a thicket of
fragrant pines and masses of wild roses. It was one of those days that
come only with early summer. A crescent moon hung over the forest; from
a bank of clouds the first star shone. In the east, beyond an outer
range of forest-covered mountains, I saw a line of white, glittering
peaks, remote and ethereal, glowing in the soft tints of the sunset,
like the realm of another world.
Then the lure of the wild stirred my blood strangely. Again I told the
scout I wanted to stay with him. I had a new sense of freedom, as
though a load had been rolled from my back. I felt like a boy just
freed from school and longed to explore that mountain world, to
discover what lay beyond.
That night we sat by our camp-fire through the long northern twilight.
The scout smoked in silence, while I dreamed of mountain trails and
Indian camps and bright days ahead.