Red Cloud, the Solitary Sioux: A Story of the Great Prairie

by Sir William Francis Butler

Although a novice at woodman’s craft, I was no idle spectator of the work. If a man has a quick eye, a ready hand, and a willing heart, the difficulties that lie in things that are unknown to us are soon overcome. Every hour’s toil made a sensible improvement in my work. I soon learnt how to roughly square the logs, and to notch the ends of them so that one log fitted closely to the other.

Donogh and the wounded Cree meantime looked after the horses, gathered fuel for the fire, and cooked the daily meals of our party, and often gave a hand at the lifting of log or labour of construction. Thus the work went on without intermission, and day by day the little hut grew in size. All day long the sound of wood-chopping echoed through the pine wood at the point, over the silent rivers, causing some passing wolf to pause in his gallop and listen to the unwonted noise; but no human ear was there to catch it, or human eye to mark the thin column of blue smoke that rose at eventime above the dark pine-tops when the day’s work was over. There was no lack of food either. With a few hooks and lines Donogh managed to do good work among the fishes in the rivers. The creeks and ponds still held large flocks of wild ducks, and many a fat black duck fell to a steady stalk of the Cree, whose crawling powers were simply unmatched. The black-tailed buck were numerous in the thickets around, and with so many things the larder never wanted for game, venison, wild fowl, or fish.

Thus the days went by, and at last the hut was finished and ready for occupation. It was an oblong structure, measuring twenty-five feet by twenty. A low door gave admission upon the south side; east and west held windows of parchment-skin drawn over a wooden frame that opened and shut on leather hinges. At the north side stood the fireplace, a large hearth, and a chimney capable of holding a quantity of pine logs. Half the wooden door frame was also bound with parchment skins; thus plenty of light could be obtained in rough weather, and when the days would be still and fine both door and windows could be open.

“When the snow has fallen,” said Red Cloud to us, “the light from the ground will be very great. The snow hanging on the pine boughs will also light up the place, and the winter’s day will be brighter than you can imagine. At night our logs will blaze brightly upon the hearth.”

The fireplace and chimney were built of stones and mud. The Indians had carefully mixed the latter so as to ensure its standing the great heat of the winter fires. The logs composing the walls were all of pines, or, more properly speaking, of white spruce; they had been roughly squared and notched at the end, to allow of their catching each other and fitting tightly together; mud and moss had then been pressed into the interstices so as to make them perfectly air-tight. The roof was composed of long reed-grass, cut from a neighbouring swamp and dried in the sun. The floor was plastered with a coating of mud, which, when fully dry, made a smooth and firm surface. Altogether the interior presented an aspect of great comfort—rude, it is true, but still clean, bright, and cheerful.

It was a marvel to me how all this labour had been done, and this result achieved, with only a few rude implements—a couple of axes, a saw, a few gimlets and awls, and those wonderful knives which the Indians themselves make from old files—those knives with which a ready man can fashion a canoe, a dog-sled, or a snow-shoe, with a beauty of design which no civilized art can excel.

But although shelter for the winter had been thus provided, an equally important want had still to be attended to; a supply of meat sufficient to last three months had to be obtained.

The Red Cloud had often spoken to me of the expedition which we had still before us in the first month of the winter, and now that the hut was finished the time had come for setting out in quest of buffalo.

“Of all the winter food which the prairie can give,” said he to me, “there is no food like the meat of the buffalo. The time has now come when the frost is sufficiently keen all day to keep the meat frozen, therefore all we kill can be brought in; none of it will be lost. The last buffalo we saw,” he continued, “were on the plains south of the Elk river; they were scattered herds of bulls. The cows were then absent three days’ march south of that ground; the herds were moving very slowly to the west. About a week’s journey from here there is a small lake in the plains, called the Lake of the Wind, from the ceaseless movement of its waters. Day and night, even when the winds are still, the waters of that lake move and dash with noise against the pebbles on the shore. It is a favourite haunt for buffalo. To that lake we shall steer our course; for four days we shall have to cross a bare plain, on which no tree or bush grows; but at the lake there will be wood in the caverns around the shores, and we can get shelter for our tent, and fuel for fire, there. The horses are now all strong and fat, and they will be able to stand the cold, no matter how severe it may come.”