At last all had been killed except Front Wolf and his wife, and presently they came for him. Su-yé-sai-pi clung to him and cried and begged, but her husband himself put her from him and went out, saying to her a last kind word. “Do not cry,” he said. “Take courage. Take courage.” As he neared the place of butchery he began to sing his war-song, and the poor wife, looking on, saw him smile as the great stone club descended, and he fell forward lifeless to the ground. The woman now thought that her turn had come, but the executioners did not return. She wished that they would not delay; she wished to have the dreadful ordeal over with, so that her shadow might overtake her husband’s as it travelled along on the road to the Sandhills—home of the departed Blackfeet. All the Kutenais, even the women and children, had now painted their faces black, and were dancing the scalp-dance, carrying before them the scalps, stretched on long, forked willows.
“Come,” said the chief to Su-yé-sai-pi, offering [[226]]her the scalp from Front Wolf’s head—“come, join us in this dance and be happy.”
“You may kill me,” the woman replied, “but you cannot make me dance. I beg you to kill me, so I may join my husband.”
The Kutenai laughed. “You are too young to die yet,” he said; “and, besides, we do not kill women. Before long we are going to make peace with the Blackfeet and Piegans, and when that time comes we will give you back to your people.”
Of course it was a lie, for he had no thought of making peace, but intended to keep the woman.
Su-yé-sai-pi was very sad. If she sat in the lodge, the scalp-song rang in her ears; if she stepped outside, the bodies of her husband and friends greeted her eyes. She could do nothing but cry and wish for death to take her.
“SU-YE-SAI-PI CLUNG TO HIM”
Several days passed, and the rejoicings of the camp still continued. One afternoon an old widow woman called her into a poor little lodge and said: “I have great pity for you, and will do what I can to help you. I do not know what the chief has decided to do with you, but, whatever it is, I would save you from it. Your [[227]]only chance is to try to get away from here in the night and seek your people. I will fill a good big pouch with dried meat and pemmican, and some moccasins, and as soon as it is dark I will place it behind my lodge. When the people are all asleep, and the evening fire has died out, leave your bed as quietly as you can, pick up the pouch, and hurry away in the direction from which you came.”
Su-yé-sai-pi burst out crying. No one had been kind to her before, and kindness made her cry. She kissed her new friend, and when she could speak she said that she would try to get away that night. It seemed as if night would never come, and then as if the people would never stop talking and feasting and go to bed. But at last everything was quiet in the camp, and in the chief’s lodge the fire of small willows had died down, and the deep breathing of the occupants showed that they were asleep. The captive cautiously arose from her couch near the door and stole outside. She stood and listened a moment, and then coughed once or twice. No one moved inside; so, feeling sure that no one was watching her, or had noticed her come out, she went to the widow’s lodge, [[228]]and found the pouch behind it, and quickly but noiselessly left the camp.