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OLD INDIAN TRAILS

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SUNSET FROM LOOKOUT BUTTE (page 197)

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OLD INDIAN TRAILS

BY
WALTER McCLINTOCK, M.A.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1923

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COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY WALTER McCLINTOCK

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

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TO MY MOTHER

CLARA CHILDS McCLINTOCK [[vi]]

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PREFACE

In the spring of 1896 I went into northwestern Montana as a member of a Government expedition which was appointed by President Cleveland to recommend a national policy for the United States Forest Reserves and to advise the Secretary of the Interior as to the reserving of certain other forests.

Our expedition, which went in advance of the main Commission, was composed of Gifford Pinchot, Chief of the Forest Service (now Governor of Pennsylvania), and Henry S. Graves, later Chief Forester and Dean of the Yale School of Forestry; I went as photographer and to help in the forest surveys. We had two guides, William Jackson, an Indian scout of the Blackfoot tribe, and Jack Munroe, a white man who was married into that tribe.

We examined the forests in northwestern Montana, both on the eastern and western slopes of the Rocky Mountains. We came into contact with the natives of the region, both white men and Indians. We made surveys in the country where the Flathead Forest Reserve was later established, and in the region now known as Glacier National Park. Then it was a paradise for hunting and fishing, a wild and unfrequented country, visited only by Indians, trappers, and a few hunters of big game.

We made our last survey in the heavy forest on the western side of the Rocky Mountains. Then Graves set out for Kalispell and civilization; Pinchot, with Jack Munroe and our bear dogs, started south for Fort Missoula; I was left alone with the Indian scout. [[viii]]

We crossed the mountains together and joined the tribal camp of the Blackfoot Indians on the plains. There I met many of their leading men; among them Chief Mad Wolf, who adopted me as his son, in ceremonies lasting through two days, and made me a member of his tribe.

I maintained intimate associations with my Indian father and his tribe through many years, keeping records of everything that I saw and heard—their customs and legends and religious beliefs, our hunting trips, and the flora and wild life of their country.

But into the region where we wandered civilization came with its automobile highways and great modern hotels. The old generation of Indians have died and their children are civilized. The Blackfoot are no longer nomads and hunters, following the great herds of buffalo and other game; they till the soil and live in houses like white men. Their ancient customs and tribal life have passed away forever.

My purpose, therefore, in writing this book, is to record the results of fifteen years’ close association with the old Blackfoot chiefs, medicine men, and common people. I have retained the narrative form of my original notes, in order to give as faithful a record as possible of their character, environment, and family life.

W. McC. [[ix]]

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CONTENTS

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ILLUSTRATIONS

[[1]]

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OLD INDIAN TRAILS

CHAPTER I

MY INDIAN GUIDE

It was an evening in early summer. The stars shone bright and our Indian tepee glowed with light from its inside fire. My guide, a famous scout of the Blackfoot tribe, smoked in silence; while I lay on my comfortable bed of robes and blankets, listening to the sounds from the forest—chirping of crickets, last songs of the thrushes and vibrating chant of an ovenbird.

That night by our lodge-fire I said to the scout: “Tell me about your home.” And he replied:

“On the prairie beyond the Rockies, I have a ranch with many horses and cattle. The mountains are near, the hunting good; our streams and rivers are full of fish. Come with me to my country, to my tribe, the Blackfoot Indians. In our valley the head men of the tribe live; you will meet there our leading chiefs.”

For a moment I was silent. The plan of the scout accorded with my own desire. All my life I wanted to live away from the city, among the mountains and wilds. I was weary of the turmoil of the city, the dreary grind and slavery of business, from early morn until night in an office-prison; away from the sunlight and from birds and flowers in the spring-time. I wanted to shake off the shackles of social convention, to leave the worry and stress of the modern city, where business and the making of money are the chief end of man. [[4]]

I thought to myself: “If I go with my guide, I can live out-of-doors all day and all night. I shall become strong in body and mind and be happy. And, instead of striving for money, I will go on a quest. I will stay with the scout and visit his tribe, to find whether they are more happy and contented in their primitive life, than civilized people in great modern cities.”

Now Indians have a way of masking their feelings; they never show enthusiasm. So I said quietly to the scout: “I want to go to your home and your Indian tribe.” This ended our talk for that night; but I had a keen desire to go.

My guide was near middle age. He had the swarthy complexion, black hair and high cheek bones of an Indian; but he did not look like a full-blood. He was tall and slender, with an impressive manner; fluent of speech and polite and suave. His father was a white man named Jackson, an early pioneer, a Rocky Mountain hunter and trapper, his mother an Indian woman. The son was called Billy Jackson by white men and Siksikaí-koan (Blackfoot Man) by the Indians.

But Siksikaí-koan was an unusual half-breed. He raised himself above the popular prejudice against half-breeds. He was liked and respected by both white men and Indians. Honest and industrious, generous and kind, he was always ready to help any who came to his ranch. He stood high in the councils of the Blackfoot tribe; and served honorably as scout for Generals Custer, Miles, and Reno in the Indian wars.

The scout was a good guide in the wilderness; on him I could depend. He knew the trails of the plains and mountains and handled with skill the wild Indian horses. Self-reliant in time of danger, he had the quiet manliness and courage that knew no fear; a keen sense of humor and a wonderful knowledge of nature—information not gained from books.

A SMALL LAKE ON THE WESTERN SLOPE OF THE ROCKIES

OUR INDIAN TEPEE

[[5]]

He knew woodcraft; that moss generally grows on the north side of trees, more on evergreens than on those which shed their leaves in winter; that pines are more frequently struck by lightning than birch or cottonwood; that the toughest side of a tree is to the north, because the winter winds and cold come from that direction.

He knew Indian legends and traditions and stories of war and adventure. He told me about a family of lost children who went to the sky and became the constellation of the Pleiades, and the woman who left home and children to live with the Man-in-the-Moon. He spoke English fluently, also the Blackfoot, Cree, and Sioux tongues; and was familiar with the ancient customs and traditions of his Indian tribe.

Our camp was on a small lake on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains, in the region now known as the Flathead Forest Reserve. We had a good “pack outfit,” a herd of fifteen horses, a comfortable Indian tepee and plenty of food. Our government work was finished and we were free to wander.

Next morning the mists were heavy over the lake, which lay like a mirror beneath the surrounding mountains and forests. The sun came up red and flashed bright shafts of light through the big trees; the shadows from their branches made odd patterns on their smooth trunks. Grass and undergrowth were wet with heavy dew and hanging cobwebs shone like diamonds in the sunlight. By the time we broke camp and had our horses packed, the sun’s rays were hot on our backs.

The scout led the way through the forest, while I followed and drove the pack horses. How different they were from the horses of civilization! They had learned to think for themselves and to rustle their own food. On the trail they were always scheming; I had to watch them and be on the alert. Their leader was a crafty mare with a bell fastened to her [[6]]neck. All the herd were devotedly attached to her. She was a good baggage carrier and careful of her pack. She never let it scrape or bump trees. But she knew how to make things easy for herself. No matter how poor the feed, she was always fat and in good condition. She took the lead and kept the other horses in order. If one of them tried to pass, she met him with bite or kick and put him back in his place.

All of our pack were gregarious by nature. My saddle horse was uneasy whenever I dropped behind. He pawed the ground, whinnied and danced until I started; then ran with delight to join the others. This feeling held all of our horses together on the trail, and kept them from wandering at night.

It was the beginning of summer—just the time for birds and wild flowers. I saw fields of Indian basket grass with tall stalks and dense caps of cream white flowers; along the trail were beds of yellow adder’s-tongues, pink twin flowers, white lilies and flowering dogwood. I heard the wild cry of a loon from a lonely lake and olive-backed thrushes along the shores. In the deep forest were winter wrens, golden-crown kinglets and myrtle warblers. Then, for the first time, I heard the flight song of a Macgillivray warbler; and found his nest in some blackberry bushes close to a lake.

Finally we entered the valley of the Flathead and camped in a grove of larch and yellow pine. In that broad and fertile valley with plenty of free sunshine, the yellow pine is a noble tree with symmetrical spire, straight round trunk and slender shaft. The needles are long and yellow green, the bark smooth with deep fissures and arranged in massive plates.

There was plenty of good grass, a godsend to our horses after their long stay in the forest. We removed packs and saddles, attended to sore backs and picketed the bell-mare. It was our custom to keep her near camp at night, that it might be easy to catch the rest of the herd in the morning. [[7]]

I slept outside under the stars, making my bed close to a thicket of fragrant pines and masses of wild roses. It was one of those days that come only with early summer. A crescent moon hung over the forest; from a bank of clouds the first star shone. In the east, beyond an outer range of forest-covered mountains, I saw a line of white, glittering peaks, remote and ethereal, glowing in the soft tints of the sunset, like the realm of another world.

Then the lure of the wild stirred my blood strangely. Again I told the scout I wanted to stay with him. I had a new sense of freedom, as though a load had been rolled from my back. I felt like a boy just freed from school and longed to explore that mountain world, to discover what lay beyond.

That night we sat by our camp-fire through the long northern twilight. The scout smoked in silence, while I dreamed of mountain trails and Indian camps and bright days ahead. [[8]]

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CHAPTER II

CROSSING THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS

We left the Flathead Valley and came to the South Fork of Flathead River, entering a gorge, narrow and precipitous, where the river roared and thundered against huge rocks. The current was swift, swollen by the melting of mountain snows under a hot sun. On both sides of the gorge were sheer cliffs, and, because of the rocks, it was hard and dangerous going. We followed the river, seeking a place to ford, until we came upon open flats, where the channel was wider; then with shouting and shooting of guns, we drove the frightened horses across.

We camped near a band of Kutenai Indians. Their smoke-colored tepees stood on rising ground. Near by was a grove of trees where a woman was chopping, and a stream with groups of children swimming and playing in the water. In a broad meadow many horses were grazing, men driving picket pins and looking after their horses for the night.

The Kutenai were famed for their good horses. In former days they brought them across the mountains to run buffalo on the plains and to race with the Blackfoot. Whenever the scout visited their country, he traded for horses and took them back across the Rockies to his ranch on the prairies.

That evening I went with the scout to the Kutenai camp and saw the men gathered in a gambling game. They sat in a circle, the players in the center, surrounded by a throng of women spectators. It was a guessing game, played with marked sticks of bone, with horses and blankets for stakes. The players sang gambling songs; they joked and taunted each other; they beat with sticks and drummed. The game [[9]]came to an end, when one of the sides which was led by the chief of the Kutenai lost all their counting-sticks; and then the scout began to trade.

In the meantime, I was on the lookout for a good saddle horse. Near the circle of gamblers I saw a fine bay tethered. He was a stocky horse, built from the ground up, a four-year-old with a white star on his forehead. He had a sleek and glossy coat, slender legs, and a beautiful pair of brown eyes. He belonged to the chief of the Kutenai, the Indian who lost the gambling game. He saw me looking at his horse and came near. He wore a suit of deerskin decorated with colored beads, a beaded necklace of many strands, white shell earrings, and his hair in long braids over his shoulders.

We bargained in the sign language, and our trading was short. I asked him “how much,” by holding out my closed right hand and opening the fingers, one after the other. He sold me his horse for nine dollars. And with the money he opened again the gambling game. This time he won all the counting-sticks and the game was his, while I was the owner of a fine saddle horse. I named him “Kutenai,” after his Indian tribe.

Then we entered a broad timber belt, where the forest was dense and the trees large, for the most part giant cedar, hemlock, larch, white pine, great silver fir and canoe birch. The forest floor was covered with a thick carpet of moss and ground pine. Sun and wind did not penetrate. Along the trail the light was dim and the air still. But overhead, through the tops of the big trees, I heard the rushing of the wind.

We rode through glades rank with dense clumps of fragrant ferns and grasses growing shoulder high, forded streams and passed foaming cascades and chains of lovely lakes hidden in deep recesses of the forest. On the western slope of the Rockies the vegetation is luxuriant and the forests dense, [[10]]because of the mild climate and abundant rainfall. Just across the Continental Divide, on the eastern slope, the climate is cold and dry, with extreme changes of temperature.

When the trail was blocked with fallen trees, the scout went ahead and chopped our way through, while I followed driving the pack horses. He had the marvelous instinct of an Indian for direction and keeping his course. On the trail he was cheerful; he never disputed, found fault, or cursed. He rarely said whether he liked or enjoyed anything. He was courteous and had the quiet manners of a gentleman. If I made mistakes, I found it was better to remain silent than to apologize, or try to make excuses.

We camped near the forks of two streams, where a huge white pine towered above the rest of the forest. I heard the ringing, rippling song of a water ouzel, almost fierce in its wildness, as if sung by a free and untamable spirit. So wild was he, and continually on the alert, he reminded me of a watchful Indian. Springing from rock to rock, he ran along the shore, filled with nervous energy, ever shaking himself and bobbing up and down.

That night by our camp-fire Siksikaí-koan told about his life. Most of his youth was spent north of the Line among the Cree Indians in Canada. In those early days on the plains, he was daring and reckless, and suffered permanent injuries. In 1874, he was scout for General Custer on his expedition to the Black Hills of Dakota, and went with him against the Sioux. He served under General Miles and General Terry, and the Government of the Northwest Territories in the Riel Rebellion. Some of his scouting companions in the Cheyenne Service were the warriors, White Bull, Beaver Claws, Shell, Two Moons, and Brave Wolf.

On the day when General Custer and his battalion of the Seventh Cavalry were cut to pieces by the Sioux, Siksikaí-koan was with Reno’s command. With fifteen scouts he [[11]]made a stand and tried to stop the Indians. In that charge, all but two of those brave scouts were killed. Bloody Knife and Siksikaí-koan alone were left. Then Bloody Knife shook hands and said: “This is the last day I shall ever fight.” He rushed among the enemy, killed two and was slain himself. But Siksikaí-koan escaped; he hid in the underbrush, and lay in the river close to the bank. After two days and nights of terrible exposure and without food, he made his way with two white soldiers to Reno’s command on the bluffs above the river. In the night, Siksikaí-koan led them past the Sioux sentinels, through his knowledge of the Sioux language.[1]

We left our camp at the big pine in the early morning, when the mists were lifting from the valley, and came that afternoon to a fine meadow surrounded by the forest, where we camped because of good pasture, grass in full seed and thistles, of which the horses were very fond. We hobbled and tethered them, caught a mess of trout, and a grouse which the scout killed by a skillful throw of a stone. The day was warm and bright, and the trout were rising in the river. The scout used bait in deep water and caught many fish. I stood on a high bank where the facilities for fly-fishing were of the best. In the clear swift water I saw many fish swimming over the gravelly bottom, but they scorned a fly. Finally the scout called: “Try the white entrail of another fish.” So I baited my hook and cast toward a place where the current eddied in a deep pool. For a moment I let it lie. Suddenly there was a swirl and a big form broke the water. I struck and saw a golden flash as he sprang from the river. “Hold him fast!” shouted the scout. “Don’t slacken your line.” The fish rushed upstream and across; he struggled in vain. I reeled him in and pulled him to the shore, and the scout landed him on the clean stones. He was a five-pound [[12]]fish, the biggest I had caught. The scout called him a bull-trout, but he is also known by the name of “Dolly Varden” (Salmo clarkii). He had a large mouth filled with sharp teeth, and was dotted all over with small black spots. The upper half of his body was yellow, the lower half pink, and silvery white underneath. He was good eating; we had him with the grouse for our evening meal.

In the night I wakened to the sound of the ever-rushing river, and saw the forest lighted by moonlight; it made shadows on the trunks of the big trees and lay in patches on the ground. The air was fragrant with the smell of leaves, the freshness of the woods and the subtle perfume of the earth. At daybreak I heard the early chorus of the birds, and went after our horses in the meadow, wading through masses of wild flowers and tall grass growing in bunches. I felt in accord with the world, as though I belonged to the forest. My heart was light; I was as free as the air.

When I found Kutenai, my saddle horse, he gave a gentle whinny of recognition and rubbed his soft nose against my hand. He was a good and faithful companion, just the horse for the Indian country. He was young and spirited, yet gentle and friendly; I could trust him, and rode him without saddle or bridle.

Before the sun was high, we had our horses packed and were on our way toward the Blackfoot country. Our trail led through a broad valley and along the banks of a swift stream, where the current dashed against moss-covered boulders. The peaks of the Continental Divide sparkled in the sunlight, revealing snowfields and glaciers, which over-hung the mountain sides like ice cataracts. Early in the day the water of the stream was clear, but in the afternoon changed to a milky white, from glaciers melting under a hot sun.

I saw a water ouzel dive fearlessly into the foaming rapids [[13]]and flit about in the spray. The more boisterous the water, the better he seemed to enjoy himself. He sat on a rock in midstream and burst into a cheerful song with delicate trills. Then flew like a flash to his moss-covered nest on a ledge, so close to the rushing water it was continually bathed in spray.

We passed through a forest of fir and spruce, the trees tall and straight, and soon had high peaks and massive mountain ranges towering over us. We rode along the base of a great mountain, which rose precipitously several thousand feet. There were lateral valleys with cirques, formed by the erosion of glaciers. Through each of these valleys flowed a stream, which had its source in an overhanging glacier at the head, pine forests sweeping upwards in long and gentle curves.

Finally we entered a great basin, a vast amphitheater. In the center was a sparkling blue lake with wooded shores, surmounted by walls of rock several thousand feet in height. The lake was fed by many streams springing from glaciers and snowdrifts; they fell over high cliffs with an incessant roar, which reverberated like thunder from the surrounding walls of rock. We crossed high rock ledges, ravines and gullies, jumped fallen trees, and forced our way through windfalls and thickets of balsam and fir.

I marveled at the endurance and sure-footedness of our Indian horses. In the worst places they rarely stumbled; I did not see one of them fall. In emergencies they never lost their heads. They walked serenely along the edges of precipices where I shuddered to look down. Steep places did not bother them; they sat back on their haunches, bunched their feet together and slid.

But we had one rattle-brained pack horse. If he happened to get in the lead, he wavered and hesitated and held back the outfit; he wandered from the trail to try fool routes of his own, and tore his pack against rocks and trees.

Our last camp on the western slope of the Rockies was in [[14]]a grassy park surrounded by groups of tall firs, spruces and thickets of balsam, close to huge banks of snow and the precipitous cliffs of the Continental Divide. A stream of water, cold as ice, flowed through a meadow of rich grass, fine food for our horses, tired and hungry after their hard climb.

Hoary marmots greeted us with shrill whistles from the cliffs, and a red fox barked sharply and ran into his den. We saw a herd of Rocky Mountain goats feeding on a high shelf in an inaccessible part of the mountain. They lay in the sunlight near a cavern in the wall-rock, while their sentinel, an enormous billy with long white beard, stood like a statue close to the edge of a precipice.

Then from a high elevation above our camp, where everlasting snowdrifts lay under the shadow of huge rocks, we had a view of massive mountain ranges, with fields of snow and ice glistening in the sunlight; great valleys with sky-blue lakes and vast forests stretching toward the west to meet blue and distant plains. Through a massive rent in the rocky wall of the Divide, we looked eastward, toward the Blackfoot country and the end of our journey—a view of plains so vast and distant they looked like an ocean meeting the horizon.

North, lay Triple Divide Mountain, the Crown of the Continent, where the watershed divides between the Pacific Ocean, Hudson Bay, and the Gulf of Mexico. To the northwest was Mount Blackfoot and the Blackfoot Glacier, a vast expanse of snow and ice; Mount Cleveland (10,438 ft.), a lofty and massive dome; Mount Siyeh (10,004 ft.), named after the Blackfoot chief who was to be my Indian father; and Mount Jackson (10,023 ft.), named after my Indian guide Siksikaí-koan (William Jackson), because he was the first to climb its steep and rocky slopes. [[15]]

[1] This incident is referred to in the Report of General W. T. Sherman, Secretary of War, 1876, p. 33. [↑]

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CHAPTER III

OUR CAMP NEAR THE SUMMIT

The scout said a big storm was coming. That day the sun went down with a rayless glow and a warm wind sprang up from the south. But the sky was clear and the night had a multitude of brilliant stars.

At dawn we broke camp and packed our horses. We hastened across the Divide to the east side of the range, where we camped in a sheltered place, between two small glacier lakes with banks of snow and ice along their shores.

As we crossed the summit, I saw black clouds coming up across the western horizon. They had an ominous look, extending into the north like a great wall; they ascended towards the zenith and were advancing over the entire sky. There was a strange stillness. The air was sultry with no wind; birds and insects were silent. Then came a vivid flash of lightning, a deafening peal of thunder, and after a stillness a second peal.

Suddenly a strange moan seemed to fill the air. Sinister-looking clouds swept down from the Divide. I heard a roar like ocean surf and the tempest burst with hurricane force, bearing masses of rock and shale and whirling the water of the lake into the air. A canvas pack cover was caught by the wind and carried towards the sky. It soared over camp like a monstrous bird, frightening our horses which stampeded through thickets and snowdrifts. In spite of the gale our tepee held fast. We anchored it securely by a lariat noosed round the apex of the poles and made fast to strongly driven stakes; and weighted down the pegs and sides of the lodge [[16]]with stones. The bottom, too, was sheltered from the wind by thickets of gnarled and stunted spruces.

AN OLD INDIAN TRAIL

Golden snow lilies in bloom on both sides

For three days and nights a heavy wind with rain and sleet blew out of the northwest. But our Indian tepee was a snug shelter. We lay by our lodge-fire, cosy and comfortable. In my warm blanket-bed, I liked to listen to the roar of the wind in the spruces, the creaking of the lodge-poles, and the beating of rain and sleet. We had sumptuous meals of trout, and tenderloin and heart of a Rocky Mountain ram, which the scout had killed near the summit. He passed the time telling me about his home and Indian tribe. He told about their ancient customs and strange religious beliefs, Indian legends and tribal tales about the very region where we were camped.

Now an Indian is generally slow to speak his innermost thoughts and to talk about his religious beliefs. But during that big storm, the scout was in the mood to talk. He said:

“The Sun is the Great Power. He is in the birds and wild animals, lakes and streams, prairies and mountains. He brings the leaves in the spring-time. He makes the grass and berries grow; and upon them the birds and animals depend for life.

“The Thunder is a great bird. It flies with the clouds, and brings the rain. From its eyes the lightnings flash.

“The blizzard is a person, who runs before the storm and shoots his arrows.

“Long ago an Indian, who camped in this valley, saw the Wind Maker rise from the waters of a lake. He was like a monster bull elk. When he flapped his ears, the wind blew hard; and when he sank again beneath the water, the wind went down.

“My people are afraid of spirits. We believe they are everywhere—underground, in the air, in the forest, in rocks and streams. We are afraid of ghosts which take the form of [[17]]owls and come in the dark to harm people; ghosts of disembodied relatives and friends often come around. The Blackfoot are happy on the open plains. In the mountains they are afraid; the forests are dark and gloomy and they hear strange sounds.

“Last summer an Under-Water-Spirit took a child of Bear Paw. He is my friend and lives near me on Cutbank River. One day Bear Paw went into the mountains to cut lodge-poles. He camped at the edge of the forest, near a bend in the river, where a big rock stood and the water was deep. His wife went there for water and saw the rock move; and that night she had a strange dream. The Rock stood over her and said: ‘Give me your child.’ The woman was so frightened she went to the river and sacrificed some of her ornaments; she threw them into the water close to the Rock. Soon after that one of her children died. Now they believe it was taken from them by the Spirit of the Rock.”

The scout related a story which Heavy Breast, another friend who lived in his valley on Cutbank River, told him.

Heavy Breast and the Grizzly Bear

“When one of my children died last autumn, I felt so badly I did not want to see any one. So I went alone to the forest on the mountain. It was dark and gloomy and I felt lonely. But the only animal to be feared was the grizzly bear and I knew he would do me no harm, because I am the guardian of the Bear Medicine. Through its wonderful power I have cured many people.

“One night I came to a cave near the forks of a stream. It was raining and I decided to stay there, because in the cave I would have shelter from the storm. I built a warm fire and lay down to sleep. When I awoke the sun had not risen, but, through the mouth of the cave, I saw that day was beginning to dawn. I heard a noise outside, like some [[18]]animal sniffing the air. I thought one of the dogs had followed from camp and was nosing around, trying to get my scent. Then I heard heavy footsteps and knew it was a large animal. So I was careful. I made no sound; I scarcely even breathed.

“My back was towards the mouth of the cave, so I turned my head very slowly, very carefully, and saw close to the entrance a huge grizzly bear. Then I said to myself: ‘If this bear is angry, he has me caught in a trap.’ I have often laughed at animals in traps, but I did not feel like laughing this time. Again I said to myself: ‘This grizzly can do me no harm; my Bear Medicine will protect me; it has often helped me to cure the sick; besides I have always had a friendly feeling for bears, as if they were my relatives; I must be bold and make a strong talk; I must make this bear understand that I am his friend.’

“Then I thought: ‘Perhaps he intends to play with me before he kills me.’ And this made me feel very queer.

“Now, all this time the bear did not move. He stood with his head down and gazed into the mouth of the cave. Oh! How big he looked! He stood high in front and had a broad head; and his great feet had long sharp claws. He did not make a sound, but I knew he was angry; his hair stood straight up on his back.

“Then I remembered an old medicine man saying, that a bear never harms a person who does not move and talks to him in a friendly voice. So I lay with arms stretched out and head on my hands, like a bear does. Thus I lay and looked straight into his eyes. And then I began talking in a friendly way, using the softest and kindest voice I knew. I flattered him the best I could. I said:

“ ‘Brother Bear, you are very good-looking; you have nice eyes and white teeth; you are big and strong. I have never killed bears; I do not care to hunt them. Yes! I have always liked bears. I look upon them as my relatives.’ [[19]]

“While I talked, his hair began to flatten, so I talked again harder than ever. I kept on flattering him; I told him some of the secrets of my Bear Medicine. I saw that he liked my talk; he was in a good humor; and then I began to pray, saying:

“ ‘Brother Bear, pity me! I am poor and in trouble.

Brother Bear, I am the keeper of the Bear Medicine.

Brother Bear, it is I who guard the Bear Secrets.

Brother Bear, I ask you to go away and to leave me in peace.’

“Now, the bear was no longer angry. The hair on his back all went down smooth. Soon he turned and walked slowly from the cave; and after that I saw him no more.”

Thus my guide, an Indian belonging to a tribe of the stone age of thought, told me about their religious faith. They believed in the power of the Sun, and that birds and wild animals were endowed with his wisdom and supernatural power. They communed with the wild animals, looking upon them as brothers; they believed they had tribes like men, with head-chiefs, councils and dances; that they were friendly, and had power to help people in trouble. Nor did they exclude the animals from the spirit world, the place where they expected to go after death.

We were storm-bound in our summit camp for several days. But, on the morning of the fourth day, we awoke to find the heavens a vast expanse of blue. A foot of snow had fallen. The surrounding mountains were covered with a white blanket. After the great storm, the air was strangely clear and sparkled with myriads of shining particles. The clouds had rolled away towards the east, revealing the entire chain of Rocky Mountain peaks, their white summits glowing under the bright rays of the rising sun.

Then we made ready to break camp and leave the snow and ice of the high altitude for the milder climate of the [[20]]valley; but the devil was in our horses that day. It took many weary hours to catch the herd. We made a series of corrals with lariats and pack ropes. By the time we had the horses packed and ready to start, the sun had long passed the meridian. The scout led the way down the mountain, while I followed on foot with camera and tripod, driving the horses and leading my saddle horse Kutenai, loaded with baggage, because one of our pack horses had escaped us down the mountain. Then the contrary bell-mare ran into the underbrush and bucked her pack loose, and the horse of the scout ran away and threw him off. I found him lying senseless on the ground, with blood flowing from nose and mouth. When he came to himself, he made light of his accident; he said that he had been weakened by his former life of exposure in the Indian wars.

We camped that night on the floor of the valley, in a park surrounded by a dark forest of lodge-pole pine and spruce; the air was mild; bunch-grass grew luxuriantly and many varieties of wild flowers—blue camas, orchids with pale green flowers, and yellow columbine with lovely pendant blossoms.

TRIBAL CAMP OF BLACKFOOT ON THE PRAIRIE

Rocky Mountains in the distance

Our last day in the mountains, we followed a trail down the eastern slope, a well-known Indian route across the Rocky Mountains, famous in legend and war story. We passed through the long forest-covered valley of Cutbank River, between two massive snow-covered mountain ranges, and rode through the foothills with their lovely lakes and meadows, groves of aspen and thickets of willows, crossing high grass-covered ridges, closely following one another like great waves of the ocean.

Finally, from the crest of a ridge about twenty miles from the foot of the mountains, we looked down upon a scene I shall never forget. On a broad stretch of prairie and on the shore of a lake lay the tribal camp of the Blackfoot; many [[21]]hundreds of smoke-colored tepees, pitched in the form of a great circle more than a mile in circumference. In an open space near the center of camp was a throng of Indians, taking part in the ceremony of the Sun Dance. The surrounding meadows were bright with blue lupines, shooting stars, camas, and yellow sunflowers. Smoke from the evening fires rose from the tepees. Many horses were feeding contentedly on the hills. As we stood looking down at the great camp, a light breeze carried distinctly the shouts of men and women, crying of children, barking of many dogs, neighing of horses, and the rhythmic beating of Indian drums in dances and ceremonial gatherings.

On that first night, we slept on the open prairie with only the sky for a roof. Late in the night, I was wakened by Indian horsemen riding through the camp, singing strange melodies, giving at intervals shrill war whoops, jingling bells keeping time with the slow and measured trot of their horses. Their songs had a lilt and wildness, and were sung with a vigor and enthusiasm that made me long to record them.

Excitement was in the air. Flaring inside fires lighted up the lodges, casting weird shadows of the inmates on the outside coverings. I heard the booming of drums, shrill cries and shouts of dancers, laughter and cheers of the crowds. From the center of camp came a solemn chanting of many voices, accompanied by heavy beating of rattles on the ground. At intervals the low monotone of men singing in unison, united with the shrill voices of women. Then the mysterious chanting died away and I fell asleep. [[22]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER IV

HOME OF THE SCOUT

Next day the scout took me to the lodge of the head-chief White Calf and his wife Catches-Two-Horses. These were the givers of the Sun Dance ceremony. We talked with the venerable chief Running Crane, and saw his wife who was fasting, because of a vow to the Sun. We went to the tepees of the war chiefs, Little Plume and Little Dog, and smoked a friendly pipe, also with the judges, Shoots-in-the-Air, Curly Bear and Wolf Plume, and the medicine men, White Grass and Bull Child. In this way I met some of the head men of the tribe, and among them chief Mad Wolf, an orator of renown and the owner of the ancient Beaver Bundle, an important religious ceremony. This was the beginning of a friendship, unusual between an Indian and a white man. It lasted as long as Mad Wolf lived, and had a strange influence upon my life in the years to come.

When the Sun Dance came to an end and the big camp broke up, I went with the scout to his ranch on the prairie, in the valley of Cutbank River, near the homes of the chiefs, White Calf and Mad Wolf, and of the medicine men, White Grass and Ear-Rings.

The scout had a cabin built of pine logs from the mountains, with sod-covered roof and clay-chinked walls, also corrals and low-lying sheds, a garden, and herds of cattle and horses. His wife was an Indian woman named White Antelope, and they had a family of four children.

She was young and good looking, but had a high temper. She liked to take things easy, to dress in Indian finery and go visiting, leaving ranch and children to the care of the scout. [[23]]But he was patient with her; he was kind-hearted and always tried to keep things smooth. She cooked and waited on the table, when she felt in the mood; she and the children ate after the men. If she was moody, the scout prepared the meals.

Their family all slept in one room and I in another. My bunk of rough boards was built against the walls. But, in good weather, I slept outside the cabin and under the stars, on the grassy bank of the river, with a shady grove of cottonwoods near by, and a lovely landscape of meadows and distant snow-capped mountains.

Siksikaí-koan was a good friend, honest and trustworthy. He stood high in the councils of his tribe and was liked by all the people. He was always ready to help any who came to his ranch, to advise his people in their struggle towards civilization. Through him, I met Indians both old and young. I made friends with them, and tried to understand them and to see things their way.

Every morning before sunrise, the scout wakened me to go into the hayfields. He mowed while I drove the horserake; and then came days of pitching and stacking. Then every part of me seemed sound and sane; I was light-hearted and happy, untrammeled and free. On those broad prairies were no worries nor pessimists, no laws nor creeds, nothing but a wonderful peace and contentment; something I had longed for all my life.

The west wind blew fresh from pine forests on the mountains, from meadows with odors of wild flowers, sweet grass, and ripe strawberries. Bees hummed in the air, western meadow larks sang on the prairie, willow thrushes and white-crowned sparrows in the river valley.

But the scout could not stand heavy work in the hayfields. He suffered from the hardships of his former life on the plains, from an injury by a wild horse, and wounds received in the Indian wars. [[24]]

Then Yellow Bird came to help in the haying. He was a relative of the scout, a young half-breed of my own age, strong, full of life, and a good worker when he felt like it. But he was wild and could not be depended upon. Like young men of the Blackfoot, he wanted to be gay and craved excitement. He liked to wander, to hunt, to rope cattle and ride wild horses, to see friends and visit new places, to be always on the move; he liked jolly companions and people who gave him a good time; but he loved to go with girls best of all.

He took me to Indian camps to dance and see the girls. On our way home at night, he liked to gallop past ranches where they kept packs of ferocious dogs. They rushed after us and he had the fun of riding at a mad gallop, yelling and shooting at them on the run. He was thrilled at the idea of being chased by their angry owners, and of hearing bullets whizzing harmlessly in the dark.

We attended a meeting held by a white missionary in our valley. I led the singing and sat in the front row with Bear Chief and Eagle Child, who were prominent Indians. They listened gravely and attentively but understood not a single word. They were broad-minded chiefs and came as an example to other Indians; to show they approved of the missionary and of his religious ceremony.

Thus with Yellow Bird I entered into the life of the people. I wanted to see them natural and without restraint. With them I talked not of my life in civilization, but of things of their everyday life, of horses and cattle, hunting and wild animals, dancing and ceremonies. In this way I became one of them, and they saw I was not critical of them nor of their ways.

After we stacked eighty tons of hay at the scout’s ranch, Yellow Bird and I rode the range after stray horses and cattle. We skirted the base of the mountains, along the [[25]]foothills and edge of the forest, until we came to a well-worn trail, which led to an open park far back in the mountains. Many cattle were there, seeking refuge from the swarms of flies and mosquitoes on the grass-covered prairies. Then we found a herd of mares and geldings. Their leader, a fiery young stallion, tried to drive us off. But we rounded them up with the cattle and drove them back to the ranch, feeding them salt, that they might not again stray away.

When we wanted to break a new team for the wagon, we drove that wild herd of range horses into the corral and lassoed a roan and a three-year-old sorrel. We tied them with ropes while we put on the harness, then hitched them to the wagon and took blankets and provisions; we knew not how far they might run.

At the start the broncos bucked and plunged; then ran and tried to tear themselves loose from the rattling wagon, bounding over rocks, swinging as though it would turn over. After running many miles, our broncos broke into a stampede so wild that Yellow Bird turned them up a butte and put the brakes on hard. They galloped up one side of that steep butte and down the other, our wagon plunging over ruts, stones, and badger holes, and into a swamp in the valley of a stream, where they sank deep into soft muck and the wagon went down over the hubs. But they soon freed themselves, and, with their sides covered with foamy sweat, they pulled us through to firm ground. Then they ran again and did not stop, until we were far out on the open plains. That night we tied up our wild team and slept peacefully under the wagon, twenty-five miles from the ranch.

Sometimes in the evening, after our work at the ranch, we saddled our horses and rode down the river to see two sisters who were home from school, Katoyísa and Nínake. Their father, Lone Wolf, was dead, and they lived alone with their mother, a quiet, pleasant-faced woman. Their log cabin of [[26]]three rooms had low ceilings, and walls of hewn logs chinked and plastered, all whitewashed and clean. The floor was spotless and covered with skins of wolf, bear, and mountain goat; in the windows were grasses and ferns and wild flowers, and a dish of fragrant red apples on a table.

Nínake, the younger sister, was the favorite of Yellow Bird. She was lively, a great talker, and gave him a good time. But I liked Katoyísa better, a quiet bashful girl of nineteen, with shapely head and good features. Her black hair hung in two heavy braids almost to her knees. She wore homemade cotton gowns of thin material which showed her slender graceful form. From the look in her eyes and expression of her face, I knew she had courage and character. In her was the stuff of our bravest pioneers.

After we had finished with the hay of the scout, Yellow Bird and I went to their ranch to help with their crops. The girls cooked and gave us good food, fresh vegetables from their garden, beef, bread and butter and milk.

Many years have passed, but they have not dimmed the memory of those happy days without a care in the world, the primitive simplicity of that family, and the way they made me one of them. We both enjoyed our work, we were near the girls from morning till night, and that kept us in a good humor.

Then the scout wanted timber from the mountains, so we took two teams and made ready the wagons. We threw off their beds and placed the wheels far apart by means of a long reach, to hold the heavy logs. Yellow Bird drove one wagon and I the other. For me it was a new thing to drive a team of broncos. I sat on the reach, on a gunnysack stuffed with hay. I had to wield a whip with a long lash, and had a heavy chain for binding the logs together.

We left the ranch soon after sunrise and went to a burned stretch of timber on a slope of the Rockies. We felled only [[27]]trees that were sound and well-seasoned, cutting them into logs and snaking them down the forest trails to be loaded on our wagons.

At first it was hard to chop hour after hour with an axe. I blistered my hands and was drenched with sweat; my arms and back ached; I felt weak in the knees and had a consuming thirst. Then I became accustomed to the work and had a feeling of exhilaration. I liked the fresh odor of the wood, the ring of my axe and the feeling of a good stroke, to know my sharp blade was cutting deep.

There was always danger of being cut with an axe, from felling trees that had lodged, and from Yellow Bird; sometimes his trees fell perilously near. Once I was nearly struck by a pine that let go at the roots; I heard a sharp crackling, saw it coming towards me and jumped just in time.

But for me the hardest work was the loading of the wagons. The heavy logs were twenty-five feet long and from one to two feet in diameter. The roads were steep and rough and our brakes would not hold. But we always joked about hard work and danger, and had to look out for ourselves.

Soon Yellow Bird tired of ranch work and wanted a change. He proposed that we ride across the Montana line into Canada, to visit relatives in a camp of Blood Indians, a northern division of the tribe. So we rounded up the wild herd of range horses and drove them into the corral. We each chose a saddle horse, Yellow Bird a brown with silvery mane and tail, I a powerful sorrel. My gentle horse, Kutenai, I left to graze at the ranch.

In handling horses that ran wild on the range, we were always ready for trouble. To control them was a question of mastery; they took kind treatment as a sign of weakness. When I tried to saddle my sorrel, he rose on his hind legs and [[28]]with forefeet high in the air tried to bring them down on my head. In mounting, I held his bit in one hand, the pommel with the other, and made a flying leap upon his back. Before I was in the saddle, he sprang forward like a race horse at a desperate gallop. He had an easy motion and I kept my seat; but to stop him baffled all of my endeavors.

We went north across the open plains, without fences or roads to bar the way. Our horses ran like the wind; we gave them free rein and held on. I rode Indian fashion, letting myself go freely with the motion of my horse and kept a firm grip with my knees.

The first night we stopped at the cabin of a squaw man, near a rocky peak which rose abruptly out of the prairie, standing apart from the main range of the Rocky Mountains. Our host was a white man with an Indian wife and four half-breed children, the oldest a girl of seventeen. She and Yellow Bird were sweethearts; and while they made love by the river, I went into the meadow to help the old man with his hay. He was one of those pioneer settlers of early days, short and sinewy in stature, and with a heavy beard. His life had been filled with hardships, toil, and little pleasures. He was suspicious by nature, and liked to talk about free silver; but at heart he was a good fellow, resolute, brave, a hard worker and hospitable. His Indian wife was a laughing, broad-faced woman, good-natured and lazy. Their cabin was dirty and swarmed with flies. The second daughter was strangely pretty, with flashing black eyes, jet black hair, and marvelously clear olive skin. She had a pet colt which followed her like a dog. He came into the cabin for supper. When they put him out, he ran to the open window and poked me in the back with his nose; he whinnied and grunted and made such a fuss that his young mistress went to the window and gave him sugar.

Soon after sunrise on the following morning Yellow Bird [[29]]and I saddled our broncos and moved on. To the west rose the mighty frontier range of the Rockies. The rugged valleys and peaks still had a thin veil of morning mist. In the cool air our horses had wonderful speed. They chafed at the bit and were tireless, as though their sinews were of steel. But, after that first day, they were not so hard to hold.

We crossed buttes on the run, up hill and down, it was all the same; in steep places our horses put their feet together and slid. They jumped streams, rocks, and badger holes; galloped over ledges and sharp volcanic rocks, across hills and ravines; it was beautiful to see them go; they never stumbled, but lifted their feet cleanly up and over, and always planted them securely and firmly. We passed lakes and marshy ponds, starting noisy flocks of ducks and other water birds, crossed Boundary Creek, and were over the Montana line into the Province of Alberta.

We came to the ranch of a Frenchman named Big Steve, far out on the prairie. He and his wife were pitching hay in a meadow. She was buxom and smiling, with rosy cheeks and did the work of a man. Both were friendly and wanted to talk, but we could not tarry; our horses were wild and hard to hold.

At midday we dashed into a Mormon settlement, and a number of men came to meet us. They all looked alike, over six feet in height, with smooth faces and prominent features. They were good-natured and hospitable and gave us all the food we could eat. But it was a dreary place on a barren plain, a group of board shanties, without trees or vegetation. I thought to myself: “How dull an existence compared to our life in the Indian country, with dances and games, feasts and ceremonies!”

Near the border line we entered a region of bandits and law-breakers. We saw a white man who tried to hold us up, but we spurred our broncos and they ran so fast he gave up [[30]]the chase; then a band of Blood Indians closely muffled in their blankets; they were on their way south and kept their faces hidden. We passed another rider, who was followed by the North-West Mounted Police; they said he was leader of a gang of cattle thieves.

We came that afternoon to the end of our journey in a camp of the Blood Indians. Yellow Bird took me to the home of his relative, an elderly man named Strong. In his lodge we met some of the head men of the tribe—Thunder Chief, Spotted Calf, Running Coyote, and Grasshopper. They were all friendly and glad to see us. They greeted us with “How!” shook us by the hand and welcomed us to their feast.

For refreshments, they had a meat stew and hot tea. Their manner of eating was different from that of people in civilization. They ate with their fingers, gulped down the food, sucked their teeth, and drank with a hissing intake of the breath. But with them these were not breaches of good manners; they were not sensitive to any of these things. While eating they did not talk; and after the manner of Indians showed no enthusiasm. None of them said the food was good, or that they liked anything; nor, on the other hand, did any one grumble or say the food was bad.

After the feast they smoked a large pipe of polished redstone, which was handed stem first to each person. Then they talked, speaking rapidly, in guttural voices that were not harsh, and making graceful gestures with their hands. The Indian named Grasshopper had a reputation as a wit. He kept them laughing—all but Thunder Chief, who was head man and had his dignity to maintain.

Grasshopper wore a coyote-skin cap with the tail hanging down behind and an eagle feather on top; slung over his shoulder was a polished buffalo horn. He had beaded moccasins and leggings, and a blanket coat with bright stripes. After we had eaten, he turned to me and said with a laugh: [[31]]

“You look like an eagle. You sit straight and with your head up. Now is the time to shake your tail feathers, like an eagle after it eats.” This was Indian humor and made the others laugh.

Grasshopper was the life of the party. He said his parents died when he was small. He was raised by a chief named Red Crow, who had started many boys in life; he had become a successful man, because he followed the advice of his adopted father.

Grasshopper was pleased when he saw me recording his conversation in my notebook. He said: “Now I am going to tell you some stories.” I sat waiting, but he did not begin; so I said: “Go ahead; I am ready.”

To make the others laugh, he held out his hand saying: “How much do you pay?” I took his outstretched hand, shook it and said: “That is what I pay.”

Then every one laughed, even the dignified head chief joined in. They liked the repartee and wanted more.

Grasshopper said: “Well, instead of paying he only shakes.” He turned to the head-chief and said: “This white man is a great traveler. I like him and want him for my partner. We had better keep him here with us.”

And then he said to me: “Why don’t you join our tribe and stay with us? You could take an Indian wife; you could hunt and trap and make a good living.”

That evening we sat outside the lodge and watched the sun go down fiery red, with its glow reflected in a near-by stream. Then the moon, nearly full, rose over the distant hills of the prairie, like a ghostly phantom in the twilight.

Then by the lodge-fire the Indians told stories of their hunting trips and war expeditions of former days. They talked far into the night, and next morning we saddled our horses early and rode back to Montana. [[32]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER V

STORIES BY THE SCOUT’S MOTHER-IN-LAW

One day Two-Bear-Woman, mother of the scout’s wife, came to our ranch. She pitched her lodge in the meadow, not far from my bed on the river bank. After dark I watched it, glowing with yellow light from an inside fire. And, when the dying fire made shadows dance on the lodge wall, there was an air of mystery about her tepee. At night I heard the old woman praying and chanting weird songs of old days, in a quavering voice and beating on a tom-tom. The sound was mournful and made me feel sad; I lay awake and listened until late in the night.

Two-Bear-Woman was the widow of a famous medicine man named Four Bears. She was said to have occult powers and was looked upon as a wise woman. She could see visions, dream dreams, doctor, and do mysterious things. She was something of a shrew, with sharp tongue and quick temper, but industrious and skilled in all the arts of Indian women—tanning, making clothes and lodges, and the knowledge of herbs and plants.

The scout never went near the lodge of his mother-in-law, nor could she visit her daughter while her son-in-law was at home, according to tribal custom. A mother-in-law had no dealings with her son-in-law, nor could they even speak to each other.

So I went with White Antelope to call upon the old woman. One evening by her lodge-fire she talked about her husband. She said he was a man of influence and stood high in the tribe. When danger threatened, the chiefs used to call upon him for help. As head medicine man it was his custom to officiate [[33]]at tribal meetings and ceremonies. He was mediator between the Great Spirit and his people. He fasted and prayed and helped the tribe by means of his supernatural power. He was both prophet and priest. Besides being a man of mystery, he had a reputation as a doctor. His power to heal came from the buffalo through a vision, after long fasting and prayer. When he doctored, he wore an old buffalo robe decorated with a yellow buffalo head. He carried a medicine drum which was painted yellow, also his body, with a crescent on his forehead for the moon and marks over his temples for sun dogs. He wore a wonderful belt which had supernatural power, an otter-skin to keep him young and an eagle feather to ward off danger in battle. The old woman said that after the death of her husband his ghost had come every night to protect her from harm.

Then, as we sat and smoked and the fire burned low, Two-Bear-Woman told legends and stories. She liked blood-curdling tales and gloated over one of a warrior who went mad.

The Warrior who ate his Foot

“Long ago, two warriors named Arrow Top and Black Horse went to war against their enemies the Crow Indians. They left home in the early summer and did not start back until it was time for snow in the autumn. They had a hard time; the weather was bad and their food gave out. One evening at dark, they came to two old shelters made of willow branches, which stood close together. It was snowing and cold, and they were tired and hungry. They had no food, so each crawled into a shelter and lay down to sleep.

“In the night Arrow Top was wakened by a queer sound—his friend was hacking with his knife. Then he smacked his lips and drew in his breath, saying: ‘Mmmmmm, this foot is fine, it is tender and juicy and has a good taste.’

“He shouted: ‘Hai there! Arrow Top! Come and eat. [[34]]I have plenty of meat. This leg is tender and juicy; I have a good slice for you.’

“Then Arrow Top peeped into the other shelter and saw a terrible sight. His friend was covered with blood. He had cut off his own foot and was roasting a piece of the flesh over a fire. Then he hacked at his leg, and when there was nothing left but the bone, he began digging out the marrow with his knife.

“Again he called, and getting no answer he shouted: ‘Arrow Top, I say, come and join in my feast; I have saved a fine piece of juicy meat for you.’

“By this time day was beginning to dawn and Arrow Top tried to run away. But Black Horse saw him and followed; it was a cold night and the blood of his wounded leg froze. He ran on his mangled stump, shouting for his friend to wait. He begged him not to go and leave him alone.

“Arrow Top was so frightened he climbed a tree and tried to hide in the branches. But Black Horse saw him. He was so mad he foamed at the mouth. He came to the tree and shouted:

“ ‘You dog-face, I see you there. I asked you to come and eat with me, but you ran away and left me to die. You can’t escape me. I am going to catch you now and kill you.’

“He struck at Arrow Top with his knife and tried to climb the tree. He fell down because of his mangled leg; he got so mad he ran at the tree. He kicked the trunk with the sharp bone of his leg, until it stuck fast in a crack. He wept and raved; he twisted and turned and tried to tear himself loose.

“Then Arrow Top jumped from the tree and struck out for home. He did not stop running until he came to the camp. He told his story to the head men and they took a band of warriors. They found Black Horse dead, with the sharp bone of his leg still fast in the crack of the tree.”

[[35]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER VI

MY ADOPTION BY MAD WOLF

Near the end of summer, I met Mad Wolf on the prairie. He was alone and signed that he wanted to talk with me. He was mounted on a restless bronco, and held a rawhide quirt in his hand. From his neck hung a bone whistle, made from the wing of an eagle; and in his hair a single eagle feather stood erect. He dismounted from his horse and stood waiting; and when I came to him, he shook hands; then looked earnestly into my face, and said:

“From the time you first came to live in my country, I have been watching you, and my heart feels warm towards you. I have never taken a son from the white men; now I want to adopt you, because I believe that some day you will be a chief among your people. I am growing old, and it is probable that I shall go before you to dwell with the Great Spirit, for you are still a young man. After I am gone, you will then be left, to help and to advise my people.”

I told Mad Wolf that I wanted to be his son. He pointed towards the north and said:

“My lodge is out yonder on the prairie. It is beyond that long range of hills and cannot be seen from here. Come to-morrow when the sun is high. I will hold a ceremony. I will paint you with the sacred paint; and in the presence of my relatives and friends, will adopt you as my son.”

In after years, I saw more clearly Mad Wolf’s purpose in taking a white son. His tribe were rulers of a vast domain of plains and forest-covered mountains. Great herds of buffalo and other game furnished them with an abundance of meat for food and skins for clothes and shelter. But the [[36]]coming of the white man caused the disintegration of his tribe. The herds of wild animals quickly disappeared and with them the chief support of the Indians. An advancing tide of white settlers came like the invasion of an enemy; they introduced smallpox, measles, scarlet fever, and other contagious diseases. The white men were shrewd and unprincipled. They traded whiskey and debauched the Indians; they occupied their country; they always got the best of them in their deals. Indian children were sent to white men’s schools; they did not learn their native tongue; old tribal customs, traditions, and religion were no longer handed down.

MAD WOLF

When a white man whom he trusted came to live among his people, Mad Wolf decided to adopt him as his son. He foresaw the doom of his tribe. He wanted a son among the white men upon whom he could depend; one able to help his tribe, who would go to the Great Father at Washington and intercede in their behalf. The old chief was wise; he saw that an Indian could not accomplish his purpose.

The following morning, I rode Kutenai across the prairie in search of Mad Wolf’s summer camp. From the summit of a ridge, I saw the white tepees in a meadow amid grass-covered hills. The sky was overcast and a strong wind shook the lodges, which were anchored to the ground by long ropes around their tops. I heard the sound of chanting and beating of drums. For a moment I waited on the hill, listening to the weird singing and thinking of the days when the lodges of Mad Wolf’s tribe were numbered by thousands and they were the rulers of their country.

After the song had ceased, I rode down from the hill. Dismounting before the large lodge of the chief, I lifted the door-flap and looked inside. Mad Wolf saw me and shouted, “Okye!” (Welcome.) I entered and saw Mad Wolf seated at the back, the position of honor, with the fire between [[37]]himself and the door. He shook hands and motioned me to a place at his left, among the other men, and said: “Bring a robe for him to sit upon.” Morning Plume, who was nearest, greeted me with a smile and made ready my seat. Other Indians present were, Blessed Weasel, Heavy Breast, Double Runner, Middle Calf, Bear Child, and Many-White-Horses, so named because he owned many horses of that color. The men were all seated on Mad Wolf’s left, the women and children on his right.

Between Mad Wolf and his wife Gives-to-the-Sun, who sat on his right, lay the sacred Beaver Bundle. It contained the skins of beaver and other wild animals, which were believed to contribute Sun Power to the Bundle.[1] It was opened in a religious ceremony, given in behalf of the sick, or on other important occasions. From the lodge-poles hung beaded clothing and sacred bundles with long leather fringes hanging from their sides and decorated with painted designs.

Mad Wolf was a noble specimen of Indian chief. His long gray hair fell loosely over his shoulders, and his face had a kindly and benign expression. He was large in stature and of majestic presence, with broad forehead and high cheek bones, keen eyes and firm mouth. From the waist up his body was bare. He had broad shoulders and chest and his arms were muscular and well formed, like those of a young man. He wore leggings of deerskin, moccasins decorated with colored porcupine quills and necklaces of deer bones and bear claws. A medicine whistle, with which he led his beaver ceremony, hung by a thong from his neck.

All sat in silence, waiting for the ceremony of adoption to begin. Then Gives-to-the-Sun, wife of the chief, whispered to a young woman; she straightway rose and stirred a large kettle of service-berries and tongue, which was cooking on the fire. Mad Wolf pointed to her and said to me: “She is [[38]]your Indian sister, Strikes-on-Both-Sides. We gave her that name because, in battle, I once struck down enemies on both sides.”

Gives-to-the-Sun brought forth a forked stick. She went to the fire, and, lifting out a live coal, placed it in front of Mad Wolf, who burned dried sweet grass upon it. Soon a fragrant perfume like incense filled the lodge; and they began to sing a low chant in a minor key, in which all the Indians joined.

Then Mad Wolf and his wife knelt by the burning sweet grass; they placed their hands in the rising smoke; they seemed to grasp the smoke; they rubbed it over their bodies and passed it over their heads, shoulders and arms; they breathed it in; thus purifying themselves without and within.

Suddenly the clouds broke and the sun shone into the lodge. Its bright rays came through the smoke hole and lighted up the ground in front of Mad Wolf. Again he held his hands in the smoke of the burning sweet grass. He passed them over his arms and breast for a blessing; and turning his face towards the sun, he chanted:

“See! Our Father, the Sun, shines into the lodge.

His power is very strong.

At night our Mother, the Moon, shines into the lodge.

Her power is very strong.

I pray Morning Star to shine into the lodge and bring long life.”

Mad Wolf took a willow branch, which was painted red. He placed it in turn on his right and left shoulders, and prayed for long life. He handed the branch to me; and I laid it on both my shoulders, while he prayed to the Sun that I might live to be old. Then the branch was passed round the lodge for every one to pray with.

Mad Wolf and Gives-to-the-Sun knelt by a long bundle and sang four times. After the fourth song, they began to loosen the thongs of the bundle, but they still sang, chanting [[39]]a slower and more monotonous song. After the thongs had been untied, Mad Wolf chanted and prayed and removed the cover, revealing a large redstone pipe. For a moment the old chief bent over it in silence; then raised it slowly and tenderly, addressing it in a soft caressing voice; he pressed it to his lips and prayed to it. He passed it over his arms for a blessing, then over his shoulders and both sides of his head. Again he chanted, moving the pipe in time with his song:

“Pity us! O Sun! O Moon! O Stars!

Mother Earth! Pity us! Pity Us!

Give us food and drink.

Bless our children, may their trails lie straight.”

Mad Wolf passed the pipe to Blessed Weasel, who held it before his face; he prayed long and earnestly with bowed head. Then Blessed Weasel handed the pipe to me. I held it reverently for a moment and passed it to Morning Plume; and thus it went round the lodge, until it came to the women, who also prayed with it, and passed it over the bodies of their little children, believing it would help them, too. People who did not pray, went through the motions of touching the pipe to both sides of their heads and shoulders. Some prayed aloud and others only whispered. But every one who prayed made the sign for receiving a blessing, and, at the same time wished for something.

Finally the pipe came back to Mad Wolf. He arose and danced round the fire with it, while the others sang in unison. He moved the pipe in time with the song, blowing on his medicine whistle, and facing, first towards the east, then south, west and north, following the direction of the sun’s course through the heavens. After he sat down, the pipe was passed around the lodge for every one to smoke.

Then Mad Wolf turned his face towards the Beaver Bundle, which contained the skins of many birds and animals. He prayed solemnly and earnestly: [[40]]

“Hear! Above-Spirits and Underground-Spirits, birds and animals, our secret helpers. Pity us! Pity us! Give us long life! May we live to be old! Listen, Spirits! This young man with the light hair, let him live. Care for him and let no harm come to him from evil men or wild animals. May all his relatives live long and have plenty. Let our young people grow, and our men, women, and children have a full life and be happy.”

At the end of the prayer, all in the lodge united in a long-drawn “Ah-h-h-h-h,” meaning “Yes” or “Amen.”

Then Mad Wolf brought forth a small pouch of red clay, the sacred paint. There was an impressive silence while he prepared it in his hands, and said: “Now is the time for my white son to come.” He motioned to me. I went before him and knelt, while he painted my forehead, chin, and both cheeks, describing a circle and representing the sun’s daily course through the heavens. He took a beaver-skin from his sacred bundle, and passed it down both sides of my head, shoulders, and arms; then ended with an upward sweep, by which he imparted his blessing, and prayed:

“Before you, my Father, Great Sun Chief,

I now adopt this white man as my son.

Let the red paint be like the sunlight,

To protect and bring him health and strength.

May all my people be kind and help him,

That he may be happy, as long as he remains among his Indian brothers and sisters.

My Father, the Sun, keep him from harm,

When he goes again to his home towards the rising sun.

Give him light by day,

That his path may be free from danger.

If he should go into the wrong trail,

Lead him safely back,

That his path may be firm and downhill to old age.”

MAD WOLF PRAYING

MAD WOLF’S SACRED BEAVER BUNDLE

After the prayer, Mad Wolf and Blessed Weasel opened a bundle of buffalo and elk hides, which were spread before the men. Rattles of rawhide, containing small pebbles, were [[41]]also distributed among them for beating on the hides. Mad Wolf handed two of the rattles to me and said: “You are now my son and should take part in the ceremony.” Then kneeling with the Indians, I joined in the chants and in beating time with my rattles on a buffalo hide.

One song we sang represented a porcupine on a hill, watching a beaver at work. The porcupine said: “I will take my bow and arrows and kill you.” But the beaver escaped by swimming under the water. We also sang the song of the war eagle, soaring high over the mountains and at times swooping down for its prey.

At sunset Mad Wolf brought the ceremony to a close with the prayer:

“Father, the Sun! Continue to give us light,

That the leaves and grass may grow.

May our cattle increase, and our children live to be old.

Mother, the Moon! Give us sleep,

That we may rise again like our Father, the Sun.

May our lives be strong.

May our hearts feel good towards our white brothers,

We are all your children.”

After the feast of soup made of service berries and tongue, Mad Wolf made a sign that the ceremony was over; and all rose and filed out of the lodge. [[42]]

[1] For descriptions of Beaver Bundle, see Chapters VII and VIII. [↑]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER VII

MAD WOLF TELLS THE LEGEND OF THE BEAVER BUNDLE

After the ceremony Mad Wolf reclined upon his couch and smoked with half-closed eyes. I sat near him, gazing at the sacred Beaver Bundle, thinking of its mysterious power over the Indian, and its strange superstitions handed down through many generations. There was a long silence; the fire burned low and twilight settled over prairie and camp. Finally Mad Wolf knocked the ashes from his pipe. He signed for me to help him remove the robe which covered the Beaver Bundle. For a moment he allowed me to gaze upon it, when the robe was reverently replaced. Then Mad Wolf said earnestly, as though he were thinking back into the distant past:

“Before the white men came into our country, we lived content, and were happy in our religion. We worshiped the Sun. In those days we had many powerful chiefs and wise men. There were no white men, and we wandered wherever we pleased. We had plenty of food. We killed buffalo in great numbers by driving them over cliffs, and the young men who were good in the buffalo drives were famous.

“The information I have came from wise men of the older generation, and what they told me was true. Never before have I talked in this way to a white man; I have always been afraid to trust them. But I tell you these things, because I believe in you. I feel towards you as a father to a son. I want to hand down my secrets through you.

“I come from a long-lived family. My father’s name was Big Bonnet and that of my mother, Bear Woman. My father [[43]]taught me many things; but he died when I was ten years old. In my youth I was wild, like many others, and I was still a young man when I had a narrow escape from death. When the danger had passed, I felt glad to be alive. I looked up to the Sun and made my first vow. After that I became thoughtful and wanted to do something to help my tribe. The following summer at the Sun Dance, when many people were assembled, I stood before them and made known my vow. Then for the first time I took part in the ceremonies in the sun lodge; and I have continued to do so ever since.

“When my wife was ill, and I thought she was going to die, I made a vow to the Sun, that if she recovered, I would take the Beaver Bundle. White Calf, the head-chief, was then its guardian. It came into his care from an Indian of the Blood tribe. Now if a man makes a vow to take the bundle, the owner cannot keep it. So, when my wife was restored to health, I made known my vow. I had to make payment to White Calf in many things—horses, robes, and blankets. But my friends and relatives helped. These people now own shares in the bundle. Some of them have become beaver men and now take part with me in the ceremony. When I took over the bundle, I had to learn the songs, prayers, dances, and movements, which make up the ceremony. I had to pay for everything, and I found that a man must have a good memory to remember it all. My woman helps me with the bundle, and it is necessary for her to take part in the ceremony. She leads the other women in their songs and dances, and directs them in whatever they do. The bundle is kept at the back of the lodge and should be taken outside only when we move camp.”

Mad Wolf gave me an old medicine sack woven in different colors, containing the two rattles which I had used in the ceremony of adoption, with the instructions to always [[44]]carry them with me, that I might be ready to take part, whenever he gave a ceremony. He also gave me a buckskin bag with seeds of the tobacco, and said:

“Tobacco was first given to us at the same time with the Beaver Bundle by the Chief of the Beavers. These seeds are sacred, because they came from the ‘Dwarf People,’ who look after our crops of tobacco. We try to keep these little people in good humor, by giving them presents of clothes and moccasins and sacks of food, which we leave outside the tepee with the prayer:

“ ‘Dwarf People! Here are clothes and food. We ask you to look after our tobacco crop.’

“No one should ever try to watch the Dwarf People at work. Any one who sees them is sure to die.

“We always give a beaver ceremony in the spring, when the tobacco seeds are planted; also because spring is the time when beavers are accustomed to leave their winter dens. For the crop we select a lonely place near a stream or a river, where the land is fertile. And before planting, we cover the ground with the dung of deer, antelope, and mountain sheep. This makes the tobacco grow fast, because these animals are swift runners. We never use the dung of elk or moose; they walk slowly and might retard its growth. We first hold the beaver ceremony, and then dig up the ground with sharp-pointed sticks. While planting we sing songs and burn sweet grass as incense. And when we have finished every one must go away. No one stays to see the Dwarf People at work, nor returns to look at the crop, until it is time for the tobacco to be gathered. If the season is dry and the tobacco needs rain, I take the otter-skin from the Beaver Bundle and tie it to a pole. It floats in the wind and is sure to bring rain. When the crop is ready I call the people together. We put up a large tepee for a dance and have a feast which lasts four days and four nights. Then the Beaver men pull up the plants. [[45]]We mix the leaves with those of the bearberry (kinnekinnick), and distribute it among the people.

“The owner of a Beaver Bundle has power to forecast the weather; he must keep track of the moons and be able to read signs in the sky. In winter, if the buffalo disappear, and the snow is deep and people starve, the owner brings out the Beaver Bundle and charms the buffalo back to the camp. Any one who is ill or in trouble can make a vow, and the beaver ceremony will be given in their behalf. They must pay the owner of the bundle a horse, robe, or blanket, whatever they are able to give.

“There is much trouble and expense in keeping a Beaver Bundle. But I am happy in giving the ceremony; and it brings good fortune to a family. It makes a man a greater chief, and gives his family a prominent position in the tribe. There are many rules in its care, which bring misfortune if not carefully observed. The sides of the tepee, where the bundle is kept, must never be raised, nor should any of the cooking be done outside the lodge. Food must be given to every one who comes as guest; and, when the owner of the bundle goes into another lodge, he must not change from the place where he first takes his seat. No one should ever pass in front of the beaver man when he is smoking. If he goes for a swim, he must sing a certain song before entering the water. He has power over the water, and must never show fear of water. If he comes to a deep stream, he must cross quickly, and not hesitate or turn away. He must not eat a beaver or strike a dog or kill any of the birds or animals that are represented in the Beaver Bundle. He must not beat his wife without singing first the appropriate song. But if she sings the ‘Defense Song,’ it makes her safe. Otherwise, she cannot escape from the beating, because it would be in vain to run away.” [[46]]

Legend of the Beaver Bundle

“The Beaver Bundle is very old. It came to us in the days when our ancestors used dogs instead of horses for beasts of burden. They had tools and weapons of stone and wore clothes made of animal skins. In those days of long ago lived a poor young man. He wore an old robe badly tanned. The corners were cut off. It had a queer shape, and the people called him Round-Cut-Robe. In the same camp was a chief named Red Horn who had three wives. The youngest was badly treated by her husband and the other two wives. Round-Cut-Robe was her secret lover. He was so poor he did not have a tepee of his own. He lived through the camp, wherever he could find shelter. One day he said to his sweetheart:

“ ‘I shall go to an unknown place, because I am ashamed. I want to have a dream. Perhaps some of the birds or animals may pity me and give me their Sun Power. If I never come back, you will know that I am dead.’

“Round-Cut-Robe went alone over the prairies; no one knew where he went. He had no food and became thin and weak. He prayed to the animals for power; he wanted a dream to guide him. Finally he came to a place in the mountains where the beavers had a lodge, a big pool in a river where they swam and worked. Round-Cut-Robe made a shelter near their den. He stayed there night and day, crying and acting like an unhappy person; he wanted the beavers to pity him. For four days and nights he lay by their lodge, but none of the beavers appeared. Then he cried again and called upon the Under-Water-Spirits. He prayed:

“ ‘O Sun! I put away all that is bad. Moon and Stars, pity me and give me power!’

“Then a small beaver came from the lodge and said: ‘My father invites you.’ He followed the little beaver into their [[47]]lodge, and saw a beaver with his family gathered around. This beaver was white from the snows of many winters, and so large that Round-Cut-Robe knew he was the chief of all the beavers.

“The beaver chief asked why he traveled alone, and the young man said:

“ ‘There is a woman who loves me. I am poor and am trying to get power.’

“Then the old beaver felt sorry for him and invited him to stay in their lodge, saying:

“ ‘If you remain here with us through the winter, we will teach you many wonderful things; and in the spring you can go home again.’

“Round-Cut-Robe was glad to stay in their lodge. When the beavers went out to work, he went along and watched them cut down many trees and bushes for their winter food—birch, poplar, cottonwood, red willow and willow brush. They told him to take back four things into the lodge; and, in the night, when the moon was high, the beaver chief changed them into food for his winter supply—pemmican and ripe berries.

“The beavers closed their lodge when the river began to freeze; but left a hole for air at the top. On the coldest days they kept Round-Cut-Robe warm, by laying their tails across his body. He made friends with them all, but he liked Little Beaver the best. He was the cleverest, and the favorite child of the beaver chief. During the winter the beavers taught Round-Cut-Robe many wonderful things. They gave him the paint, and showed him how to use it to ward off sickness and death. They taught him how to count the moons and gave him the first seeds of the tobacco, showing him how they should be planted with songs and prayers; and they told him about the different herbs and plants, which the Indians have used ever since for eating and healing. [[48]]

“One day Little Beaver said to his friend: ‘Spring will soon come. When the ice breaks up in the river and the trees begin to bud, it will be time for you to go home. But, before you leave our lodge, my father will offer you something to take back with you. Choose only the beaver-gnawed-stick which hangs at the head of his couch. He will not want to part with it. He will try to persuade you to take other things. But if you get that stick, you will become a great chief, because his power goes with it.’

“When the snow had gone and the ice was breaking up in the river, Round-Cut-Robe said it was time for him to go home. The Beaver Chief offered him anything he saw in their lodge to take with him. Then Round-Cut-Robe remembered the advice of his friend Little Beaver and asked for the beaver-gnawed-stick. The Beaver Chief tried to make him choose something else. But at last he gave him the stick and said:

“ ‘With it goes my power with water. If you should ever be in trouble and call upon Little Beaver, he will be your helper.’

“Before Round-Cut-Robe left, the Beaver Chief gave him the Beaver Bundle. He taught him the songs, prayers, and dances that go with the ceremony; and said that, if any one were ill or dying, and a relative made a vow to the bundle, the sick person would be restored to health. The ceremony should be given every new moon, keeping track of the moons with counting-sticks. When seven moons were counted, the winter would be over, and it would be time for the beavers to open their lodge for the summer.

“It was the beginning of spring when Round-Cut-Robe came home. But he did not enter camp at once. He sat on a hill in plain sight until the people saw him and a messenger came out. Then many people came to meet him on the hill, and he told them how he had lived seven moons in the lodge of the beavers. [[49]]

“After Round-Cut-Robe came back, he gathered together the sacred bundle as the Beaver Chief had instructed. He called upon many birds and animals of the prairies and mountains to add their power. And, when the Beaver Bundle was finished, he invited many people to the ceremony. He showed them the way the beavers danced and they heard for the first time the songs and prayers that went with the ceremony.”

Round-Cut-Robe goes to War

“Now in those days the Indians used to have a woman’s dance. The women who danced stood in a circle, and the people who watched were on the outside. If a woman loved a man, she dressed like him and took part in the dance; in that way every one would know. The people had a lively interest in this dance. They liked to stand around, to joke at the women and to guess the names of their secret lovers. If a man saw his wife in the dance, he recognized the costume she wore. The men encouraged their wives in this dance and then the women were not afraid. When it became known that women were free to dress like their sweethearts, they had a good time. They imitated each other and took pride in having side-husbands.

“Soon after Round-Cut-Robe came back, after living with the beavers, the woman’s dance was being held. The people were crowding round and shouting at the dancers. Red Horn, the chief with the three wives, came near. He saw two of his wives in the dance, but the youngest wife was not there. She alone stayed away. Then he found her in his tepee. He taunted her and said:

“ ‘How does it come you don’t dance like the others? Maybe you wait because your lover is a bashful man.’ He said this to make fun of her. And the girl replied:

“ ‘I shall go to the dance. I shall get his clothes.’ So she [[50]]went to Round-Cut-Robe. She dressed herself in his clothes and painted her face as he was accustomed to do. But before she left him to enter the dance, her lover said:

“ ‘All those other women dancers are going to talk before the crowd. When it comes your turn, don’t be afraid. What I tell you to say will come true.’ And then he told her what she must say.

“Then the girl went to the dance and found all the other women in line; she was the last to come. They had finished the first song. Every one stared at her; and they laughed because she was poorly dressed. She had red earth on her cheeks, and wore an old robe that was badly tanned. It had the corners cut off and had a queer shape. Some one in the crowd shouted:

“ ‘Those are the clothes of Round-Cut-Robe. She must be his sweetheart.’

“Then all the people laughed and her friends and relatives were ashamed, because she had a lover who was poor. The head-chief shouted for them to go on with the dance. So the women sang their second song; and after that they made their talks. The crowd called for the poor girl, and she stood up before them. In her hand she held a beaver-gnawed-stick. She said:

“ ‘Listen, men and women! I know my relatives are ashamed of me, but what I tell you now will come true. When the rivers are warm (midsummer) I shall go to war. A river will be high, but deep water cannot stop me. I shall swim across and kill an enemy.’

“Then the crowd laughed. They said: ‘We know that her lover cannot do this. He is poor and has never been to war.’

“After that a war expedition made ready to go south against their enemies, the Snake Indians. Round-Cut-Robe said to his sweetheart: [[51]]

“ ‘I shall go to war with them, and all that you promised will come true.’

“He took no weapons, only his beaver-gnawed-stick. He followed behind the other warriors; he did not go with the rest. They were on the road many nights, and came at last to the Yellowstone River. The Snake Indians were camped on the other side. But the water was high, and they could not cross to fight. Then Round-Cut-Robe went to Little Dog, their war chief, and said:

“ ‘Over there is the head-chief of the Snakes. I shall go across and kill him.’

“But Little Dog laughed at him. He said that the current was swift and he would be drowned. Then Round-Cut-Robe made ready. He tied up his long hair and thrust into it a stone knife. He sang his beaver song and prayed to Little Beaver for help. Holding the beaver-gnawed-stick in his mouth, he struck the water like a beaver and dove. Halfway across, he came up and sang his beaver song. Again he dove and swam under water, until he came to the other shore; and then he stood up, holding the beaver stick in his mouth. The head-chief of the Snakes saw him coming. He sang his war song and ran into the water. He threw his long spear at Round-Cut-Robe. But it struck the beaver stick, and did him no harm.

“Then Round-Cut-Robe seized the spear and killed that Snake chief; and all the Blackfoot warriors set up a great shout. He swam across the river, pulling after him the body of the dead chief by the hair. He dragged it ashore and took the scalp. He stood with his foot on the head of the Snake and sang his war song. After that Round-Cut-Robe and the Blackfoot warriors started for home. They came to the summit of a hill overlooking the camp. There they waited until a messenger came out. And when the people heard the news of their victory, they ran to tell the sweetheart [[52]]of Round-Cut-Robe. She was out on the hills gathering berries. They said to her:

“ ‘Your lover is now a great chief. It was he who killed the head-chief of the Snakes.’

“And, when the girl heard this, she was so excited she spilled her berries.

“The returning warriors stood together on the hill and sang a song of victory. Then they marched down, with Round-Cut-Robe in the lead, holding up the scalp and spear of the Snake chief. All the people came out from the camp; and the girl, Spilt-Her-Berries, was before all the others. It was she who met the new chief first and gave him a kiss. She sang the song of victory:

“ ‘My lover has killed the Snake chief and all his people mourn for him.’

“Round-Cut-Robe gave the scalp and spear to his sweetheart, saying:

“ ‘Give these to Red Horn, your husband, and say to him: “My lover sends you these, even though he is a poor man. Your other wives have rich lovers, but they have never done anything for you like this.” ’

“Then they paraded round the camp, with Spilt-Her-Berries carrying aloft the scalp and spear of the Snake chief. She took them to the lodge of Red Horn and gave them to him. Then every one was proud to know the girl, and they gave her many presents of fine clothes.

“Red Horn invited the head men of the tribe to his lodge. He gave a big feast and told Spilt-Her-Berries to bring her lover; and after the feast he said:

“ ‘Round-Cut-Robe is now a great chief. He is above all of us. There was a time when I was ashamed to know him. But now I am proud to have him at my feast. He gave me this spear and scalp. In return I give him his sweetheart and my tepee. As for myself, I will move into some other place. [[53]]May this new husband of Spilt-Her-Berries have a long life and good luck!’

“Round-Cut-Robe became head-chief of the tribe and lived to be very old. He kept the Beaver Bundle in his lodge as long as he lived. It was he who taught the Indians how to give the beaver dance.

“That is the origin of the Beaver Bundle.”

When I was leaving Mad Wolf’s lodge to return to my own camp, he said:

“You are now my son and have met my relatives and friends; I want you to come for another ceremony. It is now the moon when the leaves are turning yellow. Come again to my lodge at the next full moon—the time the leaves are falling. I will have White Calf, the head-chief here, and other prominent men, who will help me open the Beaver Bundle. We will select an Indian name for you, and will make you a member of the Blackfoot tribe.” [[54]]

[[Contents]]

CHAPTER VIII

I AM GIVEN AN INDIAN NAME AND MADE A MEMBER OF THE BLACKFOOT TRIBE

On the day of full moon, when the leaves were falling, time appointed by Mad Wolf for the second ceremony and opening of his Beaver Bundle, I rode across the prairie towards his summer camp. It was fine autumn weather, without a cloud in the sky. Eastward over the plains, through a bluish haze, rose the Sweet Grass Hills, like distant islands in an ocean. West stood the main range of the Rocky Mountains, extending into the north and disappearing into the far south, the majestic snow-capped peaks of Rising Wolf and Going-to-the-Sun looming sharp and clear against the deep blue sky.

From the summit of a grassy ridge, I at last looked down upon the camp of Mad Wolf. Smoke was rising from the lodges and bore the fragrant odor of burning cottonwood. Many horses dotted the hills, Indian boys riding to and fro and racing their mounts across the broad meadows. Among the rows of white tepees were groups of Indians in bright-colored clothes. They were seated about their outside fires, playing games and engaged in various occupations of camp life.

I rode to the large decorated tepee of Mad Wolf, and was greeted by my Indian sister, Strikes-on-Both-Sides. She wore a dress of fine deerskin with beaded stripes. Her leggings and moccasins were decorated with colored porcupine quills. She had white shell ear-rings, and necklaces of elk teeth and deer bones. She shouted, “The Light-Haired-One has come back”; then saying to me, “I am glad that you [[55]]are still smiling,” she took my hand and led me inside the lodge to Mad Wolf and her mother, Gives-to-the-Sun.

On the day appointed for the Beaver Ceremony, the chief’s family rose before sunrise to cook food for the feast and prepare for many visitors. They made ready a kettle of service-berry soup and tongues; also dried meat mixed with wild cherries, and dried bear-berry leaves for smoking. I helped in the feast with a supply of raisins and fresh meat, dried berries, and a roll of strong Hudson Bay tobacco, which they liked to smoke mixed with bear-berry leaves. I also gave a blanket with colored stripes. It was looked upon as my offering to the Beaver Bundle; so during the ceremony it lay under the Bundle.

When the sun was high over the eastern horizon, the guests began to arrive. The head men of the tribe came with their families: White Calf, the head-chief; White Grass, a judge and medicine man; Heavy Breast, Middle Calf, Medicine Wolf, Elk Chief, Bear Child; Ear-Rings, a doctor and medicine man; and Double Runner. The tepee was filled to the door with eleven men, seventeen women and ten children. Mad Wolf as director of the ceremony, sat at the back and in the center. The men were on his left, the women and children on his right. The beaver men had seats in the front row. Beside Mad Wolf was White Calf, the head-chief, then White Grass, the medicine man, who helped him in conducting the ceremony. I was next to Maka, an Indian of unusual appearance. He was short and stout with a large head which was crowned with a heavy mass of hair.

While they were waiting for the ceremony to begin, Mad Wolf said to White Calf, so that all in the lodge could hear:

“Because you are my friend, I ask you to make the choice of a name for my white son.” After that, the venerable chief sat in silence for a while, his head bowed and eyes closed, trying to think of a suitable name. [[56]]

In the meantime, Middle Calf mixed the tobacco and filled the pipes; he had charge of the smoking outfit, while Bear Child looked after the incense of sweet grass.

The ceremony began by Bear Child taking a forked stick and selecting a live coal from the fire. He laid it on the ground in front of Mad Wolf, who placed upon it dried sweet grass. And the rising smoke soon filled the tepee with incense. Mad Wolf held up his right hand to command attention; then swaying his body to and fro, he chanted:

“I am the Morning Star, child of Sun and Moon,

My power is very strong.”

He held both hands in the smoke, and, placing them upon the sacred bundle, sang a chant to the Sun. Then he raised his hands from the bundle and laid them upon his breast—the sign that Sun Power was thus communicated.

The Beaver Bundle lay at the back of the tepee, between Mad Wolf and his wife. It had a wrapper of elkskin painted red; and the tie strings were also of elkskin. To the outside were attached sacred implements—a long pipe, digging stick, and a set of smudge sticks.

During the ceremony of opening the bundle, the outside articles were removed first. And for this the four principals, Mad Wolf, White Calf and their wives, Gives-to-the-Sun and Catches-Two-Horses, chanted in unison, while the two women untied the strings and loosened the smudge sticks. The four together placed their hands upon the sacred sticks and held them in the sweet smoke. Then, each held a stick in imitation of beavers carrying branches of trees. They extended their arms together, with hands raised and parallel—the Indian sign for beaver den—and prayed in unison to the spirit of the beaver:

“Pity us! Give us your wisdom and cunning.

May we live to be old.

May we always have plenty of food.”

[[57]]

Buffalo hides were next unrolled and spread upon the ground in front of the beaver men during the chant:

“The buffalo bull stays in the mountains.

He comes down to the plains.

The mountains are his medicine.”