BRINGS-DOWN-THE-SUN TELLS ABOUT HIS FATHER
When Brings-Down-the-Sun came to our camp the following evening, he
took a seat by the fire. For a while he meditated, smoking his everyday
pipe in silence, and then he began:
“There is a trail we call ‘The Old North Trail.’ It runs along the
Rocky Mountains outside the foothills. It is so old no one knows how
long it was used. The horse trail and travois tracks were worn deep
into the ground by many generations of Indians.
“My father told me that this old trail was started ages ago by an
Indian tribe coming down from the north; and other tribes followed in
their tracks. I have followed the Old North Trail so often I know every
mountain, stream, and river of its course. It ran from the Barren Lands
in the north to the south country, where people have dark skins and
long hair over their faces (Mexico).”
By this time it was growing dark and the fire burned low. No one spoke
until the silence was broken by the mournful howling of a wolf in the
near-by hills. Then Brings-Down-the-Sun continued:
“The wolf is our friend and we do him no harm. The Indians have a
saying, ‘The gun that shoots a wolf or coyote will never again shoot
straight.’
“I never heard of a wolf that did not wander. They raise their young in
one place and then move on to another. They like to run all over the
country.
“My father’s first name was Running Wolf. His father, Little Mountain,
gave him that name, because a wolf appeared in a dream and advised him,
saying:
“‘I am the head-chief of all the wolves and my name is Running Wolf.
You often hear my voice; my tracks are everywhere and I shall always
continue to wander. Name one of your sons after me; and if he has a
son, let that name be handed down; all of your descendants who bear my
name will have long life and good luck.’
“I have now the wolf-nature, because my father bestowed the name of
Running Wolf upon me. Like the wolf I wander over the plains and
through the mountains; I never like to stay long in one place.
“Now I am going to tell you more about my father—how my grandfather,
Little Mountain, happened to honor him with the name of Running Wolf,
although he had two older brothers.
“One day in early summer, when my father was only a boy, he saw a band
of warriors gather near my grandfather’s lodge; he was then head-chief
of the tribe. They were dressed for war and had their horses painted
with war signs. They stood in a circle, holding a big rawhide between
them, upon which they beat with sticks like a drum and sang a wolf
song. They marched singing through the camp, saying farewell to friends
and relatives; and then started south on a war expedition.
“Now this was very exciting to my father; his two older brothers were
among the warriors. He wanted to go too. But he knew they would not
take him because he was too young.
“After the expedition had gone, the boy ran into the lodge and took a
bow and arrows. He told his father, the head-chief, he was going for a
hunt; but he rode fast and overtook the war party. They tried to send
him back. But one of his brothers said:
“‘If he is so eager, let him come; he can look after one of the pack
horses.’ Thus it happened that my father went with that war party.
“One night, after they crossed the Yellowstone River, the boy was
wakened by a noise. He scouted around and saw a band of hostile Indians
coming into camp. They were some of the Snakes and he gave the alarm.
The Blackfoot warriors made ready to attack, but waited until just
before dawn.
“In the fight my father made a wonderful shot and killed a Snake
Indian. It was the only scalp they took on that trip. When the warriors
came back to the Blackfoot camp, they waited on the summit of a hill,
until a big crowd came out to meet them.
“Then they made known to the people how the boy was the only one to
kill an enemy. They showed the Snake scalp and the head-chief was proud
of his son. He tied that scalp to a long pole and told the boy to hold
it aloft, and to shout as they rode triumphantly through the camp: ‘My
name is Running Wolf; I am the youngest of the war party and the only
one to kill an enemy. Behold! Here is the scalp.’ Thus it happened that
my father got the name of Running Wolf.
“When my father was head-chief of the tribe, he went by the name of
Iron Shirt, because he was accustomed to wear a shirt which was
decorated with shining pieces of metal. He was also head man of the
band of Grease Melters. He was a large and muscular man, with fine mind
and a wonderful memory. He knew all the legends and lore of his tribe.
He could tell the age of a horse by its whinny and of a man by the
sound of his voice. He kept ‘winter-counts’ by making pictures on
buffalo robes. He recorded important events in the history of the
tribe—places of tribal camps, battles and the names of war chiefs,
years of smallpox, summers of drought and winters when snows were deep
and food scarce. He kept count of the winter when many of our people
died from the cough-sickness, the winter when the children broke
through the ice, when some moose came into our camp, also the winter
when we had to eat dogs to keep from starving, the time a herd of
antelope broke through the ice, when we caught some antelope in the
deep snow, when buffalo were scarce, and the time we made the first
treaty with white men.
“Sixty-one winters have passed since we had our first great sickness of
smallpox (1836); forty-two, since we had the big camp on the
Yellowstone River (1855), the time eight Indian tribes came together
and our head-chiefs were Little Dog, Big Snake, and Lame Bull;
twenty-seven winters since the coming of the North-West Mounted Police
(1870), and twenty-one since the bad winter, when many of our horses
were frozen to death (1876).
“I was born in the spring, the year the first white men appeared in our
country. And I was still a young boy when my father became the owner of
his first Medicine Pipe. This happened in one of our tribal camps,
which was being held in mid-summer. Wolf Child was the owner of a Pipe
and chose my father as his successor. He told the medicine pipe men he
wanted them to take my father.
“Now it happened that my father was a ‘bear-man’—that is, his power
came from the grizzly bear. He had a sacred bearskin inside his lodge,
which he kept hanging from the lodge-poles, just over his couch. The
word ‘bear’ must never be spoken in the presence of a Medicine Pipe; it
has an evil influence. For this reason the medicine pipe men were
always afraid to offer a Pipe to my father, with the sacred bearskin so
near.
“But Wolf Child, the owner of this Pipe, advised there was no danger
from the skin. He said my father had great power; besides it was
possible for them to drive away the evil by burning sweet pine as
incense.
“Thus Wolf Child persuaded his friends and overcame their fears. It was
after midnight, when I heard the medicine pipe men stealthily enter our
lodge. Wolf Child came first, with the sacred Pipe hidden under his
robe. They caught my father asleep; and, when he woke up, they offered
him the Pipe. He took it in both hands and they all began to drum and
sing. After that my father smoked the Pipe and said:
“‘I am the owner of many horses, which of them do you want?’
“Wolf Child answered: ‘Your black buffalo-horse.’ Now this was the most
valued horse in my father’s herds. He was a famous race horse, the
fastest in the tribe; he was so high-spirited it took three rawhide
bridles to hold him.
“But my father did not hesitate. He answered quickly: ‘Take him, he is
yours.’ So Wolf Child got the horse and my father became the owner of a
Medicine Pipe. It was an honor to be chosen, although the Pipe was a
great burden. But my father could not refuse; no one ever dares to turn
down a Medicine Pipe. I know of an Indian who tried it, because he did
not want to give up a valuable horse. Misfortune came upon him. His
father-in-law died, then the horse; and finally the man died himself.
All because he refused to take over a Medicine Pipe when it was offered
to him.”
ORIGIN OF HIS FATHER’S THUNDER PIPE
“Once I was camped with my father and grandfather on the St. Mary’s
River. We were near the mountains after beaver, which were
plentiful then. One day my father went alone on a hunt, following
the trail of some elk to Chief Mountain. At timber-line he came
upon a band of mountain sheep and trailed them towards the summit.
Near the top of the mountain, he came upon bad-smelling smoke
coming from a deep hole. Into it he rolled a stone. He waited to
hear it fall. But no sound came back; only a cloud of smoke so
dense he could hardly breathe. Then he saw a thunder cloud coming
down the mountain and started to run. There came a crash and he
fell to the ground. A woman stood over him; her face was painted
black and she had red zigzag streaks for lightning below her eyes.
Behind her stood a man with a huge weapon. My father heard him say:
“‘I told you to kill him quickly, but you stand there and pity
him.’
“He heard the woman chant: ‘When it rains, the sound of the Thunder
is my medicine.’
“Then the man sang and fired his big weapon; it sounded like the
crashing of thunder, and my father saw lightning coming from the
hole in the mountain. Suddenly he found himself inside a cave; he
could not speak, neither could he raise his head. He heard a voice
say:
“‘This is the person who threw the stone into our fireplace.’
“He heard some one beating a drum; and after the fourth beating, he
was able to sit up and look around. He was in the home of the
Thunder. He saw the Thunder Chief in the form of a huge bird, with
his wife and children around him. They all had drums painted with
the claws of the Thunder Bird, and its beak from which came streaks
of lightning.
“Whenever the Thunder Chief smoked his Pipe, he blew two whiffs
towards the sky, then two to the earth; and after each whiff the
thunder crashed. Finally the Thunder Chief said to my father:
“‘I am the Thunder Maker and my name is “Many Drums.” You have seen
my great power and can now go in safety. As soon as you return to
your camp, make a Pipe just like the one you see me smoking. When
you hear the first thunder in the spring, you will know I have come
from my cave. Then it is time for you to take out your Pipe and
hold it up. If you are ever in a bad thunderstorm and feel afraid,
pray to me saying:
“‘Pity me! Many Drums, for the sake of your youngest child,’ and no
harm will come to you.
“Thus it happened that my father became the owner of a Thunder
Pipe. When he knew he was going to die, he gave this Pipe into my
care. He said it was a ‘long-time-pipe’ and must not be buried with
him. I still have the Thunder Pipe and smoke it only on important
occasions.
“My father was skilled in the catching of eagles. He taught me how
to take eagles alive, and for many years the catching of eagles has
helped to support my family. But it was a hard and dangerous
calling. I had to go to a solitary place near the foot of the
mountains and dig a hole in the ground deep enough for me to stand
in. I killed a coyote and stretched the hide on sticks, laying raw
meat along the sides, to look as if it were freshly killed. I
entered the pit before daylight, in order that no eagle could see;
and covered it over with branches and leaves. The coyote bait lay
on top, just over my head. I stood in that pit all day without food
or drink. I could not even smoke, lest the eagles might get the
scent. Throughout the day I chanted the coyote song, ‘I want the
eagles to eat my body,’ because it had the power to attract eagles
to my bait.
“The Long Tails (magpies) generally came first. They walked around
the meat, chattering and saying to each other over and over, ‘Long
Tails go ahead and hang your sack upon a tree.’
“After a while an eagle would see the magpies eating the bait and
come near. At first he would be suspicious. When he walked upon the
blind and started to eat, I thrust both hands through the branches
and seized him by the legs. I drew him quickly into the pit and
killed him by breaking his neck with my foot, so that the wings
fell to both sides and the feathers were not injured.
“Golden eagles were the most profitable to catch; the Indians
wanted them because of their white tail feathers with black tips
which they used for headdresses and sacred bundles. Bald eagles
were scarce and hard to catch. Some of them were so powerful they
almost dragged me from the pit.
“In those days eagle-catching was a dangerous occupation, because
of grizzly bears. I remember an Indian, who held fast to his bait
when a big grizzly started to drag it away. The bear pulled off the
branches and saw the man in the pit. He pulled him out and tore him
to pieces. When his relatives came, there was nothing left but his
bones.
“My father did not die in battle, nor of sickness, but of old age.
After his death, I became interested in religious things and came
north to live. One night I slept alone on a high hill of the
prairies. I had a strong dream. The Sun God came to me and said:
“‘My son, be not afraid. I give you my power and will guard you
through life.’
“I took an interest in the Sun Dance and became one of its leaders.
From that time, I was no longer called Running Wolf. People called
me Brings-Down-the-Sun (Natósin-népe-e), because I had the power of
the Sun.
“I have nine children living, four sons and five daughters. The
names of my sons are, Running Wolf, Iron Shirt, Double Walker, and
Three Eagles. The girls are, Long Hair, Turns-Back-the-Herd-Alone,
Good Kill, Double-Gun-Woman, and Whistling-All-Night.
“Towards the north lies the highest summit of the Porcupine Hills.
No trail leads to it and it is surrounded by a dense forest. The
top is steep and is covered with stunted pines. From that direction
come our hardest storms. When my oldest son died I went to that
lonely summit. I did not want to see any one. I stayed there night
and day and fasted. Then I had a dream. The Spirit of the Mountain
came to me and gave me a Medicine Robe; [5] and with it went
supernatural power—power to heal the sick. This wonderful Robe had
many skins of birds and wild animals attached. There were marks to
represent the Sun and Morning Star, also the constellations of the
Bunch Stars and the Seven Persons. I wore it in the ceremony of the
Sun Dance, when I stood before the people; and it gave me power to
doctor the sick.
“That Spirit of the Mountain warned me to give up using the
sweat-lodge, lest more of my children die; and to wash daily in the
river. Since that time I have always bathed in the river every
morning, even in winter when I have to break the ice. I tell my
sons to bathe regularly; and after they finish, the women go in. I
believe sickness can be warded off by keeping the body clean and
using sweet smoke for incense.”