The Indian Village
When Dick awoke from his second period of unconsciousness it
was to awake, as he did from the first, under a roof, but not,
as in the case of the first, under his own roof. He saw above
him an immense sloping thatch of bark on poles, and his eyes,
wandering lower, saw walls of bark, also fastened to poles.
He himself was lying on a large rush mat, and beside the door
of the great tepee sat two Sioux warriors cleaning their rifles.
Dick's gaze rested upon the warriors. Curiously, he felt at that
time neither hostility nor apprehension. He rather admired
them. They were fine, tall men, and their bare arms and legs
were sinewy and powerful. Then he thought of Albert. He was
nowhere to be seen, but from the shadow of the wall on his right
came a tall figure, full of dignity and majesty. It was Bright
Sun, who looked down at Dick with a gaze that expressed inquiry
rather than anger.
"Why have you come here?" he asked.
Although Dick's head ached and he was a captive, the question
made a faint appeal to his sense of humor.
"I didn't come," he replied; "I was brought."
Bright Sun smiled.
"That is true," he said, speaking the precise English of the
schools, with every word enunciated distinctly. "You were
brought, and by my warriors; but why were you upon these hills?"
"I give you the best answer I can, Bright Sun," replied Dick
frankly; "I don't know. My brother and I were lost upon the
plains, and we wandered here. Nor have I the remotest idea now
where I am."
"You are in a village of the tribe of the Mendewahkanton Sioux,
of the clan Queyata-oto-we," replied Bright Sun gravely, "the
clan and tribe to which I belong. The Mendewahkantons are one of
the first tribes of the Seven Fireplaces, or the Great Sioux
Nation. But all are great--Mendewahkanton, Wahpeton, Sisseton,
Yankton, Teton, Ogalala, and Hunkpapa--down to the last clan of
every tribe."
He began with gravity and an even intonation, but his voice rose
with pride at the last. Nothing of the white man's training was
left to him but the slow, precise English. It was the Indian,
the pride of his Indian race, that spoke. Dick recognized it and
respected it.
"And this?" said Dick, looking around at the great house of bark
and poles in which he lay.
"This," replied Bright Sun, pride again showing in this tone, "is
the house of the Akitcita, our soldiers and policemen, the men
between twenty and forty, the warriors of the first rank, who
live here in common, and into whose house women and children
may not enter. I have read in the books at your schools how the
Spartan young men lived together as soldiers in a common house,
eating rough food and doing the severest duty, and the whole
world has long applauded. The Sioux, who never heard of the
Spartans, have been doing the same far back into the shadowy
time. We, too, are a race of warriors."
Dick looked with renewed interest at the extraordinary man before
him, and an amazing suggestion found lodgment in his mind.
Perhaps the Sioux chief thought himself not merely as good as the
white man, but better, better than any other man except those of
his own race. It was so surprising that Dick forgot for a moment
the question that he was eagerly awaiting a chance to ask--where
was his brother Albert?
"I've always heard that the Sioux were brave," said Dick vaguely,
"and I know they are powerful."
"We are the Seven Fireplaces. What the Six Nations once were in
the East, we now are in the West, save that we are far more
numerous and powerful, and we will not be divided. We have
leaders who see the truth and who know what to do."
The pride in his tone was tinged now with defiance, and Dick
could but look at him in wonder. But his mind now came back to
the anxious question:
"Where is my brother Albert, who was taken with me? You have
not killed him?"
"He has not been hurt, although we are at war with your people,"
replied Bright Sun. "He is here in the village, and he, like
you, is safe for the present. Some of the warriors wished to
kill both you and him, but I have learned wisdom in these matters
from your people. Why throw away pawns that we hold? I keep
your brother and you as hostages."
Dick, who had raised himself up in his eagerness, sank back
again, relieved. He could feel that Bright Sun told the truth,
and he had faith, too, in the man's power as well as his word.
Yet there was another question that he wished to ask.
"Bright Sun," he said, "it was you, our guide, who led the train
into the pass that all might be killed?"
Bright Sun shrugged his shoulders, but a spark leaped from his
eyes.
"What would you ask of me?" he replied. "In your code it was
cunning, but the few and small must fight with cunning. The
little man, to confront the big man, needs the advantage of
weapons. The Sioux make the last stand for the Indian race, and
we strike when and where we can."
The conscience of the chief was clear, so far as Dick could see,
and there was nothing that he could say in reply. It was Bright
Sun himself who resumed:
"But I spared you and your brother. I did that which caused you
to be absent when the others were slain."
"Why?"
"Because you were different. You were not like the others. It
may be that I pitied you, and it may be also that I like you--a
little--and--you were young."
The man's face bore no more expression than carven oak, but Dick
was grateful.
"I thank you, Bright Sun," he said, "and I know that Albert
thanks you, too."
Bright sun nodded, and then fixed an intent gaze upon Dick.
"You and your brother escaped," he said. "That was nearly two
years ago, and you have not gone back to your people. Where
have you been?"
Dick saw a deep curiosity lurking behind the intent gaze, but
whatever he might owe to Bright Sun, he had no intention of
gratifying it.
"Would you tell me where you have been in the last two years and
all that you have done?" the chief asked.
"I cannot answer; but you see that we have lived, Albert and I,"
Dick replied.
"And that you have learned the virtues of silence," said Bright
Sun. "I ask you no more about it to-day. Give me your word for
the present that you will not try to escape, and your life and
that of your brother will be the easier. It would be useless,
anyhow, for you to make such an attempt. When you feel that you
have a chance, you can withdraw your promise."
Dick laughed, and the laugh was one of genuine good humor.
"That's certainly fair," he said. "Since I can't escape, I might
as well give my promise not to try it for the time being. Well,
I give it."
Bright Sun nodded gravely.
"Your brother will come in soon," he said. "He has already given
his promise, that is, a conditional one, good until he can confer
with you."
"I'll confirm it," said Dick.
Bright Sun saluted and left the great lodge. Some warriors near
the door moved aside with the greatest deference to let him
pass. Dick lay on his rush mat, gazing after him, and deeply
impressed.
When Bright Sun was gone he examined the lodge again. It was
obvious that it was a great common hall or barracks for warriors,
and Bright Sun's simile of the Spartans was correct. More
warriors came in, all splendid, athletic young men of a high and
confident bearing. A few were dressed in the white man's
costume, but most of them were in blankets, leggings, and
moccasins, and had magnificent rows of feathers in their hair.
Every man carried a carbine, and most of them had revolvers
also. Such were the Akitcita or chosen band, and in this village
of about two hundred lodges they numbered sixty men. Dick did
not know then that in times of peace all guests, whether white or
red, were entertained in the lodge of the Akitcita.
Impressed as he had been by Bright Sun, he was impressed also by
these warriors. Not one of them spoke to him or annoyed him in
any manner. They went about their tasks, cleaning and polishing
their weapons, or sitting on rough wooden benches, smoking pipes
with a certain dignity that belonged to men of strength and
courage. All around the lodge were rush mats, on which they
slept, and near the door was a carved totem pole.
A form darkened the doorway, and Albert came in. He rushed to
Dick when he saw that he was conscious again, and shook his hand
with great fervor. The warriors went on with their tasks or
their smoking, and still took no notice.
"This is a most wonderful place, Dick," exclaimed the
impressionable Albert, "and Bright Sun has treated us well. We
can go about the village if we give a promise, for the time, that
we'll not try to escape."
"He's been here," said Dick, "and I've given it."
"Then, if you feel strong enough, let's go on and take a look."
"Wait until I see if this head of mine swims around," said Dick.
He rose slowly to his feet, and his bandaged head was dizzy at
first, but as he steadied himself it became normal. Albert
thrust out his hand to support him. It delighted him that he
could be again of help to his older and bigger brother, and Dick,
divining Albert's feeling, let it lie for a minute. Then they
went to the door, Dick walking quite easily, as his strength came
back fast.
The warriors of the Akitcita, of whom fully a dozen were now
present in the great lodge, still paid no attention to the two
youths, and Dick surmised that it was the orders of Bright Sun.
But this absolute ignoring of their existence was uncanny,
nevertheless. Dick studies some of the faces as he passed. Bold
and fearless they were, and not without a certain nobility, but
there was little touch of gentleness or pity, it was rather the
strength of the wild animal, the flesh-eater, that seeks its prey.
Sioux they were, and Sioux they would remain in heart, no
matter what happened, wild warriors of the northwest. Dick
perceived this fact in a lightening flash, but it was the
lightening flash of conviction.
Outside the fresh air saluted Dick, mouth and nostrils, and the
ache in his head went quite away. He had seen the valley by
moonlight, when it was beautiful, but not as beautiful as their
own valley, the one of which they would not tell to anybody. But
it was full of interest. The village life, the life of the wild,
was in progress all about him, and in the sunshine, amidst such
picturesque surroundings, it had much that was attractive to the
strong and brave.
Dick judged correctly that the village contained about two
hundred winter lodges of bark and poles, and could therefore
furnish about four hundred warriors. It was evident, too, that
it was the scene of prosperity. The flesh of buffalo, elk, and
deer was drying in the sun, hanging from trees or on little
platforms of poles. Children played with the dogs or practiced
with small bows and arrows. In the shadow of a tepee six old
women sat gambling, and the two boys stopped to watch them.
The Indians are more inveterate gamblers than the whites, and the
old women, wrinkled, hideous hags of vast age, played their games
with an intent, almost breathless, interest.
They were playing Woskate Tanpan, or the game of dice, as it is
known to the Sioux. Three women were on each side, and they
played it with tanpan (the basket), kansu (the dice), and
canyiwawa (the counting sticks). The tanpan, made of willow
twigs, was a tiny basket, about three inches in diameter at the
bottom, but broader at the top, and about two inches deep. Into
this one woman would put the kansu or dice, a set of six plum
stones, some carved and some not carved. She would put her hand
over the tanpan, shake the kansu just as the white dice player
does, and then throw them out. The value of the throw would be
according to the kind and number of carvings that were turned up
when the kansu fell.
The opposing sides, three each, sat facing each other, and the
stakes for which they played--canyiwawa (the counting
sticks)--lay between them. These were little round sticks about
the thickness of a lead pencil, and the size of each heap went
up or down, as fortune shifted back or forth. They could make
the counting sticks represent whatever value they chose, this
being agreed upon beforehand, and the old Sioux women had been
known to play Woskate Tanpan two days and nights without ever
rising from their seats.
"What old harpies they are!" said Dick. "Did you ever see
anybody so eager over anything?"
"They are no worse than the men," replied Albert. "A lot of
warriors are gambling, too."
A group of the men were gathered on a little green farther on,
and the brothers joined them, beginning to share at once the
interest that the spectators showed in several warriors who were
playing Woskate Painyankapi, or the game of the Wands and the
Hoop.
The warriors used in the sport canyleska (the hoop) and cansakala
(the wands). The hoops were of ash, two or three feet in
diameter, the ash itself being about an inch in diameter. Every
hoop was carefully marked off into spaces, something like the
face of a watch.
Cansakala (the wands) were of chokecherry, four feet long and
three fourths of an inch in diameter. One end of every wand was
squared for a distance of about a foot. The wands were in pairs,
the two being fastened together with buckskin thongs about nine
inches in length, and fastened at a point about one third of the
length of the wands from the rounded ends.
A warrior would roll the hoop, and he was required to roll it
straight and correctly. If he did not do so, the umpire made him
roll it over, as in the white man's game of baseball the pitcher
cannot get a strike until he pitches the ball right.
When the hoop was rolled correctly, the opposing player dropped
his pair of wands somewhere in front of it. It was his object so
to calculate the speed and course of the hoop when it fell it
would lie upon his wands. If he succeeded, he secured his points
according to the spaces on each wand within which the hoop lay--an
exceedingly difficult game, requiring great skill of hand and
judgment of eye. That if was absorbing was shown by the great
interest with which all the spectators followed it and by their
eager betting.
"I don't believe I could learn to do that in ten years," said
Albert; "you've got to combine too many things and to combine
them fast."
"They must begin on it while they're young," said Dick; "but the
Indian has a mind, and don't you forget it."
"But they're not as we are," rejoined Albert. "Nothing can ever
make them so."
Here, as in the house of the Akitcita, nobody paid any attention
to the two boys, but Dick began to have a feeling that he was
watched, not watched openly as man watches man, but in the
furtive dangerous way of the great wild beasts, the man-eaters.
The feeling grew into a conviction that, despite what they were
doing, everybody in the camp--warrior, squaw, and child--was
watching Albert and him. He knew that half of this was fancy,
but he was sure that the other half was real.
"Albert," he said, "I wouldn't make any break for liberty now,
even if I hadn't given my promise."
"Nor I," said Albert. "By the time we had gone ten feet the
whole village would be on top of us. Dick, while I'm here I'm
going to make the best of it I can."
In pursuance of this worthy intention Albert pressed forward and
almost took the cansakala from the hands of a stalwart warrior.
The man, amazed at first, yielded up the pair of wands with a
grin. Albert signaled imperiously to the warrior with the hoop,
and he, too, grinning, sent canyleska whirling.
Albert cast the wands, and the hoop fell many feet from them. A
shout of laughter arose. The white youth was showing himself a
poor match for the Sioux, and the women and children came
running to see this proof of the superiority of their race.
The warrior from whom he had taken them gravely picked up the
cansakala and handed them back to Albert, the other warrior again
sent canyleska rolling, and again Albert threw the wands with the
same ill fortune. A third and fourth time he tried, with but
slight improvement, and the crowd, well pleased to see him fail,
thickened all the time, until nearly the whole village was
present.
"It's just as hard as we thought it was, Dick, and harder," said
Albert ruefully. "Here, you take it and see what you can do."
He handed cansakala to Dick, who also tried in vain, while the
crowd enjoyed the sport, laughing and chatting to one another, as
they will in their own villages. Dick made a little more
progress than Albert had achieved, but not enough to score any
points worth mentioning, and he, too, retired discomfited, while
the Sioux, especially the women, continued to laugh.
"I don't like to be beaten that way," said Albert in a nettled
tone.
"Never mind, Al, old fellow," said Dick soothingly. "Remember
it's their game, not ours, and as it makes them feel good, it's
all the better for us. Since they've beaten us, they're apt to
like us and treat us better."
It was hard for Albert to take the more philosophical view, which
was also the truthful one, but he did his best to reconcile
himself, and he and Dick moved on to other sights.
Dick noticed that the village had been located with great
judgment. On one side was the river, narrow but swift and deep;
on the other, a broad open space that would not permit an enemy
to approach through ambush, and beyond that the forest.
The tepees stood in a great circle, and, although Dick did not
know it, their camps were always pitched according to rule, each
gens or clan having its regular place in the circle. The tribe
of the Mendewahkantons--a leading one of the Seven Fireplaces or
Council Fires of the great Sioux nation--was subdivided into
seven gentes or clans; the Kiyukas, or Breakers, so called
because they disregarded the general marriage law and married
outside their own clan; the Que-mini-tea, or Mountain Wood and
Water people; the Kap'oja, or Light Travelers; the Maxa-yuta-cui,
the People who Eat no Grease; the Queyata-oto-we, or the People
of the Village Back from the River; the Oyata Citca, the Bad
Nation, and the Tita-otowe, the People of the Village on the
Prairie.
Each clan was composed of related families, and all this great
tribe, as the boys learned later, had once dwelled around Spirit
Lake, Minnesota, their name meaning Mysterious Lake Dwellers,
but had been pushed westward years before by the advancing wave
of white settlement. This was now a composite village,
including parts of every gens of the Mendewahkantons, but there
were other villages of the same tribe scattered over a large
area.
When Dick and Albert reached the northern end of the village they
saw a great number of Indian ponies, six or seven hundred
perhaps, grazing in a wide grassy space and guarded by half-grown
Indian boys.
"Dick," said Albert, "if we only had a dozen of those we could go
back and get our furs."
"Yes," said Dick, "if we had the ponies, if we knew where we are
now, if we were free of the Sioux village, and if we could find
the way to our valley, we might do what you say."
"Yes, it does take a pile of 'ifs,'" said Albert, laughing, "and
so I won't expect it. I'll try to be resigned."
So free were they from any immediate restriction that it almost
seemed to them that they could walk away as they chose, up the
valley and over the hills and across the plains. How were the
Sioux to know that these two would keep their promised word?
But both became conscious again of those watchful eyes,
ferocious, like the eyes of man-eating wild beasts, and both
shivered a little as they turned back into the great circle of
bark teepees.