I
“Ho my steed, we must climb one more hill! My reputation depends upon my
report!”
Anookasan addressed his pony as if he were a human companion, urged on
like himself by human need and human ambition. And yet in his heart he
had very little hope of sighting any buffalo in that region at just that
time of the year.
The Yankton Sioux were ordinarily the most far-sighted of their people
in selecting a winter camp, but this year the late fall had caught them
rather far east of the Missouri bottoms, their favorite camping-ground.
The upper Jim River, called by the Sioux the River of Gray Woods, was
usually bare of large game at that season. Their store of jerked buffalo
meat did not hold out as they had hoped, and by March it became an
urgent necessity to send out scouts for buffalo.
The old men at the tiyo teepee (council lodge) held a long council. It
was decided to select ten of their bravest and hardiest young men to
explore the country within three days’ journey of their camp.
“Anookasan, uyeyo-o-o, woo, woo!” Thus the ten men were summoned to
the council lodge early in the evening to receive their commission.
Anookasan was the first called and first to cross the circle of the
teepees. A young man of some thirty years, of the original native
type, his massive form was wrapped in a fine buffalo robe with the hair
inside. He wore a stately eagle feather in his scalp-lock, but no paint
about his face.
As he entered the lodge all the inmates greeted him with marked respect,
and he was given the place of honor. When all were seated the great
drum was struck and a song sung by four deep-chested men. This was the
prelude to a peculiar ceremony.
A large red pipe, which had been filled and laid carefully upon the
central hearth, was now taken up by an old man, whose face was painted
red. First he held it to the ground with the words: “Great Mother,
partake of this!” Then he held it toward the sky, saying: “Great Father,
smoke this!” Finally he lighted it, took four puffs, pointing it to the
four corners of the earth in turn, and lastly presented it to Anookasan.
This was the oath of office, administered by the chief of the council
lodge. The other nine were similarly commissioned, and all accepted the
appointment.
It was no light task that was thus religiously enjoined upon these
ten men. It meant at the least several days and nights of wandering
in search of signs of the wily buffalo. It was a public duty, and a
personal one as well; one that must involve untold hardship; and if
overtaken by storm the messengers were in peril of death!
Anookasan returned to his teepee with some misgiving. His old charger,
which had so often carried him to victory, was not so strong as he had
been in his prime. As his master approached the lodge the old horse
welcomed him with a gentle whinny. He was always tethered near by, ready
for any emergency.
“Ah, Wakan! we are once more called upon to do duty! We shall set out
before daybreak.”
As he spoke, he pushed nearer a few strips of the poplar bark, which was
oats to the Indian pony of the olden time.
Anookasan had his extra pair of buffaloskin moccasins with the hair
inside, and his scanty provision of dried meat neatly done up in a
small packet and fastened to his saddle. With his companions he started
northward, up the River of the Gray Woods, five on the east side and a
like number on the west.
The party had separated each morning, so as to cover as much ground as
possible, having agreed to return at night to the river. It was now the
third day; their food was all but gone, their steeds much worn, and the
signs seemed to indicate a storm. Yet the hunger of their friends and
their own pride impelled them to persist, for out of many young men
they had been chosen, therefore they must prove themselves equal to the
occasion.
The sun, now well toward the western horizon, cast over snow-covered
plains a purplish light. No living creature was in sight and the quest
seemed hopeless, but Anookasan was not one to accept defeat.
“There may be an outlook from yonder hill which will turn failure into
success,” he thought, as he dug his heels into the sides of his faithful
nag. At the same time he started a “Strong Heart” song to keep his
courage up!
At the summit of the ascent he paused and gazed steadily before him. At
the foot of the next coteau he beheld a strip of black. He strained his
eyes to look, for the sun had already set behind the hilltops. It was
a great herd of buffaloes, he thought, which was grazing on the
foot-hills.
“Hi hi, uncheedah! Hi, hi, tunkasheedah!” he was about to exclaim in
gratitude, when, looking more closely, he discovered his mistake. The
dark patch was only timber.
His horse could not carry him any further, so he got off and ran behind
him toward the river. At dusk he hailed his companions.
“Ho, what success?” one cried.
“Not a sign of even a lone bull,” replied another.
“Yet I saw a gray wolf going north this evening. His direction is
propitious,” remarked Anookasan, as he led the others down the slope and
into the heavy timber. The river just here made a sharp turn, forming a
densely wooded semicircle, in the shelter of a high bluff.
The braves were all downhearted because of their ill-luck, and only the
sanguine spirit of Anookasan kept them from utter discouragement. Their
slight repast had been taken and each man had provided himself with
abundance of dry grass and twigs for a bed. They had built a temporary
wigwam of the same material, in the center of which there was a generous
fire. Each man stretched himself out upon his robe in the glow of it.
Anookasan filled the red pipe, and, having lighted it, he took one or
two hasty puffs and held it up to the moon, which was scarcely visible
behind the cold clouds.
“Great Mother, partake of this smoke! May I eat meat to-morrow!” he
exclaimed with solemnity. Having uttered this prayer, he handed the pipe
to the man nearest him.
For a time they all smoked in silence; then came a distant call.
“Ah, it is Shunkmanito, the wolf! There is something cheering in his
voice to-night,” declared Anookasan. “Yes, I am sure he is telling us
not to be discouraged. You know that the wolf is one of our best friends
in trouble. Many a one has been guided back to his home by him in a
blizzard, or led to game when in desperate need. My friends, let us not
turn back in the morning; let us go north one more day!”
No one answered immediately, and again silence reigned, while one by one
they pulled the reluctant whiffs of smoke through the long stem of the
calumet.
“What is that?” said one of the men, and all listened intently to catch
the delicate sound. They were familiar with all the noises of the night
and voices of the forest, but this was not like any of them.
“It sounds like the song of a mosquito, and one might forget while he
listens that this is not midsummer,” said one.
“I hear also the medicine-man’s single drumbeat,” suggested another.
“There is a tradition,” remarked Anookasan, that many years ago a party
of hunters went up the river on a scout like this of ours. They never
returned. Afterward, in the summer, their bones were found near the home
of a strange creature, said to be a little man, but he had hair all over
him. The Isantees call him Chanotedah. Our old men give him the name
Oglugechana. This singular being is said to be no larger than a new-born
babe. He speaks an unknown tongue.
“The home of Oglugechana is usually a hollow stump, around which all of
the nearest trees are felled by lightning. There is an open spot in the
deep woods wherever he dwells. His weapons are the plumes of various
birds. Great numbers of these variegated feathers are to be found in the
deserted lodge of the little man.
“It is told by the old men that Oglugechana has a weird music by which
he sometimes bewitches lone travelers. He leads them hither and thither
about his place until they have lost their senses. Then he speaks to
them. He may make of them great war-prophets or medicinemen, but his
commands are hard to fulfill. If any one sees him and comes away before
he is bewildered, the man dies as soon as he smells the camp-fire, or
when he enters his home his nearest relative dies suddenly.”
The warrior who related this legend assumed the air of one who narrates
authentic history, and his listeners appeared to be seriously impressed.
What we call the supernatural was as real to them as any part of their
lives.
“This thing does not stop to breathe at all. His music seems to go on
endlessly,” said one, with considerable uneasiness.
“It comes from the heavy timber north of us, under the high cliff,”
reported a warrior who had stepped outside of the rude temporary
structure to inform himself more clearly of the direction of the sound.
“Anookasan, you are our leader--tell us what we should do! We will
follow you. I believe we ought to leave this spot immediately. This is
perhaps the spirit of some dead enemy,” suggested another. Meanwhile,
the red pipe was refilled and sent around the circle to calm their
disturbed spirits.
When the calumet returned at last to the one addressed, he took it in a
preoccupied manner, and spoke between labored pulls on the stem.
“I am just like yourselves--nothing more than flesh--with a spirit that
is as ready to leave me as water to run from a punctured water-bag! When
we think thus, we are weak. Let us rather think upon the brave deeds
of our ancestors! This singing spirit has a gentle voice; I am ready to
follow and learn if it be an enemy or no. Let us all be found together
next summer if need be!”
“Ho, ho, ho!” was the full-throated response.
“All put on your war-paint,” suggested Anookasan. “Have your knives and
arrows ready!”
They did so, and all stole silently through the black forest in the
direction of the mysterious sound. Clearer and clearer it came through
the frosty air; but it was a foreign sound to the savage ear. Now it
seemed to them almost like a distant water-fall; then it recalled the
low hum of summer insects and the drowsy drone of the bumblebee. Thump,
thump, thump! was the regular accompaniment.
Nearer and nearer to the cliff they came, deeper into the wild heart
of the woods. At last out of the gray, formless night a dark shape
appeared! It looked to them like a huge buffalo bull standing motionless
in the forest, and from his throat there apparently proceeded the thump
of the medicine drum, and the song of the beguiling spirit!
All of a sudden a spark went up into the air. As they continued to
approach, there became visible a deep glow about the middle of the dark
object. Whatever it was, they had never heard of anything like it in all
their lives!
Anookasan was a little in advance of his companions, and it was he who
finally discovered a wall of logs laid one upon another. Half way up
there seemed to be stretched a par-fleche (raw-hide), from which a dim
light emanated. He still thought of Oglugechana, who dwells within a
hollow tree, and determined to surprise and if possible to overpower
this wonderworking old man.
All now took their knives in their hands and advanced with their leader
to the attack upon the log hut. “Wa-wa-wa-wa, woo, woo!” they cried.
Zip, zip! went the par-fleche door and window, and they all rushed in!
There sat a man upon a roughly hewn stool. He was attired in wolfskins
and wore a foxskin cap upon his head. The larger portion of his face was
clothed with natural fur. A rudely made cedar fiddle was tucked
under his furred chin. Supporting it with his left hand, he sawed it
vigorously with a bow that was not unlike an Indian boy’s miniature
weapon, while his moccasined left foot came down upon the sod floor in
time with the music. When the shrill war-whoop came, and the door and
window were cut in strips by the knives of the Indians, he did not even
cease playing, but instinctively he closed his eyes, so as not to behold
the horror of his own end.