He was rolling a hoop and another youth was hurling a dart at it when
Shinbone clutched him by the arm. “Come, I’ll make a man of you. You
shall take the place of your elder brother.” Takes-the-pipe knew what
he meant: a cousin of his belonging to the Fox society had fallen in a
skirmish with the Dakota, and his fellow-members had been casting about
for a clubbable kinsman.
Now a new sort of life began for Takes-the-pipe. He no longer roamed
about aimlessly or consorted with random companions. His fellow-members
were now his constant associates. Spare time was whiled away in the
lodges of eminent Foxes, beating the drum and singing the songs of the
organization. Now and then the younger members took jaunts to the hills
with their sweethearts. Again there was a philandering when the Foxes
and their girls went berrying or up to the mountains to drag lodge
poles to camp. Often enough a wealthy member had a herald invite all
the Foxes to his lodges, where they were feasted, and held a dance.
There, too, valiant men rose to expatiate on their prowess. The Foxes
had done well that year. Shinbone had struck the first coup of the
season, thus making his club take precedence of the rival Lumpwood
society. By the rules of the game the Lumpwoods had lost the right to
sing their own songs, and when they danced they were obliged to borrow
those of the Big Dogs, exposing themselves to the mockery of the Foxes.
That year Takes-the-pipe joined a number of war parties and succeeded
in capturing an enemy’s gun. Now he, too, would rise and tell about his
martial experiences.
The following spring there were great doings. The Foxes were electing
new officers in place of the last year’s standard-bearers. Three or
four of the elders had had a council and now they came to the club
lodge where all the members were gathered. Two of the emblems of
the society were straight staffs, two were hooked and wrapped with
otter-skin. Each was pointed at the bottom, for in sight of the enemy
the bearer was obliged to plant it into the earth, and stand his
ground regardless of danger or death, without budging an inch unless a
companion plucked out the fatal lance. That was why the officers were
called “men doomed to die.” If they escaped unscathed by the end of the
year, they retired with all the honors of distinguished service; if
they died in battle, they were solemnly mourned by their fellow-members
and other tribesmen; but if they failed in duty, they became the
pariahs of the camp.
There were not many young men eager to undertake so arduous an office.
The electors were passing round the circle, offering a pipe to likely
candidates, for to smoke it meant acceptance. Some of the faint-hearted
ones crouched behind others to escape notice and even some, who were
forward enough on other occasions, shrank back. First the elders
went to the tried warriors. No trouble was expected with Shinbone,
and as a matter of fact he readily consented. Next they came to
Lone-pine, Sliding-beaver’s eldest son. He, too, smoked without sign of
reluctance. But now the electors were beginning to cast about among the
younger fellow-members, for they were coming towards Cherry-necklace.
Cherry-necklace was no coward; he had shown his mettle in more than
one encounter. Yet he was very fond of having a good time. Would
he willingly accept appointment? No, he was squirming uneasily and
refused the pipe. Rather, he would have refused it, but Lone-pine, his
brother, seized him by the bang of his hair and forcibly made his lips
touch the pipestem. Thus Cherry-necklace too was “doomed to die.” And
now the elders passed round once more in search of the last officer.
Takes-the-pipe’s heart began to beat. What if they asked him? It would
be an honor for one so young, but did he wish to die? They were coming
straight toward him. He seemed to hear the old song:
Sky and earth are everlasting,
Men must die.
Yes, if he died, what mattered it? He would yield without coaxing and
shame Cherry-necklace. He eagerly clutched the pipe and became one of
the bearers of a hooked-staff.
While the Foxes were holding their annual election, the Lumpwoods were
going through a like procedure. A day or two later, a defiant call
was heard from their lodge. They were ready for the annual indulgence
in licensed wife-stealing. Only the Foxes and the Lumpwoods took
part in this pastime, the other societies being mere spectators. If
a Fox had ever had for his sweetheart a Lumpwood’s wife, he was now
privileged to kidnap her from her rightful husband, who would only
make himself a laughing-stock if he interposed objections, let alone
violence. Takes-the-pipe remembered that Otter was now married to a
Lumpwood named Drags-the-wolf, so he went to the lodge and called her.
Drags-the-wolf was game. He had the reputation of being very fond
of his pretty, young wife, but he knew the proper way for a Crow to
act. Instead of restraining her, he himself said, “He is calling you.
Go!” Takes-the-pipe brought her to his parents’ lodge. His mother and
sisters gave her a beautiful elk-tooth dress and other Sore-lip women
from all over the camp brought her moccasins and beaded pouches. Then
the Foxes selected from their number an old man who had once rescued a
wounded tribesman from certain death by dashing into the thick of the
fray, and carrying him off on his horse. This man, for none other might
venture, rode double with the kidnapped bride, all the other Foxes
parading jubilantly behind and twitting their rivals with the capture
of so handsome a Lumpwood woman.