The Awakening of the Desert

by Julius Charles Birge

After our supper a few of us forded the river and climbed some distance up into the mountain, obtaining a fine view of the country and incidentally creating no little diversion by rolling huge, detached rocks found on the edge of the cliffs in terrific and resistless course down to the valley beneath. A young man from Creighton's outfit, no more than sixteen years of age, accompanied us, and finally at parting announced that he would return by a different path from that which we were taking. The days at that season of the year being long, we concluded the day's journey before sunset. Dropping down to rest, after reaching camp, we heard a voice faintly sounding, as if from the sky. It came from the youth, who was still far up the mountain side and that moment in the full light of the setting sun. He was evidently seeking to attract our attention to his perilous position, for he was poised at a dizzy height, several hundred feet above us on a very slight projection, where he appeared like a moving speck. From his point of observation he was unable to decide upon the safest course for descent. The air being very still, his friends from across the river were able to advise him as to the difficulties below him. His voice could be heard distinctly from the distance. In his descent, his garments had already been torn to shreds as the result of sliding down the rough rocks, and now, as he informed us, the soles of his boots were so slippery that he could not retain his footing. The boots were soon rattling down the cliffs. Plans were made to secure a rope, which might be lowered to him from above, leaving one end fastened at a higher point. The night, however, was fast coming. Watchers, who could do little for him, expected at almost any moment to see his body tumble down the cliffs. The youth was favored by the twilight, long after he was lost to our sight in the dim shadows. It was some time after dark when friends bore the little fellow across the river, where others quickly gathered. He was bleeding and torn. The flesh on the soles of his feet was worn nearly to the bone. Although physically almost a wreck, he had such youthful vigor as in a few days put him again on duty.

When the night closed upon us, our camps were pitched along the south bank of the clear Sweetwater River. At the west, the campfire of Creighton's train lighted up a little circle, around which were gathered the drivers, except such as were standing guard for the stock. In our camp nearby, the tin plates had been retired and Deacon Cobb and some others of the older members of the party had gone to bed early to keep warm; for the night, although bright and beautiful, was cool.

Having in mind some extravagance in the use of fuel, Ben, Fred, and I had harvested a good supply of sage brush, which we turned in at the Warne camp with the view of making the evening as cheerful as possible. Everything there was in readiness, when we chanced to meet Tom Soon and succeeded in leading him down to the big fire, where welcome was accorded him and the seat of honor, on the end of an empty water keg. During a little preliminary conversation, and as if settling down to the peaceful enjoyment of his comfortable environment, he mechanically drew out his tobacco pouch and slowly filled his pipe, lighting it with a burning stick found near the edge of the fire.

Mr. Warne was half reclining upon some robes, his three daughters nestling very close to him, and his wife, in a more dignified position, occupied a camp chair nearby. The rest of our party completed the circle. From time to time one would tell a story and others would hum a tune, while all watched the changing pictures in the fire or a sudden flash of light from the burning sticks which now and then, for a moment, illuminated the figures in the circle.

We were anxious to hear more from Tom, and finally when he had concluded a graphic description of a war-dance which he had recently witnessed, one of the young ladies said, "Mr. Soon, can you tell us why Indian warriors wear so many feathers and decorate their heads in so grand a fashion, while their women dress more simply? Does it not seem childish?"

"Well," Tom replied, "Indians are creatures who follow their tribal fashions, but their fashions don't change very much. An incident now comes to my mind that shows how the fashions of others sometimes impress the Red Man and also an old fellow like me, when those fashions are seen for the first time. Two or three years ago, Billy Comstock, the scout, and I were instructed to talk with some Ogallalla Chiefs, and arrange to have them visit Washington City and see the Great Father, President Lincoln. It was believed that if they could learn from personal observation that the country was great and powerful, they would not wish longer to fight the whites. Well, we induced them to go, so I went with them and the Indian Agent as far as St. Louis. We stayed over night at the Planter's House, in that city. I had been out West a long time and was almost as green as the Indians were, concerning the existing fashions and customs of civilized people. Well, we got rooms for them, but what does a wild Indian know about a bed? Of course the blankets were all over the floor and so were the Chiefs. They couldn't get into a bed any more than they could use the things on the table. They thought the pillows were the funniest things they ever saw. One of the Indians was astonished on approaching a big looking glass. He thought he saw a warrior that he had never seen before coming right at him. But what do you think they did when they saw the women on the street? It was about that time when women began to wear big dresses and hooped skirts. I had never myself seen such dresses until then. They didn't wear them when I was a boy. The Indians were starting up the sidewalk through the crowd, in a sort of single file as they generally do, and three fine women came along wearing those big dresses and grand bonnets on their heads. Of course the women didn't realize how strange they appeared to us, but they were interested in the Indians and stopped to look at the Chiefs who wore blankets and big feathers. The Indians were also interested in the women, and they stopped in front of the ladies, who wore skirts almost big enough for tents, and strange feathers in their bonnets. For a minute both parties looked at each other's toggery.

"The Indians were astonished to see the women so big around and wearing such gorgeous things on their heads. Of course the ladies quickly looked the Indians all over at a glance, just as they would at any curious thing in a show, and as they have a right to, and they especially looked at the feathers on the Indians' heads. At the same time the Chiefs, who were equally interested in the ladies' dresses, almost surrounded the women, before they realized the situation. You know that an Indian feels that it is proper to examine carefully anything that interests him. The Indians do that when they come into our cabins, in fact, it is their custom, so they proceeded at once to examine the ladies' wardrobe very carefully, before the ladies realized that they themselves were also objects of interest; but the Indians did not go very far in their investigation, for the women gave a yell loud enough for any Sioux and broke into a run. Some of the white people's fashions seem to be as ridiculous to the wild Indian as theirs are to you, and may be more so, for you see pictures of other people, and the Indians do not."

"That's all right, Tom," said Mr. Warne, "fashion is sometimes only a freak."

An old fellow with a big red mustache, whose name I failed to obtain, but who was addressed as Conk, standing somewhat in the background, overheard Tom's story. At its conclusion, he broke in with a remark—"Say, Tom, don't you remember about that Assiniboine Wi-jun-jun, the son of the Chief, who went to Washington?"

"Yes, of course I do," was the reply, "but let's have it."