The Little Missouri was in her spring fullness, and the hills among
which she found her way to the Great Muddy were profusely adorned with
colors, much like those worn by the wild red man upon a holiday!
Looking toward the sunrise, one saw mysterious, deep shadows and bright
prominences, while on the opposite side there was really an extravagant
array of variegated hues. Between the gorgeous buttes and rainbow-tinted
ridges there were narrow plains, broken here and there by dry creeks
or gulches, and these again were clothed scantily with poplars and
sad-colored bull-berry bushes, while the bare spots were purple with the
wild Dakota crocuses.
Upon the lowest of a series of natural terraces there stood on this May
morning a young Sioux girl, whose graceful movements were not unlike
those of a doe which chanced to be lurking in a neighboring gulch. On
the upper plains, not far away, were her young companions, all busily
employed with the wewoptay, as it was called--the sharp-pointed stick
with which the Sioux women dig wild turnips. They were gayly gossiping
together, or each humming a love-song as she worked, only Snana stood
somewhat apart from the rest; in fact, concealed by the crest of the
ridge.
She had paused in her digging and stood facing the sun-kissed buttes.
Above them in the clear blue sky the father sun was traveling upward as
in haste, while to her receptive spirit there appealed an awful, unknown
force, the silent speech of the Great Mystery, to which it seemed to her
the whole world must be listening!
“O Great Mystery! the father of earthly things is coming to quicken
us into life. Have pity on me, I pray thee! May I some day become the
mother of a great and brave race of warriors!” So the maiden prayed
silently.
It was now full-born day. The sun shone hot upon the bare ground, and
the drops stood upon Snana’s forehead as she plied her long pole. There
was a cool spring in the dry creek bed near by, well hidden by a clump
of chokecherry bushes, and she turned thither to cool her thirsty
throat. In the depths of the ravine her eye caught a familiar
footprint--the track of a doe with the young fawn beside it. The hunting
instinct arose within.
“It will be a great feat if I can find and take from her the babe. The
little tawny skin shall be beautifully dressed by my mother. The legs
and the nose shall be embossed with porcupine quills. It will be my
work-bag,” she said to herself.
As she stole forward on the fresh trail she scanned every nook, every
clump of bushes. There was a sudden rustle from within a grove of wild
plum trees, thickly festooned with grape and clematis, and the doe
mother bounded away as carelessly as if she were never to return.
Ah, a mother’s ruse! Snana entered the thorny enclosure, which was
almost a rude teepee, and, tucked away in the furthermost corner, lay
something with a trout-like, speckled, tawny coat. She bent over it.
The fawn was apparently sleeping. Presently its eyes moved a bit, and a
shiver passed through its subtle body.
“Thou shalt not die; thy skin shall not become my work-bag!”
unconsciously the maiden spoke. The mother sympathy had taken hold on
her mind. She picked the fawn up tenderly, bound its legs, and put it on
her back to carry like an Indian babe in the folds of her robe.
“I cannot leave you alone, Tachinchala. Your mother is not here. Our
hunters will soon return by this road, and your mother has left behind
her two plain tracks leading to this thicket,” she murmured.
The wild creature struggled vigorously for a minute, and then became
quiet. Its graceful head protruded from the elkskin robe just over
Snana’s shoulder. She was slowly climbing the slope with her burden,
when suddenly like an apparition the doe-mother stood before her. The
fawn called loudly when it was first seized, and the mother was not too
far away to hear. Now she called frantically for her child, at the same
time stamping with her delicate fore-feet.
“Yes, sister, you are right; she is yours; but you cannot save her
to-day! The hunters will soon be here. Let me keep her for you; I will
return her to you safely. And hear me, O sister of the woods, that some
day I may become the mother of a noble race of warriors and of fine
women, as handsome as you are!”
At this moment the quick eyes of the Indian girl detected something
strange in the doe’s actions. She glanced in every direction and behold!
a grizzly bear was cautiously approaching the group from a considerable
distance.
“Run, run, sister! I shall save your child if I can,” she cried, and
flew for the nearest scrub oak on the edge of the bank. Up the tree she
scrambled, with the fawn still securely bound to her back. The grizzly
came on with teeth exposed, and the doe-mother in her flight came
between him and the tree, giving a series of indignant snorts as she
ran, and so distracted Mato from his object of attack; but only for a
few seconds--then on he came!
“Desist, O brave Mato! It does not become a great medicine-man to attack
a helpless woman with a burden upon her back!”
Snana spoke as if the huge brute could understand her, and indeed the
Indians hold that wild animals understand intuitively when appealed to
by human beings in distress. Yet he replied only with a hoarse growl, as
rising upon his hind legs he shook the little tree vigorously.
“Ye, ye, heyupi ye!” Snana called loudly to her companion
turnip-diggers. Her cry soon brought all the women into sight upon a
near-by ridge, and they immediately gave a general alarm. Mato saw them,
but appeared not at all concerned and was still intent upon dislodging
the girl, who clung frantically to her perch.
Presently there appeared upon the little knoll several warriors, mounted
and uttering the usual war-whoop, as if they were about to swoop down
upon a human enemy. This touched the dignity of Mato, and he immediately
prepared to accept the challenge. Every Indian was alive to the
possibilities of the occasion, for it is well known that Mato, or
grizzly bear, alone among animals is given the rank of a warrior, so
that whoever conquers him may wear an eagle feather.
“Woo! woo!” the warriors shouted, as they maneuvered to draw him into
the open plain.
He answered with hoarse growls, threatening a rider who had ventured
too near. But arrows were many and well-aimed, and in a few minutes the
great and warlike Mato lay dead at the foot of the tree.
The men ran forward and counted their coups on him, just as when an
enemy is fallen. Then they looked at one another and placed their hands
over their mouths as the young girl descended the tree with a fawn bound
upon her back.
“So that was the bait!” they cried. “And will you not make a feast with
that fawn for us who came to your rescue?”
“The fawn is young and tender, and we have not eaten meat for two days.
It will be a generous thing to do,” added her father, who was among
them.
“Ye-e-e!” she cried out in distress. “Do not ask it! I have seen this
fawn’s mother. I have promised to keep her child safe. See! I have saved
its life, even when my own was in danger.”
“Ho, ho, wakan ye lo! (Yes, yes, ‘tis holy or mysterious),” they
exclaimed approvingly.
It was no small trouble for Snana to keep her trust. As may well be
supposed, all the dogs of the teepee village must be watched and kept
at a distance. Neither was it easy to feed the little captive; but in
gaining its confidence the girl was an adept. The fawn soon followed her
everywhere, and called to her when hungry exactly as she had called to
her own mother.
After several days, when her fright at the encounter with the bear had
somewhat worn off, Snana took her pet into the woods and back to the
very spot in which she had found it. In the furthest corner of the
wild plum grove she laid it down, gently stroked its soft forehead, and
smoothed the leaflike ears. The little thing closed its eyes. Once more
the Sioux girl bent over and laid her cheek against the fawn’s head;
then reluctantly she moved away, hoping and yet dreading that the mother
would return. She crouched under a clump of bushes near by, and gave the
doe call. It was a reckless thing for her to do, for such a call might
bring upon her a mountain lion or ever-watchful silvertip; but Snana did
not think of that.
In a few minutes she heard the light patter of hoofs, and caught a
glimpse of a doe running straight toward the fawn’s hiding-place. When
she stole near enough to see, the doe and the fawn were examining one
another carefully, as if fearing some treachery. At last both were
apparently satisfied. The doe caressed her natural child, and the little
one accepted the milk she offered.
In the Sioux maiden’s mind there was turmoil. A close attachment to the
little wild creature had already taken root there, contending with the
sense of justice that was strong within her. Now womanly sympathy for
the mother was in control, and now a desire to possess and protect her
helpless pet.
“I can take care of her against all hunters, both animal and human. They
are ever ready to seize the helpless fawn for food. Her life will be
often exposed. You cannot save her from disaster. O, Takcha, my sister,
let me still keep her for you!” she finally appealed to the poor doe,
who was nervously watching the intruder, and apparently thinking how she
might best escape with the fawn.
Just at this moment there came a low call from the wood. It was a doe
call; but the wild mother and her new friend both knew that it was not
the call of a real doe.
“It is a Sioux hunter!” whispered the girl. “You must go, my sister! Be
off; I will take your child to safety!”
While she was yet speaking, the doe seemed to realize the danger. She
stopped only an instant to lick fondly the tawny coat of the little one,
who had just finished her dinner; then she bounded away.
As Snana emerged from the bushes with her charge, a young hunter met her
face to face, and stared at her curiously. He was not of her father’s
camp, but a stranger.
“Ugh, you have my game.”
“Tosh!” she replied coquettishly.
It was so often said among the Indians that the doe was wont to put on
human form to mislead the hunter, that it looked strange to see a woman
with a fawn, and the young man could not forbear to gaze upon Snana.
“You are not the real mother in maiden’s guise? Tell me truly if you are
of human blood,” he demanded rudely.
“I am a Sioux maiden! Do you not know my father?” she replied.
“Ah, but who is your father? What is his name?” he insisted, nervously
fingering his arrows.
“Do not be a coward! Surely you should know a maid of your own race,”
she replied reproachfully.
“Ah, you know the tricks of the doe! What is thy name?”
“Hast thou forgotten the etiquette of thy people, and wouldst compel me
to pronounce my own name? I refuse; thou art jesting!” she retorted with
a smile.
“Thou dost give the tricky answers of a doe. I cannot wait; I must act
before I lose my natural mind. But already I am yours. Whatever purpose
you may have in thus charming a poor hunter, be merciful,” and, throwing
aside his quiver, he sat down.
The maiden stole a glance at his face, and then another. He was
handsome. Softly she reentered the thicket and laid down the little
fawn.
“Promise me never to hunt here again!” she said earnestly, as she came
forth without her pretty burden, and he exacted another promise in
return. Thus Snana lost her fawn, and found a lover.