“The Father said that if all his words are obeyed he will cause the new earth to come with the springing grass.”
“Do you believe this story?” asked the chief, pointedly.
“Yes.”
“What causes your belief?”
The Kicking Bear became deeply moved; his voice trembled as he replied: “Because since I touched his hand I have been out of the body many times. I too have visited the spirit world, and I too have seen the dead, and I have seen the buffalo and the shining new world, more beautiful than the old. Since my return I often see the Saviour in my sleep. I know that through him you and all your tribe can fly to the spirit world and see your friends. Therefore have I come that I may teach you the songs and the dances which bring the trance and the vision.”
“You speak of the destruction of the white people. How is that to be brought about?” asked the chief.
“All by great magic. War is useless. All who believe must wear an eagle plume, and when the new earth comes sliding over the old, those who wear the sacred feather will be caught up and saved, while the white man and all those who reject the Father’s message will be swept down and buried deep.” Then the messenger cried out with passion: “Father, they are all dancing—the Piutes, the Shoshones, the Ogallallahs, the Cheyennes—all the people. Hear me! I bring a true message! Listen, I implore!”
He began to sing, and his companions joined him. The song they sang was strange to my father, and very, very sad—as dolorous as the wind in the bare branches of the elm tree. It was not a war song; it was a mourning cry that made all hearts melt. As they sang, Kicking Bear began to tremble, and then his right arm began to whirl about wildly as if it were a club. Then he fell stiffly to the ground like a man in a fit.
The Sitting Bull rose up quickly. “Hah! What is the meaning of this?” he asked, looking about him warily.