THE FESTIVAL
The celebration was over and Timid Hare was tired out from excitement. Never before had she seen so many wonders. Why, the chief of chiefs, the chief of all the Dahcotas, had been one of the visitors and had slept in Bent Horn's tepee. Timid Hare herself had helped to serve him. And when he had gone forth to the council and to the feasts he was the grandest looking person she had ever beheld in her life. He wore a head-dress of war-eagle feathers. Thick and heavy was this head-dress, and beautiful were the feathers beyond compare. The great chief's face shone with grease, and was made fearful to look upon with much paint. On his robe were pictured the many battles in which he had taken part; it was trimmed with a heavy fringe of scalp-locks. His leggings and moccasins were richly embroidered with porcupine quills. He walked forth like a king. The children of the village trembled as they gazed upon him.
Bent Horn looked grand also in his own robes of state. Many a day had his wife spent embroidering this robe with porcupine quills and trimming it with fringes of his enemies scalp-locks. Heavy chains hung around his neck. His long hair, which he had greased well, had been divided into two parts and crossed on the top of his head, where it was then gathered into a knot.
"Bent Horn's head-dress is almost as handsome as that of the Great Chief," Timid Hare said to herself, as she watched the two men walking together towards the council house.
The sun shone brightly throughout the whole celebration and the feasts were spread outdoors. The chiefs and braves sat in a half-circle at these feasts and the food was passed to them from steaming kettles. There was bear meat in plenty, fat and rich; baked turtles; juicy buffalo steaks and stews; but at the principal feast of all, only dog flesh was served.
Then it was that the people of the village gathered in crowds around the feasters to watch and listen. Closest of all were the braves and their sons. Back of them were the squaws and their little daughters. Timid Hare, beside her young mistress Sweet Grass, listened with wonder to the noble speeches of the chiefs. Bent Horn spoke first of all.
"My brother," he said to the Great Chief, "our hearts are almost bursting with gladness that you are with us today.
"And you also"--Bent Horn continued, turning to one after another of the lesser chiefs, "we welcome you with gladness and feel that the Great Spirit has sent you to us. In token of our love we have killed faithful dogs that you may feast. May the Great Spirit bind us closely together. I say no more."
As Bent Horn ended his speech he lifted before the eyes of the feasters a carved necklace made of the claws of grizzly bears, and his own robe of elk skins which he had just taken from his shoulders. Then he slowly rose and, going to the side of the guest of honor, he laid the gifts before him. Next, he took other gifts--embroidered moccasins and leggings--and presented them to the lesser chiefs.
For a moment all were silent. Then the guests themselves made speeches, each one telling of his love for Bent Horn and his band, and giving rich gifts in return.
And now the pipe of peace was lighted and brought to Bent Horn. Solemnly he pointed the stem to the north, the south, the east, and the west. Last of all, he lifted it towards the sun. Then he spoke. "How--how--how," he said slowly. Then in silence he smoked it, but only to take one long whiff, after which he held it in turn to the mouths of the other chiefs, that they might smoke it also.
Not a word was spoken by any one during this solemn time. But as soon as the last guest had smoked, the dog-meat, floating in rich gravy, was brought from the steaming kettles and handed around in wooden bowls among the guests. All ate their fill. Then silently, they got up and went away. They had smoked and eaten the sacrifice together. Surely, they thought, there could be no better token of their friendship for each other.
Timid Hare looked on from afar. She felt pride in her dear mistress's brother who had given up his own pet dog, in place of Black Bull. She was also filled with wonder at the greatness of the Dahcotas.
"They are a mighty tribe," thought the little girl. She drew a long breath of sadness, feeling that she could never hope to go from among them. But when she afterwards looked on at the wrestling matches, races on horseback, and dances such as she had never seen before, she forgot everything else for the moment. Her eyes shone with excitement; her breath came quick. Never before, it seemed to her, had she seen such skill.
When the entertainment of each day ended, however, and Timid Hare went to her bed of buffalo skins, she would lie thinking of the old home, of the loving White Mink, the kind Three Bears, and the good foster-brother Big Moose. Then tears would roll down over the little girl's cheeks and she would choke back a sob.
"Can it be," she would think, "that the story White Mink told me before I was taken from her, is true? Am I truly a white child, and is she not my real mother?" Then the little captive would touch the baby's sock fastened by a cord of deer-sinews about her waist and next to her flesh.
"It is safe," she would whisper to herself, "and no one here has discovered it--not even The Stone. It did not save me from being captured, but it may yet bring good fortune, even as White Mink hoped."