CHAPTER I_Sinopah, the Indian Boy

SINOPAH

_The Indian Boy_

JAMES WILLARD SCHULTZ

(AP-I-KUN-I)

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

E. BOYD SMITH

[Illustration: Logo]

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

BOSTON · NEW YORK · CHICAGO · DALLAS

SAN FRANCISCO

The Riverside Press Cambridge

THIS BOOK OR PARTS THEREOF IN ANY FORM

The Riverside Press

CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

[Illustration: "I CALL HIM SINOPAH!" (p. 15)]

Contents

I. SINOPAH GETS HIS NAME 1

II. SINOPAH AND SINOPAH 17

III. SINOPAH AND HIS PLAYFELLOWS 33

IV. SINOPAH'S ESCAPE FROM THE BUFFALO 43

V. THE CLAY TOYS 54

VI. THE STORY OF SCARFACE 69

VII. THE BUFFALO TRAP 83

VIII. SPINNING TOP 99

IX. SINOPAH'S FIRST BOW 113

X. TRACKING A MOUNTAIN LION 126

XI. SINOPAH JOINS THE MOSQUITO SOCIETY 141

Illustrations

"I CALL HIM SINOPAH!" (page 15) _Frontispiece_

HIS LITTLE BODY ACTUALLY FLEW THROUGH THE AIR 52

THEN IT WAS THAT HE SUDDENLY TURNED 96

IT WAS A FINE SHOT 124

_From drawings by E. Boyd Smith_

SINOPAH

The Indian Boy

CHAPTER I

SINOPAH GETS HIS NAME

This is the Story of Sinopah, a Blackfoot Indian boy; he who afterward

became the great chief Pitamakan, or, as we say, the Running Eagle. I

knew Pitamakan well; also his white friend and partner in many

adventures, Thomas Fox. Both were my friends; they talked to me much

about their boyhood days, so you may know that this is a true story.

It was a great many years ago, in the time of the buffalo, that Sinopah

was born, and it was on a warm, sunny day in June that he first saw the

light of the sun, to which he was afterward to make many a prayer. The

great camp of the Blackfeet was pitched on the Two Medicine River, one

of the prettiest streams in all Montana. Only a few miles to the west of

the camp the sharp peaks of the Rocky Mountains rose for thousands of

feet into the clear blue air. To the north, and south, and east the

great plains stretched away to the very edge of the horizon, and they

were now green with the fresh grasses of spring. The mile-wide valley of

the Two Medicine lay like a great gash in the plain, and several hundred

feet below it. Along the shores of the stream there was a belt of

timber: big cottonwood trees, with bunches of willow, service berry, and

rose-brush growing under them. Elsewhere the wide, level bottoms were

splotched with the green of lowland grass and the pale silver-green of

sweet sage. Thousands of horses grazed on these bottoms and out on the

near plains; the Blackfeet had so many of the animals that they could

not count them all in a week's time. There were more than five hundred

lodges, or wigwams, in the camp, and they were strung along the bottom,

just outside of the timber belt, for several miles. Each lodge was the

home of one or two families, the average being eight persons to the

lodge, so there were about four thousand people in this one camp of the

three tribes of the Blackfeet Nation.

Those were wild days in which Sinopah was born. Fort Benton, owned by

the American Fur Company, was the only white settlement in all Montana.

The Blackfeet owned all of the country from the Saskatchewan River, in

Canada, south to the Yellowstone River, and from the Rocky Mountains

eastward for more than three hundred miles. The plains were covered with

buffalo and antelope; in the mountains and along the rivers were

countless numbers of elk, deer, bighorn, moose, black and grizzly bears,

wolves, and many smaller animals. So it was that the Blackfeet were very

rich. They had always plenty of meat and berries, soft robes and furs,

and with their many horses they roamed about on their great plains and

hunted, and were happy.

Usually the birth of a child in the great camp was hardly mentioned. But

on this June morning the news spread quickly from one end to the other

of it that in the lodge of White Wolf there was a baby boy. There was

much talk about it because White Wolf was a great chief, and it was well

known that he had long wanted a son. Everybody now said that the gods

had been good, and had given him his wish. All that day the medicine men

and warriors kept going to his lodge to say how pleased they were that

this had come to him.

The chief's lodge was a very large one. It was made of twenty cow

buffalo skins that had been tanned into soft leather, cut to the right

shape, and sewed together with sinew thread. This, the lodge skin, as it

was called, was stretched over twenty-four long, tough, and slender pine

poles set in the shape of a cone. The lower edge or skirt of the skin

did not touch the ground by a space of something like four inches. But

inside there was a lining of leather, weighted to the ground by the

couches and sacks of household property, and extending upward for five

or six feet. Thus, between this lining and the outer lodge skin there

was a space of the thickness of the lodge poles, and this was the

draught flue. The cold air rushed up through it and out of the open top

of the lodge, carrying with it the smoke from the fire. There were two

large wings, or "ears," at the top of the skin, held stretched out by

two long poles. These were shifted one way or another to protect the

opening from the wind, and so the lodge was always free from smoke. The

skin was waterproof; the lining kept the wind out; and so, even in the

coldest winter weather, a very small fire in the centre of the lodge

made the people very comfortable. At night, when the fire died out, they

lay in their warm beds of buffalo robes and slept just as well as you do

ill your warm home.

It was in the afternoon that Wesley Fox, a great man of the American

Fur Company, and uncle of Thomas Fox, came to White Wolf's lodge. A

number of warriors coming out of it greeted him pleasantly. He waited

until they had passed, then raised the curtain of the little, oblong

doorway, and stepped inside. "Ok-yi!" (Welcome) said White Wolf, and

motioned him to a place on his right, which was the seat for honored

guests. The chief's face was all smiles. He rubbed his hands together,

then spatted them, and said, in his own language, of course, "White

brother mine, this is the happiest day of my life. I have a son. Look,

now, what a fine one he is, how big for one born this day as the sun was

coming up. We are going to name him right away, and I ask you to stay

and take part in the naming feast."

Wesley Fox was already looking at the child, or, rather, at its head,

which was all of it that could be seen. It was wrapped around and

around, arms and all, in several bandages of soft cloth, and then laced

into a cradle, the back of which was a piece of rough-hewn board. The

lacings held the roll of him flat against it: he could not move hand or

foot, or his head either, except for an inch or two to the right or

left. Altogether, in his odd wrappings and lacings, he looked like a

little mummy from the tombs of the Egyptian kings. The cradle was

propped up at the foot of his mother's couch, so that he rested in an

almost upright position. The mother, half sitting up against a willow

slat back-rest, gazed across the length of the couch at the round little

face, and there was a world of love shining in her big dark eyes.

The baby's face, as well as its short, thin hair, was of a red bronze

color. It had a funny, tender little mouth, and its eyes were very

bright. All at once it began to pucker its mouth and make a queer little

cry.

"There! there! mother," the chief said anxiously, "it is crying; maybe

it is sick. Oh, what if it should get real sick and die? Do something

at once for it, woman. If you don't know what to do, I'll get some wise

old women to come in."

"There is nothing wrong with it. All babies cry a little," said the

mother. And raising herself, she caught hold of the bottom of the cradle

and drew it to her. There was no more crying, and the chief was happy

again.

Presently an old, old medicine man, or sun priest, came in, followed by

a number of warriors and women, all of them relatives of White Wolf or

of his wife. They were made welcome, and filling and lighting his great

stone pipe the chief passed it to the man nearest him, and then it went

clear around the circle, each one of the guests taking a few whiffs of

smoke.

After the smoke several women of the lodge passed around the feast,

giving to each guest a wooden dish containing broiled buffalo tongue,

dried camas root, and fresh, puckery berries of the red willow. There

was much talk and laughter. The women passed the baby from one to

another, kissing it, saying how much it looked like its father, and

talking foolish little words to it just as white women do to a baby of

their kind.

The feast was soon over. No one was really hungry and only a very small

portion of the food was eaten. The old medicine man, I-kus-kin-i, or Low

Horn, by name, had brought his own pipe, and now filled and lighted it

and passed it around. He knew why he had been invited to the lodge, but

for all that it was White Wolf's duty to tell the reason for the

gathering of relatives, and so the chief made a little speech.

"Relatives and friends," he said, "soon after the sun came in sight this

morning, he looked down and saw my new-born boy. Before he goes out of

sight to his lodge to-night, I think it right that he should know the

new-born's name. So it is that I have asked you all to gather here. I

call upon our old friend Low Horn to say what the name shall be, and I

now make him a small present: Low Horn, in my band of horses grazing

out yonder on the plain is a certain four-year-old black-and-white

pinto. I give him to you. A white three-year-old, a roan four-year-old

with a split ear, and a gray five-year-old, well broken and a swift

buffalo runner, I also give you. Let us hear the name."

"Yes, yes!" every one exclaimed; "let us hear the name, O wise one."

There followed a long silence. The old medicine man sat bowed over in

deep thought. In his hands was a small buckskin sack ornamented with

bands of colored porcupine quill embroidery. Presently he laid the sack

on the ground, straightened up, and said:--

"We all know that the naming of a new-born boy is an important matter.

Some names bring good luck, some bring bad luck. I am going to try hard

to give this little one a name that will please the gods, and cause them

to favor him.

"Listen! It was long ago in my young days. One winter day I took my bow

and arrows and walked up on the plain to hunt buffalo. I saw a large

band of them on some far hills and started out that way toward them. The

day was cloudy and before I left camp people were saying that more snow

was about to fall. After sighting the buffalo I hoped that a storm would

come, for in the thick of it the animals would be easily approached. I

walked on and on as fast as I could, for the herd was a long way off.

When I was out in the middle of the great plain, Cold-Maker suddenly

came out of the north. As always, he hid himself in the thick snowfall,

which he drove in all directions with fierce cold winds. No one has ever

seen the shape of him because of that. The stinging snow beat against my

face, then at my back, then swirled around and around me. I could not

see the distance of twenty steps in any direction, and knew not which

way was the river and camp. I was lost and beginning to freeze. I prayed

the gods to have pity; in some way to show me the way to the river.

"Then out of the awful swirling and drifting snow came a little

creature with head down and drooping tail. It was a Sinopah. [The

"swift" or "kit" fox of the North-western plains.]

"It passed close to me, showing no fear, just looking up once at me, its

black eyes shining strangely, deep down in its snow-caked hair: 'Oh,

little brother,' I cried, 'you are going to the sheltering timber of the

river. Do not haste; guide me thither, else I die.'

"Sinopah was almost out of sight then, although so near. But when I

asked for his help, he stopped and looked back, as if waiting for me. I

walked toward him as fast as I could, holding my robe close against my

face so as to shield it from the stinging snow. Sinopah waited until I

was within ten steps of him, then pushed sidling on against the drift

until nearly out of sight again, when he stopped as before, as if

waiting. And so we went on and on. Sometimes the wind was in my face,

sometimes beating against my side or back, but I knew that that was a

trick of Cold-Maker. He wanted to confuse me; to make me think that I

was going now in one direction, and again turning another way. He wanted

me to go around and around in a circle until he could kill me with his

freezing winds.

"Through it all I had faith. I believed that the gods had heard my

prayers; that Sinopah had been sent by them to save me. Sometimes, when

it seemed as if he certainly had turned and was going straight back the

way we had come, doubts for a moment filled my mind, but I thrust them

out. The cold grew more and more bitter; the snow rushed and whirled

into deeper and deeper drifts. I became weary; I wanted to lie down and

sleep; and at the last it was all I could do to struggle on. I could not

have traveled much farther when suddenly we began to descend a steep

hill, and I knew that we were leaving the plain and going down into the

river valley. It was so. We soon got to the bottom and went on through

the tall sagebrush of the lowlands. And then, seemingly very far off,

but really only a few steps distant, the naked branches of cottonwoods

appeared in the thick, driving snow, and I could hear the wind crying

through them. I hastened then, as fast as I could, and soon stood in the

shelter of the timber bordering the river. Right in front of me was a

dead, bent old tree that I remembered having seen before; the camp was

just a little way up from it. 'Little brother,' I cried, 'you have saved

me.'

"But Sinopah was gone. I could not see him anywhere about. I went on and

soon came to the camp and to my own lodge. I was saved. Sinopah had led

me straight home. There and then I made a vow: ever afterward, when

passing the dens of the Sinopahs, if I had meat I dropped a piece of it

for them and their young."

"Ah, hah, hai!" all the guests exclaimed. "How wonderful. Great medicine

was Sinopah."

"Pass me the new-born one," said Low Horn.

A woman placed the laced little form in his hands and he looked long and

kindly down at the round, smooth face. Then, taking sacred, dull-red

paint from a little buckskin sack, he carefully rubbed it on the baby's

forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin. Lastly he held the child face upward

toward the sun, and said: "O all-powerful Sun, and you, Nap-i (Old Man),

Maker-of-the-World: behold, I have painted the new-born one with your

own sacred color, and now I name him. I give him a name for his young

days. A name to last until he becomes a warrior and makes a name for

himself. I call him Sinopah.

"Have pity on Sinopah, O you great ones. Make him grow up strong and

brave; fill his heart with love for father and mother, and kind feeling

for all our people. Give him long life, O Maker-of-the-World, and you,

wonderful Maker-of-the-Days. Have pity on us all, men, women, and

children; give us all long life. I have said."

"Ai! Ai! You gods, have pity on us," all the guests cried, and at that

they all arose and went their ways. The boy was named.