He was led into the circle, looking uncomfortable and shy with so many tourists gazing at him. But the boys knew he would rather have cut off his right hand than hurt the Indians’ feelings by refusing. For him, the ceremony was much more serious. There was no laughing, and Yellow Wolf made a grave and evidently impassioned speech to the tribe, who listened and applauded. They did not go through the comic ceremony of taking the Ranger’s old name out into the bushes, but instead they sat him down in a smaller circle of the chiefs, and passed an Indian pipe around. Then, standing once more, they danced and sang, and finally Yellow Wolf gave him his new name, with a slap on the shoulder, while the crowd expressed approval. Then a gorgeous feathered head-dress was put on his head, instead of a hat, and when he finally rejoined the boys, he was still wearing this.
“What’s your name?” Tom asked.
“What is it, Pete?” said Mills.
“Tail-Feathers-Coming-Over-the-Hill,” said Pete. “He was a fine Indian, too—medicine man.”
“I thought so,” Mills answered. “I thought I recognized it. Well, boys, I suppose I’m a Blackfoot now! You know” (he added this in a lower tone) “they are grateful to me because in the hard winter last year I didn’t prosecute one of ’em for killing a sheep, but got the government to send ’em some food, so they wouldn’t have to poach. Tail-Feathers-Coming-Over-the-Hill was a fine old Indian. I’m proud to have his name.”
“It’s some name!” the scouts laughed.
Now that these ceremonies were over, the Indians fell to dancing again, and the beat of the three drums, the calls and songs, rose on the air. Seeing the crowd of tourists about, and filled with fun and good spirits, the Indians started the squaw dance, the dance in which the women and even the larger children of the tribe take part. The three drummers stood in the middle, pounding their sheepskin drums, and around them, in a ring, holding hands or linking elbows, everybody facing inward, the Indians revolved by a curious little side step with a bend to the right knee, in time to the TÚM-tum, TÚM-tum, of the drums. Every moment or two a couple of chiefs or braves would dart out of the circle, seize some white woman or girl, and drag her laughing back into the ring. Then the young squaws began to run out and grab white men. Two Indian maidens seized Joe, while Tom got his camera hastily into action.
“Now, look pleasant, Joey!” he laughed. “We’ll have this picture enlarged for the Scout House—Joe and the Indian maidens!”
The girls placed Joe in the circle, and he began to revolve with the rest. One of the girls beckoned at Tom, as much as to say, “Shall we get him?”
Joe nodded, and the girl spoke to another squaw maid on her left, and the two of them left the line and seized Tom, also, keeping fast hold of his hands and dragging him with much laughter into the revolving ring.