Mary Muskrat was one of the Bannock girls in the mission school. The little shrinking, more-than-half-wild papoose of the desert had been toilsomely but surely trained by the teacher, that bravest of little women.
Pulmonary consumption is the bane of the civilized Indians. It carries them off in multitudes. Despite their outdoor living, it seems that few, if any, ever recover from an attack. The dread disease had fastened itself upon Mary and she was sick unto death. Her little shack was no fit place for a living person, and here was one 78 dying. Frequent visits from her teacher afforded the dying maiden her only relief. Once, after watching her through a severe paroxysm of coughing, it seemed that life had gone completely. Removing the squalid bunch of rags which served as a pillow, and lowering the head, the devoted teacher stood watching the supposed lifeless form. But she saw the lips moving, and, bending low, she heard the dying girl whisper, “What time I am afraid I will trust in Thee.” Continuing, she breathed out, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.... Yea, though I walk through the valley and the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” Pausing, while the heart of the white woman was praising God for his goodness to the dusky child, Mary opened her beautiful eyes, and, seeing her protectress and benefactress standing there, said, “O, dear teacher, the Lord is my shepherd.”
Then the Shepherd came and took her to dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
BAD BEN
A little child shall lead them.––Isaiah.
Ben’s daughter, Mary[1], was the delight of the old man’s heart. She had been taken most unwillingly, so far as both were concerned, and placed in one of the Eastern schools for Indian youths. Ben had objected strenuously, but the stronger arm prevailed.
The teacher at the mission had never in all her many years in that place felt fear until after Mary was taken away. When the father would come to the school to ask for news of her, he had his face painted black, indicating madness or war––“bad heart” he called it. The little woman who had won the hearts of the people did not know what the enraged man might do or when he would do it. Once, after many such terrifying visits, he volunteered the information that he was making him a 80 house and a farm “all same witee man.” He had built it of some railroad ties he had found and had begun to cultivate a garden and cut some wild hay. “Me makee heap good wikiup, all same witee man; Mary he all same witee squaw, by ’um by.”
The white plague is the only disease the Indian fears or calls sickness. Once, when Ben went to the school where a dozen or so other happy-faced little girls were being taught and prepared for the Eastern school, Miss F––– was obliged to tell him Mary was sick. For a while his savagery was apparently renewed. He became wild again. His visits increased in frequency, and all the time the teacher was in mental torture, for he seemed to feel that the white woman was in some manner connected with his child’s going away and her present condition.