16. THE ORIGIN OF THE BUFFALO SOCIETY.
A youth who had wandered out into the plains of the West in search of game, lost the trail, and though he searched with all diligence he was unable to find it again. Throwing himself upon the ground he brooded over his ill fortune and longed with all the intenseness of his soul that he might be again back in his native village.
It was sunset and in the gloaming the youth saw a company of people gathered about a fire, evidently in earnest council. Cautiously he advanced, hoping to learn who the people were. For several minutes he lay concealed in the tall rank grass and creeping nearer was surprised to learn that it was he, himself, who formed the subject of the discussion. Much greater was his amazement when an old lady arose, and walking directly to his hiding place lifted him to his feet and said, “Come, I have adopted you.”
“Oh is that it!” exclaimed the boy in disappointment, “I was hoping you would guide me home.”
“No, not yet,” said the old lady, “you must learn first.”
Marveling at her words, the youth followed the old woman to her lodge and dwelt there.
It seemed strange to him that the people of the village never hunted but traveled together in bands over the prairies. He wondered at the shaggy heads of the men and their dark hairy leggings. He seemed as in a dream and yet all he saw and did seemed real. He learned much of the wondrous tribe with which his lot had been cast, and as the months went by he learned more and more. Often he danced in the ceremonies of the tribe, often he sang and often he made medicine in the council lodges on the prairies until he knew almost everything that a tribesman knew. Although his sojourn was one full of incidents and adventures he never ceased to mourn for his own home and people and often plead to be shown the trail, but his foster mother would only say, “No, not yet, for you have not learned all.” What this meant he did not know and pined as before for home.
One night he was awakened by the far-away sound of a drum. Its slow dull note made the youth more melancholy than before. His heart seemed to stop in its natural course and beat slow to the tap of the drum. Greatly depressed, he crept to the bedside of his foster mother and pleaded for a guide to his home trail.
“No not yet, my son,” said the old woman, “but perhaps very soon. Listen to the sound of that far distant drum. Now let me tell you that which you have not known. Far away to the west beneath a great hill lives the great chief of all buffaloes and an evil chief is he. When he drums it is a sign he wishes all to gather around his mound for he is anxious for a race. He has an evil plan. Being a mighty runner he often calls us to his lodge and he whom the chief selects must race until death strikes away his life from the unequal chase. The terrible race continues until the evil chief has satisfied his insane fancy and dismissed the assembled throngs. Soon you will hear the chief sing and when he does all of us must answer his call by starting immediately on the journey.”
“How is it that a buffalo is your chief?” asked the youth.
“Because we are all buffaloes,” was the answer.
The youth bit his lip and felt much chagrined to think he had not known this before. Surely he had had sufficient evidence.
Supplementing the note of the drum came a song. Simultaneously there was a great stamping. Everyone was rushing at a furious pace in the direction of the song. The youth ran with his mother. For ten days and ten nights the wild rush continued, ever led on by the song.
On the evening of the tenth day the rushing multitude reached the hill from whence the song issued and rested.
That night the old lady came to the youth and said: “This has been a terrible rush and many have died from exhaustion, many from wounds and many have been trampled to death. Many children have been left behind to die. Oh that this may be the last mad stampede! Now listen, he will challenge you to a race. Do not fear, but take this medicine and when he calls you, race him to death. Shoot him in the red spot on his hand. When you awake tomorrow I will give you a bow and arrow.”
The youth awoke late the next morning and to his amazement saw a great herd of buffaloes gathered around the hill. From the summit of the hill came a great roar. It was the chief buffalo speaking.
“There is a human boy among us,” it said, “I command him to race me.”
Trembling, the youth walked toward the hill and as he did so a shaggy buffalo came sauntering slowly up to him. On her neck was a bow and arrow.
“I am your mother,” said the buffalo. “Remember if you run swiftly you may overcome the evil chief. Remember his body is, under the skin, covered with a bony plate. His ribs have all grown together so that no arrow can pierce to his heart. No matter what is said, shoot only at the spot on his hand, for as a human he runs.”
“Come boy, it is time to run,” roared the buffalo chief.
Around the great hill-like mound stretched two circles of animals. Between them was a path over which the contestants must run. The buffalo chief started the race by shouting, “Catch me or at sunset I will trample you to the dust.”
Undaunted, the boy leapt to the course and ran his best. Toward noon the chief, surprised at the endurance of his intended victim, yet believing himself safe, sat down for rest, but the youth strode faster the longer he ran and doubly fast when the buffalo lagged.
Springing toward the chief the youth shouted, “I’ll catch you, yow! yow!”
Up leaped the buffalo and panting, ran around the course at the top of his speed. Close behind him was the youth, disconcerting him with his cries of derision, and his calls of “Yow! Yow!” Calling up all his energy the buffalo sprinted ahead and sat down for rest, but hardly had he touched the grass when the youth with his aggravating “Yow Yow!” sped toward him shouting, “I’ll catch you soon. You have not seen me run yet.” So, fearing defeat, the buffalo chief ran as fast as his magic could send him but to his intense annoyance the boy stuck close to his heels.
The sun was sinking low and as it sank large and red to the level of the western prairie the buffalo chief fell with a groan and moaned. “Oh I am worsted, I am disgraced! Shoot me, boy, shoot me, your one arrow will transfix my heart, oh I am beaten!” The crafty beast was endeavoring to deceive the boy but the human boy saw through the beast’s subtilty.
“Arise!” commanded the boy, “I am ready to shoot you!”
“Oh my heart,” moaned the defeated chief as he arose.
“Throw up your hands!” and quicker than thought the boy sent an arrow speeding into the red spot on his hand.
A great shout rent the air. The buffalo chief had fallen, had perished. The glad cry of the assembled herds floated far over the plains and rumbled like the echoing voice of the thunder gods. Long did the stamping herds roar their shout of thanksgiving and afterward heaped upon him honor and praise and called him their deliverer. They promised him all the power that the race of the buffaloes could bestow.
“When you wish health and fortune, when you wish a balm for fear and a panacea for trouble, and a cure for disease burn tobacco and call upon the spirits of the buffalo,” was the instruction of the new chief who was chosen.
The throngs of animals dispersed in bands, each led to its range by its chief.
The youth accompanied the old woman back to her lodge ten days journey away and listened attentively when she imparted to him all the secrets the buffaloes knew.
“You know our dances, our songs and our mysteries. Preserve these things forever in a society of human creatures,” said the buffalo woman. “Now you may go to your home among the man animals. Now I bid you adieu, my son, I am sorry you must go. A guide will lead you to the trail.”
The youth bade the people farewell and last of all his good foster mother and followed the guide to the trail that lead to the land of the human.
After many days the youth came to a village of his people and calling a council told his adventures. To all but the old folk he was a stranger, but when he made friends he selected a company and to them he imparted the secret of the buffaloes.
Thus originated the Society of Buffaloes, which today exists as a power among the Seneca.