On the north side of the valley was a high cliff, over which Indians of long ago drove herds of buffalo, in the days before they had horses or firearms. From the top of the precipice a level plain stretched away to the grass-land of open prairies, with two ancient and overgrown fences of stones, which had been used by the Indians as guides in buffalo drives. Near by were signs of an ancient camp—eight circles of large stones, deeply imbedded in the soil and overgrown with grass, where eight skin lodges once stood.
That night we sat by our tiny camp-fire and talked about those ancient hunters and how they chased the buffalo. Onesta said:
“In those days of long ago, summer was the time of plenty. Then our people used flint knives and arrow-points instead of guns. They had pots of stone, and bone-scrapers for tanning skins. Dogs were their beasts of burden instead of horses, and people carried things on their backs. They killed buffalo in great numbers by driving them over cliffs. When the herds moved in from the grass-land, they followed our [[156]]stone fences; they ran over a cliff and were killed; the wounded were caught in a corral at the bottom.
“The chief picked a strong runner to lead the buffalo. On the day of the run, that man rose early and went forth before sunrise. He covered himself with a robe and wore horns on his head. He kept moving about until the buffalo herd saw him and stood looking. Then he led them between the stone piles; and Indians lying hidden rose up; they waved their robes and shouted; they stampeded the buffalo, which ran over the cliff and were killed.
“Then the women came to cut up the carcasses. They used the skins of old animals for lodges and those of young ones for robes. They carried the meat on dog travois back to their tepees, spreading it on poles to dry in the sun; making pemmican and mixing it with marrowfat and dried berries, which they kept in rawhide cases for use in winter.”
Thus Onesta talked that night.
We stayed in Two Medicine Valley, until our horses were through shedding their hair and became fat on the new grass. Then we broke camp and moved up towards the Rocky Mountains. It was an Indian custom to go every spring to the forests on the mountains, to cut new lodge-poles for their summer camps and to gather roots and wild vegetables for both eating and healing.
We followed the valley westward, riding through grassy meadows with gardens of wild flowers. Masses of loco weed were in bloom, growing in dense spikes of brilliant pink, purple and blue, clusters of gaillardia with radiant yellow blossoms, and fields of phacelia, a rich carpet of white and blue, flaming Indian paint-brush, drooping bluebells, and shooting stars.
Along the banks of the river were thickets of peach-leaf willows, fragrant balsam poplars, and cottonwood trees, with their cottony tufts of seeds. Lark sparrows were singing, [[157]]and willow thrushes with mellow flutelike notes. A little bird called “black-breast” by the Indians (horned lark) ran along the ground ahead of our horses. It sang at all times, through the heat of midday and even at night. On the prairie he would spring from the grass and soar into the air. Then extending his wings he would sink slowly to the ground, always against the wind, hovering like a butterfly and singing his cheerful rippling song like that of the English linnet.
But the most wonderful of all the birds was the soaring song of the Missouri skylark. At first I could not see them. They sang so high in the air, they were like specks in the blue sky. Their sweet strains came from overhead like a song from heaven. When several skylarks were singing, the air was filled with the tender strains. Then, after hovering awhile, they closed their wings and pitched to the ground to hide themselves in the long grass. [[158]]