At the height of the dance some women got excited and I heard exclamations of fear. They said they had seen a wild face look in at a window. They thought it was the Mad Indian—the murderer who came at night and killed people in the light. So they covered all the windows with blankets and shawls; and for a while no one was willing to open the door, or go out into the night. Perhaps somebody did look in. At the time I paid but little attention; Indian women are superstitious and have vivid imaginations. Besides, I thought the wild tales I heard of a “Mad Indian” might be a myth. But he was no myth. He turned out to be a real Indian, an outcast who had committed murder and was on the warpath—a menace to everybody in that country both Indian and white, seeking to kill as many people as he could before he himself had to die. Later I heard his story from one of the Indian Mounted Police who had captured him alive. [[124]]
CHAPTER XVI
HUNTING ROCKY MOUNTAIN GOATS
When the ducks and geese were flying south, Mad Wolf said the time had come to cut our winter firewood. So Little Creek, his son-in-law, and I went together to the mountains. We started soon after sunrise, with four powerful broncos harnessed to a timber wagon. Little Creek was a reckless and fearless driver. He stood on the axle between the front wheels and balanced himself skillfully, while I followed riding Kutenai, my saddle horse.
The wild broncos, frightened by the rattling wagon, galloped across the broad plateau. But it was an open table-land with an upgrade towards the Rockies, and Little Creek let them run freely. We passed through the foothills into a valley; and came finally to the edge of a forest of pine and spruce on the mountains. There we camped and pitched our lodge.
In the timber we selected only dead trees, standing and already seasoned for firewood. We cut them into logs and put them in piles, to haul later on the wagon. At midday we rested from our work, on a thick carpet of green moss by a small brook; we ate our midday meal and were refreshed by the fragrance of pine and balsam.
I watched a golden eagle soaring near the summit of a snowy peak; and a flock of white swans with long necks outstretched, winging their way across the deep blue of the autumn sky, the sunlight shining on their wings and breasts. Many flocks of ducks whirred close to the tree tops, in their level and rapid flight; and from far away came the honking of migrating geese. [[125]]
“Geese are wise and can foretell the weather,” said Little Creek. “Now they fly high; and it is a sign of a hard winter. Other birds and animals have also given warning. The curlew is not singing; many song birds gathered early into flocks; prairie larks have disappeared; the skins of otter, mink, and beaver are heavier than usual; and the jack rabbits are already turning white.”
Next morning I stopped work in the forest to go on a hunt for mountain goats. I took my saddle horse and followed a stream through a canyon, into a basin with precipitous walls. There I left Kutenai and started to climb the mountain on foot. I came to an exquisite alpine meadow above timber-line, with a carpet of ferns and green grass. Little mountain chipmunks were gathering seeds from alpine plants, scampering and chattering in the warm sunlight. Then a hoary marmot gave a piercing whistle from his rock tower on a cliff, where he lay watching for enemies. Other marmots in their feeding grounds along the mountain side took up the cry and ran for shelter to near-by cliffs and boulders.