There was a “gallows-bird” look about him,—no doubt some prodigal son, disinherited by a crusty old curmudgeon father. He was standing with his back half towards us, and his face turned away, apparently gazing up the river; the very attitude to “give the lie” to his eyes, which were convulsively straining towards us, from the corner of their sockets, and scanning our every movement with an intense and eager curiosity.
At length one of the party wishing to inquire about our horses, beckoned him forward. This was a signal for all the rest. They came trooping up from every quarter, under the pretence of giving information; and upon every sign made by us, about twenty tongues gabbled unintelligible answers. After spending about half an hour upon the banks, and finding that nothing was to be gained in the way of information, we turned off in the direction of the village.
It was now humming with life. The warriors were collected in small knots of five or six, and, by their vehement gestures, were apparently engaged in earnest conversation. The children were rolling and tumbling in the dirt; the squaws were busily engaged. Some were bringing from their lodges large leather sacks of shelled corn; others were spreading it out to dry, upon the leather of their buffalo-skin tents, which had been stretched out upon the ground. Others were cleansing from it the decayed kernels and packing it up in small sacks of a whitish undressed leather, resembling parchment. These were then deposited in cache-holes[D] for a winter’s store.
[D] The Cache, is a large hole dug in the ground like a cistern. It is narrow at the top (about four feet in diameter) but wider as it descends, until its form somewhat resembles that of a jug. It will contain about an hundred bushels of corn.
Upon leaving their villages, the Indians deposit the corn which is to serve for their winter’s store in granaries of this description, and cover the apertures with earth, so that it is impossible, for a person unacquainted with their exact position, to discover the entrance. The name Cache is given by the French traders who derive it from the word cacher (to conceal.)
At a distance from the village, a band of females were slowly wending along the top of one of the low prairie ridges, to their daily labour in the small plantations of corn. These are scattered in every direction round the village, wherever a spot of rich, black soil, gives promise of a bountiful harvest. Some of them are as much as eight miles distant from the town.
There is a fearful uncertainty hanging round the lives of these females. At the rising of the sun they depart to their toil, often never to return. They are constantly exposed to the attacks of lurking foes, who steal down upon their villages, to cut off stragglers. They come and disappear with equal silence and celerity. Their presence is unknown, until the long absence of a friend, or a mutilated body, found sometimes after the lapse of several days, conveys to their friends a thrilling token, that the hand of the destroyer has been busied among them, and the hour of vengeance has passed.
As we proceeded, we were again waited upon by a committee of the dogs of the town. They formed in a train behind us, with the same expression of ill feeling that had been manifested by their predecessors. But this last display of rancour was of short duration; for a stout, tattered Indian, who looked as if his last ablution had been performed during his infancy, rushed out from one of the lodges, and with a few vigorous applications of his foot changed the aspect of affairs. In an instant the glistening eyes of the curs sunk from fury to meekness; the hair which bristled boldly up was sleeked quietly down to their backs; the tails which had stood out as erect as bars of iron, were tucked snugly away between their legs, and the snarls were converted into yells. In short, the canine committee were unmercifully beaten, and fled yelping and howling in every direction.
Our attention was now called to the long, lean, wiery old heralds, who were stalking through the town, calling forth the warriors, and exhorting them to prepare for the council. Occasionally they stopped to gossip with some gray-headed crony, who stood blinking like an owl at the entrance of his dwelling. At other times they paused to bestow a little wholesome advice upon some wild urchin, guilty of some breach of decorum towards their guests.