OLD JOHN.
THE MEDICINE-MAN.
BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.
If ever "life was a fitful fever," it was with Old John, the Medicine-Man.
Coming to the Fort at times when you would not suppose any human being would expose himself to the elements,—always laughing, always hungry—seating himself before the fire to sleep, and starting up the moment his eyelids closed over his restless, twinkling eyes—talking for ever and singing in the same breath—troublesome and intrusive, yet always contriving to be of use. And useful he often was to an artist who was with us; for he would stand, sit, or lean, assuming and retaining the most painful attitudes, looking good-humoured all the time, and telling of his many wonderful adventures and hairbreadth escapes.
He came to us one day in the middle of winter, for the picture of the medicine-feast was in progress, and he had promised to show how the priest was to be represented, that the white people might know in very truth how were conducted the sacred ceremonies of the Dacotas.
While he warms himself, and eats, and smokes, he has as usual a great deal to say, and this in a half-muttered tone; for he is a little drowsy from the effect of the fire on his chilled limbs.
He takes from his head the three-cornered cloth hood which is worn by the men in severe weather, and throws his blanket a little from his shoulders, displaying his handsomely embroidered coat.
There is the strongest odour of smoke and stale tobacco from his dress, and he laughs heartily as we throw open the doors and windows for the benefit of the fresh air.