CAMP OF THE BLOOD INDIANS
After fording the St. Mary’s River, we crossed the international line
into the Province of Alberta, a country of rolling prairies with black
soil and luxuriant grass, stretching away in gentle slopes to the
horizon.
We saw many “fairy rings,” both large and small, made by a species of
fungus. Onesta believed they were overgrown trails made years before by
buffalo going in circles. But Little Creek who was more practical said
they were the remains of old buffalo wallows. They are identical with
the mushroom growths common in the fields of our Eastern States, where
they are popularly known as “fairy rings” or “fairy dances.”
On the journey, our Indian women were always on the lookout for herbs
and plants. They gathered them wherever we went and dried them in the
sun or by the camp-fire at night. Some were used for seasoning meats
and stews, others for hair tonic, sore throat and pain in the stomach.
We made a special collection for the medicine man, Brings-Down-the-Sun,
whom we were going to visit—certain herbs he was known to use in
doctoring the sick. The women also kept adding to my botanical
collection, [4] showing me rare plants and telling their Indian names
and uses. We made a collection of the perfumes they used—braids of
sweet grass, dried blossoms of dog fennel and meadow rue, balsam fir,
red cedar, punk from the cottonwood tree, buds from the balsam poplar,
beaver musk and ringbone of a horse.
At last we saw the white lodges of the Bloods in the valley of Belly
River. I rode in advance of our party and was the first to enter their
camp. It was a hot day, and many of the lodges had their doors open and
the sides raised for ventilation. Soon a horseman came to meet me. He
wore a headdress of curving horns and a deerskin suit covered with
colored beads and ermine tails. He addressed me in the sign language,
raising his right hand and moving it to and fro to say: “Who are you
and from whence do you come?”
I signed back: “A friend, I travel with a party of South Piegans.” To
express this, I clasped my hands as though shaking hands; then pointed
to the rest of my party and made the sign for Piegan by closing my
right hand, holding it to the lower part of my right cheek and moving
it in a small circle.
The Blood grunted and nodded that he understood, looking at me all the
while with the steady gaze and keen observation of an Indian. He took
in every detail of myself and my horse. Meanwhile the rest of our party
came up. After a short parley with the Blood, he led us through the
camp to the lodge of One Spot and his wife Snake Woman, who were
relatives of Little Creek.
They were hospitable and invited us to share their tepee. But we made
camp on the shore of the river, in a place sheltered from the wind by
groves of poplars and cottonwood trees. Before we had time to unpack
our wagons, some Blood women came with presents of food, according to
the Indian custom of showing hospitality to visitors. The wife of One
Spot brought dried meat and service berries—the first of the season for
our Indians. So they made an offering to the Sun, before eating any of
the berries. They all waited while Onesta held a berry toward the Sun
with a prayer for plenty; then planted it in the ground, with another
prayer to the Underground Spirits. Then the women of our party carried
a supply of tobacco and food to the Blood camp, in return for their
gifts.
Just before dark, a band of Cree Indians arrived from the north and
went into camp near us on the bank of the river. Soon they had their
shelters ready for the night and camp-fires burning. In the meadows
many horses were feeding, watched by young herders who galloped back
and forth, driving them in bands to drink at the river and making ready
for the night. The evening quiet of the prairies was broken by the
barking of many dogs, neighing of horses, and songs of the herders. I
heard the mournful wailing of an aged woman who stood alone on a hill
near our camp. The Cree Indians brought her the sad news that her only
son had died while on a visit to a distant camp of the North Blackfoot.
That night was sultry and warm. Lying in my blanket-bed on the ground,
I watched the heavy clouds rolling up in the north and west in lofty
thunderheads, giving forth brilliant flashes of silver lightning over
the entire sky and deep rumbling peals of thunder. But not a drop of
rain fell.
Sometime in the night I was wakened by groans, which came at regular
intervals from a thicket near my bed. I straightway thought of my
saddle horse, Kutenai, being strangled by his picket rope. Black clouds
covered the sky and the darkness was intense. But I could not lie and
hear those terrible groans. On hands and knees, I groped my way. When I
came near the edge of the thicket, the groaning ceased. I threw sticks
and stones, but nothing moved; there was not a sound. Careful not to
lose my direction in the dark, I crawled back to bed. No sooner was I
comfortably settled in my blankets, than the groaning began again.
After that I gave up the mystery. And I never did find out whether the
sufferer was a person or some animal.
Next morning we went to the lodge of One Spot. The day was warm with
brilliant sunlight, and the sides of the lodge were raised from the
ground to allow the breeze to sweep through. First we smoked a pipe
together; and then One Spot told me the following story:
RED HEAD
“A girl once lived in one of our camps who had three brothers. They
went to war against the Crow Indians and were all killed by a chief
named Red Head.
“In the same camp with the girl was a good-looking young man; he
was her lover and wanted to marry her. One day he said to his
sweetheart: ‘Let us stay together.’ And she answered:
“‘I promise to live with you if you kill Red Head, the Crow chief.’
“Then the young man mourned, for he knew that Red Head was a
warrior of great power. He went off alone and fasted. He prayed to
the animals and birds and was pitied by wolverines. They gave him
their supernatural power with a sharp elk bone, which the young man
carried hidden in his clothes as a weapon.
“After that he went into the country of the Crow Indians and looked
everywhere for the lodge of Red Head.
“Now it happened that Red Head always camped alone; he pitched his
lodge far away from other people. He lived with his aged mother;
they had no other relatives. But he kept a flock of pet crows,
which sat on top of the lodge-poles and watched for enemies. For
this reason Red Head could not be killed. His crows warned him of
all danger.
“One day when the Crow chief was away on a hunt and his old mother
was alone in the lodge, a good-looking young woman came to her and
said: ‘Mother, I want to marry your son.’
“‘My son will not marry,’ replied the old woman; ‘his pets always
warn him. But I promise to help you. I am getting so old he ought
to have a wife.’ And she kept the young woman in the lodge.
“That evening, when Red Head came home from the hunt, his pet crows
flew to meet him, and kept saying:
“‘Master, look out! Here is a woman with a man’s eyes and a man’s
legs. Kill him.’
“Then his mother went to meet him and said: ‘Listen, my son! There
is a girl here; she has come to marry you. You need a wife, because
I am old and get tired.’
“Red Head went into the lodge and saw that the stranger was young
and good-looking. He seated himself and the girl came to him; she
put her arms round his neck and kissed him; she gave him presents
of dried meat and moccasins, and said:
“‘They treated me badly in the Blackfoot camp, so I ran away. I
want to marry you; I will work and take good care of your tepee.’
And all this time the pet crows sat overhead on the lodge-poles.
They warned Red Head over and over, saying:
“‘Look out, master! She is cheating you. She has a man’s eyes and a
man’s legs.’
“But Red Head wanted the woman. He paid no attention to the
warnings of his pets. He liked to have her near and made her sit
beside him. He ate the dried meat she gave him and wore her
moccasins. At last the pet crows got tired sitting on the
lodge-poles. They flew away to watch for other enemies.
“Then Red Head wanted the woman to go with him into the forest.
They sat under a tree and the chief put his head in her lap. She
took the sharp weapon, which she carried hidden in her clothes, and
drove it into his ear. She hammered it with a stone and killed him;
she took his scalp and went away.
“Then that young warrior came back to the Blackfoot camp. He told
his sweetheart how he killed Red Head and showed her the scalp. He
married the girl and became one of the head men of the tribe.”