Chapter Fourteen.
Conjurers—Old Tapastanum—Boasting—Challenge Accepted—Medicine Man’s Tent—Bogus Bullet—Detected—Conjurer’s Defeat and Fall.
Not long after the visit to the mission and the School Mr Ross was visited by a number of old pagan medicine men and conjurers, the most noted of them being old Tapastanum, who, having heard of the visit of the young gentlemen from across the sea to the family of Sagasta-weekee, was anxious to make them a visit of ceremony. Tapastanum’s principal reason for a ceremonious visit was that he should not be eclipsed by “the Black-coat Man with the Book.”
Mr Ross, while receiving these old men as he received all Indians, in a civil manner, was not at all kindly disposed toward them, as he knew their influence was harmful and that they were a curse and a malediction to the people. Their very presence in an Indian village is a source of terror and fear. They never hunt or fish themselves as long as they can frighten other people into being blackmailed by them.
The coming of these men very much excited Sam and Alec, who had heard such extraordinary things about them. Some firmly believe that they are in league with the devil, and by his direct assistance are able to perform all the wonderful things of which they boast. Others, however, believe that they are rank impostors. The boys, who had heard so many conflicting things about these conjurers, tried to coax Mr Ross to get them to show off some of their pretended power.
For a time Mr Ross, who considered them only as clever scoundrels or unmitigated humbugs, objected, as he did not wish to seem in any way to encourage them. However, one day as they, from Mr Ross’s reluctance to put them to the test, became exceedingly boastful of their powers to do such wonderful things it was decided to give them an opportunity.
“What do you say you can do?” asked Frank of old Tapastanum.
“Do,” he replied, “I can so conjure that you cannot hit me with a bullet, or tie me so that I cannot spring up loose; and fire will not burn me, or water drown me.”
“All right,” said Frank, “one thing at a time. We will try the first, and see if we cannot hit you with a bullet.”
“What you give?” was the request of the old fellow.
“O, indeed, that is what you are after; well, what do you want?”
At first his demands were very unreasonable, but after some dickering it was decided that if he stood the ordeal he was to get an agreed amount of flour, tea, sugar, and tobacco. It was also settled that the ordeal should come off the next day. The conjurer said that he would spend the night with his medicine drum and sacred medicine bag, to call back his familiar spirit, who might be away hunting. The boys discussed very much the coming contest, and, of course, were profoundly interested. They had learned much since their coming into the country about these strange, wild, fearsome people, and this with what they had read in other days filled them with great curiosity to see what would be the outcome.
With Mr Ross and the family the matter was well talked over, and it was determined—as Mr Ross considered the conjurer who was to go through the ordeal an unmitigated fraud—that he should be taught a lesson that he and his cronies would never forget.
When the morning arrived the old fellows were there in good time, and the ordeal, which was to-day to be by bullet, was decided upon.
The conjurer selected for the ordeal had not proceeded far in his talk before he asked to see laid down at his wife’s feet his pay. This was brought out and measured to his satisfaction, with the understanding that it was not to be his unless he succeeded.
His preparations were soon completed. Aided by his comrades, a small conjuring tent was made by sticking some long green limber poles in the ground, and bending them over like bows until the other ends were also made fast in the earth. Then over these poles a skin tent, made by sewing a number of dressed deerskins together, was thrown. Taking his medicine bag and magic drum into this tent, the conjurer disappeared. Soon the monotonous drumming began. In addition there were heard the barks and howls and cries of nearly all the animals of the forest and prairies. The sounds were like that proceeding from a wild beast show when all the animals are let louse and are uttering their discordant notes. The tent quivered as though in a cyclone. Thus, for a time it went on—the drum beating, the beasts howling, the tent quivering—until it seemed utterly inexplicable how one man, could create such a din.
Among the boys, Sam was most excited at these strange proceedings. Much to the amusement of those around, he said:
“I’m thinking the safest place would be on the top of the house, if all those reptiles should break loose.”
The conjurer now began crying out in his own language: “To help me he is coming, my own familiar spirit. Soon the bullet cannot pierce me; soon waters cannot drown me; soon fires cannot burn me. To help me he is coming! coming! coming!”
Thus on he went, while the drumming and howlings were almost incessant.
Mr Ross, who had resolved that there should be no nonsense, had asked one of his servants, who was an unerring shot, to do the firing. In the meantime one of the conjurer’s associates had asked to see the gun that was to be used, and kindly offered to load it. The suspicions of Mr Ross were at once aroused by this request, but wishing to see through the man’s trick he did not oppose his request. Soon after a good gun was sent for, and also some powder and bullets. Full measure of powder was poured into the gun, and the usual wadding was well driven down upon it. When Mr Ross selected a bullet the friend of the conjurer, with a great pretence of awe, asked to see it, and holding it in his hand said, “This is the bullet that the familiar spirit will turn aside.”
Mr Ross let him look at it, and saw him handling it with much apparent reverence, but he also saw him quickly and deftly change it for another bullet.
“That’s your game, is it?” said Mr Ross but not out loud. After a little more humbuggery the bullet was handed back to be dropped into the muzzle of the gun.
If Mr Ross’s thoughts could have been heard they would have been something like this:
“I have seen through that little trick, and will show you that two can play at that game.”
And so without exciting the suspicion of the Indian, whose trick he had detected, he changed the bullet for another, and dropped it into the gun. When the wadding was driven in and placed upon it, the confederate of the conjurer asked for the privilege of being allowed also to help ram it down. Mr Ross saw his meaning and cheerfully granted it. The weapon was now loaded and ready for use. All this time the drumming and the conjuring had continued with all their accompaniments of howls and shrieks.
In a short time a shrill, low whistle, like the call of some bird, was heard, and Mr Ross observed that it was from the lips of the old Indian who had pretended to examine the bullet with such awe, but who had in reality exchanged it for a perfectly harmless one. He and the conjurer were associates in their trickery. The bullet had been made in this way: A pair of bullet moulds had been heated quite hot, and then some bear’s fat, which is like lard, had been put inside of them. Holding the moulds shut, and placing them in very cold water, they kept turning them around until the melted fat had hardened into a thin shell exactly the size of a bullet. Then a small puncture was made through this thin casing of fat, and the interior carefully filled up with fine sand. It was not difficult then to stop up the orifice with a little fat. It was then carefully coloured like a bullet, and at a distance could hardly be distinguished from one. When put in a gun and well pounded with a ramrod, of course, it would break all to pieces, and when fired at anything like an ordinary distance for ball firing would be perfectly harmless.
But Mr Ross’s cleverness had been too much for the rogues, and so he had changed the bogus affair for a genuine bullet of lead. To his servant, who was to fire, he explained exactly how matters were, and had said to him:
“Do not kill the rascal, but give him a wound that will forever stop his boastings, and break his power over the poor deluded hundreds, who firmly believe he can do what he has so boastfully declared.”
The low, shrill whistle call had made a great change upon the conjurer in the tent. He was now all boastfulness, and his cries were like the shouts of triumph:
“Waters cannot drown me; bullets cannot pierce me; fires cannot burn me.”
“Are you sure you are ready?” said Mr Ross.
Shouting his defiance, the conjurer came out from the tent, and walking to a place where he knew the fine sand in the bullet of bear’s grease would not hurt him, he boldly stood up, and stretching out his hands defied the shooter to do his best.
“You are sure, are you, that bullets will not hurt you?” said Mr Ross.
Very haughty was the conjurer’s reply. Then said Mr Ross again; “If you are hurt, no one will be to blame.”
“No, indeed,” was the conjurer’s reply, “for I have given the challenge, and my familiar spirit has told me that the bullets cannot pierce me.”
“If you are struck, then you will give up your conjuring, and go and hunt for your own living, like other people?”
He hesitated for a moment, but the low, shrill whistle was once more heard, and so he fairly shouted out:
“If bullets can pierce me I will forever give up my conjuring, and destroy my magic drum and medicine bag.”
“All right,” said Mr Ross; then, turning to his servant, he said, “Now, Baptiste, fire!”
Taking deliberate aim, the man fired, and, as the report rang out, from one of the uplifted hands of the conjurer who was standing about fifty yards away—there fell a finger, as neatly cut off by the bullet as though a surgeon’s knife had done the work.
With a howl of rage and pain most decidedly un-Indian-like, the conjurer began dancing about, much to the amusement of the boys, who a moment before were pale with pent-up excitement; for it is rather trying to look on and see in the hands of a skillful marksman a gun loaded with ball and pointed at this boastful man, who was willing to put his magic against the skill of the finest shot of the country.
Much to the surprise of all but Mr Ross and one or two others who saw through the trick, the old fellow, with his wounded hand still profusely bleeding, rushed over to his confederate and began abusing him most thoroughly for having deceived him. This attack the man resented, and a first-class quarrel was the result. Around them gathered numbers of Indians, and in the mutual recriminations of these two the truth came out, and the people saw that they had long been deluded by a pair of impostors. From that, day they were discredited men, and never after regained any power or influence.
That evening Mr Ross explained to the boys the whole affair. He showed them the bogus bullet, and explained to them how it was made. The boys admitted that it was a clever trick, and were not satisfied until they had made several of them in the manner described.
Thus ended their first and last experience with Indian conjurers, and it thoroughly convinced them that they are only cunning impostors.