CHAPTER X
THE TRANSLATION
From the spring and early-summer buffalo hunt, the robes were not all dressed before the Moon of Berries, when the tribes moved into the lee of the World Spine, to set their villages in river meadows between the lakes and the timber. The harvest of the wild fruit, the cutting of new lodge poles to replace those worn short upon the trails, and the rituals of the Medicine Lodge, filled the shortening days until the aspen leaves were all a quivering gold, and the frosty evenings were given to feasts or dancing. At that season the Crow cleaned out the Blackfeet and the Bloods, taking their robes to Fort Benton, then with five wagons came to the Piegans.
He reached the Piegan village at sunset after a long day's march, beset on his arrival by the men of the tribe who brought robes demanding drinks. One keg of liquor he gave to the Council Lodge, disposing for that night of the tribal government; but the Crow knew nothing of the Blackfoot language, was deaf to all entreaties of the warriors for trade or drinks. He sat on a rocking-chair within the leading wagon, behind the tailboard which was iron-sheathed serving him as a breastwork. "Greeting, my brothers," he said in the hand talk. "Far have I traveled, who am old and fat. To-night my women pitch my tipi, my men make a fort of our wagons, I smoke my pipe, taking my rest. When the sun rises, trade begins. Send me my friend Heap-of-dogs."
Knowing well that the Crow would not be moved from his word, the people went to their tipis.
Presently Heap-of-dogs rode up to the wagontail, a very gallant figure painted and dressed for war with a coronal of eagle pinions which streamed from brow to heels. He was leader of the Crazy Dog Society, or as we should say Chief of Police, and the Crow's devoted slave while there was hope of a drink. Some of his warriors attended him on foot.
"How!" said the Crow, lifting his right-hand palm forward, fingers closed, the peace sign. Then as his rocking-chair swayed gently back and forth: "Send your Crazy Dog warriors," he continued in the hand talk. "Tell them to bid their squaws move camp and come here to protect my trade. You'll mount a guard as usual."
Rain's brother gave his orders, and while his people departed he played his horse as a virtuoso plays a violin through graceful movements, those of a slow dance. "Now," he said in the hand talk, "we are alone. A drink!"
Just so much. The trader measured liquor enough to loosen the young chief's tongue, not one drop more. "Here's happiness," he said, passing the mug; then took a dram of rum himself with kick enough in it to set his own wits to an edge.
"Now me good Indian," said Heap-of-dogs happily, for when his tongue was loosened, shyness fled, and he knew a few English phrases learned from Storm. "Now I have news."