THE OGALLALLA VILLAGE
Such a narrative as this is hardly the place for portraying the mental
features of the Indians. The same picture, slightly changed in shade and
coloring, would serve with very few exceptions for all the tribes that
lie north of the Mexican territories. But with this striking similarity
in their modes of thought, the tribes of the lake and ocean shores, of
the forests and of the plains, differ greatly in their manner of life.
Having been domesticated for several weeks among one of the wildest of
the wild hordes that roam over the remote prairies, I had extraordinary
opportunities of observing them, and I flatter myself that a faithful
picture of the scenes that passed daily before my eyes may not be devoid
of interest and value. These men were thorough savages. Neither their
manners nor their ideas were in the slightest degree modified by contact
with civilization. They knew nothing of the power and real character of
the white men, and their children would scream in terror at the sight of
me. Their religion, their superstitions, and their prejudices were the
same that had been handed down to them from immemorial time. They fought
with the same weapons that their fathers fought with and wore the same
rude garments of skins.
Great changes are at hand in that region. With the stream of emigration
to Oregon and California, the buffalo will dwindle away, and the large
wandering communities who depend on them for support must be broken
and scattered. The Indians will soon be corrupted by the example of the
whites, abased by whisky, and overawed by military posts; so that within
a few years the traveler may pass in tolerable security through their
country. Its danger and its charm will have disappeared together.
As soon as Raymond and I discovered the village from the gap in the
hills, we were seen in our turn; keen eyes were constantly on the watch.
As we rode down upon the plain the side of the village nearest us was
darkened with a crowd of naked figures gathering around the lodges.
Several men came forward to meet us. I could distinguish among them the
green blanket of the Frenchman Reynal. When we came up the ceremony of
shaking hands had to be gone through with in due form, and then all were
eager to know what had become of the rest of my party. I satisfied them
on this point, and we all moved forward together toward the village.
“You’ve missed it,” said Reynal; “if you’d been here day before
yesterday, you’d have found the whole prairie over yonder black with
buffalo as far as you could see. There were no cows, though; nothing but
bulls. We made a ‘surround’ every day till yesterday. See the village
there; don’t that look like good living?”
In fact I could see, even at that distance, that long cords were
stretched from lodge to lodge, over which the meat, cut by the squaws
into thin sheets, was hanging to dry in the sun. I noticed too that the
village was somewhat smaller than when I had last seen it, and I asked
Reynal the cause. He said that the old Le Borgne had felt too weak
to pass over the mountains, and so had remained behind with all his
relations, including Mahto-Tatonka and his brothers. The Whirlwind
too had been unwilling to come so far, because, as Reynal said, he was
afraid. Only half a dozen lodges had adhered to him, the main body of
the village setting their chief’s authority at naught, and taking the
course most agreeable to their inclinations.
“What chiefs are there in the village now?” said I.
“Well,” said Reynal, “there’s old Red-Water, and the Eagle-Feather, and
the Big Crow, and the Mad Wolf and the Panther, and the White Shield,
and--what’s his name?--the half-breed Cheyenne.”
By this time we were close to the village, and I observed that while the
greater part of the lodges were very large and neat in their appearance,
there was at one side a cluster of squalid, miserable huts. I looked
toward them, and made some remark about their wretched appearance. But I
was touching upon delicate ground.
“My squaw’s relations live in those lodges,” said Reynal very warmly,
“and there isn’t a better set in the whole village.”
“Are there any chiefs among them?” asked I.
“Chiefs?” said Reynal; “yes, plenty!”
“What are their names?” I inquired.
“Their names? Why, there’s the Arrow-Head. If he isn’t a chief he ought
to be one. And there’s the Hail-Storm. He’s nothing but a boy, to be
sure; but he’s bound to be a chief one of these days!”
Just then we passed between two of the lodges, and entered the great
area of the village. Superb naked figures stood silently gazing on us.
“Where’s the Bad Wound’s lodge?” said I to Reynal.
“There, you’ve missed it again! The Bad Wound is away with The
Whirlwind. If you could have found him here, and gone to live in his
lodge, he would have treated you better than any man in the village.
But there’s the Big Crow’s lodge yonder, next to old Red-Water’s. He’s a
good Indian for the whites, and I advise you to go and live with him.”
“Are there many squaws and children in his lodge?” said I.
“No; only one squaw and two or three children. He keeps the rest in a
separate lodge by themselves.”
So, still followed by a crowd of Indians, Raymond and I rode up to the
entrance of the Big Crow’s lodge. A squaw came out immediately and took
our horses. I put aside the leather nap that covered the low opening,
and stooping, entered the Big Crow’s dwelling. There I could see the
chief in the dim light, seated at one side, on a pile of buffalo robes.
He greeted me with a guttural “How, cola!” I requested Reynal to tell
him that Raymond and I were come to live with him. The Big Crow gave
another low exclamation. If the reader thinks that we were intruding
somewhat cavalierly, I beg him to observe that every Indian in the
village would have deemed himself honored that white men should give
such preference to his hospitality.
The squaw spread a buffalo robe for us in the guest’s place at the head
of the lodge. Our saddles were brought in, and scarcely were we seated
upon them before the place was thronged with Indians, who came crowding
in to see us. The Big Crow produced his pipe and filled it with the
mixture of tobacco and shongsasha, or red willow bark. Round and round
it passed, and a lively conversation went forward. Meanwhile a squaw
placed before the two guests a wooden bowl of boiled buffalo meat, but
unhappily this was not the only banquet destined to be inflicted on us.
Rapidly, one after another, boys and young squaws thrust their heads in
at the opening, to invite us to various feasts in different parts of the
village. For half an hour or more we were actively engaged in passing
from lodge to lodge, tasting in each of the bowl of meat set before us,
and inhaling a whiff or two from our entertainer’s pipe. A thunderstorm
that had been threatening for some time now began in good earnest. We
crossed over to Reynal’s lodge, though it hardly deserved this name, for
it consisted only of a few old buffalo robes, supported on poles, and
was quite open on one side. Here we sat down, and the Indians gathered
round us.
“What is it,” said I, “that makes the thunder?”
“It’s my belief,” said Reynal, “that it is a big stone rolling over the
sky.”
“Very likely,” I replied; “but I want to know what the Indians think
about it.”
So he interpreted my question, which seemed to produce some doubt
and debate. There was evidently a difference of opinion. At last old
Mene-Seela, or Red-Water, who sat by himself at one side, looked up with
his withered face, and said he had always known what the thunder was.
It was a great black bird; and once he had seen it, in a dream, swooping
down from the Black Hills, with its loud roaring wings; and when it
flapped them over a lake, they struck lightning from the water.
“The thunder is bad,” said another old man, who sat muffled in his
buffalo robe; “he killed my brother last summer.”
Reynal, at my request, asked for an explanation; but the old man
remained doggedly silent, and would not look up. Some time after I
learned how the accident occurred. The man who was killed belonged to an
association which, among other mystic functions, claimed the exclusive
power and privilege of fighting the thunder. Whenever a storm which they
wished to avert was threatening, the thunder-fighters would take their
bows and arrows, their guns, their magic drum, and a sort of whistle,
made out of the wingbone of the war eagle. Thus equipped, they would
run out and fire at the rising cloud, whooping, yelling, whistling, and
beating their drum, to frighten it down again. One afternoon a heavy
black cloud was coming up, and they repaired to the top of a hill, where
they brought all their magic artillery into play against it. But the
undaunted thunder, refusing to be terrified, kept moving straight
onward, and darted out a bright flash which struck one of the party
dead, as he was in the very act of shaking his long iron-pointed
lance against it. The rest scattered and ran yelling in an ecstasy of
superstitious terror back to their lodges.
The lodge of my host Kongra-Tonga, or the Big Crow, presented a
picturesque spectacle that evening. A score or more of Indians were
seated around in a circle, their dark naked forms just visible by
the dull light of the smoldering fire in the center, the pipe glowing
brightly in the gloom as it passed from hand to hand round the lodge.
Then a squaw would drop a piece of buffalo-fat on the dull embers.
Instantly a bright glancing flame would leap up, darting its clear light
to the very apex of the tall conical structure, where the tops of the
slender poles that supported its covering of leather were gathered
together. It gilded the features of the Indians, as with animated
gestures they sat around it, telling their endless stories of war and
hunting. It displayed rude garments of skins that hung around the lodge;
the bow, quiver, and lance suspended over the resting-place of the
chief, and the rifles and powder-horns of the two white guests. For a
moment all would be bright as day; then the flames would die away, and
fitful flashes from the embers would illumine the lodge, and then leave
it in darkness. Then all the light would wholly fade, and the lodge and
all within it be involved again in obscurity.
As I left the lodge next morning, I was saluted by howling and yelling
from all around the village, and half its canine population rushed
forth to the attack. Being as cowardly as they were clamorous, they kept
jumping around me at the distance of a few yards, only one little cur,
about ten inches long, having spirit enough to make a direct assault. He
dashed valiantly at the leather tassel which in the Dakota fashion was
trailing behind the heel of my moccasin, and kept his hold, growling and
snarling all the while, though every step I made almost jerked him over
on his back. As I knew that the eyes of the whole village were on the
watch to see if I showed any sign of apprehension, I walked forward
without looking to the right or left, surrounded wherever I went by this
magic circle of dogs. When I came to Reynal’s lodge I sat down by it, on
which the dogs dispersed growling to their respective quarters. Only one
large white one remained, who kept running about before me and showing
his teeth. I called him, but he only growled the more. I looked at him
well. He was fat and sleek; just such a dog as I wanted. “My friend,”
thought I, “you shall pay for this! I will have you eaten this very
morning!”
I intended that day to give the Indians a feast, by way of conveying a
favorable impression of my character and dignity; and a white dog is
the dish which the customs of the Dakota prescribe for all occasions of
formality and importance. I consulted Reynal; he soon discovered that an
old woman in the next lodge was owner of the white dog. I took a
gaudy cotton handkerchief, and laying it on the ground, arranged some
vermilion, beads, and other trinkets upon it. Then the old squaw was
summoned. I pointed to the dog and to the handkerchief. She gave a
scream of delight, snatched up the prize, and vanished with it into
her lodge. For a few more trifles I engaged the services of two other
squaws, each of whom took the white dog by one of his paws, and led him
away behind the lodges, while he kept looking up at them with a face
of innocent surprise. Having killed him they threw him into a fire to
singe; then chopped him up and put him into two large kettles to boil.
Meanwhile I told Raymond to fry in buffalo-fat what little flour we
had left, and also to make a kettle of tea as an additional item of the
repast.
The Big Crow’s squaw was set briskly at work sweeping out the lodge for
the approaching festivity. I confided to my host himself the task of
inviting the guests, thinking that I might thereby shift from my own
shoulders the odium of fancied neglect and oversight.
When feasting is in question, one hour of the day serves an Indian as
well as another. My entertainment came off about eleven o’clock. At that
hour, Reynal and Raymond walked across the area of the village, to the
admiration of the inhabitants, carrying the two kettles of dog-meat
slung on a pole between them. These they placed in the center of the
lodge, and then went back for the bread and the tea. Meanwhile I had put
on a pair of brilliant moccasins, and substituted for my old buckskin
frock a coat which I had brought with me in view of such public
occasions. I also made careful use of the razor, an operation which no
man will neglect who desires to gain the good opinion of Indians. Thus
attired, I seated myself between Reynal and Raymond at the head of the
lodge. Only a few minutes elapsed before all the guests had come in and
were seated on the ground, wedged together in a close circle around
the lodge. Each brought with him a wooden bowl to hold his share of the
repast. When all were assembled, two of the officials called “soldiers”
by the white men, came forward with ladles made of the horn of the Rocky
Mountain sheep, and began to distribute the feast, always assigning
a double share to the old men and chiefs. The dog vanished with
astonishing celerity, and each guest turned his dish bottom upward to
show that all was gone. Then the bread was distributed in its turn,
and finally the tea. As the soldiers poured it out into the same wooden
bowls that had served for the substantial part of the meal, I thought it
had a particularly curious and uninviting color.
“Oh!” said Reynal, “there was not tea enough, so I stirred some soot in
the kettle, to make it look strong.”
Fortunately an Indian’s palate is not very discriminating. The tea was
well sweetened, and that was all they cared for.
Now the former part of the entertainment being concluded, the time for
speech-making was come. The Big Crow produced a flat piece of wood
on which he cut up tobacco and shongsasha, and mixed them in due
proportions. The pipes were filled and passed from hand to hand around
the company. Then I began my speech, each sentence being interpreted
by Reynal as I went on, and echoed by the whole audience with the usual
exclamations of assent and approval. As nearly as I can recollect, it
was as follows:
I had come, I told them, from a country so far distant, that at the rate
they travel, they could not reach it in a year.
“Howo how!”
“There the Meneaska were more numerous than the blades of grass on the
prairie. The squaws were far more beautiful than any they had ever seen,
and all the men were brave warriors.”
“How! how! how!”
Here I was assailed by sharp twinges of conscience, for I fancied I
could perceive a fragrance of perfumery in the air, and a vision rose
before me of white kid gloves and silken mustaches with the mild and
gentle countenances of numerous fair-haired young men. But I recovered
myself and began again.
“While I was living in the Meneaska lodges, I had heard of the
Ogallalla, how great and brave a nation they were, how they loved
the whites, and how well they could hunt the buffalo and strike their
enemies. I resolved to come and see if all that I heard was true.”
“How! how! how! how!”
“As I had come on horseback through the mountains, I had been able to
bring them only a very few presents.”
“How!”
“But I had enough tobacco to give them all a small piece. They might
smoke it, and see how much better it was than the tobacco which they got
from the traders.”
“How! how! how!”
“I had plenty of powder, lead, knives, and tobacco at Fort Laramie.
These I was anxious to give them, and if any of them should come to the
fort before I went away, I would make them handsome presents.”
“How! howo how! how!”
Raymond then cut up and distributed among them two or three pounds of
tobacco, and old Mene-Seela began to make a reply. It was quite long,
but the following was the pith of it:
“He had always loved the whites. They were the wisest people on earth.
He believed they could do everything, and he was always glad when any
of them came to live in the Ogallalla lodges. It was true I had not made
them many presents, but the reason of it was plain. It was clear that I
liked them, or I never should have come so far to find their village.”
Several other speeches of similar import followed, and then this more
serious matter being disposed of, there was an interval of smoking,
laughing, and conversation; but old Mene-Seela suddenly interrupted it
with a loud voice:
“Now is a good time,” he said, “when all the old men and chiefs are here
together, to decide what the people shall do. We came over the mountain
to make our lodges for next year. Our old ones are good for nothing;
they are rotten and worn out. But we have been disappointed. We have
killed buffalo bulls enough, but we have found no herds of cows, and the
skins of bulls are too thick and heavy for our squaws to make lodges of.
There must be plenty of cows about the Medicine-Bow Mountain. We ought
to go there. To be sure it is farther westward than we have ever been
before, and perhaps the Snakes will attack us, for those hunting-grounds
belong to them. But we must have new lodges at any rate; our old ones
will not serve for another year. We ought not to be afraid of the
Snakes. Our warriors are brave, and they are all ready for war. Besides,
we have three white men with their rifles to help us.”
I could not help thinking that the old man relied a little too much on
the aid of allies, one of whom was a coward, another a blockhead, and
the third an invalid. This speech produced a good deal of debate.
As Reynal did not interpret what was said, I could only judge of the
meaning by the features and gestures of the speakers. At the end of it,
however, the greater number seemed to have fallen in with Mene-Seela’s
opinion. A short silence followed, and then the old man struck up
a discordant chant, which I was told was a song of thanks for the
entertainment I had given them.
“Now,” said he, “let us go and give the white men a chance to breathe.”
So the company all dispersed into the open air, and for some time the
old chief was walking round the village, singing his song in praise of
the feast, after the usual custom of the nation.
At last the day drew to a close, and as the sun went down the horses
came trooping from the surrounding plains to be picketed before the
dwellings of their respective masters. Soon within the great circle of
lodges appeared another concentric circle of restless horses; and here
and there fires were glowing and flickering amid the gloom of the dusky
figures around them. I went over and sat by the lodge of Reynal. The
Eagle-Feather, who was a son of Mene-Seela, and brother of my host the
Big Crow, was seated there already, and I asked him if the village would
move in the morning. He shook his head, and said that nobody could tell,
for since old Mahto-Tatonka had died, the people had been like children
that did not know their own minds. They were no better than a body
without a head. So I, as well as the Indians themselves, fell asleep
that night without knowing whether we should set out in the morning
toward the country of the Snakes.
At daybreak, however, as I was coming up from the river after my
morning’s ablutions, I saw that a movement was contemplated. Some of the
lodges were reduced to nothing but bare skeletons of poles; the leather
covering of others was flapping in the wind as the squaws were pulling
it off. One or two chiefs of note had resolved, it seemed, on moving;
and so having set their squaws at work, the example was tacitly followed
by the rest of the village. One by one the lodges were sinking down in
rapid succession, and where the great circle of the village had been
only a moment before, nothing now remained but a ring of horses and
Indians, crowded in confusion together. The ruins of the lodges were
spread over the ground, together with kettles, stone mallets, great
ladles of horn, buffalo robes, and cases of painted hide, filled with
dried meat. Squaws bustled about in their busy preparations, the old
hags screaming to one another at the stretch of their leathern lungs.
The shaggy horses were patiently standing while the lodge-poles were
lashed to their sides, and the baggage piled upon their backs. The dogs,
with their tongues lolling out, lay lazily panting, and waiting for the
time of departure. Each warrior sat on the ground by the decaying embers
of his fire, unmoved amid all the confusion, while he held in his hand
the long trail-rope of his horse.
As their preparations were completed, each family moved off the ground.
The crowd was rapidly melting away. I could see them crossing the river,
and passing in quick succession along the profile of the hill on the
farther bank. When all were gone, I mounted and set out after them,
followed by Raymond, and as we gained the summit, the whole village
came in view at once, straggling away for a mile or more over the barren
plains before us. Everywhere the iron points of lances were glittering.
The sun never shone upon a more strange array. Here were the heavy-laden
pack horses, some wretched old women leading them, and two or three
children clinging to their backs. Here were mules or ponies covered from
head to tail with gaudy trappings, and mounted by some gay young squaw,
grinning bashfulness and pleasure as the Meneaska looked at her. Boys
with miniature bows and arrows were wandering over the plains, little
naked children were running along on foot, and numberless dogs were
scampering among the feet of the horses. The young braves, gaudy with
paint and feathers, were riding in groups among the crowd, and often
galloping, two or three at once along the line, to try the speed of
their horses. Here and there you might see a rank of sturdy pedestrians
stalking along in their white buffalo robes. These were the dignitaries
of the village, the old men and warriors, to whose age and experience
that wandering democracy yielded a silent deference. With the rough
prairie and the broken hills for its background, the restless scene
was striking and picturesque beyond description. Days and weeks made me
familiar with it, but never impaired its effect upon my fancy.
As we moved on the broken column grew yet more scattered and disorderly,
until, as we approached the foot of a hill, I saw the old men before
mentioned seating themselves in a line upon the ground, in advance of
the whole. They lighted a pipe and sat smoking, laughing, and telling
stories, while the people, stopping as they successively came up, were
soon gathered in a crowd behind them. Then the old men rose, drew their
buffalo robes over their shoulders, and strode on as before. Gaining the
top of the hill, we found a very steep declivity before us. There was
not a minute’s pause. The whole descended in a mass, amid dust and
confusion. The horses braced their feet as they slid down, women and
children were screaming, dogs yelping as they were trodden upon, while
stones and earth went rolling to the bottom. In a few moments I could
see the village from the summit, spreading again far and wide over the
plain below.
At our encampment that afternoon I was attacked anew by my old disorder.
In half an hour the strength that I had been gaining for a week past had
vanished again, and I became like a man in a dream. But at sunset I lay
down in the Big Crow’s lodge and slept, totally unconscious till the
morning. The first thing that awakened me was a hoarse flapping over my
head, and a sudden light that poured in upon me. The camp was breaking
up, and the squaws were moving the covering from the lodge. I arose and
shook off my blanket with the feeling of perfect health; but scarcely
had I gained my feet when a sense of my helpless condition was once more
forced upon me, and I found myself scarcely able to stand. Raymond had
brought up Pauline and the mule, and I stooped to raise my saddle from
the ground. My strength was quite inadequate to the task. “You must
saddle her,” said I to Raymond, as I sat down again on a pile of buffalo
robes:
“Et hoec etiam fortasse meminisse juvabit.”
I thought, while with a painful effort I raised myself into the saddle.
Half an hour after, even the expectation that Virgil’s line expressed
seemed destined to disappointment. As we were passing over a great
plain, surrounded by long broken ridges, I rode slowly in advance of
the Indians, with thoughts that wandered far from the time and from the
place. Suddenly the sky darkened, and thunder began to mutter. Clouds
were rising over the hills, as dreary and dull as the first forebodings
of an approaching calamity; and in a moment all around was wrapped in
shadow. I looked behind. The Indians had stopped to prepare for the
approaching storm, and the dark, dense mass of savages stretched far to
the right and left. Since the first attack of my disorder the effects
of rain upon me had usually been injurious in the extreme. I had no
strength to spare, having at that moment scarcely enough to keep my seat
on horseback. Then, for the first time, it pressed upon me as a strong
probability that I might never leave those deserts. “Well,” thought I
to myself, “a prairie makes quick and sharp work. Better to die here, in
the saddle to the last, than to stifle in the hot air of a sick chamber,
and a thousand times better than to drag out life, as many have done,
in the helpless inaction of lingering disease.” So, drawing the buffalo
robe on which I sat over my head, I waited till the storm should come.
It broke at last with a sudden burst of fury, and passing away as
rapidly as it came, left the sky clear again. My reflections served
me no other purpose than to look back upon as a piece of curious
experience; for the rain did not produce the ill effects that I had
expected. We encamped within an hour. Having no change of clothes, I
contrived to borrow a curious kind of substitute from Reynal: and this
done, I went home, that is, to the Big Crow’s lodge to make the entire
transfer that was necessary. Half a dozen squaws were in the lodge, and
one of them taking my arm held it against her own, while a general laugh
and scream of admiration were raised at the contrast in the color of the
skin.
Our encampment that afternoon was not far distant from a spur of the
Black Hills, whose ridges, bristling with fir trees, rose from the
plains a mile or two on our right. That they might move more rapidly
toward their proposed hunting-grounds, the Indians determined to leave
at this place their stock of dried meat and other superfluous articles.
Some left even their lodges, and contented themselves with carrying a
few hides to make a shelter from the sun and rain. Half the inhabitants
set out in the afternoon, with loaded pack horses, toward the mountains.
Here they suspended the dried meat upon trees, where the wolves and
grizzly bears could not get at it. All returned at evening. Some of the
young men declared that they had heard the reports of guns among the
mountains to the eastward, and many surmises were thrown out as to the
origin of these sounds. For my part, I was in hopes that Shaw and Henry
Chatillon were coming to join us. I would have welcomed them cordially,
for I had no other companions than two brutish white men and five
hundred savages. I little suspected that at that very moment my unlucky
comrade was lying on a buffalo robe at Fort Laramie, fevered with ivy
poison, and solacing his woes with tobacco and Shakespeare.
As we moved over the plains on the next morning, several young men were
riding about the country as scouts; and at length we began to see them
occasionally on the tops of the hills, shaking their robes as a signal
that they saw buffalo. Soon after, some bulls came in sight. Horsemen
darted away in pursuit, and we could see from the distance that one
or two of the buffalo were killed. Raymond suddenly became inspired.
I looked at him as he rode by my side; his face had actually grown
intelligent!
“This is the country for me!” he said; “if I could only carry the
buffalo that are killed here every month down to St. Louis I’d make
my fortune in one winter. I’d grow as rich as old Papin, or Mackenzie
either. I call this the poor man’s market. When I’m hungry I have only
got to take my rifle and go out and get better meat than the rich folks
down below can get with all their money. You won’t catch me living in
St. Louis another winter.”
“No,” said Reynal, “you had better say that after you and your Spanish
woman almost starved to death there. What a fool you were ever to take
her to the settlements.”
“Your Spanish woman?” said I; “I never heard of her before. Are you
married to her?”
“No,” answered Raymond, again looking intelligent; “the priests don’t
marry their women, and why should I marry mine?”
This honorable mention of the Mexican clergy introduced the subject of
religion, and I found that my two associates, in common with other white
men in the country, were as indifferent to their future welfare as men
whose lives are in constant peril are apt to be. Raymond had never
heard of the Pope. A certain bishop, who lived at Taos or at Santa
Fe, embodied his loftiest idea of an ecclesiastical dignitary. Reynal
observed that a priest had been at Fort Laramie two years ago, on his
way to the Nez Perce mission, and that he had confessed all the men
there and given them absolution. “I got a good clearing out myself that
time,” said Reynal, “and I reckon that will do for me till I go down to
the settlements again.”
Here he interrupted himself with an oath and exclaimed: “Look! look! The
Panther is running an antelope!”
The Panther, on his black and white horse, one of the best in the
village, came at full speed over the hill in hot pursuit of an antelope
that darted away like lightning before him. The attempt was made in mere
sport and bravado, for very few are the horses that can for a moment
compete in swiftness with this little animal. The antelope ran down the
hill toward the main body of the Indians who were moving over the plain
below. Sharp yells were given and horsemen galloped out to intercept his
flight. At this he turned sharply to the left and scoured away with such
incredible speed that he distanced all his pursuers and even the vaunted
horse of the Panther himself. A few moments after we witnessed a more
serious sport. A shaggy buffalo bull bounded out from a neighboring
hollow, and close behind him came a slender Indian boy, riding without
stirrups or saddle and lashing his eager little horse to full speed.
Yard after yard he drew closer to his gigantic victim, though the bull,
with his short tail erect and his tongue lolling out a foot from his
foaming jaws, was straining his unwieldy strength to the utmost. A
moment more and the boy was close alongside of him. It was our friend
the Hail-Storm. He dropped the rein on his horse’s neck and jerked an
arrow like lightning from the quiver at his shoulder.
“I tell you,” said Reynal, “that in a year’s time that boy will match
the best hunter in the village. There he has given it to him! and there
goes another! You feel well, now, old bull, don’t you, with two arrows
stuck in your lights? There, he has given him another! Hear how the
Hail-Storm yells when he shoots! Yes, jump at him; try it again, old
fellow! You may jump all day before you get your horns into that pony!”
The bull sprang again and again at his assailant, but the horse kept
dodging with wonderful celerity. At length the bull followed up his
attack with a furious rush, and the Hail-Storm was put to flight, the
shaggy monster following close behind. The boy clung in his seat like a
leech, and secure in the speed of his little pony, looked round toward
us and laughed. In a moment he was again alongside of the bull, who
was now driven to complete desperation. His eyeballs glared through
his tangled mane, and the blood flew from his mouth and nostrils. Thus,
still battling with each other, the two enemies disappeared over the
hill.
Many of the Indians rode at full gallop toward the spot. We followed at
a more moderate pace, and soon saw the bull lying dead on the side of
the hill. The Indians were gathered around him, and several knives were
already at work. These little instruments were plied with such wonderful
address that the twisted sinews were cut apart, the ponderous bones fell
asunder as if by magic, and in a moment the vast carcass was reduced to
a heap of bloody ruins. The surrounding group of savages offered no very
attractive spectacle to a civilized eye. Some were cracking the huge
thigh-bones and devouring the marrow within; others were cutting away
pieces of the liver and other approved morsels, and swallowing them
on the spot with the appetite of wolves. The faces of most of them,
besmeared with blood from ear to ear, looked grim and horrible enough.
My friend the White Shield proffered me a marrowbone, so skillfully laid
open that all the rich substance within was exposed to view at once.
Another Indian held out a large piece of the delicate lining of the
paunch; but these courteous offerings I begged leave to decline. I
noticed one little boy who was very busy with his knife about the
jaws and throat of the buffalo, from which he extracted some morsel of
peculiar delicacy. It is but fair to say that only certain parts of the
animal are considered eligible in these extempore banquets. The Indians
would look with abhorrence on anyone who should partake indiscriminately
of the newly killed carcass.
We encamped that night, and marched westward through the greater part of
the following day. On the next morning we again resumed our journey. It
was the 17th of July, unless my notebook misleads me. At noon we stopped
by some pools of rain-water, and in the afternoon again set forward.
This double movement was contrary to the usual practice of the Indians,
but all were very anxious to reach the hunting ground, kill the
necessary number of buffalo, and retreat as soon as possible from the
dangerous neighborhood. I pass by for the present some curious incidents
that occurred during these marches and encampments. Late in the
afternoon of the last-mentioned day we came upon the banks of a little
sandy stream, of which the Indians could not tell the name; for they
were very ill acquainted with that part of the country. So parched and
arid were the prairies around that they could not supply grass enough
for the horses to feed upon, and we were compelled to move farther and
farther up the stream in search of ground for encampment. The country
was much wilder than before. The plains were gashed with ravines and
broken into hollows and steep declivities, which flanked our course, as,
in long-scattered array, the Indians advanced up the side of the stream.
Mene-Seela consulted an extraordinary oracle to instruct him where the
buffalo were to be found. When he with the other chiefs sat down on the
grass to smoke and converse, as they often did during the march, the old
man picked up one of those enormous black-and-green crickets, which the
Dakota call by a name that signifies “They who point out the buffalo.”
The Root-Diggers, a wretched tribe beyond the mountains, turn them to
good account by making them into a sort of soup, pronounced by certain
unscrupulous trappers to be extremely rich. Holding the bloated insect
respectfully between his fingers and thumb, the old Indian looked
attentively at him and inquired, “Tell me, my father, where must we go
to-morrow to find the buffalo?” The cricket twisted about his long horns
in evident embarrassment. At last he pointed, or seemed to point, them
westward. Mene-Seela, dropping him gently on the grass, laughed with
great glee, and said that if we went that way in the morning we should
be sure to kill plenty of game.
Toward evening we came upon a fresh green meadow, traversed by the
stream, and deep-set among tall sterile bluffs. The Indians descended
its steep bank; and as I was at the rear, I was one of the last to reach
this point. Lances were glittering, feathers fluttering, and the water
below me was crowded with men and horses passing through, while the
meadow beyond was swarming with the restless crowd of Indians. The sun
was just setting, and poured its softened light upon them through an
opening in the hills.
I remarked to Reynal that at last we had found a good camping-ground.
“Oh, it is very good,” replied he ironically; “especially if there is a
Snake war party about, and they take it into their heads to shoot down
at us from the top of these hills. It is no plan of mine, camping in
such a hole as this!”
The Indians also seemed apprehensive. High up on the top of the tallest
bluff, conspicuous in the bright evening sunlight, sat a naked warrior
on horseback, looking around, as it seemed, over the neighboring
country; and Raymond told me that many of the young men had gone out in
different directions as scouts.
The shadows had reached to the very summit of the bluffs before the
lodges were erected and the village reduced again to quiet and order. A
cry was suddenly raised, and men, women, and children came running out
with animated faces, and looked eagerly through the opening on the hills
by which the stream entered from the westward. I could discern afar
off some dark, heavy masses, passing over the sides of a low hill. They
disappeared, and then others followed. These were bands of buffalo cows.
The hunting-ground was reached at last, and everything promised well for
the morrow’s sport. Being fatigued and exhausted, I went and lay down in
Kongra-Tonga’s lodge, when Raymond thrust in his head, and called
upon me to come and see some sport. A number of Indians were gathered,
laughing, along the line of lodges on the western side of the village,
and at some distance, I could plainly see in the twilight two huge black
monsters stalking, heavily and solemnly, directly toward us. They were
buffalo bulls. The wind blew from them to the village, and such was
their blindness and stupidity that they were advancing upon the enemy
without the least consciousness of his presence. Raymond told me that
two men had hidden themselves with guns in a ravine about twenty yards
in front of us. The two bulls walked slowly on, heavily swinging from
side to side in their peculiar gait of stupid dignity. They approached
within four or five rods of the ravine where the Indians lay in ambush.
Here at last they seemed conscious that something was wrong, for they
both stopped and stood perfectly still, without looking either to the
right or to the left. Nothing of them was to be seen but two huge black
masses of shaggy mane, with horns, eyes, and nose in the center, and
a pair of hoofs visible at the bottom. At last the more intelligent of
them seemed to have concluded that it was time to retire. Very slowly,
and with an air of the gravest and most majestic deliberation, he began
to turn round, as if he were revolving on a pivot. Little by little his
ugly brown side was exposed to view. A white smoke sprang out, as it
were from the ground; a sharp report came with it. The old bull gave
a very undignified jump and galloped off. At this his comrade wheeled
about with considerable expedition. The other Indian shot at him from
the ravine, and then both the bulls were running away at full speed,
while half the juvenile population of the village raised a yell and ran
after them. The first bull was soon stopped, and while the crowd stood
looking at him at a respectable distance, he reeled and rolled over on
his side. The other, wounded in a less vital part, galloped away to the
hills and escaped.
In half an hour it was totally dark. I lay down to sleep, and ill as I
was, there was something very animating in the prospect of the general
hunt that was to take place on the morrow.