full pots steaming in the middle and the old people holding their cups
and knives, many people were crowding around to see. They were all
still when Blue Spotted Horse stood up with his pipe near the pots. He
looked very old too, for his hair was white and he stooped, and when he
looked at you there were half-moons in his eyes. But when he held his
hands and his pipe to the place where the sun goes down, and sent forth
a voice, it went with eagle wings. There he prayed to the Power that
makes live and destroys. To the place where the Great White Giant lives
he turned and prayed to the Power that cleanses and heals. To the place
whence come the morning star and the day, he prayed to the Power that
gives light and understanding and peace. At the place whence comes the
summer, he prayed to the Power of growing. Then he raised his hands and
his pipe to the sky, sending a voice to Wakon Tonka, the one who has
all these Powers. And last he leaned low, praying to Maka, the mother
of all that live.
“When he had done this, he went to his place in the circle and sat
down. There was a murmuring all around the hoop and among the crowding
people. _Hetchetu aloh!_ So it was indeed. Then Blue Spotted Horse
looked all around the circle at the old people waiting with their cups
and knives, and he smiled at them like a grandfather at his children’s
children. Then he looked straight at us boys and began talking:
“‘Grandsons, these old people here have been sitting in their tepees
with their heads down. They were thinking about where to get some
good tender food. They all know you, so they all began looking up to
your tepee to see if maybe smoke was coming out. Smoke came out of
your tepee, and they were waiting. They were sitting there waiting
with their heads down thinking of you. You had done brave deeds, so
maybe you would be giving a feast. And while they were sitting there
thinking, all at once there you were, inviting them to come and eat!
They are not often happy any more, for the black road gets steeper
before it ends. But when they heard you, all at once they were happy.
You have seen them coming to your tepee, smiling and rejoicing and
singing praise of you. So you see them now, all happy and sitting in a
sacred manner with you in one hoop. They are holding their empty cups,
and their knives they have sharpened. They are hungry, and the food
you have cooked smells so good and looks so good. You are young and
brave. Who but you will fill their cups with soup and tender meat?
“What do you want of these old people, that you have cooked all this
good food for them? Surely there is something you must want; but you
know very well they cannot give you anything now. Still you feed them.
What do you want from them? They cannot repay you, for they have
nothing.
“‘Yes, they do have something. Maybe it is the white war bonnet they
wear. Maybe that is what you want them to give you. Maybe it is the
wrinkled old buckskin they are wearing [their skins]; but that is
almost worn out, and would not keep you from freezing on a winter
trail. Maybe you want them to give you their canes; but three legs are
slower than two.
“‘I think you do not want any of these things now; but maybe this is
what you are thinking: I am young and I will look to the old who are
worthy. They have seen their days and proven themselves. With the help
of Wakon Tonka, they have grown ripe for the world of spirit, and they
can see what eyes do not show. What will be, but is not yet, they can
tell it; and what comes out of their mouths, it is so, because it is
not with their eyes that they see. If I give them of my strength, being
young, their power to live will come back to me and my family. So shall
we come in our time to where the cane is; so shall we wear the white
war bonnet and be ripe for the world of spirit; so we too shall see our
children’s children.
“‘I thought all the while, grandsons, that there must be something you
wanted for this food; and now you have told me what it is. It is good,
and so shall it be.
“‘And now as we sit here together in a sacred manner, smelling all
this good meat, we can hear the Food talking. It is talking to you,
grandsons, and it says: “I come first, and I am sacred, for without
me there is nothing. The Grandfather, Wakon Tonka, has given me to
Maka, the mother of all living things, and she has shown mercy to her
children that they may live. On her thousand breasts I am grass; in
her thousand laps I am meat; and again on her thousand breasts I am
grass. The bison’s strength is mine. The great warrior, I have made
him strong for his deeds. The greedy-for-me, their days shall be easy
to count; but those who are liberal with me, upon me shall they uproot
their teeth [grow very old]. Unless the great warrior gives me with
his deeds, they shall be as a coward’s. Let any try without me, I will
always win. It is I who am the greatest warrior. If I had weapons, who
could count my prisoners by now?”
“‘Grandsons, so it is the Food talks, and you have heard. Surely we
must thank this sacred one, and how can we do that? _Plama yelo_ is a
breath in the mouth; it is easy to say, and no one is the fatter for
it. The Food itself has told us how to thank it. We shall give it to
the needy and the old.’
“When Blue Spotted Horse was through talking, the old man at his left
smiled at us boys and said, ‘_Ho_, Grandsons! _How!_’ Then the next
and the next spoke to us in the same way, until all the old men and
old women had spoken. And when the voices had gone around the hoop
from left to right, which is the sacred manner, and come back to Blue
Spotted Horse, he said, ‘I am sending the food neither down nor up. The
people are hungry and ready, so put it out.’
“Then we boys went around the hoop, left to right, beginning with
the first old man who had spoken, and filled all the cups of the old
people, Blue Spotted Horse’s last, with soup and tender meat. And this
we kept on doing, until no more cups were emptied. Then we ate, and
when we had eaten, the meat that was left we divided among the old
people, and they went away with it, making songs about the brave young
men who had fed them.”
Eagle Voice sat silent for a while, his eyes closed, his hands on his
knees. Emerging from his reverie at length, he fixed his crinkled gaze
on me and smiled. “You can see,” he said, “that the Food was right
when it talked, for I have come to where the cane is. Most of my teeth
are uprooted, and I am wearing the wrinkled buckskin and the white war
bonnet. When I was young and my head was full of brave deeds and horses
and coups and scalps, I have heard old men say, ‘It is good to be young
and die on the prairie for the people. It is not good to grow old.’
Maybe they wanted to make us braver. Maybe the black road made them
tired where it steepens. When I am all alone, I think and think; and
it is about going to visit my relatives in the world of spirit that I
think most; but it is good to look back and remember.”
“When you look back, Grandfather,” I said, “you see a girl’s road that
you did not walk because you did not see it then. Do you wish you had
seen it and walked it?”
“There are many roads, Grandson,” he answered. “They all come together,
and at that place there stands a three-legged old horse always looking
for the grass that used to be.” The picture of himself, drawn once
before, amused him, and he chuckled over it. “_Dho!_” he continued.
“It was the road Tashina Wanblee walked that time, and I did not see it
until I had walked across the world.
“When the feasting was over, the bands that had come together for the
sun dance were getting ready to scatter and go their own ways. Boys and
men would be catching horses. Tepee poles would be clattering. Women
would be scolding because the horses would not stand still while the
drags were loaded. People would be visiting each other because maybe
they would not meet again until next grass, or never. Maybe boys would
be sneaking off into the brush to meet their girls, and maybe some boy
would run away that night and follow the trail of a girl so that he
could talk to her under the blanket once more.
“High Horse was a Miniconjou and Kicking Bear was a Hunkpapa. They
were going to Pa Sapa [the Black Hills] with their people. But we had
big plans. When the fall hunt was over, they would come back again and
find our village somewhere on the Greasy Grass [Little Big Horn] or
the Powder or the Tongue. Then the three of us and Charging Cat, and
maybe some others, would make war against the Shoshonis or the Crows,
or maybe both of them. It was harder to make war in the winter than in
the summer, and if we got back with horses and scalps we would be great
warriors and everybody would be talking about us again. Maybe we would
all be chiefs sometime. We had been together most of the time after
the sun dance and thanking the food, and we talked and talked about
our plan. We would ride out into the hills alone and talk about how we
would do. So we were not thinking about girls. Even High Horse had not
been sick, since getting all those horses cured him.
“I was out helping to catch horses, and I was riding back leading
three of them. At the creek I stopped to let them drink, and there
was some brush there. I was leaning on my horse’s neck, and I heard
something moving in the brush. When I looked, it was Tashina. Maybe
she saw me going after horses, and came down there to see me before
she went away. She was just standing there outside the brush with a
pretty trader’s shawl over her shoulders and up over her head. She was
holding it close about her face, and when I looked at her, she pulled
it closer and looked down at the ground. I was glad to see her, and I
spoke to her the same as to a boy. I joked and said, ‘If you are out
looking for a horse again, here are three real ones.’ I was thinking
of when she caught me for a horse and made me pull her drag. She just
kept on looking at the ground with the shawl tight about her face. And
when I stopped joking, I could hear her saying, ‘_Shonka ’kan, Shonka
’kan_, you made me proud.’ She said it so low that I could just hear
her. Maybe I would have jumped off my horse then; but the three horses
were full of grass and water and felt good, so when they saw some
other horses coming, they neighed and reared. Two of them broke away,
dragging their lariats, bucking and kicking and breaking wind. So I
said, ‘Hold this horse for me while I catch the others.’ It was an old
horse and it did not feel so good as the others. Then I rode off on the
run. The horses were hard to catch again; and when I came back, the
other horse was tied by his lariat to the brush, and Tashina was not
there.”
After a silence, the old man looked up at me and continued: “The bands
moved off that day, and I rode awhile with High Horse and Kicking Bear.
The people were all strung out, and we would ride up and down, talking
to people we knew. I saw Tashina. She was riding an old mare, and when
I came up to her, I thought I would joke with her again so I thanked
her for holding my horse. She did not say anything and did not look up
at me. When the sun was halfway down, I turned back towards our village
with others who had come along.
“We had a big bison hunt that fall, the Oglalas and Sans Arcs together,
and I was not looking for calves any more. When the advisers chose the
young warriors who should kill meat for the old and needy, I was one
they chose. It was a big honor for a young man. We went up to Elk River
[Yellowstone] first. I was out with a scouting party up there, and we
found some stakes driven into the ground. It was where the Wasichus
were going to make another iron road. People had talked much about
this, but I saw the stakes, and we pulled up all we saw and threw them
away. People had talked much about the other iron road too, the one
along the Shell [Platte]. It stopped the bison and cut the herd in two.
Now the Wasichus would build an iron road on the other side of us also.
It was what Wooden Cup told the people long ago. Sometimes when I heard
this talk I was afraid.
“We found a big herd and followed it slowly, killing only what we
wanted. It was a happy time. Before the snow came we were back on
Powder River with more _papa_ and _wasna_ than we could eat. There was
feasting and we were happy. I wish I had some of that meat now. It had
strength in it. If somebody could thank the food, maybe I would be
invited to help.”
“I am not worthy to thank the food, Grandfather,” I said; “but let
us have a feast tomorrow anyway. We can invite two or three of your
friends. I will bring the feast and maybe your daughter will cook it
for us.”
“_Hi-yay!_” the old man exclaimed; “_Washtay!_ Let us have a feast. It
will be good.”
XVII
_The Woman Four Times Widowed_
And so, next day, we feasted--Eagle Voice, No Water, Moves Walking,
and I. It was well past noon when we began, for after delivering the
makings of the feast to the daughter in the little gray log house, I
had gone in search of the guests, taking the son-in-law with me as
a guide. Drifted by-roads, that had ceased to be even the desultory
trails they were at best, led at last to lonely shacks some miles
up the creek valley where the old men lived, or, rather, waited,
in apathetic squalor for nothing in particular. Curiosity, chronic
loneliness and the immemorial lure of a feast, which is more than
eating, assured a ready acceptance of the invitation.
So the four of us were sitting in a close circle with a steaming pot
of veal in the center. _Pae zhuta sapa_ [black medicine] bubbled in
the battered coffee pot on the sheet-iron stove, and there was plenty
of _chun humpi_ [juice of the tree, sugar] to sweeten it. Bread,
cookies, and canned peaches were close at hand. As giver of the feast
and the youngest of the party, I had filled the tin cups with meat and
broth, passed the bread around, and filled other tin cups with coffee
liberally dosed with sugar. I had been greeted by each in turn, “_Ho!_
Grandson, _how_!” To this greeting, Eagle Voice had added: “This is
indeed my grandson. See! He has given me these fine warm moccasins. Now
my toes do not smart when I get wood in the snow.” When the moccasins
had been examined and generously approved, No Water, the older of the
guests, both of whom were younger than Eagle Voice, had a little speech
to make. It was to the effect that I could not help being a Wasichu
any more than he could be other than a Lakota. And, indeed, a little
brown paint on my face and a blanket--“Could not tell the difference,”
he said; “could be Ta Shunka Witko [Crazy Horse].” I thanked him for
the too generous compliment, and his round, bulbous-nosed countenance,
that normally bore a vaguely grieved, apprehensive look, glowed with
good humor. “Maybe Wakon Tonka gave him a Lakota heart,” Moves Walking
added. “Maybe if all Wasichus were so, things would be better.” Wiry
and smallish for a Sioux, a cast in his left eye gave to his sharp,
shriveled face an air of angry intensity; but now even the recalcitrant
off-eye softened a bit with good will.
Having first offered choice morsels of meat to the _wahnagi_, we fell
to serious eating with fingers and sharp knives, the latter for cutting
off the bite. Eagle Voice broke the silence with a remark to the effect
that the meat was tender. “Even I can chew it, and most of my teeth are
uprooted. I might be eating the first young calf I killed when I was a
boy. I think this will make me stronger.”
When it was unanimously agreed that the meat was tender and _washtay_,
we resumed the serious business of eating in silence. At last, the
peaches and cakes having been sampled and approved, the pipe went round
and Eagle Voice spoke: “Our grandson likes to hear stories, and I have
told him many already. There is a story about a dog. I have heard No
Water tell it.”
“_Dho_,” assented No Water; “it is a true story [_woya kapi_]. I can
prove it by a Hunkpapa, much older than I am, who told it to me.”
He searched our faces with his vaguely grieved apprehensive look. There
being no denials, he proceeded: “Sometimes the four-leggeds are wiser
than we two-leggeds. A horse will take his man home in the darkest
night when the man is lost. If you try to lose a dog, he will find you,
even if there is no trail to smell. I do not know how this is, but it
is so. I think they are closer relatives to the spirits than we are.
Sometimes they can talk too, but not many can understand them. This dog
could talk, but only a very little girl could understand, as you will
hear.
“This man’s name was Sitting Hawk. He was not a noted warrior, but he
was a good hunter and took good care of his family, so that they always
had plenty to eat. I did not hear his woman’s name, and I am telling
only what I know. He had two daughters, one of them not quite a woman
yet and the other just a little girl--maybe three winters. They had a
little dog, and the little dog had four pups.
“The scouts had been out looking everywhere, and there were no enemies;
so Sitting Hawk thought he would go hunting and take his family along
to have a good time. He liked to do that. There were horses for all the
family to ride, and the little dog rode on the pony-drag with her pups
when she was not running around smelling things. Afterwhile they came
to a place of green grass with plenty of water and wood, and there they
made a camp. It was good weather, so they were happy there. Sitting
Hawk would go hunting, and his woman and older daughter would stay at
home and dry the meat. The very little girl would play with the four
pups. That is the way it was, for I do not know how many days.
“One day Sitting Hawk came home early and he was very tired. So he ate
and lay down in the tepee to sleep awhile. It was not yet dark, so the
others were all up. The woman and her older daughter were scraping a
deerskin they had staked out on the ground. They did not notice the
little girl much, and the dog was letting the four pups eat. Afterwhile
the little girl came and asked for something to eat. So the older
daughter gave it to her. Soon the little girl came back and asked again
for something to eat. The sister gave her some more meat and said,
“This is all you can have. You will make yourself sick eating so much.’
“So the little girl went away; and this is what she was doing. There
were four men hiding out there in the brush, and one of them could
speak our tongue. Perhaps they were kind to the little girl. It must
have been so, for she was not afraid. When they told her to get them
something to eat and not to tell, that is what she did. Maybe it was
like a game she liked to play all by herself.
“The four men were so hungry that what the little girl brought only
made them hungrier. So they got bolder and came to the tepee where
Sitting Hawk was sleeping, and the mother and older daughter were
scraping the deerskin, and the dog was feeding her pups. When the woman
and daughter saw the four men all at once, they just stared. When the
little dog saw them, she made whimpering noises to the little girl that
said, ‘Why did you feed these men? They are enemies!’ And that scared
the little girl. When Sitting Hawk sat up and saw them, he knew they
were Blackfeet, although one of them spoke our tongue and asked for
food. Sitting Hawk could do nothing, so he said to his woman, ‘Feed
them.’ And she did. When they had eaten, the four lay down inside the
tepee with their bows and arrows beside them. I think they were only
waiting until it got darker. The woman had fed them, and she thought,
I will treat them like relatives. So she took off their moccasins and
rubbed the bottoms of their feet with warm tallow, the way she would do
with her own man when he was tired. This made the men drowsy, and they
fell sound asleep around the fire, being full of meat and weary. They
were _maka mani_ [afoot] and maybe they had walked far.
“Now the little dog began yawning and making strange noises like
talking. The little girl listened, and understood. The dog was saying,
‘Hurry! Take my little ones and run away from here as fast as you can
or you will be killed. These are bad men and enemies.’ This scared the
little girl more than ever, and she whispered to her mother what the
dog said. This scared the woman and she whispered it to Sitting Hawk,
so that he was scared too, for he knew these were Blackfeet. And this
is what he did. He whispered to his family to follow him with what they
could carry. The little girl put the pups inside her dress, and the dog
followed her. When the horses were all ready, Sitting Hawk went back
to the tepee without making any noise. There were some big pieces of
tallow on the ground, and these he put into the red ashes of the fire,
with the men sleeping around it. The tallow sputtered. Then a big flame
leaped up, and Sitting Hawk ran to his horse where the others were all
ready to go. They rode fast, and when they came to the top of a hill
they could see the tepee burning and men running here and there. Maybe
the Blackfeet got burned with hot grease; I do not know. But Sitting
Hawk and his family and the little dog and the pups were safe.”
“_Ho, ho!_” exclaimed Moves Walking and Eagle Voice together by way of
applause.
“It is a true story,” resumed No Water, “and the very old man who told
me--much older than I am--told me more about a dog just to prove it.
“The way I got the story, this man’s wife was well known among the
Lakota. Her name was Loud Woman. Her man, I cannot give his name, for I
have forgotten--but I will call him Good Buffalo. He had two sons and
these had wives. Also he had a daughter and a sister. The daughter was
just a little girl--maybe four or five winters--and she had a little
dog. So it was a family of eight, if you do not count the dog.
“This family was on a hunting party, for the scouts had been looking
around and no enemies were seen. So the councilors allowed small
parties to go out. They were having a good time, and they were moving
back slowly towards the village, which was not far away now and not
very close either.
“One day Good Buffalo told his wife, Loud Woman, to camp in a
certain place with his sister, his little daughter and his two
daughters-in-law. It was a grassy place with plenty of good water and
wood. So there were four women and a little girl in that camp, if you
do not count the little dog. Then Good Buffalo and his two sons went
hunting.
“It was getting to be evening, but it was early yet. The little dog
had been running around here and there, smelling everything to learn
all about the new camping place. This one was a mother dog too, but
she did not have any pups yet. You see, they were all women in that
camp. Afterwhile the little dog was sitting on top of a hill near the
camp, and she was barking. Soon she raised her nose to the sky and
began howling in a queer way. The little girl listened, and all at once
she knew her dog was talking, and this is what the dog was saying:
‘_Wahoo--oo-oo!_ It is going to be terrible! We should run away! It is
going to be terrible! We should run away! _Wahoo-oo-oo!_’
“The little girl ran to her mother and told what she heard the dog
say; but her mother was very busy doing something--and she kept on
doing it--so that she did not hear the little girl very well. Then the
little dog came running down the hill with her tongue hanging and all
out of breath. She leaped up on each one in the camp, wagging her tail,
and yawning with queer noises in her throat. Then she would whine and
yelp. And the mother said, ‘What is the matter with that dog? She acts
crazy!’ And the little girl said, ‘Mother, she is talking. I told you
she was talking. She says it is going to be terrible and we must run
away.’
“While the mother was looking hard at her little daughter and wondering
if she might be making it up, the little dog ran back to the hilltop as
though she might be chasing a rabbit.
“They were all looking up at the little dog, and she was howling that
queer way again, with her nose to the sky. The little girl understood
again, and she began to cry, because she was scared and nobody could
understand. Then the mother said, ‘Why are you crying like this?’ And
the little girl answered, ‘The dog is telling us it is going to be
terrible. My father and brothers are coming and enemies are coming too.
It is going to be terrible. We must run away now, for it is going to be
terrible. My dog is saying it!’ Then she cried harder than ever. And
the mother said, ‘You must stop crying. We must wait until your father
and brothers come back and they will know what to do.’ So they waited.
And the little girl cried, and the little dog mourned on the hill.
“It was just before dark, and the three men came back. Loud Woman told
Good Buffalo about the little girl and what the dog said. But Good
Buffalo was tired from hunting all day, also he was hungry, and he
said: ‘Of course we will go away from here when we are ready. We are
camping here now.’
“Just then the little girl heard the dog talking up there again, and
the dog said, ‘They are here! _Wahoo-oo-oo!_ They are here! You have no
ears, so I am running away! _Wahoo-oo-oo!_’ Then the dog was gone from
the hill, and her howling was getting dimmer.