The white Indian boy

by Elijah Nicholas Wilson

“Oh,” he said, going on with his work of patching up my leg. He put the piece back where it belonged and tied it there with a piece of something; then he got some weeds, mashed them up and made a poultice and put it on the wound.

After this he went to have the dog killed. I told him to hurry up or the dog would be dead before he got there.

When the medicine man told any one to do anything, he had to do it. He sent a big boy to kill the dog, but when the boy got to the tepee, the old squaw and her girl pitched on to him and beat the poor fellow nearly to death. Then the medicine man sent two big Indians to see what they could do. When they reached the place, I could hear very loud talking, so I got up and went to the door to see the fun. One Indian had hold of the old squaw; the other had the girl and they were shaking them to beat time. I was glad of it. They deserved a good shaking.

Well, they killed the dog before he died, anyway.

When the camp had quieted down again, the medicine man came and changed the poultice on my leg. It had swollen very badly by this time. He told mother to boil sage leaves and with the tea to bathe my leg very often. I could hear mother crying while she was out gathering the sage, and when she came in I asked her what she was crying about. She said she was afraid that I should be lame all my life from the hurt. I told her that I should be well in a week, that a little thing like that would not make me lame very long; but my leg pained me so that I did not get much sleep that night.

The next morning the squaw and her girl and their tepee were gone, but the sick Indian was left lying there alone in his bed. I told mother to let him come into our tepee and stay until his squaw got back. She had gone with Washakie to sell her robes and skins, and had left her sister-in-law to take care of her wounded husband until she returned. Mother objected to taking care of him, but when I told her he had saved my life by keeping that old squaw from cutting my head off, she consented and asked him to come over to our tepee.

The poor old fellow was very sick and so weak he could hardly walk. He had been shot three times with arrows—in the arm, in the leg, and in his side. The wound in his side was so bad that the medicine man had to take out part of his two ribs. It kept the medicine man busy tending to me and all of the wounded Indians.

Mother bathed my sore leg three times a day with sage tea; the swelling all went away, and I was getting along fine. In about a week I had mother get me some sticks and I made some crutches; then I could get around out of doors. When the other lame Indians saw how well I could move about, they had me make them crutches also, so that they could move about.

After staying here nearly two weeks, we had to move, for the wood was getting scarce close to camp. I hobbled around and helped mother pack up; then we went over through the sand hills and came to a good-sized stream which they called Tonobipa. The stream ran south through the sand hills and lava beds, and farther down it sank out of sight into the ground.

The sick Indians had a hard time while we were on the move, but I stood the trip very well. After staying in our new camp for four days, we packed up again and started for the place where we were to meet Washakie. That was five days’ travel away. We could not travel very fast on account of the sick Indians and we could not get a very early start because of having so many horses to pack, so it seemed a very long journey.