CHAPTER THREE OFF WITH THE INDIANS
The night came at last when we were to leave. Just after dark I slipped away from the house and started for the bunch of willows where I was to meet the Indian. When I got there, I found two Indians waiting for me instead of one. The sight of two of them almost made me weaken and turn back; but I saw with them my little pinto pony and it gave me new courage. They had an old Indian saddle on the pony with very rough rawhide thongs for stirrup straps. At a signal from them, I jumped on my horse and away we went. Our trail led towards the north along the western shore of the Great Salt Lake.
The Indians wanted to ride fast. It was all right at first; but after a while I got very tired. My legs began to hurt me, and I wanted to stop, but they urged me along till the peep of day, when we stopped by some very salt springs. I was so stiff and sore that I could not get off my horse, so one of them lifted me off and stood me on the ground, but I could hardly stand up. The rawhide straps had rubbed the skin off my legs till they were raw. The Indians told me that if I would take off my trousers and jump into the salt springs it would make my legs better; but I found that I could not get them off alone; they were stuck to my legs. The Indians helped me, and after some very severe pain we succeeded in getting them off. A good deal of skin came with them.
Map of the Western country which was the scene of Uncle Nick’s adventures.
“Come now,” they urged me, “jump into this water and you will be well in a little while.”
Well, I jumped into the spring up to my waist. Oh blazes! I jumped out again. Oh, my! how it did sting and smart! I jumped and kicked. I was so wild with pain that I lay on the ground and rolled round and round on the grass. After half an hour of this, I wore myself out, and oh, how I cried! The Indians put down a buffalo robe, and rolled me on to it and spread a blanket over me. I lay there and cried myself to sleep.
When I awoke, they were sitting by a small fire. They had killed a duck and were broiling it for breakfast.
“Come,” they said, “and eat some duck.”
I started to get up, but oh! how sore I was! I began to cry again. They kept coaxing me to come and have something to eat until finally I got up and went to them, but I had to walk on a wide track. I ate some duck and dried meat and felt better. While I was eating they got the horses ready.
“Come,” they said, “get on your pony.”
“No,” I objected, “I can’t ride; I’d rather walk.”
They said that they were going a long way, and that I could not walk so far. Then they arranged the saddle so it would not hurt me so much, by putting a buffalo robe over it. They lifted me into it. It was not so bad as I thought it would be. The soft hair of the robe made the saddle more comfortable. One of them tied my trousers to my saddle. That day I lost them and for more than two years I did not have another pair. During that time I wore Indian leggings and a blanket.
We traveled all day over a country that was more like the bottom of an old lake than anything else. We camped that night by another spring. The Indians lifted me from my horse, put me down on a robe and started a fire. Then they caught some fish and broiled them again on the coals. It was a fine supper we had that night.
The next morning I felt pretty well used up; but when I had eaten some fish and a big piece of dried elk meat for breakfast, I felt more like traveling. Then we started again.
Near mid-afternoon, we saw, about six miles ahead of us, the Indians we had been trying to overtake. They had joined with another large band, so there were a great many in the camp. By the time we caught up with them, they had stopped and were unpacking, and some of them had their wigwams set up. We rode through the camp until we came to a big tepee where a large, good-looking Indian was standing. This man, they said, was Washakie, their chief; I was to live with him, and he would be my brother.
An old squaw came up to my horse and stood looking at me. The Indians said that she was the chief’s mother and that she would be my mother, too. They told her that my legs were badly skinned and were very sore. Then Washakie helped me off my horse.
Bureau of American Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution
Washakie (with hat in hand) and part of his Shoshone tribe at South Pass, Wyoming, in 1861.
The old squaw put her hand on my head and began to say something pitiful to me, and I began to cry. She cried, too, and taking me by the arm, led me into the tepee, and pointed to a nice bed the chief’s wife had made for me. I lay down on the bed and sobbed myself to sleep. When I awoke, this new mother of mine brought me some soup and some fresh deer meat to eat. I tell you it tasted good.
The next morning my new mother thought she would give me a good breakfast. They had brought some flour from the settlements, and she tried to make me some bread, such as I had at home. They had no soda, nothing but flour and water, so the bread turned out to be pretty soggy. I think she didn’t like it very well when she found I didn’t eat it, but I simply couldn’t choke it down. I did make a good meal, however, of the fried sage chicken and the fresh service berries that she brought with the bread.
That day my mother and Hanabi, the chief’s wife, started to make me something to wear; for after I lost my trousers, I had nothing but an old thin shirt, out at the elbows, and a straw hat that had lost part of its brim. The two women worked for several hours and finally got the thing finished and gave it to me to put on. I do not know what to call it, for I had never seen anything like it before, but it may have been what the girls now call a “mother-hubbard.” It was all right anyhow, when I got it on and my belt around to keep the thing close to me; but I had to pull the back up a little to keep it from choking me to death when I stooped over.
We stayed at this camp for five days to give me time to get well. My good old mother rubbed my legs with skunk oil and they healed rapidly. It had got noised around that my legs were very bad, and one day when I was out in front of the tepee, a lot of papooses wanted to see them. One stooped to raise my mother-hubbard to take a look, and the rest began to laugh, but they didn’t laugh long, for I gave him a kick that sent him keeling. Then his mother came out after me, and I thought she was going to eat me up. She scolded and jawed, but I couldn’t tell what she was saying, so it did not make much difference to me. My old mother, hearing the noise, came up and led me into the tepee and gave me some dried service berries. I thought that if that was the way they were going to treat me, I would kick another one the first chance I got.
It was not long before I got the chance, for the next day a papoose about my size tried the same trick and I fetched him a kick that made him let out a yell that could have been heard a mile. It brought about half the tribe out to see how many I had killed. That papoose’s mother turned loose on me, too, with her tongue and everlastingly berated me. The chief happened to see the trouble, and I think that is what saved me from being cremated. Anyhow, the papooses left my mother-hubbard alone after that.
My mother began then to teach me the Shoshone language. My knowing how to talk the Gosiute tongue made it easier for me, for these two Indian dialects are very much alike.
One night the hunters came in loaded with game, and the next day we began to move. The horses were brought in, and among them was my pinto pony. When I saw him, it seemed like meeting some one from home. I ran up and hugged him. My good old mother had fixed up a pretty good saddle, all cushioned in fine style to keep it from hurting me.
We traveled about fifteen miles that day and camped on a small stream they called Koheets (Curlew). Mother told me to wade out into the water and bathe my legs.
“Not much,” I said, “I have had all the baths I want.”
She said that the water would make my legs tough, and when she saw I wouldn’t go into the stream she brought some cold water and told me to wash them. I wanted to know whether it was salt water. She said it wasn’t, so I bathed my legs, and when I found that the water did not hurt them I waded into the creek. Washakie said it was “tibi tsi djant”—heap good.
Dr. T. M. Bridges
Shoshone wickiup. Lodges of this kind were used in the summer season.
“I begged him to let me go.”