Thy memory shall be our portion;
Until death we must watch for the spirit!
The eyes of Antelope were closed while he chanted the dirge. He sang it
over and over, pausing between the lines, and straining as it were every
sense lest he might not catch the rapt whisper of her spirit, but only
the distant howls of coyotes answered him. His body became cold and numb
from sheer exhaustion, and at last his knees bent under him and he sank
down upon the ground, still facing the teepee. Unconsciousness overtook
him, and in his sleep or trance the voice came:
“Do not mourn for me, my friend! Come into my teepee, and eat of my
food.”
It seemed to Antelope that he faltered for a moment; then he entered
the teepee. There was a cheerful fire burning in the center. A basin
of broiled buffalo meat was placed opposite the couch of Taluta, on the
other side of the fire. Its odor was delicious to him, yet he hesitated
to eat of it.
“Fear not, kechuwa (my darling)! It will give you strength,” said the
voice.
The maid was natural as in life. Beautifully attired, she sat up on her
bed, and her demeanor was cheerful and kind.
The young man ate of the food in silence and without looking at the
spirit. “Ho, kechuwa!” he said to her when returning the dish, according
to the custom of his people.
Silently the two sat for some minutes, while the youth gazed into the
burning embers.
“Be of good heart,” said Taluta, at last, “for you shall meet my twin
spirit! She will love you as I do, and you will love her as you love me.
This was our covenant before we came into this world.”
The conception of a “twin spirit” was familiar to the Sioux. “Ho,”
responded the warrior, with dignity and all seriousness. He felt a great
awe for the spirit, and dared not lift his eyes to her face.
“Weep no more, kechuwa, weep no more,” she softly added; and the next
moment Antelope found himself outside the mysterious teepee. His limbs
were stiff and cold, but he did not feel faint nor hungry. Having filled
his pipe, he held it up to the spirits and then partook of the smoke;
and thus revived, he slowly and reluctantly left the sacred spot.
The main war-party also visited the old camp and saw the solitary teepee
grave, but did not linger there. They continued on the trail of
the caravan until they reached the new camping ground. They called
themselves successful, although they had left several of their number
on the field. Their triumph songs indicated this; therefore the people
hurried to receive the news and to learn who were the unfortunates.
The father of Antelope was foremost among those who ran to meet the
war-party. He learned that his son had distinguished himself in the
fight, and that his name was not mentioned among the brave dead.
“And where, then, is he?” he asked, with unconcealed anxiety.
“He left us three days ago to come in advance,” they replied.
“But he has not arrived!” exclaimed old Wezee, in much agitation.
He returned to his teepee, where he consoled himself as best he could by
smoking the pipe in solitude. He could neither sing praises nor indulge
in the death dirge, and none came in either to congratulate or mourn
with him.
The sun had disappeared behind the hills, and the old man still sat
gazing into the burning embers, when he heard a horse’s footfall at the
door of his lodge.
“Ho, atay (father)!” came the welcome call.
“Mechinkshe! mechinkshe!” (my son, my son), he replied in unrestrained
joy. Old Wezee now stood on the threshold and sang the praise song for
his son, ending with a warwhoop such as he had not indulged in since he
was quite a young man.
The camp was once more alive with the dances, and the dull thud of the
Indian drum was continually in the air. The council had agreed that
Antelope was entitled to wear a war-bonnet of eagles’ feathers. He was
accordingly summoned before the aboriginal parliament, and from the wise
men of the tribe he received his degree of war-bonnet.
It was a public ceremony. The great pipe was held up for him to take the
smoke of high honor.
The happiest person present was the father of Antelope; but he himself
remained calm and unmoved throughout the ceremony.
“He is a strange person,” was the whisper among a group of youths who
were watching the proceedings with envious eyes.
The young man was strangely listless and depressed in spirit. His old
grandmother knew why, but none of the others understood. He never joined
in the village festivities, while the rest of his family were untiring
in the dances, and old Wezee was at the height of his happiness.
It was a crisp October morning, and the family were eating their
breakfast of broiled bison meat, when the large drum at the council
lodge was struck three times. The old man set down his wooden basin.
“Ah, my son, the war-chiefs will make an announcement! It may be a call
for the enlistment of warriors! I am sorry,” he said, and paused. “I
am sorry, because I would rather no war-party went out at present. I
am getting old. I have enjoyed your success, my son. I love to hear the
people speak your name. If you go again upon the war-path, I shall no
longer be able to join in the celebrations. Something tells me that you
will not return!”
Young braves were already on their way to the council lodge. Tatoka
looked, and the temptation was great.
“Father, it is not becoming for me to remain at home when others go,” he
said, at last.
“Ho,” was the assent uttered by the father, with a deep sigh.
“Five hundred braves have enlisted to go with the great war prophet
against the three confederated tribes,” he afterward reported at home,
with an air of elation which he had not worn for some moons.
Since Antelope had received the degree of war-bonnet, his father had
spared neither time nor his meager means in his behalf. He had bartered
his most cherished possessions for several eagles that were brought
in by various hunters of the camp, and with his own hands had made a
handsome war-bonnet for his son.
“You will now wear a war-bonnet for the first time, and you are the
first of our family who has earned the right to wear one for many
generations. I am proud of you, my son,” he said as he presented it.
But when the youth replied: “Ho, ho, father! I ought to be a brave man
in recognition of this honor,” he again sighed heavily.
“It is that I feared, my son! Many a young man has lost his life for
vanity and love of display!”
The evening serenades began early, for the party was to leave at once.
In groups upon their favorite ponies the warriors rode around the inner
circle of the great camp, singing their war-songs. All the people came
out of the teepees, and sitting by twos and threes upon the ground,
bedecked with savage finery, they watched and listened. The pretty wild
maidens had this last opportunity given them to look upon the faces of
their sweethearts, whom they might never see again. Here and there
an old man was singing the gratitude song or thank-offering, while
announcing the first warpath of a novice, for such an announcement meant
the giving of many presents to the poor and aged. So the camp was filled
with songs of joy and pride in the departing husbands, brothers, and
sons.
As soon as darkness set in the sound of the rude native flute was added
to the celebration. This is the lover’s farewell. The young braves,
wrapped from head to foot in their finest robes, each sounded the
plaintive strains near the teepee of the beloved. The playful yodeling
of many voices in chorus was heard at the close of each song.
At midnight the army of five hundred, the flower of the Sioux, marched
against their ancient enemy. Antelope was in the best of spirits. He had
his war-bonnet to display before the enemy! He was now regarded as one
of the foremost warriors of his band, and might probably be asked to
perform some specially hazardous duty, so that he was fully prepared to
earn further distinction.
In five days the Sioux were encamped within a day’s travel of the
permanent village of the confederated tribes--the Rees, Mandans, and
Gros Ventres. The war-chief selected two men, Antelope and Eaglechild,
to scout at night in advance of the main force. It was thought that most
of the hunters had already returned to their winter quarters, and in
this case the Sioux would have no mean enemy to face. On the other hand,
a battle was promised that would enlarge their important traditions.
The two made their way as rapidly as possible toward the ancestral home
of their enemies. It was a night perfectly suited to what they had to
do, for the moon was full, the fleeting clouds hiding it from time to
time and casting deceptive shadows.
When they had come within a short distance of the lodges unperceived,
they lay flat for a long time, and studied the ways of the young men in
every particular, for it was Antelope’s plan to enter the great village
and mingle boldly with its inhabitants. Even their hoots and love-calls
were carefully noted, so that they might be able to imitate them.
There were several entertainments in progress in different parts of the
village, yet it was apparent that the greatest vigilance was observed.
The lodges of poles covered with earth were partly underground, and at
one end the war-horses were stabled, as a precaution against a possible
surprise.
At the moment that a large cloud floated over the moon, casting a
shadow large enough to cover the entire village, the drum in one of the
principal lodges was struck in quick time, accompanied by boisterous
war-whoops and singing. The two scouts adjusted their robes about them
in the fashion of the strangers, and walked openly in that direction.
They glanced quickly from side to side as they approached, but no one
paid any attention, so they came up with other young men and peeped
through the chinks in the earth wigwam. It was a great gambling party.
Among the guests were several distinguished warriors, and each at an
opportune time would rise and recount his great deeds in warfare against
the Sioux. The strangers could read their gestures, and Antelope was
once or twice almost on the point of stringing his bow to send an arrow
through the audacious speaker.
As they moved about the village, taking note of its numbers and
situation, and waiting an opportunity to withdraw without exciting
suspicion, they observed some of the younger braves standing near
another large wigwam, and one or two even peeped within. Moved by sudden
curiosity, Antelope followed their example. He uttered a low exclamation
and at once withdrew.
“What is it?” asked his companion, but received no answer.
It was evidently the home of a chief. The family were seated within at
their usual occupations, and the bright light of the central fire shone
full upon the face of a most lovely maiden.
Antelope stood apparently motionless, but he was trembling under his
robe like a leaf.
“Come, friend, there is another large cloud almost over the moon! We
must move away under its concealing shadow,” urged Eaglechild.
The other stood still as if undecided, but at last he approached the
lodge and looked in a second time. There sat his sweetheart in human
form once more! The maiden was attired in a doeskin gown set with elk’s
teeth like ivory. Her eyes were cast down demurely over her embroidery,
but in every feature she was the living counterpart of Taluta!
At last the two got away unobserved, and hastened toward the place where
they had concealed their horses. But here Antelope sent his companion on
in advance, making the excuse that he wished to study further the best
position from which to make the attack.
When he was left alone he stood still for a moment to decide upon a
plan. He could think of nothing but that he must meet the Ree maiden
before daylight! He realized the extreme hazard of the attempt, but he
also recalled what he had been told by the spirit of Taluta, and the
supernatural command seemed to justify him even in going thus upon the
eve of battle to meet the enemy of his people.
He skirted the heavy timber and retraced his steps to a point from which
he could see the village. The drum of the gambling party had ceased with
the shouts and laughter of the players. Apparently the village was lost
in slumber. The moon had set, and without pausing he advanced to the
home of the girl. As he came near some dogs began to bark, but he
silenced them after the manner of the Rees, and they obeyed him.
When Antelope softly raised the robe that hung over the entrance to the
chief’s lodge, he saw the fire smoldering in the center, and the members
of the household lying in their respective places, all seemingly in a
deep sleep. The girl lay opposite the entrance, where he had seen her
seated in the early part of the evening.
The heart of the Sioux beat violently, and he glanced nervously to left
and right. There was neither sound nor movement. Then he pulled his robe
completely over his head, after the fashion of a Ree lover, and softly
entered the wigwam.
The Ree maiden, having industriously worked on her embroidery until far
into the night, had retired to rest. In her dreams, the twin sister came
to her of whom she had had visions ever since she could remember, and
especially when something of importance was about to happen.
This time she came with a handsome young man of another tribe, and said:
“Sister, I bring you a Sioux, who will be your husband!”
The dreamer opened her eyes to behold a youth bending over her and
gently pulling her robe, as a suitor is permitted to do to awaken his
beloved.
When he saw that she was awake, the Sioux touched his breast, saying in
a whisper, “Tatoka,” and made the sign for Antelope. This pleased the
Ree girl, for her own brother, who had died the year before, had borne
that name. She immediately sat up and stirred the embers into a light
blaze. Then she took hold of his blanket and drew it from his face; and
there she seemed to see the very features of the man of her vision!
He took her hand in his, and she felt the force of love stream through
his long, nervous fingers, and instinctively knew his thoughts. In her
turn she touched her breast and made the sign for Shield, pronouncing in
her own tongue the word, Stasu. This seemed to him also a name of good
omen, and in the sign language which was common to all the people of the
plains, he asked her to be his wife.
Vividly her dream came back to her, and she could not refuse the
stranger. Her soul already responded to his; and for a few minutes they
sat silently side by side. When he arose and beckoned, “Come with me,”
she had no question to make, and without a word she followed him from
her father’s lodge and out into the forest.
In the midst of his ascending fame, at a moment when opportunity seemed
to favor his ambition, the brave Antelope had mysteriously disappeared!
His companion scout returned with a favorable report. He said that the
men of the three confederated tribes were gambling and feasting, wholly
unconscious of danger, and that Antelope would follow him with a further
report upon the best point of attack. The red warriors impatiently
awaited his return, until it became apparent that they could wait no
longer without sacrificing their chance of success. When the attack was
made it was already rather late. The sun had fairly cleared the eastern
hills, and most of the men were outside their lodges.
It was a great battle! Again and again the Sioux were repulsed, but
as often they rallied and repeated the charge until sundown, when they
effected their retreat with considerable loss. Had Antelope returned
in due season, the charge would have been made before dawn, while the
people were yet asleep.
When the battle was over, the Rees, Mandans, and Gros Ventres gathered
their dead and wounded. The night was filled with mourning. Soon the sad
news was heralded throughout the camp that the beautiful daughter of the
Ree chief was among the missing. It was supposed that she must have been
captured while driving her ponies to water in the early morning. The
grief for her loss was mingled with horror, because of a fear that she
might suffer humiliation at the hands of the Sioux warriors, and among
the young men there were muttered threats that the Sioux would pay
dearly for this.
Though partially successful, the Sioux had lost many of their bravest
warriors, and none could tell what had happened to Antelope--he who had
been believed the favorite of the gods of war. It was suggested by some
envious ones that perhaps he had recognized the strongly entrenched
position of the three tribes, and believing the battle would be a
disastrous one, had set out for home without making his report. But this
supposition was not deemed credible. On the other hand, the idea was
entertained that he had reentered the village, was detected and slain;
and therefore the enemy was on the lookout when the attack was made.
“Hay, hay, hay, mechinkshe (Alas, alas, my son)!” was the sorrowful
cry with which his old father received the news. His head fell upon his
breast, and all the others groaned in sympathy.
The sunset sky was a blanket of beautiful painting. There were
camp-fires among the clouds in orange and scarlet, while some were black
as night. So the camp fairly glowed in celebration of its heroes; yet
there was deep grief in many families. When the evening meal had been
eaten and the people were sitting outside their lodges, a tall old
man, almost nude, appeared in the circle, riding a fine horse. He had
blackened his face, his hair was cut short, and the horse also had been
deprived of his flowing mane and tail. Both were in deep mourning, after
the fashion of the Sioux.
“Ho ho!” exclaimed many warriors as he passed them, singing in a hoarse,
guttural voice.
“Ugh, he sings a war-song!” remarked one.
“Yes, I am told that he will find his son’s bones, or leave his own in
the country of the enemy!”
The rain had fallen incessantly for two days. The fleeing lovers had
reached this lonely mountain valley of the Big Horn region on the night
that the cold fall rains set in, and Antelope had hurriedly constructed
an arbor house or rude shelter of pine and cedar boughs.
It was enough. There they sat, man and wife, in their first home of
living green! The cheerful fire was burning in the center, and the happy
smoke went straight up among the tall pines. There was no human eye
to gaze upon them to embarrass--not even a common language in which to
express their love for one another.
Their marriage, they believed, was made by a spirit, and it was holy in
their minds. Each had cast away his people and his all for the sake of
this emotion which had suddenly overtaken them both with overwhelming
force, and the warrior’s ambition had disappeared before it like a
morning mist before the sun.
To them a new life was just beginning, and they had all but forgotten
the existence of any world save this. The young bride was enshrined in a
bower of spicy fragrance, and her face shone whenever her eyes met those
of her husband.
“This is as I would have it, kechuwa (darling)!” exclaimed the Sioux in
his own language. She simply responded with a childlike smile. Although
she did not understand his words, she read in the tones of his voice
only happy and loving thoughts.
The Ree girl had prepared a broiled bison steak, and her husband was
keeping the fire well fed with dry fagots. The odor of the buming fat
was delicious, and the gentle patter of the rain made a weird music
outside their wigwam.
As soon as her husband had left her alone--for he must go to water the
ponies and conceal them at a distance--Stasu came out to collect more
wood. Instinctively she looked all about her. Huge mountains towered
skyward, clad in pines. The narrow valley in which she was wound its way
between them, and on every side there was heavy forest.
She stood silent and awed, scarcely able to realize that she had
begun her new life absolutely alone, with no other woman to advise or
congratulate her, and visited only by the birds of the air. Yet all the
world to her just now was Antelope! No other woman could smile on him.
He could not talk to any one but her. The evening drum at the council
lodge could not summon him away from her, and she was well content.
When the young wife had done everything she could think of in
preparation for her husband’s return, including the making of several
birch-bark basins and pails for water, the rain had quite ceased, so
she spread her robe just outside the lodge and took up her work-bag, in
which she had several pairs of moccasin-tops already beaded.
While she bent over her work, getting up from time to time to turn the
roast which she had impaled upon a sharp stick above the glowing coals,
the bride had a stream of shy callers, of the little people of the
woods. She sat very still, so as not to startle them, and there is much
curiosity among these people concerning a stranger.
Presently she was startled by a footfall not unlike that of a man. She
had not been married long enough to know the sound of her husband’s
step, and she felt a thrill of joy and fear alternately. It might be he,
and it might be a stranger! She was loath to look up, but at last gave
a furtive glance, and met squarely the eyes of a large grizzly bear, who
was seated upon his haunches not far away.
Stasu was surprised, but she showed no fear; and fearlessness is the
best shield against wild animals. In a moment she got up unconcernedly,
and threw a large piece of meat to the stranger.
“Take of my wedding feast, O great Bear!” she addressed him, “and be
good to me to bless my first teepee! O be kind and recognize my brave
act in taking for my husband one of the warriors of the Sioux, the
ancient enemy of my people! I have accepted a husband of a language
other than mine, and am come to live among you as your neighbor. I offer
you my friendship!”
The bear’s only answer to her prayer was a low growl, but having eaten
the meat, he turned and clumsily departed.
In the meantime Antelope had set himself to master the geography of that
region, to study the outlook for game, and ascertain the best approaches
to their secret home. It was already settled in his mind that he
could never return either to his wife’s people or to his own. His
fellow-warriors would not forgive his desertion, and the Rees could not
be expected to welcome as a kinsman one of the foremost of their ancient
foes. There was nothing to be done but to remain in seclusion, and let
them say what they would of him!
He had loved the Ree maiden from the first moment he beheld her by the
light of the blazing embers, and that love must satisfy him. It was
well that he had never cared much for company, but had spent many of his
young days in solitude and fasting. It did not seem at all strange to
him that he had been forced to retreat into an unknown and wild country
with a woman whom he saw in the evening for the first time, and fled
with as his own wife before sunrise!
By the afternoon he had thoroughly informed himself upon the nature of
the surrounding country. Everything on the face of the map was surveyed
and charted in his mind, in accordance with his habits and training.
This done, he turned toward his secret dwelling. As he walked rapidly
and noiselessly through the hidden valleys and along the singing
streams, he noticed fresh signs of the deer, elk, and other wild tribes
among whom he had chosen to abide. “They shall be my people,” he said to
himself.
Behind a group of cedars he paused to reconnoiter, and saw the
pine-bough wigwam like a giant plant, each row of boughs overlapping
the preceding circular row like the scales of a fish. Stasu was sitting
before it upon a buffalorobe, attired in her best doeskin gown. Her
delicate oval face was touched with red paint, and her slender brown
hands were occupied with a moccasin meant for him to wear. He could
scarcely believe that it was a mortal woman that he saw before him
in broad day--the pride of No Man’s Trail, for that is what the Crow
Indians call that valley!
“Ho, ho, kechuwa!” he exclaimed as he approached her, and her heart
leaped in recognition of the magnetic words of love.
“It is good that we are alone! I shall never want to go back to my
people so long as I have you. I can dwell here with you forever,
unless you should think otherwise!” she exclaimed in her own tongue,
accompanied by graphic signs.
“Ho, I think of nothing else! I can see in every creature only friendly
ways and good feeling. We can live alone here, happily, unless you
should feel differently,” he replied in his own language with the signs,
so that his bride understood him.
The environment was just what it should be when two people are united in
marriage. The wedding music was played by Nature, and trees, brooks,
and the birds of the air contributed their peculiar strains to a great
harmony. All of the people on No Man’s Trail were polite, and understood
the reserves of love. These two had yielded to a simple and natural
impulse; but its only justification to their minds was the mysterious
leading of the twin spirit! That was the sum total of their excuse, and
it was enough.
Before the rigor of winter had set in, Tatoka brought to his bride
many buffalo skins. She was thoroughly schooled in the arts of savage
womanhood; in fact, every Indian maid was trained with this thought
in view--that she should become a beautiful, strong, skillful wife and
mother--the mother of a noble race of warriors!
In a short time within that green and pine-scented enclosure there smiled
a little wild paradise. Hard by the pine-bough wigwam there stood a new
white buffalo-skin teepee, tanned, cut, sewed, and pitched by the hands
of Stasu. Away in the woods, down by the rushing brook, was her tannery,
and not far away, in a sunny, open spot, she prepared her sun-cured
meats for winter use. Her kitchen was a stone fireplace in a shady spot,
and her parlor was the lodge of evergreen, overhung on two sides by
inaccessible ledges, and bounded on the other two by the sparkling
stream. It was a secret place, and yet a citadel; a silent place, and
yet not lonely!
The winter was cold and long, but the pair were happy in one another’s
company, and accepted their strange lot as one that was chosen for them
by the spirits. Stasu had insisted upon her husband speaking to her in
his own language, that she might learn it quickly. In a little while she
was able to converse with him, and when she had acquired his language
she taught him hers.
While Antelope was occupied with hunting and exploring the country,
always keeping in mind the danger of discovery by some wandering scout
or hunter, his wife grew well acquainted with the wild inhabitants of
No Man’s Trail. These people are as full of curiosity as man, and as the
Sioux never hunted near his home, they were entirely fearless. Many came
to the door of Stasu’s lodge, and she was not afraid, but offered them
food and spoke to them kindly. All animals judge by signs and are
quick in reading tones and gestures; so that the Ree girl soon had
grandfathers and grandmothers, after the Indian fashion, among the
wolves and bears that came oftenest for food.
Her husband in the field had also his fellow-hunters and friends. When
he killed the buffalo he always left enough meat for the wolves, the
eagles, and the ravens to feast upon, and these watched for the coming
of the lonely wild man. More than once they told him by their actions of
the presence of a distant campfire, but in each instance it proved to be
a small war-party which had passed below them on the trail.
Again it was summer. Never had the mountains looked grander or more
mysterious to the eyes of the two. The valley was full of the music
and happiness of the winged summer people; the trees wore their summer
attire, and the meadow its green blanket. There were many homes made
happy by the coming of little people everywhere, but no pair was happier
than Stasu and her husband when one morning they saw their little
brave lying wrapped in soft deerskins, and heard for the first time his
plaintive voice!
That morning, when Antelope set out on the hunt, he stopped at the
stream and looked at himself seriously to see whether he had changed
since the day before. He must now appear much graver, he said to
himself, because he is the father of a new man!
In spite of himself, his thoughts were with his own people, and he
wondered what his old grandmother would have said to his child! He
looked away off toward the Black Hills, to the Sioux country, and in his
heart he said, “I am a coward!”
The boy grew naturally, and never felt the lack of playmates and
companions, for his mother was ingenious in devising plays for him, and
in winning for him the confidence and kindness of the animal friends. He
was the young chief and the hero of No Man’s Trail! The bears and wolves
were his warriors; the buffalo and elk the hostile tribes upon whom he
went to war. Small as he was, he soon preferred to roam alone in the
woods. His parents were often anxious, but, on the other hand, they
entertained the hope that he would some day be “wakan,” a mysterious or
supernatural man, for he was getting power from his wild companions and
from the silent forces of nature.
One day, when he was about five years old, he gave a dance for his wild
pets upon the little plateau which was still their home. He had clothed
Mato, the bear, in one of his father’s suits as a great medicine-man.
Waho, the wolf, was painted up as a brave; and the young buffalo calf
was attired in one of his mother’s gowns. The boy acted as chief and
master of ceremonies.
The savage mother watched him with undisguised pride, mingled with
sorrow. Tears coursed down her dusky cheeks, although at the same time
she could not help laughing heartily at the strange performance. When
the play was ended, and she had served the feast at its close, Stasu
seemed lost in thought.
“He should not live in this way,” she was saying to herself. “He should
know the traditions and great deeds of my people! Surely his grandfather
would be proud of the boy!”
That evening, while the boy slept, and Mato lay outside the lodge
eagerly listening and sniffing the night air, the parents sat silent and
ill at ease. After a long time Stasu spoke her mind.
“My husband, you ask me why I am sad. It is because I think that the
Great Mystery will be displeased if we keep this little boy forever in
the wilderness. It is wrong to allow him to grow up among wild animals;
and if sickness or accident should deprive him of his father and mother,
our spirits would never rest, because we had left him alone! I have
decided to ask you to take us back, either to your people or to my
people. We must sacrifice our pride, or, if needs be, our lives, for his
life and happiness!”
This speech of Stasu’s was a surprise to her husband. His eyes rested
upon the ground as he listened, and his face assumed the proverbial
stoical aspect, yet in it there was not lacking a certain nobleness. At
last he lifted his eyes to hers, and said:
“You have spoken wise words, and it shall be as you have said. We shall
return to your people. If I am to die at the hands of the ancient enemy
of the Sioux, I shall die because of my love for you, and for our child.
But I cannot go back to my own people to be ridiculed by unworthy young
men for yielding to love of a Ree maiden!”
There was much feeling behind these words of Antelope. The rigid customs
of his people are almost a religion, and there is one thing above
all else which a Sioux cannot bear--that is the ridicule of his
fellow-warriors. Yes, he can endure severe punishment or even death at
the hands of the enemy rather than a single laugh of derision from a
Sioux!
In a few days the household articles were packed, and the three sadly
turned their backs upon their home. Stasu and her husband were very
silent as they traveled slowly along. When they reached the hill called
“Born-of-Day,” and she saw from its summit the country of her people
lying below her, she cried aloud, weeping happy tears. Antelope sat near
by with bowed head, silently smoking.
Finally on the fifth day they arrived within sight of the great
permanent village of the three tribes. They saw the earth lodges as
of old, thickly clustered along the flats of the Missouri, among their
rustling maize-fields. Antelope stopped. “I think you had better give
me something to eat, woman,” he said, smiling. It was the Sioux way of
saying, “Let me have my last meal!”
After they had eaten, Stasu opened her buckskin bags and gave her
husband his finest suit. He dressed himself carefully in the fashion
of his tribe, putting on all the feathers to which he was entitled as
a warrior. The boy also was decked out in gala attire, and Stasu, the
matron, had never looked more beautiful in her gown of ceremony with the
decoration of elks’ teeth, the same that she had worn on the evening of
her disappearance.
As she dressed herself, the unwelcome thought forced itself upon
her,--“What if my love is killed by my own countrymen in their frenzy?
This beautiful gown must then give place to a poor one, and this hair
will be cut short!” for such is the mourning of the widow among her
people.
The three rode openly down the long slope, and were instantly discovered
by the people of the village. Soon the plain was black with the
approaching riders. Stasu had begged her husband to remain behind, while
she went on alone with the boy to obtain forgiveness, but he sternly
refused, and continued in advance. When the foremost Ree warriors came
within arrow-shot they began to shoot, to which he paid no attention.
But the child screamed with terror, and Stasu cried out in her own
tongue:
“Do not shoot! I am the daughter of your chief!”
One of them returned the reply: “She is killed by the Sioux!” But when
the leaders saw her plainly they were astounded.
For a time there was great confusion. Some held that they should all
die, for the woman had been guilty of treason to her people, and even
now she might be playing a trick upon them. Who could say that behind
that hill there was not a Sioux war-party?
“No, no,” replied others. “They are in our power. Let them tell their
story!”
Stasu told it simply, and said in conclusion:
“This man, one of the bravest and most honorable men of his tribe,
deserted on the night of the attack, and all because he loved a
Ree maiden! He now comes to be your brother-in-law, who will fight
henceforth for you and with you, even if it be against his own people.
“He does not beg for mercy--he can dare anything! But I am a woman--my
heart is soft--I ask for the lives of my husband and my son, who is the
grandson of your chief!”
“He is a coward who touches this man!” exclaimed the leader, and a
thunder of warwhoops went up in approval of his words.
The warriors formed themselves in two great columns, riding twenty
abreast, behind and in front of the strangers. The old chief came out to
meet them, and took his son-inlaw’s hand. Thus they entered the village
in battle array, but with hearts touched with wonder and great gladness,
discharging their arrows upward in clouds and singing peace-songs.