Unhappily there settled in the neighborhood a family of cougars who proceeded, without regard to doctrine or respect for the holy man, to eat their way through his parishioners.
Much prayer guided a very strenuous hunting, until at last, far up in the fells, Storm came one afternoon to the residence of the cougar family; and, firmly resolved to slay the parents, he fell in love with their delightful kittens. The result was a misunderstanding, because the father and mother on their return from hunting supposed Storm to be molesting the babies. Their combined rush felled him. Either of these nine-foot cats could have finished the business, but that the cave was rather small, they got in each other's way, and he found time to draw his hunting knife. The scrimmage was frantic, a whirling fury, so that when at last the man dispatched them both, he fainted from loss of blood.
Rain saw the affair in a vision, and by hard riding reached the scene in time to save her husband from bleeding to death. She loaded him on her pony, got him to camp, and kept him alive by her strong spiritual power; but the wounds, being poisonous, festered. Storm was long in delirium, weak when he rallied, slow in recovery. Afterwards he walked rather lame, and had also a deep scratch which won for him among the Blackfeet the sacred name of Scarface.
So far as critic Rising Wolf, who found Storm an invalid on his second visit, could see, no harm whatever; but presently, when Storm felt well enough, that seer put up crosses, a big one in front of the holy lodge and little ones five miles east and five miles west at the trail side, to mark the limits of sanctuary for all wild creatures. A pilgrim must lay down his arms at the foot of the boundary cross, or was sent back an hour's journey to do so before either Rain or Storm would give an audience.
Ingenious visitors would evade the extra ride by lying; but Storm, who would read their thoughts, would then deny to liars that sanctuary which was freely given to mountain sheep and goats, elk, caribou, deer, the beaver, and the bears.
Now it so happened that Two-shakes, and Worm-in-the-bud, warriors of the Snake tribes, riding on a knight-errantry to this far country, learned by the sign talk from some friendly Crows about this Truce-of-God in the northern mountains. They came afoot over the hills until they looked down into the valley, where they descried two tipis beside the sanctuary cross upon the eastward trail. Quite naturally they mistook this cross for the one which stood before the holy tipi and the guest lodge. They supposed that they would get for a trophy of war Storm's famous golden hair, by long odds the finest scalp in the known world.
Their surprise attack just before dawn of a winter morning was quite a success, for the knights-errant counted coups on the scalps of Four Bears, chief of the East Kutenais, Sings-all-night, the eminent medicine man, his famous medicine pipe, Mrs. Four Bears, whose name was Weeping Tit, Mrs. Sings-all-night, whose name was Back-hair-parted, and her little boy, whose name was Dark-in-places. When day broke it was a bitter disappointment for the Snake braves that Storm's hair was not included in the treasure; but they consoled themselves with two guns, many robes, and a nice bunch of spotted ponies. While they drove long and hard it was their misfortune to leave tracks in the telltale snow, whereby they were traced, overtaken, and captured alive by the East Kutenais, who burned them with much pomp and circumstance at the mouth of Wild Horse Creek.
Afterwards the story ran like fire through the tribes that Four Bears and Sings-all-night had lied to Storm concerning the deposit of their weapons at the east cross, that he refused to receive them as pilgrims and had barred sanctuary. Their fate most terribly enhanced Storm's reputation and made the pilgrims meek.
In modern national parks, where there is truce for the animals, they become self-conscious, show themselves off with ostentation, are disposed as residents to look down upon mere tourists. So, under Storm's protection, did that born poseur the big-horn, that low comedian the bear, and even the porcupine who in the wilds flies for his life from man at a mile an hour. The skunk, of course, has right of way on all trails, so that men, grizzlies, cougars, even the lordly elk must step aside to let his lordship pass disdainfully by; but that all the animals should expect the polecat's honors was gall and wormwood to free-born warriors. When, as critic Rising Wolf mentioned the subject, Storm seemed a little truculent, and said it served them right. "I've been thirty years among 'em," answered Rising Wolf, "but you may know more than I do. I only warn you—don't make enemies for fun."
When Rising Wolf, on first meeting the seers, accused them of avarice, they gave away their ponies, robes, everything they possessed that was worth having. It was typically Indian. A squaw in mourning for an uncle, a cousin, or a brother, without consulting her husband, may present the whole of his property to the poor. Surely nobody could be more generous than that. An Indian gives in a very large-hearted way, and nothing grieves, hurts, or insults him as much as a refusal to accept his present; but the seers, having stripped themselves to bare necessities, would now accept from the pilgrims nothing whatever except a little dried fruit, a few wild vegetables, or a catch of trout. The sick restored to health, the mourners comforted, the men in grave dilemmas shown the way, found all their gifts declined. They were dishonored. Their gratitude turned sour.