THE RIVAL MEDICINE MEN
Human nature is the same the world over. Bull Plume, the medicine man,
was jealous of Brings-Down-the-Sun because I was in his camp. Bull
Plume was of humble descent, ambitious for power and social position.
On the other hand, Brings-Down-the-Sun came from a famous line of
chiefs—one of the best families in the tribe. The older medicine man
was revered by all the people for his noble character and kindness of
heart, his wisdom and knowledge of their ceremonies.
On the day of Onesta’s ceremony, I had my first public recognition from
Brings-Down-the-Sun. I was outside the Thunder Tepee, where I could
watch both dancers and the crowd of spectators. In the midst of the
ceremony, Brings-Down-the-Sun left his family and took a seat by my
side.
This straightway roused the jealousy of Bull Plume, which he did not
try to hide. He was seated next to Onesta and said so that any one
could hear:
“White Weasel has not come to visit my camp. He was my friend before he
came into this part of the country. Now I know who has turned him
against me.”
Next morning Bull Plume came to our camp. He was a fine looking Indian
of over six feet, muscular and well-proportioned, with a roman nose and
high cheek bones. His voice was strong and resonant and of a quality
well suited for leading ceremonies. When he talked he had a nervous
habit of tossing his head and throwing back a long lock of hair which
fell over his forehead.
On this occasion I knew that Bull Plume had something on his mind. He
was morose and ill at ease. We talked for a while, but soon fell into a
gloomy silence. Then he said:
“My heart is heavy because you are in the camp of another. You were
once my friend, but now you do not come to see me.”
I was loth to offend him and began to make excuses. But he said
abruptly:
“I ask you to come to my lodge now. It is not far, on the other side of
the river. I have tribal records to show you. Some of them are very
old; they are picture records made on buffalo hides, which were handed
down from my grandfather. If you come with me to-day, I will allow you
to copy these old records.”
I assured him I wanted to see his records, but again made excuses for
that day, because our horses were feeding on the hills and there was no
way for me to cross the river to his tepee.
Then Bull Plume was angry. He arose and drawing his blanket around him,
stalked from our camp. That was the last I ever saw of him. He took
down his tepee and left the country.
As soon as Brings-Down-the-Sun heard of the visit of Bull Plume, he
came to our camp for the first time. He seated himself by our fire.
After smoking awhile in silence, he said slowly and deliberately:
“If you would rather go to the camp of Bull Plume than remain here with
me, I will not stand in your way.”
“But I have no idea of going,” I replied. “I would rather stay with
you.”
Said Brings-Down-the-Sun: “I would prefer to have you stay here. Ever
since the day Onesta brought you to my lodge, I have been preparing
myself; now I have many things ready to tell you.”
Again I assured him that I wanted to remain in his camp, saying:
“We made this long journey on purpose to see you; Onesta told me about
you. He said you were the wisest of all the medicine men; that you
could tell more than all the others. I do not want to go to Bull Plume;
I want to learn from you alone.”
Then Brings-Down-the-Sun said with deep feeling:
“For a long time I have borne in silence many things from Bull Plume;
but now it is time for me to speak plainly. He told you about the
tribal records handed down from his grandfather. He got that
information from me. No one knows who his grandfather was. I can
remember him as a small boy, barefoot and poor; he walked behind the
travois when our tribe moved camp. Not until he became a man did he
gather information for the records of which he boasts. He lied to you,
but you were not deceived.”
For a moment Brings-Down-the-Sun was silent. Then he turned and said
earnestly:
“I can read a man’s character in his eyes and by the look I see in his
face. I now take you for my son. From this time forth, I shall be your
Indian father in the north; and the people of my tribe shall be your
brothers and sisters. Now I give myself up to you; and will tell you
anything you want to know. Your relatives who live far away towards the
rising sun, I take as my friends; my heart feels warm towards them; I
shake hands with all of them.”
Then he pointed reverently towards the sun, which was setting over the
mountains, and said:
“Behold! Our Father, the Sun. He looks down upon us here together and
hears everything we say. I am going to tell you many stories and
legends, about our religious ceremonies and ancient customs before the
white men came. Before the Sun, I promise to tell you nothing but the
truth.”
After that, the old chief came regularly to our camp. He had a fine
mind and a wonderful memory. He talked day after day and filled my
notebooks with information and stories—the way they had been handed
down from father to son through many generations of ancestors.