The people were gathered near the mouth of the Bighorn. There was
merriment in camp after a successful hunt. Suddenly was heard the
beating of a drum and the chanting of a strange song. All ran out of
their lodges to see what was going on. Who is that man on the richly
fitted-out horse? He approaches the center of the circle, shaking a
rattle. Two sashes of deerskin, slipped over his head, descend to the
ground. Sliding-beaver is leading the horse, halting from time to time,
and beating a drum. At the fourth stop he cried aloud: “Young women,
if you would be this man’s sweethearts, you must hasten, he is about
to die!” Then he beat his drum and addressed the rider: “Remain on
horseback, do not dance!”
Forthwith Takes-the-pipe dismounted and danced in position. Then
because he did the opposite of what he was told everyone knew him for
a Crazy Dog pledged to court death. Straightway Pretty-weasel began
to lament: “I begged him not to do it; he has done it!” But the other
women cheered lustily, and Sliding-beaver sang his praises aloud as he
slowly led him outside of the camp circle.
Then for a while he appeared every evening, dancing and shaking his
rattle. He would ride through camp like a madman. When a few were
gathered eating some meat, he would walk his horse into their very
midst as if to run over them. Then they would cry out, “Trample on
us.” And the Crazy Dog would turn aside and let them eat in peace. At
night the best-looking young women paid him visits; even married women
went there and their husbands did not mind it. Sometimes two or three
would come of a single night. Famous Whistling-waters came to tell him
what a great thing he was doing. All the eminent warriors in camp,
Drags-the-wolf, Red-eye, and Shinbone, were looking on him with envy.
The cherries had ripened and one day a woman offered him some. He said,
“When I decided to do this, the grass was sprouting. I did not expect
to live so long, yet to-day I am eating cherries. Well, I will see
whether I can achieve what I wish.” When they went hunting the next
time, he got some buffalo blood and mixed it with badger blood and
water. In the mixture he saw his image with blood streaming down his
face. “Yes,” he cried, “I have seen it. What I am longing for is coming
true!”
The leaves were turning yellow when a tribesman caught sight of some
Dakota raiders. The young men drove them off and the enemy took refuge
in the dry bed of a stream. There, the Crow warriors were going to
attack them. They were getting ready when Pretty-weasel rushed into
their midst, crying, “Bind my son! Don’t let him go!” They looked for
him. He was not to be found. All alone he was dashing toward the enemy.
They galloped after him. He was close to the coulée, shaking his rattle
and singing his song:—
Sky and earth are everlasting,
Men must die.
Old age is a thing of evil,
Charge and die!
He rode straight up to the enemies’ hiding-place. At the edge he
dismounted. Several Dakotas were peeping out. “There is no way for
me to live,” he cried, “I must die!” He shot one foe and struck him
with his rattle. Then another Dakota shot him in the left temple, and
Takes-the-pipe fell dead.
The Crow warriors caught up, and killed every man in the raiding
party. Pretty-weasel reached the spot and wiped the blood from her
son’s forehead. The men put him on a horse and brought him to camp.
Wailing, they went home. There the Sore-lip women clipped their hair
and gashed their legs. The Whistling-water men rode up and down singing
the praises of the dead Crazy Dog. His fellow-Foxes propped up the
corpse against a backrest, knelt before it and wailed. Their officers
ran arrows through their flesh and jabbed their foreheads till the
blood flowed in streams. Then they set up a scaffold on four posts,
wrapped the body in a robe, and placed it on top. Beside the stage they
planted a pole. From it was hung his drum, and his sashes swept down as
streamers blowing in the wind. His rattle they put into his hand. Then
the camp moved.