From a long night at my father's bedside I came out to look upon the
morning. The yellow sun hung equally between the snow-covered land and
the cloudless blue sky. The light of the new day was cold. The strong
breath of winter crusted the snow and fitted crystal shells over the
rivers and lakes. As I stood in front of the tepee, thinking of the vast
prairies which separated us from our tribe, and wondering if the high
sky likewise separated the soft-hearted Son of God from us, the icy
blast from the North blew through my hair and skull. My neglected hair
had grown long and fell upon my neck.
My father had not risen from his bed since the day the medicine-man led
the people away. Though I read from the Bible and prayed beside him upon
my knees, my father would not listen. Yet I believed my prayers were not
unheeded in heaven.
"Ha, ha, ha! my son," my father groaned upon the first snowfall. "My
son, our food is gone. There is no one to bring me meat! My son, your
soft heart has unfitted you for everything!" Then covering his face
with the buffalo-robe, he said no more. Now while I stood out in that
cold winter morning, I was starving. For two days I had not seen any
food. But my own cold and hunger did not harass my soul as did the
whining cry of the sick old man.
Stepping again into the tepee, I untied my snow-shoes, which were
fastened to the tent-poles.
My poor mother, watching by the sick one, and faithfully heaping wood
upon the centre fire, spoke to me:
"My son, do not fail again to bring your father meat, or he will starve
to death."
"How, Ina," I answered, sorrowfully. From the tepee I started forth
again to hunt food for my aged parents. All day I tracked the white
level lands in vain. Nowhere, nowhere were there any other footprints
but my own! In the evening of this third fast-day I came back without
meat. Only a bundle of sticks for the fire I brought on my back.
Dropping the wood outside, I lifted the door-flap and set one foot
within the tepee.
There I grew dizzy and numb. My eyes swam in tears. Before me lay my
old gray-haired father sobbing like a child. In his horny hands he
clutched the buffalo-robe, and with his teeth he was gnawing off the
edges. Chewing the dry stiff hair and buffalo-skin, my father's eyes
sought my hands. Upon seeing them empty, he cried out:
"My son, your soft heart will let me starve before you bring me meat!
Two hills eastward stand a herd of cattle. Yet you will see me die
before you bring me food!"
Leaving my mother lying with covered head upon her mat, I rushed out
into the night.
With a strange warmth in my heart and swiftness in my feet, I climbed
over the first hill, and soon the second one. The moonlight upon the
white country showed me a clear path to the white man's cattle. With my
hand upon the knife in my belt, I leaned heavily against the fence while
counting the herd.
Twenty in all I numbered. From among them I chose the best-fattened
creature. Leaping over the fence, I plunged my knife into it.
My long knife was sharp, and my hands, no more fearful and slow, slashed
off choice chunks of warm flesh. Bending under the meat I had taken for
my starving father, I hurried across the prairie.
Toward home I fairly ran with the life-giving food I carried upon my
back. Hardly had I climbed the second hill when I heard sounds coming
after me. Faster and faster I ran with my load for my father, but the
sounds were gaining upon me. I heard the clicking of snowshoes and the
squeaking of the leather straps at my heels; yet I did not turn to see
what pursued me, for I was intent upon reaching my father. Suddenly like
thunder an angry voice shouted curses and threats into my ear! A rough
hand wrenched my shoulder and took the meat from me! I stopped
struggling to run. A deafening whir filled my head. The moon and stars
began to move. Now the white prairie was sky, and the stars lay under my
feet. Now again they were turning. At last the starry blue rose up into
place. The noise in my ears was still. A great quiet filled the air. In
my hand I found my long knife dripping with blood. At my feet a man's
figure lay prone in blood-red snow. The horrible scene about me seemed a
trick of my senses, for I could not understand it was real. Looking
long upon the blood-stained snow, the load of meat for my starving
father reached my recognition at last. Quickly I tossed it over my
shoulder and started again homeward.
Tired and haunted I reached the door of the wigwam. Carrying the food
before me, I entered with it into the tepee.
"Father, here is food!" I cried, as I dropped the meat near my mother.
No answer came. Turning about, I beheld my gray-haired father dead! I
saw by the unsteady firelight an old gray-haired skeleton lying rigid
and stiff.
Out into the open I started, but the snow at my feet became bloody.