OUR CAMP NEAR THE SUMMIT
The scout said a big storm was coming. That day the sun went down with
a rayless glow and a warm wind sprang up from the south. But the sky
was clear and the night had a multitude of brilliant stars.
At dawn we broke camp and packed our horses. We hastened across the
Divide to the east side of the range, where we camped in a sheltered
place, between two small glacier lakes with banks of snow and ice along
their shores.
As we crossed the summit, I saw black clouds coming up across the
western horizon. They had an ominous look, extending into the north
like a great wall; they ascended towards the zenith and were advancing
over the entire sky. There was a strange stillness. The air was sultry
with no wind; birds and insects were silent. Then came a vivid flash of
lightning, a deafening peal of thunder, and after a stillness a second
peal.
Suddenly a strange moan seemed to fill the air. Sinister-looking clouds
swept down from the Divide. I heard a roar like ocean surf and the
tempest burst with hurricane force, bearing masses of rock and shale
and whirling the water of the lake into the air. A canvas pack cover
was caught by the wind and carried towards the sky. It soared over camp
like a monstrous bird, frightening our horses which stampeded through
thickets and snowdrifts. In spite of the gale our tepee held fast. We
anchored it securely by a lariat noosed round the apex of the poles and
made fast to strongly driven stakes; and weighted down the pegs and
sides of the lodge with stones. The bottom, too, was sheltered from the
wind by thickets of gnarled and stunted spruces.
For three days and nights a heavy wind with rain and sleet blew out of
the northwest. But our Indian tepee was a snug shelter. We lay by our
lodge-fire, cosy and comfortable. In my warm blanket-bed, I liked to
listen to the roar of the wind in the spruces, the creaking of the
lodge-poles, and the beating of rain and sleet. We had sumptuous meals
of trout, and tenderloin and heart of a Rocky Mountain ram, which the
scout had killed near the summit. He passed the time telling me about
his home and Indian tribe. He told about their ancient customs and
strange religious beliefs, Indian legends and tribal tales about the
very region where we were camped.
Now an Indian is generally slow to speak his innermost thoughts and to
talk about his religious beliefs. But during that big storm, the scout
was in the mood to talk. He said:
“The Sun is the Great Power. He is in the birds and wild animals, lakes
and streams, prairies and mountains. He brings the leaves in the
spring-time. He makes the grass and berries grow; and upon them the
birds and animals depend for life.
“The Thunder is a great bird. It flies with the clouds, and brings the
rain. From its eyes the lightnings flash.
“The blizzard is a person, who runs before the storm and shoots his
arrows.
“Long ago an Indian, who camped in this valley, saw the Wind Maker rise
from the waters of a lake. He was like a monster bull elk. When he
flapped his ears, the wind blew hard; and when he sank again beneath
the water, the wind went down.
“My people are afraid of spirits. We believe they are
everywhere—underground, in the air, in the forest, in rocks and
streams. We are afraid of ghosts which take the form of owls and come
in the dark to harm people; ghosts of disembodied relatives and friends
often come around. The Blackfoot are happy on the open plains. In the
mountains they are afraid; the forests are dark and gloomy and they
hear strange sounds.
“Last summer an Under-Water-Spirit took a child of Bear Paw. He is my
friend and lives near me on Cutbank River. One day Bear Paw went into
the mountains to cut lodge-poles. He camped at the edge of the forest,
near a bend in the river, where a big rock stood and the water was
deep. His wife went there for water and saw the rock move; and that
night she had a strange dream. The Rock stood over her and said: ‘Give
me your child.’ The woman was so frightened she went to the river and
sacrificed some of her ornaments; she threw them into the water close
to the Rock. Soon after that one of her children died. Now they believe
it was taken from them by the Spirit of the Rock.”
The scout related a story which Heavy Breast, another friend who lived
in his valley on Cutbank River, told him.
HEAVY BREAST AND THE GRIZZLY BEAR
“When one of my children died last autumn, I felt so badly I did
not want to see any one. So I went alone to the forest on the
mountain. It was dark and gloomy and I felt lonely. But the only
animal to be feared was the grizzly bear and I knew he would do me
no harm, because I am the guardian of the Bear Medicine. Through
its wonderful power I have cured many people.
“One night I came to a cave near the forks of a stream. It was
raining and I decided to stay there, because in the cave I would
have shelter from the storm. I built a warm fire and lay down to
sleep. When I awoke the sun had not risen, but, through the mouth
of the cave, I saw that day was beginning to dawn. I heard a noise
outside, like some animal sniffing the air. I thought one of the
dogs had followed from camp and was nosing around, trying to get my
scent. Then I heard heavy footsteps and knew it was a large animal.
So I was careful. I made no sound; I scarcely even breathed.
“My back was towards the mouth of the cave, so I turned my head
very slowly, very carefully, and saw close to the entrance a huge
grizzly bear. Then I said to myself: ‘If this bear is angry, he has
me caught in a trap.’ I have often laughed at animals in traps, but
I did not feel like laughing this time. Again I said to myself:
‘This grizzly can do me no harm; my Bear Medicine will protect me;
it has often helped me to cure the sick; besides I have always had
a friendly feeling for bears, as if they were my relatives; I must
be bold and make a strong talk; I must make this bear understand
that I am his friend.’
“Then I thought: ‘Perhaps he intends to play with me before he
kills me.’ And this made me feel very queer.
“Now, all this time the bear did not move. He stood with his head
down and gazed into the mouth of the cave. Oh! How big he looked!
He stood high in front and had a broad head; and his great feet had
long sharp claws. He did not make a sound, but I knew he was angry;
his hair stood straight up on his back.
“Then I remembered an old medicine man saying, that a bear never
harms a person who does not move and talks to him in a friendly
voice. So I lay with arms stretched out and head on my hands, like
a bear does. Thus I lay and looked straight into his eyes. And then
I began talking in a friendly way, using the softest and kindest
voice I knew. I flattered him the best I could. I said:
“‘Brother Bear, you are very good-looking; you have nice eyes and
white teeth; you are big and strong. I have never killed bears; I
do not care to hunt them. Yes! I have always liked bears. I look
upon them as my relatives.’
“While I talked, his hair began to flatten, so I talked again
harder than ever. I kept on flattering him; I told him some of the
secrets of my Bear Medicine. I saw that he liked my talk; he was in
a good humor; and then I began to pray, saying:
“‘Brother Bear, pity me! I am poor and in trouble.
Brother Bear, I am the keeper of the Bear Medicine.
Brother Bear, it is I who guard the Bear Secrets.
Brother Bear, I ask you to go away and to leave me in peace.’
“Now, the bear was no longer angry. The hair on his back all went
down smooth. Soon he turned and walked slowly from the cave; and
after that I saw him no more.”
Thus my guide, an Indian belonging to a tribe of the stone age of
thought, told me about their religious faith. They believed in the
power of the Sun, and that birds and wild animals were endowed with his
wisdom and supernatural power. They communed with the wild animals,
looking upon them as brothers; they believed they had tribes like men,
with head-chiefs, councils and dances; that they were friendly, and had
power to help people in trouble. Nor did they exclude the animals from
the spirit world, the place where they expected to go after death.
We were storm-bound in our summit camp for several days. But, on the
morning of the fourth day, we awoke to find the heavens a vast expanse
of blue. A foot of snow had fallen. The surrounding mountains were
covered with a white blanket. After the great storm, the air was
strangely clear and sparkled with myriads of shining particles. The
clouds had rolled away towards the east, revealing the entire chain of
Rocky Mountain peaks, their white summits glowing under the bright rays
of the rising sun.
Then we made ready to break camp and leave the snow and ice of the high
altitude for the milder climate of the valley; but the devil was in our
horses that day. It took many weary hours to catch the herd. We made a
series of corrals with lariats and pack ropes. By the time we had the
horses packed and ready to start, the sun had long passed the meridian.
The scout led the way down the mountain, while I followed on foot with
camera and tripod, driving the horses and leading my saddle horse
Kutenai, loaded with baggage, because one of our pack horses had
escaped us down the mountain. Then the contrary bell-mare ran into the
underbrush and bucked her pack loose, and the horse of the scout ran
away and threw him off. I found him lying senseless on the ground, with
blood flowing from nose and mouth. When he came to himself, he made
light of his accident; he said that he had been weakened by his former
life of exposure in the Indian wars.
We camped that night on the floor of the valley, in a park surrounded
by a dark forest of lodge-pole pine and spruce; the air was mild;
bunch-grass grew luxuriantly and many varieties of wild flowers—blue
camas, orchids with pale green flowers, and yellow columbine with
lovely pendant blossoms.
Our last day in the mountains, we followed a trail down the eastern
slope, a well-known Indian route across the Rocky Mountains, famous in
legend and war story. We passed through the long forest-covered valley
of Cutbank River, between two massive snow-covered mountain ranges, and
rode through the foothills with their lovely lakes and meadows, groves
of aspen and thickets of willows, crossing high grass-covered ridges,
closely following one another like great waves of the ocean.
Finally, from the crest of a ridge about twenty miles from the foot of
the mountains, we looked down upon a scene I shall never forget. On a
broad stretch of prairie and on the shore of a lake lay the tribal camp
of the Blackfoot; many hundreds of smoke-colored tepees, pitched in the
form of a great circle more than a mile in circumference. In an open
space near the center of camp was a throng of Indians, taking part in
the ceremony of the Sun Dance. The surrounding meadows were bright with
blue lupines, shooting stars, camas, and yellow sunflowers. Smoke from
the evening fires rose from the tepees. Many horses were feeding
contentedly on the hills. As we stood looking down at the great camp, a
light breeze carried distinctly the shouts of men and women, crying of
children, barking of many dogs, neighing of horses, and the rhythmic
beating of Indian drums in dances and ceremonial gatherings.
On that first night, we slept on the open prairie with only the sky for
a roof. Late in the night, I was wakened by Indian horsemen riding
through the camp, singing strange melodies, giving at intervals shrill
war whoops, jingling bells keeping time with the slow and measured trot
of their horses. Their songs had a lilt and wildness, and were sung
with a vigor and enthusiasm that made me long to record them.
Excitement was in the air. Flaring inside fires lighted up the lodges,
casting weird shadows of the inmates on the outside coverings. I heard
the booming of drums, shrill cries and shouts of dancers, laughter and
cheers of the crowds. From the center of camp came a solemn chanting of
many voices, accompanied by heavy beating of rattles on the ground. At
intervals the low monotone of men singing in unison, united with the
shrill voices of women. Then the mysterious chanting died away and I
fell asleep.