An Episcopalian missionary to the Indians on the Fort Hall reservation, said in this connection: “I noticed when I first began to work among these Indians that I could establish no footing of equality between myself and the bucks, although the latter seemed to be on the most familiar terms with my twelve-year-old boy. This puzzled me for some time, and I began to watch the intercourse between my boy and the Indians. Then I discovered the secret. The mentality of my boy and of the Indians was on a par. The red men, although adults in years, were twelve-year-olds in mind. From that time on I talked with them on such terms and my former trouble was ended.”
For this reason and because of the results so far attained, it seems very questionable whether it is wise to attempt to civilize these people, in the ordinary meaning of the term. Christianize them by all means. But two men practicing the principles of Christianity can live as happily in a wig-wam as in a palace—perhaps more so, and there is no reason why we should want the squaws to wear split-skirts because our own women wear them. There is but little choice, and perhaps the squaw has the best of it at that. The South Sea islander does not want us to wear rings in our noses because he does, and it seems hardly fair that we should wish to throttle the poor Indian with the shackle that civilization calls a collar, just because we are foolish enough to wear collars. Christianity alone will bring these people as much civilization as they need for both their happiness and salvation, and that is more than many of our own boastful race possess. For the rest, the Indian, to his honor, be it said, is a child of nature, who loves his sagebrush and desert freedom, and it is no kindness to tear him from the life he loves so well. No wonder he hates the white man. Most of us would hate people who insisted upon making canary-birds, guaranteed to sing in the parlor, out of us, when we wanted to be eagles. Perhaps it is some such reason as this that leads the Indians on the reservation to despise those who live among the whites. The average Indian who hangs around Pocatello is certainly inferior to his brother in the sage brush.
Although the Indian is a lazy man, who makes his squaw do most of the work, he is not without some strain of generosity. The squaw usually follows along some ten paces behind her husband, and it is no uncommon thing to see the buck eating a bag of apples or other delicacies and throwing the cores to his faithful squaw, who devours them with relish.
The Bannocks, in common with all other Indians, have a decided sense of beauty,—a trait that is seldom noticed, although one of the best possessed by the red-men. This artistic instinct finds play in the basket and bead work done by these people. Many of their designs combine great beauty with great simplicity, and display a taste that is far from uncultured. In their names, too, the Indians show a love of the beautiful. Where in the whole wide world can more beautiful names be found than Wyoming and Arizona, Idaho and Oregon, Nevada and Oklahoma? Resonant and poetical names they are, suggestive of a bigness quite commensurate with the vastness of the states they name. It has been said that the west, inspired by the beauty of her Indian names, will some day produce a new school of poetry, made possible only by the poetry of the wild, free red-men.
As in all frontier communities, many amusing incidents have transpired between the Indians and whites. Probably everyone in Pocatello knows “Stonewall” Johnson and probably no one in Pocatello knows horseflesh better than he. One day Mr. Johnson bought a horse from an Indian. The animal had seven diseases—all fatal—but Mr. Johnson, with infinite skill and patience, gradually cured him of them all. He nursed the dying beast back to health and made a valuable horse of him. From time to time the Indian dropped around to inspect the animal. One fine day, when the cure was fully effected, the Indian deliberately entered the field where the horse was grazing in care of Mr. Johnson’s little boy, mounted and rode away, leaving the youngster to carry the news home. Mr. Johnson has never seen either horse or Indian since. It is said that the only way to bind a bargain with the Indians is by a deed of sale. On the other hand, the missionary previously mentioned, says that he would rather lend money to an Indian than to a white man, as the former never fails to repay the loan.
We have spoken of the Indian’s sense of beauty. He is also cruel, and his cruelty is written on his face. Imagine, then, the dismay and terror of a missionary’s wife, who, with her husband, alighted one dark night at a little way station just north of Pocatello. The depot was locked, and while the missionary went to look for a night’s lodging, his wife disposed herself comfortably on a soft and well-filled gunnysack lying on the station platform. Presently the gunnysack moved, stretched a pair of moccasined legs, and said “Woof!” The lady eventually recovered, but whether the Indian did, the story does not tell.
While possessing much innate nobility, the Indian sometimes appears in a ridiculous light. It is said that when a part of the reservation was thrown open a few years ago, and the red-men reimbursed in cash, many of them invested their money in vehicles. They bought every old wagon for miles around, and when the supply ran low, took what they could get. So it happened that one buck bought an old hearse. In the body of this he was wont to carry his numerous papooses, who gazed at the passing throng with their squat faces pressed flat against the windows, while the proud parents occupied the driver’s box.
These people have a strange aversion to the camera, probably as to something uncanny and not understood. They believe that to be photographed saps the strength. At the last sun dance held in the Bottoms near Pocatello, it was necessary to pay one old centenarian five dollars to induce him to pose for one snapshot.
Among the common-places of former days that are fast passing away are the wild horses. These animals still roam the plains of Bannock county, but they are becoming more scarce every year. They travel in bands of fifteen or twenty and are very bold. They will approach within close range of a human being and feed unconcernedly under his gaze, but at the sound of the human voice they become terror-stricken and stampede away in great confusion. Some daring men rope these animals during the summer months and break them in for saddle use, but their wild blood is never really tamed. It is necessary to break their spirit with cruelty before they are of any use, and then they are apt to relapse at any time. When one escapes from captivity it is said that he will travel hundreds of miles with unerring instinct back to the plains whence he was taken.
The fact that a large portion of the land included in Bannock county was set apart for and inhabited by Indians retarded its settlement for many years. The Indians were hostile to the white men, few of whom settled in the vicinity, except employes of the stage lines running from Salt Lake to Butte, government agents, etc.