The first day’s journey measured but four miles; the next, six; and at most never exceeded ten or twelve. I did not understand, then, why we went so slow. It may have been necessary to “kill time,” in order to use up the appropriation for the removal. When “camp” was reached, each day the wagons were “corralled;” that is to say, were drawn together in a circle, one behind another, and so close that when the teams were detached, the “pole” laid upon the
hind wheel of the next forward wagon would close up the gap, and thus complete the “corral,” which was to answer the double purpose of “penning the oxen when being yoked up,” and also as an extempore fort in case of attack by the Sioux Indians.
The wick-e-ups—Indian tents—were scattered promiscuously around, as each family might elect. After dinner was over the remainder of Uncle Sam’s time was spent in various ways: horse-racing, foot-racing, card-playing, shooting-matches by the men, white and red, while the women were doing camp-work, cooking, getting wood, building lodges, etc.; for be it understood, an old-style Indian never does such work any more than his white brother would rock the cradle, or operate a laundry for his wife. The old men would take turns standing guard, or rather sitting guard. At all events they generally went out to the higher hills, and, taking a commanding position, would sit down all solitary and alone, and with blanket drawn around their shoulders and over their heads, leaving only enough room for vision and the escape of smoke from their pipes.
In solemn silence, scanning the surroundings, hour after hour thus wore away. There was something in this scene suggesting serious contemplation to a looker-on, and I doubt not the reveries of the lone watchman savored strongly of sadness and sorrow, may be revenge.
The Lone Indian Sentinel.
Approaching one old fellow I sought to penetrate his mind, and was rewarded by a pantomimic exhibition, more tangible than “Black Crook” ever witnessed from behind the curtains, while recuperating
his wasted energies that he might the more seemingly “play the devil.”
Rising to his feet and releasing one naked arm from his blanket, he pointed toward the east, and with extended fingers and uprising, coming gesture quickly brought his hand to his heart, dropping his head, as if some messenger of despair had made a sudden call. He paused a moment, and then from his heart his hand went out in circling, gathering motion, until he had made the silent speech so vivid that I could see the coming throng of white settlers and the assembling of his tribe; and then, turning his face away with a majestic wave of his hand, I saw his sorrow-stricken people driven out to an unknown home; while he, sitting down again and drawing his blanket around him, refused me further audience. Perhaps he realized that he had told the whole story, and therefore need say no more.
Often at evening we would gather around some grassy knoll, or, it may be, some wagon-tongue, and white and red men mingled together. We would sit down and smoke, and tell stories and recount traditions of the past. Oftenest from Indian lips came the history of wars and dances, of scalps taken and prisoners tortured.