diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-20 10:21:04 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-20 10:21:04 -0800 |
| commit | 2be21506f6efb84acfc03e4358cd84e555796c5a (patch) | |
| tree | 93f22267a3fb3d7f3df3cb46d212e549c841156c /75161-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '75161-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/75161-h.htm | 11368 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 423211 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_008fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 66258 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_009fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 134005 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_030fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 113898 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_031fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 149313 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_042fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 126491 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_043fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 166840 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_054fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 201251 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_055fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 115257 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_072fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 93097 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_073fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 189580 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_080fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 181769 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_081fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 141138 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_098fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 111494 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_099fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 205618 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_116fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 56627 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_122fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 128146 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_123fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 185225 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_138fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 202883 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_139fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 218752 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_152fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 112448 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_153fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 104634 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_174fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 247201 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_175fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 125434 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_186fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 214225 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_187fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 98982 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_200fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 72357 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_201fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 146222 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_212fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 144415 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_213fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 134737 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_226fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 75255 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_236fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 155954 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_237fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 144126 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_260fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 169082 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_261fp.jpg | bin | 0 -> 123316 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg | bin | 0 -> 91546 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_icon.jpg | bin | 0 -> 4136 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 75161-h/images/i_icon2.jpg | bin | 0 -> 18647 bytes |
39 files changed, 11368 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/75161-h/75161-h.htm b/75161-h/75161-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0763a54 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/75161-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11368 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The book of the American Indian | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + line-height: 1.4em; + font-weight: normal; +} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: .5em;} +h2 {font-size: 120%; line-height: 1.7em;} +h3 {font-size: 120%; margin-top: 1em;} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +.p1 {margin-top: 1em;} +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + +.p1b {margin-bottom: 1em;} +.p4b {margin-bottom: 4em;} +.p6b {margin-bottom: 6em;} + +.noindent {text-indent: 0em;} +.nowrap {white-space: nowrap;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +.pfs300 {font-size: 300%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.pfs240 {font-size: 240%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.pfs150 {font-size: 150%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.pfs120 {font-size: 120%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.pfs100 {font-size: 100%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.pfs90 {font-size: 90%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.pfs80 {font-size: 80%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; word-spacing: 0.3em;} + +.fs70 {font-size: 70%; font-style: normal;} +.fs120 {font-size: 120%; font-style: normal;} +.fs135 {font-size: 135%; font-style: normal;} +.fs150 {font-size: 150%; font-style: normal;} + +.fvnormal {font-variant: normal;} + + +/* for horizontal lines */ +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 1.5em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 30%; margin-left: 35%; margin-right: 35%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} + +hr.r20a {width: 20%; margin-left: 40%; margin-right: 40%; + margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +.x-ebookmaker hr.chap {width: 0%; display: none;} + + +/* for inserting info from TN and Errata changes */ +.corr { + text-decoration: none; + border-bottom: thin dashed blue;} + +.x-ebookmaker .corr { + text-decoration: none; + border-bottom: none;} + + +/* for different code on screen versus handhelds */ +.screenonly { display: block; } + +.x-ebookmaker .screenonly { display: none; } + + +/* for non-image large letter dropcaps */ +p.drop-capy {text-indent: -.6em;} + +p.drop-capy:first-letter { + float: left; + margin: .05em .2em 0em .2em; + font-size: 400%; + line-height: 0.7em; + clear: both; +} + +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-capy {text-indent: 0em;} + +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-capy:first-letter { + float: none; + margin: 0; + font-size: 100%;} + + +/* for tables */ +table {margin: 1.5em auto 1.5em auto;} + +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } + +td {padding: .2em .3em 0 .3em;} + +.tdl {text-align: left; padding-left: 1.5em; text-indent: -1em;} +.tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} +.tdc {text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;} +.tdlx {text-align: left; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: top;} + +.tdrb {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + +.wd10 {width: 10%;} +.wd70 {width: 70%;} + + +/* for spacing */ +.pad1 {padding-left: 1em;} +.pad3 {padding-left: 3em;} +.pad4 {padding-left: 4em;} + + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + color: #A9A9A9; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: .5em; +} + + +/* blockquote (/# #/) */ +.blockquot { margin: 1em 5% .5em 5%; font-size: 90%;} +.blockquot p {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: 1em;} + +.blockquotx { margin: .4em 0 0 0; font-size: 70%; line-height: 1.2em;} +.blockquotx p {padding-left: 0em; text-indent: 0em;} + + +/* general placement and presentation */ +.box {margin: 1em 10% 1em 10%; padding: 1em; border: solid medium;} + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} + +.right {text-align: right; margin-right: 1em;} +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.wsp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.lsp {letter-spacing: 0.1em;} +.lht1 {line-height: 1.1em;} + +.caption-r {text-align: center; margin: 1em 5% 1em 50%; line-height: .9em; + display: inline-block; font-size: 110%} + +.caption-l {text-align: center; margin: 1em 50% 1em 5%; line-height: .9em; + display: inline-block; font-size: 110%} + + +/* Images */ +img { + border: none; + max-width: 100%; + height: auto;} + +img.w100 {width: 100%; padding-top: 1em;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%;} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%;} + +.x-ebookmaker .figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + text-align: center; + margin-right: .2em; } + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%;} + +.x-ebookmaker .figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + text-align: center; + margin-left: .2em; } + + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 3em; + padding-bottom: 1em;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 90%;} +.footnote p {text-indent: 0em;} +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry {display: inline-block; font-size: 80%} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .indentq {text-indent: -3.5em;} + +/* large inline blocks don't split well on paged devices */ +.x-ebookmaker .poetry {display: block; margin-left: 4.5em;} + + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif;} + +.transnote p {text-indent: 0em;} + + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} +.poetry .indent20 {text-indent: 8em;} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowe12 {width: 12em;} +.illowe2 {width: 2em;} +.illowp100 {width: 100%;} +.illowp75 {width: 75%;} +.illowp70 {width: 70%;} + + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75161 ***</div> + +<div class="transnote"> +<p><strong>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE</strong></p> + +<p>Footnote anchors are denoted by <span class="fnanchor">[number]</span>, +and the footnotes have been placed at the end of the book.</p> + +<p>Some minor changes to the text are noted at the <a href="#TN">end of the book.</a> +<span class="screenonly">These are indicated by a <ins class="corr">dashed blue</ins> underline.</span></p> +</div> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp70" id="cover" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" title="Original cover" alt="Original cover"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h1> +THE BOOK OF THE<br> +AMERICAN INDIAN</h1> + +<figure class="figcenter illowe2" id="i_icon"> + <img class="p6b w100" src="images/i_icon.jpg" alt="decorative icon"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<figure class="figcenter illowp75" id="i_frontispiece"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="Scout seated on horse"> +<figcaption class="caption-l">An Indian Scout<br> + +<span class="fs70"><i>Illustration from</i><br> +A BUNCH OF BUCKSKINS<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published by</i><br> +<span class="smcap">R. H. Russell</span>, <i>1901</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p class="p1 pfs300"> +THE BOOK OF THE<br> +AMERICAN INDIAN</p> + +<p class="p2 pfs120">Written by</p> +<p class="pfs150">HAMLIN GARLAND</p> +<p class="pfs80"><i>Member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters</i></p> + +<p class="p2 pfs100">Pictured by</p> +<p class="pfs120">FREDERIC REMINGTON</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowe12" id="i_icon2"> + <img class="p2 w100" src="images/i_icon2.jpg" alt="Indian on galloping horse"> +</figure> + +<p class="p4 pfs120 wsp">Harper & Brothers <i>Publishers</i></p> +<p class="pfs100 wsp">New York and London</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p class="p6 center"> +THE BOOK OF THE<br> +AMERICAN INDIAN</p> +<hr class="r20a"> +<p class="center"> +Copyright, 1923<br> +By Hamlin Garland<br> +Printed in the U.S.A.</p> +<hr class="r20a"> + + +<hr class="p6 chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak fs135" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> + +<table class="autotable wd70 smcap"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl wd10"></td> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr fs70">PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#WAHIAHA">Wahiah—A Spartan Mother</a></td> +<td class="tdrb">1</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#NISTINA">Nistina</a></td> +<td class="tdr">15</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#THE_IRON_KHIVA">The Iron Khiva</a></td> +<td class="tdr">25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#THE_NEW_MEDICINE_HOUSE">The New Medicine House</a></td> +<td class="tdr">39</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#RISING_WOLFGHOST_DANCER">Rising Wolf—Ghost Dancer</a></td> +<td class="tdr">51</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#THE_RIVERS_WARNING">The River’s Warning</a></td> +<td class="tdr">67</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#LONE_WOLFS_OLD_GUARD">Lone Wolf’s Old Guard</a></td> +<td class="tdr">77</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#BIG_MOGGASEN">Big Moggasen</a></td> +<td class="tdr">87</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#THE_STORM-CHILD">The Storm-Child</a></td> +<td class="tdr">95</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#THE_BLOOD_LUST">The Blood Lust</a></td> +<td class="tdr">105</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#THE_REMORSE_OF_WAUMDISAPA">The Remorse of Waumdisapa</a></td> +<td class="tdr">113</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#A_DECREE_OF_COUNCIL">A Decree of Council</a></td> +<td class="tdr">121</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#DRIFTING_CRANE">Drifting Crane</a></td> +<td class="tdr">127</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#THE_STORY_OF_HOWLING_WOLF">The Story of Howling Wolf</a></td> +<td class="tdr">135</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><a href="#THE_SILENT_EATERS">The Silent Eaters</a></td> +<td class="tdr">159</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_I">I.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">The Beginnings of Power</td> +<td class="tdr">159</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_II">II.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">Policy and Council</td> +<td class="tdr">168</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_III">III.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">The Battle of the Big Horn</td> +<td class="tdr">173</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_IV">IV.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">Dark Days of Winter</td> +<td class="tdr">189</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_V">V.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">The Chief Surrenders Himself</td> +<td class="tdr">195</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_VI">VI.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">In Captivity</td> +<td class="tdr">204</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_VII">VII.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">He Opposed All Treaties</td> +<td class="tdr">215</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_VIII">VIII.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">The Return of the Spirits</td> +<td class="tdr">219</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_IX">IX.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">The Message of Kicking Bear</td> +<td class="tdr">226</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_X">X.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">The Dance Begins</td> +<td class="tdr">232</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_XI">XI.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">The Breaking of the Peace Pipe</td> +<td class="tdr">239</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_XII">XII.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">The Chief Proposes a Test</td> +<td class="tdr">252</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_XIII">XIII.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">The Chief Plans a Journey</td> +<td class="tdr">264</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdlx"><a href="#SE_XIV">XIV.</a></td> +<td class="tdl">The Death of the Chief</td> +<td class="tdr">270</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<h2 class="nobreak fs135" id="LIST_OF_ILLUS">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<table class="autotable wd70 smcap"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">An Indian Scout</td> +<td class="tdr fvnormal" colspan="2"><i><a href="#i_frontispiece">Frontis.</a></i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">A Kiowa Maiden</td> +<td class="tdc nowrap fvnormal"><i>Facing p.</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_008fp">8</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">The Red Man’s Parcel Post</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_009fp">9</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">A Cow-puncher Visiting an Indian Village</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_030fp">30</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">An Apache Indian</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_031fp">31</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">At an Apache Indian Agency</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_042fp">42</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">The Romantic Adventure of Old Sun’s Wife</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_043fp">43</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">The Medicine Man’s Signal</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_054fp">54</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">The Ghost Dance</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_055fp">55</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">On an Indian Reservation</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_072fp">72</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">In a Stiff Current</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_073fp">73</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">A Modern Comanche Indian</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_080fp">80</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">A Band of Piegan Indians in the Mountains</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_081fp">81</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Footprints in the Snow</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_098fp">98</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Geronimo and His Band Returning from a Raid in Mexico</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_099fp">99</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">An Indian Brave</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_116fp">116</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">In an Indian Camp</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_122fp">122</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Crow Indians Firing into the Agency</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_123fp">123</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">An Indian Trapper</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_138fp">138</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">A Questionable Companionship</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_139fp">139</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">The Arrest of the Scout</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_152fp">152</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">An Indian Duel</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_153fp">153</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Cheyenne Scouts Patrolling the Big Timber of the North Canadian, Oklahoma</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_174fp">174</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Indians Reconnoitering from a Mountain-top</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_175fp">175</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">The Brave Cheyennes Were Running Through the Frosted Hills</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_186fp">186</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Campaigning in Winter</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_187fp">187</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Indians as Soldiers</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_200fp">200</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">An Indian Dream</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_201fp">201</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Burning the Range</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_212fp">212</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">An Old-time Northern Plains Indian</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_213fp">213</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">An Indian Chief</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_226fp">226</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">A Fantasy from the Pony War Dance</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_236fp">236</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Chis-Chis-Chash Scout on the Flanks</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_237fp">237</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Scouts</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_260fp">260</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">On the Little Big Horn</td> +<td class="tdc">”</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_261fp">261</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">WAHIAH—A SPARTAN MOTHER</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[Pg 1]</span></p> +<p class="p2 pfs240" id="THE_BOOK">THE BOOK OF THE<br> +AMERICAN INDIAN</p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="WAHIAHA">WAHIAH—A SPARTAN MOTHER</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="drop-capy">From a casual point of view the Indian Agency at Darlington +was dull and commonplace if not actually dispiriting. +The sun blazed hot in the roadway which ran between the +licensed shops, the office and the issue house. Lean dogs were +slinking about. A few bedraggled red women with shawls over +their heads stood talking softly together on the trader’s porch. A +group of warriors in the shade of the blacksmith shop were discussing +some ancient campaign, while now and then a clerk in shirt sleeves, +his hands full of papers, moved across the plaza, his step quickened +by the sting of the sun.</p> + +<p>A little back from the street the school building sat bleakly +exposed on the sod, flanked on each side by still more inhospitable +dormitories—all humming with unseen life. Across the river—the +one grateful, gracious touch of all—the yellowed conical tents of the +Cheyennes rose amidst green willows, and far beyond, on the beautiful +velvet green of the prairies, their untethered ponies fed.</p> + +<p>To the careless observer this village was lonely, repulsive; to the +sympathetic mind it was a place of drama, for there the passions, +prejudices, ancestral loves and hates of two races met and clashed.</p> + +<p>There the man of the polished stone age was trying, piteously, +tragically trying, to take on the manner of life of a race ten thousand +years in advance of him, and there a few devoted Quakers were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span> +attempting to lead the nomads into the ways of the people of the +plow.</p> + +<p>The Cheyennes, at the time practically military prisoners, had +given but a nominal consent to the education of their children, and +many individuals openly opposed it. For the most part the pupils +in the school wore buckskin shirts and were the wastrels and orphans +of the tribe, neglected and stupid. The fine, bold sons of the +principal chiefs would not surrender their freedom, and their contempt +for those who did was expressed in the cry, “Ahyah! Whiteman, +Whiteman!”</p> + +<p>It will appear that the problem before the teacher of the Cheyenne +and Arapahoe school in those days was not merely to govern +the pupils in the schoolroom, but to induce men like Tomacham +and Tontonava to send their own brave and handsome sons. With +great native wit and shrewdness, Seger, the newly appointed +master, said to the agent: “Our point of attack is the child. +The red man’s love for his offspring is very deep. We must also +convince the mothers. They are the conservative forces.”</p> + +<p>The young teacher, Seger, had already won many friends among +the chief men by his unfailing helpfulness as well as sympathy with +their ways, and not content with the few pupils he had, he went +out among the tepees pleading the cause of education with the +fathers in the hearing of the mothers.</p> + +<p>The old men listened gravely and for the most part courteously—never +interrupting, weighing each word as it fell. Some of them +admitted the reasonableness of his plea. “We think you are telling +us the truth,” they said, “but our hearts will not let us go with you +on the road. We love the old things. We do not like these new +things. We despise the white man’s clothing—we do not want our +sons to go crop-haired like a black man. We have left the warpath—never +to go back to it. What is before us we do not know—but +we are not yet ready to give our children into your hands.” And +the women sitting near applauded and said, “Aye, aye!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p> + +<p>Seger argued: “What will you do? The buffaloes are gone. +The elk and deer are going. Your sons cannot live by hunting—they +must live as the white man lives—by tilling the earth.”</p> + +<p>“All that is strange,” darkly answered Tomacham. “We are +as the Great Spirit made us. We cannot change. If the Great One +wished us to be white why did He not make us so in the first +place?”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Seger’s words sank deep in the ears of Tomacham +and Wahiah, his wife, and one day the chief appeared at the door +of the school bringing his son Atokan, a splendid young lad of +fourteen—handsome as a picture of Hiawatha, with his fringed +leggins, beaded shirt, shining, braided hair and painted cheeks. +Behind—a long way back—came the mother.</p> + +<p>“You see I have brought my son,” began the chief after Seger’s +delighted greeting.</p> + +<p>“It is good. He will make a fine man.”</p> + +<p>The chief’s face clouded. “I do not bring him to become like +these,” and he pointed at a couple of stupid, crop-haired boys who +stood gaping at him. “I bring my son to learn to read and write, +but he must not be clipped and put into white man’s clothing. He +can follow your ways without losing his hair. Our way of dress +pleases us better.”</p> + +<p>Seger was obstinate. “I will not take him. If he comes he must +do as the rest—and he must obey me!”</p> + +<p>The old chief stood in silence looking on his son, whose grace +and dignity appealed even to the teacher’s unæsthetic mind, and +his eyes grew dim with prophetic sadness. The mother drew near, +and Tomacham turned and spoke to her and told her what the +white man said.</p> + +<p>“No, no!” she wailed.</p> + +<p>Then Tomacham was resolved: “No, my friend, I cannot do it. +Let me have him one more day. I cannot bear to leave him to +become a white man to-day. See, there is his mother, waiting,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> +weeping; let him be a small, red brave till to-morrow. I have given +my word; I will bring him.”</p> + +<p>With some understanding of the chief’s ache in the heart Seger +consented, and Tomacham let his young warrior stay home for one +more day of the old kind.</p> + +<p>What sorrowful ceremonies took place in that well-smoked tepee +Seger did not know, but next day the chief came again; he was +very sorrowful and very tender, but the boy’s face was sullen, his +head drooping.</p> + +<p>Slowly the father said: “Friend, I have thought all night of +what you have said to me. The mother is singing a sad song in our +tepee, but we have decided. We give our boy into your hands; +teach him the road.”</p> + +<p>And with a quiet word to his son the heroic red man turned and +went away to hide his quivering lips. It was as if he had given his +son to an alien tribe, never to see him again.</p> + +<p>When the mother saw her boy next day she burst into a moan +of resentful pain. All his wild, free grace was gone. His scissored +hair was grotesque. His clumsy gray coat pinched his shoulders, +his trousers were absurdly short, and his boots hard and clumsy. +He slunk into the circle of the fire like a whipped dog and would not +lift his head even in reply to questions. Tomacham smoked hard to +keep back the tears, but his mind was made up, his word given. +“We are on the road—we cannot turn back,” he said, though it +cut him to the heart to see his eaglet become a barnyard fowl.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>By this time Seger had reduced the school to something like +order, and the pupils were learning fast; but truancy continued to +render his afternoon sessions farcical, for as soon as they had eaten +their midday meal many of the children ran away to the camp +across the river and there remained the entire afternoon. Others +paid no heed to the bell, but played on till weary before returning<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> +to the school. In all this rebellion Atokan was a leader, and Seger, +after meditating long, determined on a form of discipline which +might have appalled the commander of a regiment of cavalry. He +determined to apply the rod.</p> + +<p>Now this may seem a small thing, but it was not; it was a very +momentous thing. It was indeed the most dangerous announcement +he could make to a warlike tribe chafing under restraint, for +red people are most affectionate parents and very seldom lay +violent hands upon their children or even speak harshly to them. +Up to this time no white man had ever punished a red child, and +when Seger spoke to the agent about it he got no help; on the +contrary, the old Quaker said:</p> + +<p>“Friend Seger, I think thee a very rash young man and I fear +thee will involve us all in a bloody outbreak.” Then he added, +“Can’t thee devise something else?”</p> + +<p>“I must have discipline,” argued Seger. “I can’t have my +pupils making a monkey of me. There are only four or five that need +welting, and if you give me leave to go ahead I’ll make ’em toe the +mark; otherwise, I’ll resign.”</p> + +<p>“Thee can go ahead,” testily exclaimed the agent. “But thee +sees how we are situated. We have no troops in call. Thee knows, +also, that I do not approve of force; and yet,” he added, in reflection, +“we have made a failure of the school—thee alone seems to +have any control of the pupils. It is not for me to criticize. Proceed +on thy way, but I will not be responsible for any trouble thee +may bring upon thyself.”</p> + +<p>“I will take all that comes,” responded Seger—who had been +trained in the school of the Civil War, “and I will not involve +you in any outbreak.”</p> + +<p>That night Seger made his announcement: “Hereafter every +scholar must obey my bell—and return to the schoolroom promptly. +Those who do not will be whipped.”</p> + +<p>The children looked at him as if he had gone crazy.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span></p> + +<p>He went on: “Go home and tell your people. Ask them to think +it over—but remember to be here at sunset, and after this every +bell must be obeyed instantly.”</p> + +<p>The children ran at once to the camp, and the news spread like +some invisible vapor, and soon every soul in the entire agency, red +and white alike, was athrill with excitement. The half-breeds +(notoriously timorous) hastened to warn the intrepid schoolmaster: +“Don’t do that. They will kill you.” The old scouts and squaw-men +followed: “Young feller, you couldn’t dig out of the box a +nastier job—you better drop it right now and skip.”</p> + +<p>“I am going to have discipline,” said Seger, “or tan the jacket +of every boy I’ve got.”</p> + +<p>Soon after this he met Tomacham and Tontonava, both men of +great influence. After greeting him courteously Tomacham said:</p> + +<p>“I hear that you said you were going to whip our children. Is +this true?”</p> + +<p>“It is!” answered Seger, curtly.</p> + +<p>“That is very wrong and very foolish,” argued Tontonava. +“We did not give our children into your care to be smitten with +rods as the soldiers whip mules.”</p> + +<p>“If the children act like mules I will whip them,” persisted Seger. +“I punish only bad children—I do not beat good ones.”</p> + +<p>“It is not our custom to strike our children. Do you think we +will permit white men to do so?” asked Tontonava, breathing hard.</p> + +<p>Assuming an air of great and solemn deliberation, Seger said, +using the sign language to enforce his words: “Go home and think +of this. The Great Father has built this schoolhouse for your children. +He has given them warm clothing and good food. He has given +them beds to sleep in and a doctor to help them when they are sick. +Now listen. Miokany is speaking. So long as they enjoy all these +things they are bound to obey me. They must obey me, their +teacher,” and he turned and left the two old men standing there, +amazed and indignant.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span></p> + +<p>That night all the camps were filled with a discussion of this +wondrous thing. Seger’s threat was taken up formally by the men in +council and informally by the women. It was pivotal, this question +of punishment—it marked their final subjection to the white man.</p> + +<p>“If we lose our children, then surely we are doomed to extinction,” +Tomacham said.</p> + +<p>“Let us fight!” cried fierce Unko. “What is the use of sitting +here like chained wolves till we starve and die? Let us go out against +this white man and perish gloriously.” And a few applauded him.</p> + +<p>But the graver men counseled patience and peace.</p> + +<p>“We do not fear death—but we do not wish to be bound and sent +away into the mysterious hot lands where our brethren languish.”</p> + +<p>“Then let us go to the school and frighten ‘Johnny Smoker’ so +that he will not dare to whip any child,” cried Unko.</p> + +<p>To this Tomacham answered: “‘Johnny Smoker’ is my friend. +I do not wish to harm him. Let us see him again and counsel with +him.”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Unko. “Let us face him and command him +to let our children alone. If he strikes my child he must die.”</p> + +<p>And to this many of the women cried out in piercing nasal tones: +“Ah, that is good—do that!”</p> + +<p>But Wahiah, the mother of Atokan, looked at the ground and +remained silent.</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>When the pupils next assembled they were as demure as quails, +and Seger knew that they had been warned by their parents not to +incur their teacher’s displeasure; but Atokan looked aside, his +proud head lifted. Beside him sat a fine boy, two years younger, +son of Unko, and it was plain that they were both ready to rebel.</p> + +<p>The master recognized the gravity of the moment. If he did +not punish, according to his word, his pupils would despise him, his +discipline was at an end; and to stripe the backs of these high-spirited<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> +lads was to invite death—that he knew better than any +white man could tell him. To provoke an outbreak would be a +colossal crime, and yet he was a stubborn little man—persistent as +a bulldog—capable of sacrificing himself in working out a theory. +When a friendly half-breed came late that night and warned him +that the camp was in debate whether to kill him or not he merely +said: “You tell them I am doing the will of the Great Father at +Washington and I am not afraid. What they do to me will fly to +Washington as the light flies, and the soldiers will come back as +swiftly.”</p> + +<p>Immediately after school opened next morning several of the +parents of the children came quickly in and took seats, as they were +accustomed to do, along the back wall behind the pupils. They +were graver than usual—but otherwise gave no sign of anger and +remained decorously quiet. Among them was Wahiah.</p> + +<p>The master went on with firm voice and ready smile with the +morning’s work, well aware that the test of his authority would +come after intermission, when he rang the bell to recall his little +squad to their studies.</p> + +<p>As the children ran out to play all the old people followed and +took seats in the shade of the building, silent and watchful. The +assistant teacher, a brave little woman, was white with excitement +as Seger took the bell some ten minutes later and went to the door +personally to give the signal for return. He rang as cheerily as if he +were calling to a feast, but many of the employees shuddered as if +it were their death knell.</p> + +<p>The larger number of the children came scurrying, eager to show +their obedience, but a squad of five or six of the boys remained +where they were, as if the sound of the bell had not reached them. +Seger rang again and called personally: “Come, boys, time to work.”</p> + +<p>At this three others broke away from the rebellious group and +came slowly toward him, but Atokan and the son of Unko turned +toward the river.</p> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<figure class="figleft illowp70" id="i_008fp" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_008fp.jpg" alt="Young Indian woman"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-r">A Kiowa Maiden<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"> +<i>That Indian parents are very proud of their children’s +progress is evidenced by the eagerness with which they send +their sons and daughters to the schools established by the +Government on the different Indian reservations. The +Kiowa maiden here pictured is one of the many Indian +girls and boys who more and more are availing themselves +of the opportunity to obtain an education and thus fit +themselves to take their places in civilized society.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +THE WEST FROM A CAR WINDOW<br> +<i>by</i> Richard Harding Davis<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Weekly</span>, <i>May 14, 1892</i></span> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_009fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_009fp.jpg" alt="A Stage coach"> +<figcaption class="caption-l">The Red Man’s Parcel Post<br> +<br> +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +A PILGRIM ON THE GILA<br> +<i>by</i> Owen Wister<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>November, 1895</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span></p> + +<p>Seger made a pleasant little speech to the obedient ones and +ended: “I know we are to be good friends in the future as we have +been in the past,” but a little shiver passed over the school as he went +out, stern faced and resolute, to recall the truants.</p> + +<p>The wife of Unko rose and scuttled away to give the alarm, but +Wahiah stood with her robe drawn over her lips as if in struggle to +repress a cry. Tomacham smoked on quietly, waiting the issue.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Atokan strolled along the path, shooting his arrow +at small objects on the ground, apparently oblivious of his teacher’s +hastening footsteps.</p> + +<p>When within hearing Seger called: “You know the rules, +Atokan. Why do you not answer the bell?”</p> + +<p>Atokan made no reply, and Seger was tempted to lay hands upon +him; but to do this would involve a smart chase, and, besides, he +was too wise to seem to be angry. He followed the boys, pleading +with them, till Atokan turned and said: “You go away. Bimeby +I come.”</p> + +<p>“You must come now!”</p> + +<p>“You going whip me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!”</p> + +<p>“Then I don’t come.”</p> + +<p>After half an hour of this humiliating parley Seger had the +dubious satisfaction of seeing the truant set his face toward the +schoolroom—for Atokan knew his father and mother were waiting, +and into his heart came the desire to test “Johnny Smoker’s” +courage. With insolent slowness he led the way past the group of +his elders, on into the schoolroom, followed by twenty-five or thirty +Cheyennes and Arapahoes. Some of the men were armed and all +were stern. The women’s faces were both sour and sad. It was +plain that something beside brute force must be employed in dealing +with the situation. Seger knew these people. Turning suddenly to +Tomacham he asked:</p> + +<p>“My friend, what do you send your children to school for?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span></p> + +<p>Taken by surprise, the chief hesitated. “To learn to read and +write and speak like the white man.”</p> + +<p>“What do you think I am here for?”</p> + +<p>“To show our children the way,” he reluctantly answered. +“But not to punish them.”</p> + +<p>Seger was addressing the women through the chief. “Do you +think I can teach your children if they are out shooting birds?”</p> + +<p>“No, I do not think so.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think it would be honest if I took pay for teaching +your children and let them run to camp all the time?”</p> + +<p>“No, I think it is necessary that the children be kept in school—but +you must not whip them.”</p> + +<p>Seger faced Unko. “What kind of a person do you want to have +teach your children—a liar?”</p> + +<p>“No, a liar is bad for them.”</p> + +<p>Unko saw the drift of Seger’s remarks, and he moved about +uneasily, the butt of his pistol showing from beneath his blanket.</p> + +<p>Seger then said in a loud voice, “I am not a liar!” and repeated +this in signs. “I told your children I would whip them if they did +not obey me, and now I am going to do it! You know me; I do not +say ‘I am your friend,’ and then work evil to your children. Jack, +come here!” A little boy rose slowly and came and stood beside +his teacher, who went on: “This is an orphan. He was dying in +his grandmother’s tepee when I went to him. I took him—I +nursed him—I sat by his bed many nights when you were asleep. +Jennie,” he called again, “you come to me!” A shy little girl with +scarred face tiptoed to her beloved teacher. “This one came to me +so covered with sores that she was terrible to see. I washed her—she +was almost blind. I made her see. I have done these things +many times. There is not a child here that has not been helped by +me. I am not boasting—this is my duty, it is the work the Great +Father has told me to do. It is my work also to make your children +obey me. I am the friend of all red men. I have eaten in your lodges.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span> +I have been in council with you. I am not a liar. It is my duty to +whip disobedient children, and I will do it. Atokan, come up here!”</p> + +<p>The boy rose and came forward, a smoldering fire in his black +eyes. As Seger laid a hand on his shoulder and took up his whip +Wahiah uttered a shuddering moan. A sinister stir went through the +room. The white man’s dominion was about to be put to the final +test. In Wahiah’s heart a mighty struggle was in progress. Love +and pride in her son demanded that she put an end to the whipping, +but her sense of justice, her love for Seger and her conviction that +the boy was wrong kept her fixed and silent, though her lips quivered +and the tears ran down her face. Tomacham’s broad breast +heaved with passion, but he, too, remained silent.</p> + +<p>“Will you obey me?” asked the master.</p> + +<p>Receiving no answer, he took firm hold of Atokan’s collar and +addressed the spectators. “Little Unko is younger than Atokan. +He was led away by him. I will therefore give both whippings to +Atokan,” and he brought the hissing withe down over the boy’s +shoulders. Again a moan of involuntary protest went through the +room. Never before had a white man struck a Cheyenne child and +remained unpunished for his temerity—and no other man, not even +the agent himself, could have struck that blow and survived the +wrath of Tomacham.</p> + +<p>Atokan seized the lapel of his coat in his teeth, and bit hard in +order to stifle any moan of pain the sting of the whip might wring from +him. His was the heart of a warrior, for, though the whip fell hissing +with speed he uttered no cry, and when the rod was worn to a fragment +he remained silent as a statue, refusing to answer a single word.</p> + +<p>Seger, convinced that the punishment was a failure unless it +conquered the culprit, caught up another willow withe and wore it +out upon him, to no effect—for, casting a glance at the pieces lying +on the floor, the boy’s lips curled in a smile of disdain as if to say: +“I am a warrior; I do not cry!”</p> + +<p>Realizing his failure, Seger caught him with a wrestler’s twist,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span> +threw him across his knee, and beat him with the flat of his hand. +The suddenness of this attack, the shame of the attitude, added to +the pain he was already suffering, broke the boy’s proud spirit. He +burst into loud lamentation, dropped to the floor, and lay in a heap, +sobbing like a child.</p> + +<p>Straightening up, the teacher looked about him, expecting to +meet a roused and ready group of warriors. Every woman and all +the children were wildly moaning and sobbing. The men with stern +and sorrowful faces were struggling in silence to keep back the tears. +The resolute little white man had conquered by his logic, his justice, +his bravery.</p> + +<p>“Atokan, will you obey me?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” the boy answered—his spirit broken.</p> + +<p>Turning to the mother, Seger very gently said: “I do not like to +do this, Wahiah; it hurts my heart as it does yours, but it was +necessary. Tomacham, once I was a soldier—like you. I was taught +to obey. You may kill me for this, but the Great Father at Washington +will say, ‘Miokany died doing his duty.’ I know how hard it +is for you to plow and reap and do as the white man does, but it must +be done or you will die. Your children can do nothing till they learn +to speak the tongue. I am here to do that work. The children must +stay in school. They must obey me. I do not whip good children +who obey—only those who are bad. Now you old people go home +and think over what I have said, and we will return to our lessons.”</p> + +<p>Then a wonderful, an incredible, thing happened! Tomacham +rose and took Seger’s hand and shook it silently in token of conviction. +But Wahiah, the mother of Atokan, with tears still streaming +down her cheeks, pressed the teacher’s hand in both of hers and +looked into his face as if to speak, but could not; then snatching +her son’s symbols of freedom, his bow and arrows, she broke them +over her knee and stamped on the fragments in the face of all the +school. “Obey Miokany,” she commanded, with Spartan vigor, and, +turning swiftly, went out, followed by the sad and silent chieftain.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">NISTINA</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="NISTINA">NISTINA</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">There was lamentation in the lodges of Sunmaker’s people, +for the white soldiers had taken away the guns of Hawk’s +young warriors, and now they were to be sent away into lands +of captivity. Huddled in big wagons, the young men sat, downcast +and sullen, ashamed to weep, yet choking with grief and despair.</p> + +<p>“Had I known this,” said Hawk to the captain of the escort, +“I would have died fighting,” and this defiant word he uttered +in the harsh, booming tone of a village crier. It was heard by +everyone in the camp, and the old women broke forth into wailing +war songs, which made the fingers of sedate old sages clinch.</p> + +<p>But the blue-coated soldiers, ranked and ready, stood with +loaded guns in their hands, calmly observant, and the colonel sat +his horse, not far away, ready to give the signal for departure.</p> + +<p>Hawk, young, handsome, and reckless, for some ruffianism put +upon him by a band of cattlemen, had organized a raid of retaliation, +and for this outbreak the government was sending him and his +band to Florida—a hot, strange land, far in the South. He, as its +unconquered leader, sat bound and helpless in one of the head +wagons, his feet chained to a rod, his hands ironed, and working like +the talons of an eagle.</p> + +<p>It was hard to sit thus in the face of his father and mother, +but it was harder yet to know that Nistina, the daughter of Sunmaker, +with her blanket over her face, sat weeping at the door of +her father’s lodge. All the girls were moaning, and no one knew +that Nistina loved Hawk—no one but her inseparable friend, +Macosa, the daughter of Crane.</p> + +<p>Hawk knew it, for they had often met at the river’s edge of a +morning, when she came for water.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span></p> + +<p>Now they were to part without one word of love, with no touch +of hands, never to see each other again, for it was well known +that those who went into that far country never returned—the +breath of the great salt water poisoned them.</p> + +<p>At last the colonel uttered a word of command. A bugle rang +out. The piercing cries of the bereaved women broke forth again, +wild and heart-breaking: the whips cracked like pistol shots, the +mules set their shoulders to the collars, and the blue chariots +and their hopeless captives moved slowly out across the prairie.</p> + +<p>Hawk turned his head and caught one last glance from Nistina +as she lifted her face to him, flung her robe over her head, and fell +face downward on the earth, crushed, broken, and despairing.</p> + +<p>With teeth set like those of a grizzly bear, the young chief +strained at his cords, eager to fight and die in the face of his tribe, +but the white man’s cruel chains were too strong. He fell back +exhausted, too numb with despair to heed the taunt of the white +soldier riding beside the wheel, cynical, profane, and derisive.</p> + +<p>And while the young prisoner sat thus, with bowed head and +low-hanging, lax hands, the little village of his people was lost to +view—hidden by the willows on the river’s bank.</p> + +<p>In the months which followed, the camp of Sunmaker resumed +its accustomed round of duties and pleasure. The babes rollicked +on the grass, the old men smoked placidly in their council lodges, +and planned their next buffalo hunt; the children went reluctantly +to the agency school of a morning, and came home with flying feet at +night. All seemed as placid as a pool into which a suicide has sunk; +but no word came to Nistina, from whose face the shadow never +lifted. She had never been a merry girl like Macosa. She had +been shy and silent and wistful even as a child, and as the months +passed without a message from Hawk, she moved to her duties as +silent as a shadow. Macosa, when the spring came again, took +another lover, and laughed and said, “They have forgotten us, +that Elk and Hawk.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span></p> + +<p>Nistina had many suitors, for was she not Sunmaker’s daughter, +and tall and handsome besides? Mischievous Macosa, even after +her marriage, kept her friend’s secret, but she could not forbear +to tease her when they were alone together. “Hawk is a bad young +man,” she said. “He has found another girl by this time. Why +don’t you listen to Kias?” To such questions Nistina made no +answer.</p> + +<p>At the end of a year even Sunmaker, introspective as he was, +could not fail to remark upon her loneliness. “My daughter, why +do you seem so sad? There are many young men singing sweet +songs for you to hear, yet you will not listen. It is time you took +thought of these things.”</p> + +<p>“I do not wish to marry,” she replied.</p> + +<p>Then the old father became sorrowful, for he feared his loved one +had placed her heart on some white soldier, and one day he called +her to him and said: “My daughter, the Great Spirit decreed that +there should be people of many colors on the earth. He called +each good in his place, but it is not good that they mate one with +the other. If a white man comes to speak soft words into your +ears, turn away. He will work evil, and not good. Why do you +not take a husband among your own people, as others do, and be +content? You are of the age when girls marry.”</p> + +<p>To this she replied: “My heart is not set on any white man, +and I do not wish to marry. Let me stay with you and help to +keep your lodge.”</p> + +<p>The old man’s voice trembled as he said: “My daughter, since +my son is gone, you are my staff. It is good to see you in our +lodge, but I do not like to see you sad.”</p> + +<p>Then she pretended to laugh, and said, “I am not sad,” and ran +away.</p> + +<p>When she was gone Sunmaker called Vetcora and told her what +had happened. She smoked the pipe he handed to her and listened +patiently. When he had finished speaking, she said:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span></p> + +<p>“She will come round all right. All girls are not alike. By +and by the true one will come, and then you’ll see her change her +song. She will be keeping her own lodge soon.”</p> + +<p>But Sunmaker was troubled by his daughter’s frequent visits +to the agency across the river, and by her intimacy with Neeta, +the daughter of Hahko, who had been away to school, and who had +returned much changed, being neither white woman nor red.</p> + +<p>She was living alone in a small hut on the river bank, and was +not a good woman for Nistina to visit.</p> + +<p>He could not know that his daughter went there because Neeta +could read the white man’s papers, and would know if anything +had happened to Hawk. No one knew, either, that Nistina slyly +asked about learning to read. She laughed when she asked these +questions, as though the matter were of no consequence. “How long +did it take you to learn to read? Is it very hard to learn to write?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no; it is very easy,” Neeta replied, boastingly, and when +Nistina went away her eyes were very thoughtful.</p> + +<p>Again and again she called before she could bring herself to +the point of asking Neeta to go with her to the head of the school.</p> + +<p>Neeta laughed. “Ho! Are you going to school? You will need +to hump low over your toes, for you will go among the smallest girls.”</p> + +<p>Nistina did not waver. “Come, go with me.”</p> + +<p>With a smile on her face Neeta led the way to the office of +the superintendent. “Professor Morten, I bring you a new scholar.”</p> + +<p>Morten, a tall, grave-faced man, looked up from his desk, and +said: “Why, it’s Nistina! Good morning, Nistina.”</p> + +<p>“Mornin’,” said she, as well as she could.</p> + +<p>“She wants to go to school, eh? Well, better late than never,” +he added, with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Tell him I want to work and earn money,” said Nistina.</p> + +<p>When Neeta interpreted this, the teacher exclaimed: “Well, +well! This is most astonishing! Why, I thought she hated the +white man’s ways!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span></p> + +<p>“I think she want to marry white man,” remarked Neeta.</p> + +<p>Mr. Morten looked at her coldly. “I hope not. You’re a mighty +smart girl, Neeta, but I don’t like the way you carry on.”</p> + +<p>Neeta smiled broadly, quite unabashed. “I’m all settled down +now—no more skylarking round. I’m keeping house.”</p> + +<p>“Well, see that you keep settled. I don’t understand this change +in Nistina, but you tell her I’ll put her in charge of Mrs. Morten, +and we’ll do the best we can for her. But tell her to send all these +white men away; tell her not to listen to them.”</p> + +<p>To Nistina Neeta said, “He says he will let you help his squaw, +and she will teach you how to read and write.”</p> + +<p>Nistina’s heart failed her when she heard this, for she had seen +Mrs. Morten many times, and had heard many disturbing stories +of her harshness. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman, with +keen gray eyes and a loud voice.</p> + +<p>At last Mr. Morten turned, and said: “Nistina, you may come +this afternoon after four o’clock, and we will arrange the whole +matter. I am glad you are going to forsake Indian ways, which +are very bad. Be a good girl, and you will be happy.”</p> + +<p>When Neeta had explained what he said Nistina burst into a +low cry, and, covering her face with her blanket, rushed away.</p> + +<p>“That’s the last you’ll see of her,” said Neeta, maliciously. +“She likes the Indian ways best.”</p> + +<p>But Nistina was moved by a deeper impulse than fickle-hearted +Neeta could comprehend. A sick boy had returned from Florida +a few days before—a poor dying lad—and to Nistina he had brought +word from young Hawk. “I am studying so that I can send words +on paper, like the white man,” the message ran. “By and by I +will send a white word to you.”</p> + +<p>This message instantly sank deep, although Nistina gave no +sign. She had more than the usual shyness of the maidens of her +tribe, and it was painful to her to have even this vague message +transmitted by another.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span></p> + +<p>The girl thought long. She wished to send a message to her +lover, but for some days could not bring herself to confide in Neeta. +Days went by, and her resolution remained unformed. Nearly +every evening she had been going to see Neeta, but always her +courage had failed her, and then came the thought: “I, too, will +learn to write and to read, and then I can tell him how much I love +him, and that I will wait till I am old and I will love no one else.”</p> + +<p>There was a great deal of gossip among the red women. “She +is going to marry a white soldier, that Nistina,” they said. “She +is working for money to buy fine beads and cloth.”</p> + +<p>“It may be,” said her stepmother. “She does not open her +heart to me. She talks no more than an owl.”</p> + +<p>The teachers marveled at ’Tina’s dullness in arithmetic and her +amazing progress in writing. In an incredibly short time she was +able to scrawl a note to her lover. It was a queer little letter, written +with painful exactness, in imitation of the copybooks:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>I heard you words what you sent. They was good words. It made my +heart glad that words Black Fox which he brought. I am wait all time for +you. No one else is in my thoughts. This letter I am written me myself all +lone—no one is help me. No one knows that I put it in puss-tofis. I send +mogasuns.</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Nistina.</span><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>With this letter all stamped and directed, and the packages of +moccasins, she hurried with beating heart to the store in which the +post-office occupied a corner. There she hovered like a mother +partridge about its nest, coming and going, till a favorable moment +offered. She knew just what to do. She had rehearsed it all in +her mind a hundred times, and when she had slipped the letter +into the slit she laid the package on the window, and flew away to +watch and to wait for a word from the far-away land.</p> + +<p>Weeks passed, and her heart grew sad and heavy. She dared +not ask for a letter, but lingered at the store till the clerks grew +jocose and at last familiar, and her heart was bitter toward all +white men.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span></p> + +<p>In her extremity she went to Macosa, who was now a matronly +wife, mother of a sturdy son, and asked her to go to the post-office +and inquire for a letter.</p> + +<p>“A letter!” exclaimed she. “Who is going to write you a letter?”</p> + +<p>After much persuasion she consented to go, but returned empty +handed. She had only half regarded Nistina’s request, but as the +tears came to her friend’s eyes, she believed, and all of the goodness +of her heart arose, and she said:</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry. I will go every day and ask, if you wish me to.”</p> + +<p>It is hard to wait for a letter when the letter is the one thing +in life worth waiting for, and Nistina was very silent and very +sad all the time, and her mistress wondered at this; but her questions +brought no reply from the girl, who kept at her writing diligently, +steadily refusing to confuse her mind with other things. She did +not seem to wish to talk—only to write at every spare moment, +and each day her writing grew in beauty of line till it was almost +as beautiful as the printed copy.</p> + +<p>At last she composed another letter:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hawk.</span> My friend. I not hearing from you. If you are sick you don’t +write. My heart is now very sad. May be you die by this time. Long time +I am here waiting. Listening for your words I am standing each day. No one +my loving but you. Come home you get away quick, for I all time waiting.</p> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Nistina.</span><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>After she had mailed this Nistina suddenly lost all interest in +her studies, and went back to the lodge of her father. In her +heart she said: “If he does not answer me I will go out on the hill +and cry till I die. I do not care to live if he is not coming to me.”</p> + +<p>She took her place in her father’s lodge as before, giving no +explanation of her going nor the reason for her return. The kindly +old chief smoked and gazed upon her sadly, and at last said, gently:</p> + +<p>“My daughter, you are sad and silent. Once you laughed and +sang at your sewing. What has happened to you? My child has a +dark face.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span></p> + +<p>“I am older. I am no longer a child,” she said, unsmilingly.</p> + +<p>And at last, in the middle of the third winter, when the white +people were giving presents to each other, a letter and a little +package came for Nistina, and Macosa came running with them.</p> + +<p>“Here is your talking leaf,” she said. “Now I think you will +laugh once more. Read it, for I am very curious.”</p> + +<p>But Nistina snatched the precious package and ran into her +lodge, to be alone with her joy.</p> + +<p>It was a marvelous thing. There was the letter—a blue one—with +her name spelled on it in big letters, <i>Nistina</i>, but she opened +the package first. It contained a shining pouch, and in the pouch +was a necklace of wondrous beads such as she had never seen, and +a picture of her lover in white man’s dress. How strange he looked +with his hair cut short! She hardly knew him.</p> + +<p>Her heart beat strong and loud as she opened the letter, and read +the first words, “Nistina, I am loving you.” After that she was +confused, for Hawk could not write as well as she, and she read +with great trouble, but the end she understood—“I am coming +home.”</p> + +<p>She rose and walked to her father’s lodge, where Macosa sat. +She entered proudly, the letter in her hand. Her head was lifted, +her eyes shone with pride.</p> + +<p>“My letter is from Hawk,” she said, quietly. “He is coming +home.”</p> + +<p>And at this message Macosa and Vetcora covered their mouths +in sign of inexpressible astonishment.</p> + +<p>Sunmaker smoked on with placid face till he began to understand +it all; then he said: “My daughter, you warm my heart. +Sit beside me and tell me of this wonderful thing.”</p> + +<p>Then she spoke, and her story was to him a sweet relief from +care. “It is good,” he said. “Surely the white people are wonder-working +beings.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">THE IRON KHIVA</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_IRON_KHIVA">THE IRON KHIVA</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="drop-capy">For countless generations a gentle brown people had dwelt +high on the top of a mesa—far in the desert. Their houses +rose like native forms of sandstone ledges on the crest of the +rocky hills—seemed indeed a part of the cliffs themselves.</p> + +<p>To join the old women climbing the steep path laden with water +bottles of goatskin, to mingle with the boys driving home the +goats—and to hear the girls chattering on the roofs was to forget +modern America. A sensitive nature facing such scenes shivered +with a subtle transport such as travelers once felt in the presence +of Egypt before the Anglo-Saxon globe trotter had vulgarized it. +This pueblo was a thousand years old—and to reach it was an exploration. +Therefore, while the great Mississippi Valley was being +overrun these simple folk lived apart.</p> + +<p>They were on the maps of Arizona, but of this they had no +knowledge and no care. Some of them were not even curious to +see the white man who covered the mysterious land beyond the +desert. The men of mystery in the tribe, the priests and the soothsayers, +deeply resented the prying curiosity and the noisy impertinence +of the occasional cowboy who rode across the desert to +see some of their solemn rites with snakes and owls.</p> + +<p>The white men grew in power just beyond the horizon line, but +they asked no favors of him. They planted their corn in the sand +where the floods ran, they guarded their hardy melons, and gathered +their gnarled and rusty peaches year by year as contentedly as any +people—chanting devout prayers and songs of thanksgiving to +the deities that preside over the clouds and the fruitful earth.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> +They did not ask for the corrugated-iron roofs of the houses which +an officious government built for them, nor for the little schoolhouse +which the insistent missionary built at the foot of their +mesa.</p> + +<p>They were a gentle folk—small and round and brown of limb, +peaceful and kindly. The men on their return from the fields at +night habitually took their babes to their arms—and it was curious +and beautiful to see them sitting thus on their housetops, waiting +for supper—their crowing infants on their knees. Such action disturbed +all preconceived notions of desert dwellers.</p> + +<p>They had their own governors, their sages, their physicians. +Births and deaths went on among them accompanied by the same +joy and sorrow that visit other human beings in greener lands. +They did not complain of their desert. They loved it, and when at +dawn they looked down upon the sapphire mists which covered it +like a sea, song sprang to their lips, and they rode forth to their +toil, caroling like larks.</p> + +<p>True, pestilences swept over them from time to time—and +droughts afflicted them—but these they accepted as punishment +for some devotional remission on their part and redoubled their +zealous chants. They had no doubts, they knew their way of life +was superior to that of their neighbors, the Tinné; and their traditions +of the Spaniards who had visited them, centuries before, were +not pleasant—they put a word of fervent thanks into their songs +that “the men of iron” came no more.</p> + +<p>But this new white man—this horseman who wore a wide hat—who +sent pale-faced women into the desert to teach a new kind +of song, and the worship of a new kind of deity—this restless keen-eyed, +decisive <i>Americano</i> came in larger numbers year by year. +He insisted that all Pueblan ways were wrong—only his were +right.</p> + +<p>Ultimately he built an Iron Khiva near the foot of the trail, and +sent word among all the Pueblo peoples that they should come and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> +view this house—and bring their children, and leave them to learn +the white man’s ways.</p> + +<p>“We do not care to learn the white man’s way,” replied the +head men of the village. “We have our own ways, which are suited +to us and to our desert, ways we have come to love. We are afraid +to change. Always we have lived in this manner on this same rock, +in the midst of this sand. Always we have worn this fashion of +garments—we did not ask you to come—we do not ask you to stay +nor to teach our children. We are glad to welcome you as visitors—we +do not want you as our masters.”</p> + +<p>“We have come to teach you a new religion,” said the missionary.</p> + +<p>“We do not need a new religion. Why should we change? Our +religion is good. We understand it. Our fathers gave it to us. +Yours is well for you—we do not ask you to change to ours. We +are willing you should go your way—why do you insist on our +accepting yours?”</p> + +<p>Then the brows of the men in black coats grew very stern, and +they said:</p> + +<p>“If you do not do as we say and send your children to our Iron +House to learn our religion, we will bring blue-coated warriors here +to make you do so!”</p> + +<p>Then the little brown people retreated to their rock and said: +“The iron men of the olden time have come again in a new guise,” +and they were very sad, and deep in their cavelike temples in the +rocks, they prayed and sang that this curse might pass by and leave +them in peace once more.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, there were stout hearts among them, men who +said: “Let us die in defense of our homes! If we depart from the +ways of our fathers for fear of these fierce strangers—our gods will +despise us.”</p> + +<p>These bold ones pushed deep into the inner rooms of their +khivas, and uncovered broken spears, and war clubs long unused—and +restrung their rude bows and sharpened their arrows, while<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> +the sad old sages sang mournful songs in the sacred temples under +ground—and children ceasing their laughter crept about in coveys +like scared quail—dreading they knew not what.</p> + +<p>Then the white men withdrew, and for a time the Pueblans rejoiced. +The peaceful life of their ancestors came back upon them. +The men again rode singing to the purple plain at sunrise. The +old women, groaning and muttering together, went down to the +spring for water. The deft potters resumed their art—the girls +in chatting, merry groups, plastered the houses or braided mats. +The sound of the grinding of corn was heard in every dwelling.</p> + +<p>But there were those who had been away across the plain and +who had seen whence these disturbing invaders came—they were +still dubious—they waited, saying: “We fear they will come again! +They are like the snows of winter, bitter and not to be turned aside +with words.”</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>One day they came again—these fierce, implacable white men—preceded +by warriors in blue, who rode big horses—horses ten +times as large as a burro, and they were all agrin like wild cats, +and they camped near the Iron Khiva, and the war chief sent +word to all the men of the hill to assemble, for he intended to +speak to them. “Your Little Father is here also, and wishes to +see you.”</p> + +<p>All night this imperious summons was debated by the fathers, +and at last it was agreed that six old men should go down—six +gray grandsires—and hear what this war chief had to say.</p> + +<p>“We can but die a few days before our time,” they said. “If +they carry us into the East to torture us—it will not be for long. +Our old bones will soon fall apart.”</p> + +<p>So while all the villagers sat on their housetops to watch in silence +and dread, the aged ones wrinkled, gray, and half blind, made their +sad way down toward the peace grove in which the white lodges of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> +the warriors glittered. With unfaltering steps led by the chief priest +of the Antelope Clan, they approached and stood in silence before +the war chief of the bluecoats who came to meet them. Speaking +through a Tinné interpreter, he said:</p> + +<p>“The Great Father, my chief, has sent me to tell you this. You +must do as this man says,” and he pointed at the man in black. +“He is your teacher. He has come to gather your children into that +Iron House and teach them the white man’s ways. If you don’t—if +you make war—then I will go up against you with my warriors +and my guns that go <i>boom</i>, <i>boom</i>, <i>boom</i>, a hundred times, and I will +destroy you. These are the commands of my chief.”</p> + +<p>When the old men returned with this direful message, despair +seized upon the people. “Evil times are again upon us,” they cried. +“Surely these are the iron men more terrible than before.”</p> + +<p>They debated voluminously all night long, and at last decided +to fight—but in the early morning a terrible noise was heard below +on the plain, and when they rushed to see—behold the warriors in +blue were rushing to and fro on their horses, shouting, firing off +their appalling weapons. It was plain they were doing a war dance +out of wanton strength, and so terrible did they seem that the hearts +of the small people became as wax. “We can do nothing against +such men; they are demons; they hold the thunder in the palms of +their hands. Let us submit; perhaps they will grow weary of the +heat and sand and go away. Perhaps they will long for their wives +and children and leave us. We will wait.”</p> + +<p>Others said: “Let us send our children—what will it matter? +We can watch over them, they will be near us, and we can see that +they do not forget our teachings. Our religion will not vanish out of +their minds.”</p> + +<p>So the old men went again to the war chief, and, with bowed +heads and trembling voices, said: “We yield. You are mighty +in necromancy and we are poor and weak. Our children shall go +to the Iron Khiva.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span></p> + +<p>Then the war chief gave them his hand and smiled, and said: +“I do not make war with pleasure. I am glad you have submitted +to the commands of my great chief. Live in peace!”</p> + + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>For two years the children went almost daily to the Iron Khiva, +and they came to love one of those who taught them—a white +woman with a gentle face—but the man in the black coat who told +the children that the religion of their fathers was wicked and +foolish—him they hated and bitterly despised. He was sour-faced +and fearful of voice. He shouted so loud the children were scared—they +had no breath to make reply when he addressed them.</p> + +<p>But to even this creature they became accustomed, and the life +of the village was not greatly disturbed. True, the children began +to speak in a strange tongue and fell into foolish songs which did +little harm—they were, in fact, amusing, and, besides, when the +cattlemen came by and wished to buy baskets and blankets, these +skilled children could speak their barbarous tongue—and once young +Kopeli took his son who had mastered this hissing language, and +went afar to trade, and brought back many things of value. He had +been to the home of the Little Father, and the fort.</p> + +<p>In short the Pueblans were getting reconciled to the Iron Khiva +and the white people, and several years went by so peacefully, with +so little change in their life and thought, that only the most far-seeing +expressed fear of coming trouble—but one night the children +came home in a panic—breathless and storming with excitement.</p> + +<p>A stranger had arrived at the Iron House, accompanied by a tall +old man who claimed authority over them—the man who lived in +the big white man’s town—and they had said to the teacher, “we +want six children to take away with us into the East.”</p> + +<p>This was incredible to the people of the cliff, and they answered: +“You were mistaken, you did not understand. They would not +come to tear our children from our arms.”</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_030fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_030fp.jpg" alt="Cowboy on horseback"> + <figcaption class="caption-r">A Cow-puncher Visiting an +Indian Village<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>Far in advance of settlers, in those early days when every +man had to fight for his right of way, the American cow-puncher +used to journey along the waste hundreds of miles +of the then far Western country. Like a true soldier of +fortune, he adventured with bold carelessness, ever ready +for war, but not love; for in the Indian villages he visited +there was no woman that such a man as he was could take +to his heart.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"><i>Illustration from</i><br> +THE EVOLUTION OF THE COW-PUNCHER<br> +<i>by</i> Owen Wister<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>September, 1895</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_031fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_031fp.jpg" alt="Behind a rock, looking down into a valley"> + <figcaption class="caption-l">An Apache Indian<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>In the ’eighties the habitat of the Apaches was in the +Sierra Madre Mountains in Arizona. When pursued the +Apaches always took to the mountains. They were hideously +cruel. The settlers entertained a perfect dread of +these marauding bands, whose onslaughts were so sudden +that they were never seen. When they struck, all that +would be seen was the flash of the rifle, resting with secure +aim over a pile of stones or a bowlder, behind which was +the red-handed murderer.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"><i>Illustration from</i><br> +SOME INDIAN RIDERS<br> +<i>by</i> Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A.<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>May, 1891</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span></p> + +<p>But the little ones were shivering with fear and would not go +back to the plain. They moaned and wept all night—and at sunrise +the old men went down to the Iron House, and said:</p> + +<p>“Our little ones came home last night, crying. They said you +had threatened to carry them away into the East; what does this +mean?”</p> + +<p>Then the strange men said, “This is true. We want six of +your children to take away to school. We will not hurt them. +They will live in a big house, they will have warm clothing, they +will want for nothing. We are your friends. We want to teach +your children the ways of the white man.”</p> + +<p>Passionately the grandsires responded. “We do not want to +hear of these things. Our children are happy here, their hearts +will break if you take them away. We will not submit to this. We +will fight and die together.”</p> + +<p>Then the old white man who had been speaking became furious. +His voice was sharp and fierce. “If you don’t give up the children +I will take them. You are all fools—your religion is wicked, and +you are not fit to teach your children. My religion, my God, is the +only God that is true and righteous, and I will take your children +in order that you may be taught the true path and become as white +men.”</p> + +<p>Then the old men withdrew hurriedly, their lips set in a grim +line. Their return—their report, froze every heart. It was true +then—these merciless men of the East were planning to carry their +children into captivity. Swiftly the word passed, the goats were +driven into their corrals, the water bags were filled, the storehouses +were replenished. “We will not go down to the plain. Our children +shall go no more to the Iron House. If they take them, it will be +when all our warriors are dead.”</p> + +<p>So it was that when the agent and the missionaries climbed the +mesa path they came upon a barricade of rocks, and men with +bows and war clubs grimly standing guard. They made little talk—they<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> +merely said, “Go your ways, white men, and leave us alone. +Go look to your own sons and daughters, and we will take care +of ours. The world is wide to the East, go back to it.”</p> + +<p>The agent said, “If you do not send your children down to +school I will call my warriors, and I will kill every man with a +war club in his hand.”</p> + +<p>To this young Kopeli, the war chief, said: “We will die in defense +of our home and our children. We were willing that our +children should go down to the Iron Khiva—till now—now when +you threaten to steal them and carry them afar into captivity +where we can never see them again, we rebel. We will fight! Of +what value is life without our children? Your great war chief will +not ask this hard thing of us. If he does then he has our answer.”</p> + +<p>Then with dark faces the white men went away and sent a +messenger across the desert, and three days later the sentinels of +the highest roof saw the bluecoat warriors coming again. Raising +a wild song, the war song of the clan, the cliff people hastily renewed +their defenses. They pried great rocks from the ledges, and +set them where they could be toppled on the heads of the invaders. +They built the barricades higher. They burnished their arrows +and ground their sickles. Every man and boy stood ready to fight +and die in defense of their right to life, and liberty, and their rocky +home.</p> + + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Once again the timid prevailed; they said: “See this terrible +white man, his weapons are most murderous. He can sit where he +is, in safety, and send his missiles against our unprotected babes. +He is too great. Let us make our peace with him.”</p> + +<p>So at last, for a third time, the elders went down to talk with the +conquerors, and said, “What can we do to make our peace with you?”</p> + +<p>Then the tall, old man said, “If you will give us two of your +brightest sons to go away into the East we will ask no more, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> +your other children must return to the Iron House each day as +before.”</p> + +<p>The elders withdrew, and the news flew about the pueblo, and +every mother looked at her handsomest son in sudden terror, and +the men assembled in furious debate. The war party cried out with +great bitterness of clamor, “Let us fight and die! We are tired +of being chased like wolves.” But at last up rose old Hozro, and +said, “I have a son—you know him. He is a good son, and he has +quick feet and a ready tongue. He is not a brawler. He is beloved +of his teachers. Now, in order that we may be left in peace, I will +give my son.”</p> + +<p>His short and passionate speech was received with expressions +of astonishment as well as approval, for the boy Lelo was a model +youth—and Hozro a proud father. “What will the mother say?” +thought all the men who sat in the council.</p> + +<p>Then gray old Supela, chief priest and sage, rose slowly, and +said, “I have no son—but my son’s son I have. Him I will dedicate, +though he is a part of my heart. I will cut him away because +I love peace and hate war. Because if the white man rages against +us he will slaughter everybody.”</p> + +<p>While yet they were in discussion some listening boys crept +away and scattered the word among the women and children. +“Lelo and Sakoni are to be bound and cast among the white +men.”</p> + +<p>There was wailing in the houses as though a plague had smitten +them again—and the mothers of the lads made passionate protestations +against the sacrifice of their sons—all to no purpose. The +war chief came to tell them to make ready. “In the morning we +must take the lads to their captors.”</p> + +<p>But when morning came they could not be found in their accustomed +places, they had fled upon the desert to the West. Then, +while the best trailers searched for their footprints, the fathers of +the tribe went down and told the white chief. He said:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span></p> + +<p>“I do not believe it, you are deceiving me.”</p> + +<p>“Come and see,” said Hozro, and led the way round the mesa +to the point where the trailers were slowly tracing the course of the +fugitives.</p> + +<p>“They are running,” said young Klee. “They are badly scared.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps they go to Oraibi,” said one of the priests.</p> + +<p>“We have sent runners to all the villages. No, they are heading +for the great desert.”</p> + +<p>They followed them out beyond all hope of water—out into the +desolate sand—where the sun flamed like a flood of fire and only +the sparse skunk-weed grew—and at last sharp eyes detected two +dark flecks on the side of a dune of yellow sand.</p> + +<p>“There they are!” cried Klee, the trailer.</p> + +<p>The stern old white man spurred his horse—the soldier chief +did the same—but Klee outran them all. He topped the sand dune +at a swift trot, but there halted and stood immovably gazing +downward.</p> + +<p>At last he came slowly down the slope and, meeting the white +man, the agent, and the soldier, he said, with a sullen, accusing face, +and with bitter scorn:</p> + +<p>“There they are; go get them; my work is done!”</p> + +<p>With wonder in their looks the pursuers rode to the top of the +hill and stood for a moment looking; then the lean hand of old Hozro +lifted and pointed to a little hollow. “There they lie—exhausted!”</p> + +<p>But Klee turned and said, “They are not sleeping—they are +dead! I feel it.”</p> + +<p>With a sudden hoarse cry the father plunged down the hill and +fell above the body of his son.</p> + +<p>When the white men came to him they perceived that the bodies +of the boys lay in the dark stain of their own blood as in a blanket. +They were dead, slain by their own hands.</p> + +<p>Then old Hozro rose and said, “White man, this is your work. +Go back to your home. Is not your thirst slaked? Drink up the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> +blood of my son and go back to the white wolves who sent you. +Leave us with our dead!”</p> + +<p>In silence, with faces ashamed and heads hanging, the war +chief and stern old white man rode back to their camp, leaving the +heroic father and grandsire alone in the desert.</p> + +<p>That night the great mesa was a hill of song, a place of lamentation. +Hozro and Supela were like men stunned by a sudden blow. +The old grandsire wept till his cry became a moan, but Hozro, as +the greatness of his loss came to him, grew violent.</p> + +<p>Mounting his horse, he rode fiercely up and down the streets. +“Now, will you fight, cowards, prairie dogs? Send word to all the +villages—assemble our warriors—no more talk now; let us battle!”</p> + +<p>But when the morning came, behold the tents of the white +soldiers were taken down, and when the elders went forth to parley, +the soldier chief said:</p> + +<p>“You need not send your children away. If they come down +here to the Iron House that is enough. I am a just man; I will not +fight you to take your children away. I go to see the Great Father +and to plead against this man and his ways.”</p> + +<p>“And so our sons died not in vain,” said Supela to Hozro, as +they met on the mesa top.</p> + +<p>“Aye, but they are dead!” said Hozro, fiercely. “The going of +the white man will not bring them back.”</p> + +<p>And the stricken mothers sat with haggard faces and unseeing +eyes; they took no comfort in the knowledge that the implacable +white man had fled with the blue-coated warriors.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">THE NEW MEDICINE HOUSE</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_NEW_MEDICINE_HOUSE">THE NEW MEDICINE HOUSE</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">The spring had been cold and wet, and pneumonia was common +throughout the reservation on the Rosebud, and yet the +trained nurse whom the government had sent out to preside +over the little school hospital had little to do.</p> + +<p>She was a grimly conscientious person, but not lovable. Men +had not considered her in their home plans, and a tragic melancholy +darkened her thin, plain visage, and loneliness added something +hard and repellent to her devotional nature. She considered +herself a martyr, one carried to far countries for the love of the +gentle Galilean. She never complained vocably, but her stooping +walk, her downcast eyes, and her oft-bitten lips revealed her discontent +with great clearness to the red people, who interpret such +signs by instinct.</p> + +<p>“Why does she come here?” asked reflective old Tah-You, the +sage of the camp on the Rosebud.</p> + +<p>“She comes to do you good, to give your children medicine +when they are sick,” replied the subagent, speaking in signs.</p> + +<p>“She is not happy. Send her away. We do not need her. I am +medicine giver.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t do that. Washington sent her. She must stay. She +looks unhappy, but she is quite content. When your children are +sick you should send them to her.”</p> + +<p>To this Tah-You made slow answer. “For many generations we +have taken care of our own sick in our own way,” said he. “I do +not think Washington should require us to give up all our ways. +You tell Washington that we are able to care for our sick.”</p> + +<p>It was only later that the agent found that the little hospital, +the pride of his eyes, had been tabooed among the tribe from the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> +very start. On the surface this did not appear. The children +marched over, two and two, each morning, and took their prevention +medicine with laughter, for it had a sweet taste, and the daily +march was a ceremony. Their teacher took occasion to show them +the clean white walls and the wide soft beds, and told them to tell +their parents that this beautiful little house was for any one who was +sick.</p> + +<p>To this they all listened with that patient docility which is +their most marked characteristic, and some of the old men came and +looked at the “medicine house” and spoke with the “medicine +woman,” and while they did not show enthusiasm, they were not +openly opposed.</p> + +<p>All this gave way to a hidden, determined aversion after one +of the employees had died in the place. The nurse, being sheathed +in the boiler iron of her own superstitions, could not understand +the change in the attitude of the red people. It was not her business +to give way to or even to take into account their own feelings. +If they were sick she insisted that the superintendent hale them +forthwith to her rooms and bind them on her beds of painful neatness. +The opposition of the old people she would put down with the +bayonet if necessary.</p> + +<p>A group of the old men came to the agent and said: “Friend, +a white man has died in the medicine house. That is bad. Among +us we do not let any one use the lodge in which one has died—we +burn it and all that is connected with the dead one. There is +something evil which comes from the clothing of one who is dead +of a disease. We do not wish our children to enter this medicine +house.”</p> + +<p>“Furthermore,” said Tah-You, “there are many bottles standing +about in the house, and they stink very strong—they make us sick +even when we go in for a few moments. It is not good for our +children to sleep there when they are ill.</p> + +<p>“More than this,” continued Tah-You, prompted by another,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> +“the medicine woman drinks whisky in the night, and our children +ought not to see that their medicine woman is a drunkard.”</p> + +<p>Slowly and painfully Mr. Williams explained that all the bed-clothes +were purified and the room made clean after a person died +in it. Also that the smell of the bottles was not harmful. As +to the medicine woman and her drinking, they were mistaken. +She was taking some drink for her cough.</p> + +<p>“We do not believe in keeping a house for people to die in,” +repeated Tah-You. “Spirits and things evil hover round such a +place. They cry in the night and make a sick child worse. They +are very lonely. It is better that they come back to the tepee +when they are ill. The children are now frightened, and we want +you to promise that when any of them fall sick you will not send +them to this lonesome house which is death-tainted.”</p> + +<p>The face of the agent hardened. To this end he knew the talk +would come. “Listen, friends. Washington is educating your +children. He is feeding them. He has sent also a medicine man +and a medicine woman to take care of you when you are ill. I +have built a nice clean house for you to be sick in. When your +children are sick they must go there. I will not consent to their +returning to the tepee.”</p> + +<p>This was the usual and unavoidable end of every talk. Every +wish of the red man was necessarily thwarted—for that is manifestly +the way to civilize them. They rose silently, sadly, with the +patient resignation to which they had schooled themselves, and +passed out, leaving the agent with a sneaking, heart-burning sense +of being woefully in the wrong.</p> + +<p>In the weeks that followed, the smug little hospital stood empty, +for no sick one from the camp would so much as look toward its +glass-paneled door. The children no longer laughed as they lined +up for their physic. The nurse sat and read by the window, with +no duties but those of caring for her own bed. She had the professed +sympathy of all those who have keen noses for the superstitions<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> +of other people, but none whatever for their own. She +thought “the government should force these Indians to come in +and be treated.”</p> + +<p>And as for Tah-You, these people of a creed were agreed that +he was the meanest Indian in the tribe, and it was his influence +which stood in the way of the medicine woman’s curative courses, +and interfered with the plan to convert them into Christian citizens. +“The power of these medicine men must be broken,” said the +Rev. Alonzo Jones.</p> + +<p>Once in a while a child was made to stay overnight in the dread, +sleek little rooms of the hospital, but each one escaped at the earliest +moment. In one case, when the sick one chanced to be an orphan, +she was made a shining decoy and coddled and fed on dainties fit +for a daughter of millions, in order that her enthusiastic report +of the currant jelly and chicken broth might soften the hearts of +her companions toward the hard-glazed walls and echoing corridors +of the little prison house. But it did not. She told of the smells, +of the awful silence and loneliness, of the sour-faced nurse who did +many most mysterious things in the deep of the night, and the +other girls shuddered and laughed nervously and said, “When we +are sick we will run away and go to camp.” The opposition +deepened and widened.</p> + +<p>The struggle came when Robert, the first sergeant of the school, +the captain of the baseball team, fell sick. He was a handsome, +steady, good-humored boy of twenty, of fine physical development, +and a good scholar. He spoke English readily and colloquially, and +was a cheering example of what a reservation school can turn out. +The superintendent trusted him implicitly, and found him indispensable +in the government of the school and the management of +the farm and garden, and the agent often invited him to his house +to meet visitors.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_042fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_042fp.jpg" alt="Indian agent conversing with cavalry soldiers"> + <figcaption class="caption-r">At an Apache Indian Agency<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>This incident occurred in the days of the so-called “Indian +Ring,” when the Interior Department used to appoint as +Indian agents men whose sole object was to enrich themselves +by stealing the property of their savage wards. As +a result of their reckless operations there was constant +friction between these agents and the men of the army.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +NATCHEZ’S PASS<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>February, 1901</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + + +<figure class="figright illowp70" id="i_043fp" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_043fp.jpg" alt="Girl with knife fighting her kidnapper"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-l">The Adventure of Old Sun’s Wife<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>When a mere maid, the chief of the Gros Ventres Indians +kidnaped her and, binding her securely to himself, rode +off for his own village. When within sight of their destination +the girl stabbed him, killing him. This feat not only +won her the right to wear three eagle feathers, but Old Sun, +the rich and powerful chief of the North Blackfeet Indians +of Canada, made her his wife.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +CHARTERING A NATION<br> +<i>by</i> Julian Ralph<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>December, 1891</i></span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span></p> + +<p>Robert, after ploughing all one cold, rainy afternoon, took a +griping chill and developed a cough which troubled him for some +days. He said nothing about it, and kept on with his work when +he should have been in bed, for he dreaded the hospital, and was +careful to minimize all his bad symptoms, but one morning he +found himself unable to rise, and the doctor pronounced him a +very sick boy—“Another case of pneumonia,” said he.</p> + +<p>Robert was silent as they moved him across the road into the +men’s ward of the little hospital; but his eyes, bright with fever, +seemed to plead for something, and when the agent bent down to +ask him if he wanted anything, the boy whispered, “Stay with me.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Robert, I’ll watch with you to-night. I must go +now, but I’ll come back at noon.”</p> + +<p>It was a long day for the sick boy, who watched and listened, +giving little heed to the nurse who was tirelessly active in ministering +to his needs. He knew just what was going on each minute. +He listened for the assembly bell at seven o’clock. He could see the +boys in their uniforms lining up in the halls. Now they were +marching to chapel. They were singing the first song—he could +hear them. Now they were listening to the little talk of the superintendent—and +all was quiet.</p> + +<p>At last they went whooping to their games in the play hour just +before bedtime, and it seemed hard to lie there and hear them and +be alone and forgotten. “The teachers will come to see me,” he +thought, “and some of the boys.” But they did not come. It began +to grow dark at last, and the taciturn nurse lit a smoking lamp +and sat down to read. When she asked him a question it sounded +like the snarl of a cat, but her hands were tender and deft. Oh, it +was hard to be sick and lie still so long!</p> + +<p>When the agent came in the boy said: “Major, tell my mother. +Let her come. Tell her I’m very sick, Major!”</p> + +<p>“All right, Robert. I’ll take the first opportunity to send her +word. But she’s a long way off, you know. I hear she went to +Tah-You’s old camp. But I will watch with you, my boy. Go to +sleep and rest.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span></p> + +<p>The boy grew very much worse in the night, and in his temporary +delirium he called piteously for his mother and in his native +tongue, and the agent told one of the policemen to carry word to +the mother, “Pawnee Woman,” that her son was sick. “Say to her +that we are doing all we can for him, and that he is in no danger,” +he added.</p> + +<p>That day was a long day to Robert, a day that was filled with +moments of delirium as a June day is filled with cloud shadows. +Each hour carried him farther from the white man’s religion and +the white man’s medicine—only his good agent comforted him; +to him he clung with ever-weakening fingers. The agency doctor, +earnest to the limits of his powers (you can’t buy great learning +at eight hundred dollars per year), drew the agent aside and said: +“The boy is in for a siege, Major. His temperature is rising in +spite of everything. He must be watched closely to-night.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll look out for that,” said Williams. Weary as he was, he +watched again the second night, for the boy would not let him go, +and his heart was very tender toward him.</p> + +<p>The next morning as he sat in his little office he heard the +swift soft thud of moccasined feet in the hall, and a timid knock. +“Come!” he shouted, and before he could turn, a Cheyenne woman +ran swiftly in. Her comely face was set in tragic lines of grief, +and sobbing convulsively, while the tears flooded her cheeks. She +laid one hand upon the agent’s shoulder, and with the other she +signed: “Father, my son is going to die. Your work and your +lodge have killed him. Have pity!” As she signed she wailed +heart-brokenly, “He will die.”</p> + +<p>“Dry your tears,” he replied, “He is not going to die. Two +nights I have watched with him. I have myself given him strong +medicine. He is better.”</p> + +<p>She moaned as if all hope were gone. “No, no. He is very sick, +father. He does not know me. His eyes are like those of a dead +boy. Oh, have pity! Come with me. Come and aid him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span></p> + +<p>To comfort her the weary man went back to the hospital, and +as they entered, the mother made a wild gesture of repulsion, and +said to the nurse: “Go away, dog woman! You are killing my son.”</p> + +<p>In vain Williams tried to tell her how faithful the nurse had +been. She would not listen.</p> + +<p>“Father, let me take my son to the lodge. Then he will get well.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head. “No, that would not do. He would die on +the way. Let him stay here till he is better. You and I will watch +over him here. No harm will come then. See how nice and clean +his bed is, how sheltered his room is. It will be cold and windy +in camp; he will be made worse. Let him remain till he is able to +stand. Then it will be safe to take him away.”</p> + +<p>By putting forth all his powers of persuasion he comforted and +reassured the distracted mother, and she sat down in the hospital; +but an understanding that she wanted to have Tah-You the medicine +man visit the boy and breathe upon him and sing to him +ran round the school and the agency, and the missionaries and the +nurse were furious.</p> + +<p>“The idea of that nasty old heathen coming into the hospital!” +said the nurse to one of the teachers. “If he comes, I leave—that’s +all!”</p> + +<p>The doctor laughed. “The old cuss might do him good. Who +knows?”</p> + +<p>The Reverend Jones pleaded with Williams: “Don’t permit +it. It will corrupt the whole school. Deep in their hearts they all +believe in the old medicine man, and if you give in to them it will +set them all back ten years. Don’t let them take Robert to camp +on any plea. All they want to do is to smoke and make gibberish +over him.”</p> + +<p>To these impassioned appeals Williams could only say: “I can’t +order them not to do so. They are free citizens under our present +law, and I have no absolute control over them. If they insist on +taking Robert to camp, I can’t stop them.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span></p> + +<p>Mr. Jones went away with a bitter determination to make some +kind of complaint against somebody, to something—he couldn’t +quite make up his mind to whom.</p> + +<p>Then old Tah-You came, very grave and very gentle, and said: +“Father, the Great Spirit in the beginning made both the white man +and the red man. Once I thought we could not be friends and live +on the same soil. I am old now and wise in things I once knew +nothing of. I now see that the white man knows many good things—and +I know also that the red man is mistaken about many other +things. Therefore we should lay our medicines side by side, and +when we have chosen the better, throw the worthless one away. I +have come to put my curative charms and my lotions beside those +of the white medicine man. I will learn of him, he will learn of +me. This sick boy is my grandson. He is very ill. I ask you to +let me go in to him, and look upon him, and smoke the sacred pipe, +and breathe upon him, and heal him with strong decoction of roots.”</p> + +<p>To this Williams replied: “Tah-You, what you ask I cannot +grant. This medicine house was built for the white man’s doctor +by people who do not believe as you do. Those who gave the money +would be very angry at me if I let you enter the door.”</p> + +<p>The old man’s face fell and his lips worked as he watched the +signs made by the white chief.</p> + +<p>“So be it,” he replied as he rose. “The white man’s heart is +hard. His eyes are the eyes of a wolf. He gives only in his own +way. He makes all men walk in his own road. He will kill my +son and laugh.”</p> + +<p>Williams rose also. “Do not harden your heart to me, friend. +I know that much of your medicine is good. I do not say you shall +not treat the boy. To-morrow, if he is no better, you can take him +to camp. I cannot prevent that, but if you do and he dies I am +not to blame.”</p> + +<p>The old man’s face grew tender. “I see now that you are our +friend. I am content.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span></p> + +<p>The Reverend Mr. Jones came down upon the agent again, and +the nurse and the teachers (though they dared say nothing) looked +bitter displeasure. It seemed that the props on which their sky +rested, were tottering, but Williams calmly said: “To have the boy +die in hospital would do us a great deal more harm than to have +him treated by Tah-You. Were you ever young? Don’t you +remember what it meant to have your old grandmother come and +give you boneset tea and sit by your bed? Robert is like any +other boy; he longs for his old grandfather, and would be quieted +and rested by a return to the tepee. I will not sacrifice the boy +for the sake of your mission. I won’t take any such responsibility.”</p> + +<p>“It will kill him to be moved,” said the nurse.</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure of that. Anyhow and finally, these people, +under the present ruling of the department, are citizens, and I have +no authority to make them do this or that. I have given my consent +to their plan—and that ends the matter.”</p> + +<p>Early the next morning the father and mother, together with +the grandmother, tenderly folded Robert in a blanket and took him +away to camp, and all day the missionaries could hear the sound +of the medicine man’s rattle, and his low chant as he strove to +drive out the evil influences, and some of them were exceedingly +bitter, and the chief of the big medicine house was very sad, for it +seemed that his work was being undone.</p> + +<p>Now it happened that Tah-You’s camp stood in the bend of the +deep little river, and the tepees were based in sweet-smelling grasses, +and when the sick boy opened his eyes after his swoon, he caught +the flicker of leaf shadows on the yellowed conical walls of his +mother’s lodge, and heard the mocking-bird’s song in the oaks. +The kind, wrinkled face of his grandfather, the medicine man, bent +over him, and the loving hands of his mother were on his neck. +He was at home again! His heart gave a throb of joy, and then his +eyes closed, a sweet langour crept over him, an utter content, +and he fell asleep with the humming song of Tah-You carrying<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> +him ever farther from the world of the white man’s worry and +unrest.</p> + +<p>The following day, as Williams lifted the door-flap and entered, +Tah-You sat contentedly smoking. The mother, who was sewing +on a moccasin, looked up with a happy smile on her face and said, +“He is almost well, my son.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad,” said Williams.</p> + +<p>Tah-You blew a whiff from his pipe and said, with a spark of +deep-seated humor in his glance:</p> + +<p>“The white men are very clever, but there are some things which +they do not know. You—you are half red man; that accounts for +your good heart. You see my medicine is very strong.”</p> + +<p>Williams laughed and turned toward the boy who lay looking +out at the dear world with big, unwavering eyes. “Robert, how +are you?”</p> + +<p>Slowly the boys lips shaped the whispered word, “Better.”</p> + +<p>“There is no place like home and mother when you’re sick, +Robert. Hurry up and get well. I need you.”</p> + +<p>As Williams was going, the mother rose and took his hand and +cried out, poignantly: “You are good. You let me have my son. +You have saved him from the cruel-hearted medicine woman. Do +not let her make evil medicine upon us.”</p> + +<p>“I will not let any one hurt him. Be at peace.”</p> + +<p>Then the mother’s face shone with a wonderful smile. She stood +in silence with heaving breast as her white chieftain went out. +“He is good,” she said. “He is our brother.”</p> + +<p>To this, serene old Tah-You nodded: “He knows my medicine +is very strong—for he is half red man.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">RISING WOLF—GHOST DANCER</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="RISING_WOLFGHOST_DANCER">RISING WOLF—GHOST DANCER</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">He sat in the shade of the lodge, smoking his pipe. His face +was thin, keen, and very expressive. The clear brown of +his skin was pleasant to see, and his hair, wavy from long +confinement in braids, was glossy as a blackbird’s wing. Around +his neck he wore a yellow kerchief—yellow was his “medicine” +color—and he held a soiled white robe about his loins. He was +about fifty years of age, but seemed less than forty.</p> + +<p>He studied me quizzically as I communicated to him my wish to +hear the story of his life, and laughingly muttered some jocose +remark to his pretty young wife, who sat near him on a blanket, busy +at some needlework. The humorous look passed out of his face +as he mused, the shadows lengthened on the hot, dry grass, and on +the smooth slopes of the buttes the sun grew yellow.</p> + +<p>After a long pause, he lifted his head and began to speak in a +low and pleasant voice. He used no gestures, and his glance was +like that of one who sees a small thing on a distant hill.</p> + +<p>“I am well brought up,” were his first words. “My father was +chief medicine man<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> of his tribe, and one who knew all the stories +of his people. I was his best-loved son, and he put me into the dances +of the warriors when I was three years old. I carried one of his war-bonnet +feathers in my hand, and was painted like the big warriors.</p> + +<p>“When my father wished to give a horse to the Cut Throat or +Burnt Thigh people who visited us and danced with us, he put into +my hands the little stick which counted for a horse, and I walked +across the circle by his side and handed the stick to our friend. +Then my mother was proud of me, and I was glad to see her smile.</p> + +<p>“My father made me the best bows, and my mother made pretty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> +moccasins for me, covered with bright beads and the stained quills +of the porcupine. I had ponies to ride, and a little tepee of my own +in which to play I was chief.</p> + +<p>“When I was a little older I loved well to sit near my father and +the old men and hear them tell stories of the days that were gone. +My father’s stories were to me the best of all, and the motions of his +hands the most beautiful. I could sit all day to listen. Best of all +I liked the stories of magic deeds.</p> + +<p>“One day my father saw me holding my ear to the talk, and at +night he said to me, ‘My son, I see you are to be a medicine man. +You are not to be a warrior. When you are older, I will teach you +the secrets of my walk, and you shall follow in my path.’</p> + +<p>“Thereafter I watched everything the medicine men did. I +crept near, and listened to their words. I followed them with my +eyes when they went aside to pray. Where magic was being done—there +was I. At the dance I saw my father fling live squirrels from +his empty hand. I saw him breathe smoke upon the body of a dead +bird, and it awoke and ran to a wounded man and tore out the +rotting flesh and cured him. I saw a mouse come to life in the same +way. I saw the magic bladder move when no one touched it; and I +saw a man buried and covered with a big stone too great for four +men to lift, and I saw him come forth as if the stone were a blanket.</p> + +<p>“I saw there were many ways to become a medicine man. One +man went away on a high mountain, and there stood and cried +all the day and all the night, saying:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“‘O Great Spirit!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I am a poor man.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I want to be wise.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I want to be big medicine man.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Help me, Great Spirit!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I want to be honored among my people.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Help me get blankets, horses.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Help me raise my children.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Help me live long,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Honored of my people.’</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span></p> + +<p>“So he chanted many hours, without food or water, and it was +cold also. At last he fell down in a sleep and dreamed. When he +came home, he had medicine. A big bird had told him many secrets.</p> + +<p>“Another went into a sweat house to purify himself. He stayed +all night inside, crying to the Great Spirit. He, too, dreamed, but +he did not tell his dreams.</p> + +<p>“A third man went into his tepee on a hill near the camp, and +there, with nothing to eat or drink, sat crying like the other two, +and at last he slept, and in the night voices that were not of his +mouth came in the tepee, and I, who listened unobserved, was +afraid, and his women were afraid also. He soon became a great +medicine man; and I went to my father, and I said:</p> + +<p>“‘Make me a medicine man like Spotted Elk.’</p> + +<p>“He looked upon me and said:</p> + +<p>“‘My son, you are too young.’</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless I insisted, and he promised that, when I became +sixteen years of age, he would help me to become like Spotted Elk. +This pleased me.</p> + +<p>“As I grew older I put away in my memory all the stories my +father knew of our people. I listened always when the old men +talked. I watched the medicine men as they smoked to the Great +Spirits of the world. I crept near, and heard them cry to the Great +Spirit overhead and to the Dark One who lives below the earth. +I listened all the time, and by listening I grew wise as an old man.</p> + +<p>“I knew all the wonderful stories of the coyote and of the +rattlesnake. I knew what the eagle said to his mate, and I knew +the power of the great bear who sits erect like a man. I was a hunter, +but I followed the game to learn its ways. In those days we were +buffalo eaters. We did not eat fish, nor fowl, nor rabbits, nor the +meat of bear. Our women pounded wild cherries and made cakes of +them, and of that we ate sometimes, but always we lived upon buffalo +meat, and we were well and strong, not as we are now.</p> + +<p>“I learned to make my own bows and also to make moccasins,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span> +though that was women’s work, and I did not sew beads or paint +porcupine quills. I wanted to know all things—to tan hides, to +draw pictures—all things.</p> + +<p>“By and by time came when I was to become a medicine man. +My father took me to Spotted Elk, the greatest of all medicine +men, he that could make birds from lumps of meat and mice from +acorns.</p> + +<p>“To him my father said: ‘My son wishes to be great medicine +man. Because you are old and wise I bring him to you. Help me +to give him wisdom.’</p> + +<p>“Then they took me to a tepee on a hill far from the camp, and +there they sat down with me and sang the old, old songs of our tribe. +They took food, and offered it to the Great Spirits who lived in the +six directions, beginning at the southeast. Then they smoked, +always beginning at the southeast. This they taught me to do, +and to chant a prayer to each. Then they closed the tepee, and left +me alone.</p> + +<p>“All night I cried to the Great Spirits:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“‘Hear me—oh, hear me!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You are close beside me.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You are here in the tepee.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hear me, for I am poor and weak.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I wish to be great medicine man.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I need horses, blankets. I am a boy.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I wish to be great and rich.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hear me—oh, hear me!’</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“All night, all next day I cried. I grew hungry and cold by and +by. I fell asleep; then came to me in my sleep a fox, and he opened +his mouth, and talked to me. He told me to put weasel skin full +of medicine, and wear fox skin on my head, and that would make +me big medicine. Then he went away, and I woke up.</p> + +<figure class="figleft illowp75" id="i_054fp" style="max-width: 30em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_054fp.jpg" alt="Indian with upstretched arms"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-r">The Medicine Man’s Signal<br> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +THE SIOUX OUTBREAK IN SOUTH DAKOTA<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Weekly</span>, <i>January 24, 1891</i></span> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_055fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_055fp.jpg" alt="Group of indians dancing in a line"> + <figcaption class="caption-l"><span class="lht1">The Ghost Dance by the Ogallala Sioux +at Pine Ridge Agency, Dakota, December, 1890</span><br> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +THE NEW INDIAN MESSIAH<br> +<i>by</i> Lieutenant Marion P. Maus, U.S.A.<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Weekly</span>, <i>December 6, 1890</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span></p> + +<p>“I was very hungry, and I opened the tepee and came out, and +it was sunrise. My father was sleeping on the ground, and when +I touched him, he woke quickly and said:</p> + +<p>“‘My son, I am glad to see you. I heard voices that were not +yours calling in the tepee, and I was afraid.’</p> + +<p>“‘All is well,’ I said. ‘Give me food.’</p> + +<p>“When I was fed, I took my bow and arrow and went forth to +kill a weasel. When I was alone, I sat down and prayed to the +Great Spirits of the six world directions, and smoked, beginning +at the southeast, and a voice came in my ear which said, ‘I will lead +you.’ Soon I came upon a large, sleeping weasel; he was white all +over as snow, though it was yet fall. Him I killed and skinned, and +stretched the pelt on a flat stick to make a pouch. Then I sought +the medicine to go in it. What that was I will not tell, but at last +it was filled, and then I slew a big red fox, and out of his fur I made +my cap.</p> + +<p>“Each night I went into my tepee alone to smoke and chant, +and each night strange birds and animals came to me and talked +and taught me much wisdom. Then came voices of my ancestors, +and taught me how to cure the sick and how to charm the buffalo +and the elk. Then I began to help my father to heal the sick people, +and I became honored among my companions; and when I caught a +maid on her way to the spring, she did not struggle; she was glad to +talk with me, for I had a fine tepee and six horses and many blankets.</p> + +<p>“I grew skillful. I could do many things white people never see. +I could be buried deep in the ground, while a mighty stone which +six men alone could lift was rolled upon me. Then in the darkness, +when I cried to the Great Spirits, they came swiftly and put their +hands to the stone and threw it far away, and I rose and walked +forth, and the people wondered. I cured many people by the healing +of my hands, and by great magic like this: I had a dried mouse, +and once when a man came to be stiff and cold with a hole in his +side, I said, ‘Put him before me.’</p> + +<p>“When they did as I bid, I took the mouse and put it before the +man who was dead, and I blew smoke upon the mouse and said: +‘Great Spirits, help me to do this great magic.’ Then the mouse<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> +came to life, and ran to the dead man and put his beak in the hole, +and pulled out the bad flesh, and the wound closed up and the man +rose.</p> + +<p>“These wonderful things I did, and I became rich. I had a fine, +large tepee and many horses and skins and blankets. People said: +‘See, there goes Rising Wolf. He is young, but he has many +horses.’ Therefore, I came to be called ‘Many Horses’; but I had +only one wife, Sailing Hawk. I cared only for her.”</p> + +<p>The chief’s handsome face had long since become grave and rapt. +Now it suddenly grew grim. His little wife moved uneasily in her +seat by his side, and he looked at her with a strange glance. Between +them had crept the shadow of Sailing Hawk’s death.</p> + +<p>“One day while I sat with Sailing Hawk in my tepee, a big, +black cloud came flying from the west like an eagle, and out of it +the red fire stabbed and killed my wife and set my tepee on fire. +My heart was like ice when I rose and saw my Sailing Hawk dead. +I seized my gun. I fired many times into the cloud. I screamed at +it in rage. My eyes were hot. I was crazy.—At last I went away, +but my wife was dead, and my heart empty and like ashes. I did +not eat for many days, and I cared no more for the Great Spirits. +I prayed no more. I could not smoke, but I sat all night by the place +where my Sailing Hawk lay, and no man dared come to me. My +heart was very angry toward everybody and all things. I could +not see the end of my trail. All was black before me.</p> + +<p>“My people at this time were living on their own lands. The +big fight with ‘Long Hair’ had passed away, and we were living at +peace once more; but the buffalo were passing also, and we feared +and wondered.</p> + +<p>“Then the white man came with his soldiers, and made a corral +here in the hot, dry country, and drove us therein, and said, ‘If +you go outside we will shoot you.’ Soon we became poor. We had +then no buffalo at all. We were fed poor beef, and had to wear +white men’s clothes which did not fit. We could not go to hunt in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> +the mountains, and the land was waterless and very hot in summer, +and we froze in winter. Then there were many sick, but the white +men sent a doctor, and he laughed at me, and ordered me not to +go near the sick ones. This made my heart black and sorrowful, +for the white man gave strange white powders that were very bitter +in the mouth, and the people died thereafter.</p> + +<p>“But many times when he had gone I went in and made strong +magic and cured the sick, and he thought it was his white powders. +Nevertheless, more and more of my people came to believe in the +white man, and so I grew very poor, and was forced to get rations +like the rest. It was a black time for me.</p> + +<p>“One night there came into our midst a Snake messenger with a +big tale. ‘Away in the west,’ he said to us in sign talk, ‘a wonderful +man has come. He speaks all languages, and he is the friend of all +red men. He is white, but not like other white men. He has been +nailed to a tree by the whites. I saw the holes in his hands. He +teaches a new dance, which is to gather all the Indians together +in council. He wants a few head men of all tribes to meet him where +the big mountains are, in the place where the lake is surrounded by +pictured rocks. There he will teach us how to make mighty magic +and drive away the white man and bring back the buffalo.’</p> + +<p>“All that he told us we pondered long, and I said: ‘It is well, +I will go to see this man. I will learn his dance.’</p> + +<p>“All this was unknown to the agent, and at last, when the time +came, four of us set forth at night on our long journey. On the third +day two Snake chiefs and four Burnt Thighs joined us, then four +Cut Throat people, and we all journeyed in peace. At last we +came to the lake by the pictured rocks where the three snow +mountains are.</p> + +<p>“There were many Indians there. The Big Bellies were there +from the north; and the Blackfeet, and the Magpies, and the Weavers, +and the People-of-the-south-who-run-round-the-rocks, and the +Black-people-of-the-mountains all were there. We had council, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span> +we talked in signs, and we all began to ask, ‘Where is the Great +Helper?’ A day passed, and he did not come; but one night when +we sat in council over his teachings, he suddenly stepped inside the +circle. He was a dark man, but not so dark as we were. He had +long hair on his chin, and long, brown head-hair, parted in the middle. +I looked for the wounds on his wrists; I could not see any. He moved +like a big chief, tall and swift. He could speak all tongues. He +spoke Dakota, and many understood. I could understand the +language of the Cut Throat people, and this is what he said:</p> + +<p>“‘My people, before the white man came you were happy. You +had many buffalo to eat and tall grass for your ponies. You could +come and go like the wind. When it was cold, you could go into the +valleys to the south, where the healing springs are; and when it grew +warm, you could return to the mountains in the north. The white +man came. He dug the bones of our mother, the earth. He tore her +bosom with steel. He built big trails and put iron horses on them. +He fought you and beat you, and put you in barren places where a +horned toad would die. He said you must stay there; you must +not hunt in the mountains.</p> + +<p>“‘Then he breathed his poison upon the buffalo, and they disappeared. +They vanished into the earth. One day they covered +the hills, the next nothing but their bones remained. Would you +remove the white man? Would you have the buffalo come back? +Listen, and I will tell you how to make great magic. I will teach +you a mystic dance, and then let everybody go home and dance. +When the grass is green, the change will come. Let everybody +dance four days in succession, and on the fourth day the white man +will disappear and the buffalo come back; our dead will return with +the buffalo.</p> + +<p>“‘The earth is old. It will be renewed. The new and happy +world will slide above the old as the right hand covers the left.</p> + +<p>“‘You have forgotten the ways of the fathers; therefore great +distress is upon you. You must throw away all that the white man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> +has brought you. Return to the dress of the fathers. You must use +the sacred colors, red and white, and the sacred grass, and in the +spring, when the willows are green, the change will come.</p> + +<p>“‘Do no harm to any one. Do not fight each other. Live in +peace. Do not tell lies. When your loved ones die, do not weep, +nor burn their tepees, nor cut your arms, nor kill horses, for you will +see the dead again.’</p> + +<p>“His words made my heart glad and warm in my breast. I +thought of the bright days when I was a boy and the white man was +far away, when the buffalo were like sagebrush on the plains—there +were so many. I rose up. I went toward him. I bowed my head, +and I said:</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, father, teach us the dance!’ and all the people sitting +round said, ‘Good! teach us the dance!’</p> + +<p>“Then he taught us the song and the dance which white people +call ‘the ghost dance,’ and we danced all together, and while we danced +near him he sat with bowed head. No one dared to speak to him. +The firelight shone on him. Suddenly he disappeared. No one saw +him go. Then we were sorrowful, for we wished him to remain with +us. It came into my heart to make a talk; so I rose, and said:</p> + +<p>“‘Friends, let us now go home. Our father has given us the +mighty magic dance. Let us go home and teach all our people, and +dance the four days, so that the white man may go and the buffalo +come back. All our fathers will come back. The old men will be +made young. The blind will see again. We will all be happy once +more.’</p> + +<p>“This seemed good to them, and we all smoked the pipe and +shook hands and took our separate trails. The Blackfeet went +north, the People-that-click-with-their-tongues went west, and the +Magpies, the Cut Throats, and the Snakes started together to the +east. The Burnt Thighs kept on, while the Magpies and the Cut +Throats turned to the northeast.</p> + +<p>“At last we reached home, and I called a big dance, and at the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> +dance I told the people what I had seen, and they were very glad. +‘Teach us the dance,’ they cried to me.</p> + +<p>“‘Be patient,’ I said. ‘Wait till all the other people get home. +When the grass is green and the moon is round, then we will dance, +and all the red people will dance at the same time; then will the +white man surely fade away, and the buffalo come up out of the +earth where he is hid and roam the sod once more.’</p> + +<p>“Then they did as I bid, and when the moon was round as a +shield, we beat the drum and called the people to dance.</p> + +<p>“Then the white man became much excited. He called for more +soldiers everywhere to stop the dance, so I heard afterward. But +the people paid no attention, for was not the white man poor and +weak by the magic of the dance?</p> + +<p>“Then we built five fires, one to each world direction and one in +the center. We put on our best dress. We painted our faces and bodies +in memory of our forefathers, who were mighty warriors and hunters. +We carried bows and arrows and tomahawk and war clubs in memory +of the days before the white man’s weapons. Our best singers knelt +around the drum, and the women sat near to help them sing. When the +drum began to beat, our hearts were very glad. There were Magpies +and Cut Throats among us, but we were all friends. We danced between +the fires, and as we danced the drummers sang the mystic song:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“Father, have pity on us.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We are crying for thirst—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">All is gone!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We have nothing to eat,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our Father, we are poor—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We are very poor.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The buffalo are gone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They are all gone.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Take pity on us, O Father!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We are dancing as you wish,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Because you commanded us.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We dance hard—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We dance long.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Have pity!</div> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span></p> +<p>“The agent came to see us dance, but we did not care. He was +a good man, and we felt sorry for him, for he must also vanish with +the other white people. He listened to our crying, and looked long, +and his interpreter told him we prayed to the Great Spirits to destroy +the white man and bring back the buffalo. Then he called me with +his hand, and because he was a good man I went to him. He asked +me what the dance meant, and I told him, and he said, ‘It must +stop.’ ‘I cannot stop it,’ I said. ‘The Great Spirits have said it. +It must go on.’</p> + +<p>“He smiled, and went away, and we danced. He came again on +the third day, and always he laughed. He said: ‘Go on. You are +big fools. You will see the buffalo will never come back, and the +white man is too strong to be swept away. Dance till the fourth +day, dance hard, but I shall watch you.’</p> + +<p>“On the fourth night, while we danced, soldiers came riding +down the hills, and their chiefs, in shining white hats, came to +watch us. All night we prayed and danced. We prayed in our +songs.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“Great Spirit, help us.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You are close by in the dark.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hear us and help us.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Take away the white man.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Send back the buffalo.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We are poor and weak.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We can do nothing alone.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Help us to be as we once were,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Happy hunters of buffalo.</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“But the agent smiled, and the soldiers of the white chiefs sat +not far off, their guns in their hands, and the moon passed by, and +the east grew light, and we were very weary, and my heart was heavy. +I looked to see the red come in the east. ‘When the sun looks over +the hills, then it will be,’ I said to my friends. ‘The white man will +become as smoke. The wind will sweep him away.’</p> + +<p>“As the sun came near we all danced hard. My voice was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> +almost gone. My feet were numb, my legs were weak, but my +heart was big.</p> + +<p>“‘Oh, help us, Great Spirits,’ we cried in despair.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘Father, the morning star,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Father, the morning star,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Look on us!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Look on us, for we have danced till dawn;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Look on us, for we have danced until daylight.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Take pity on us,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O Father, the morning star!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Show us the road—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our eyes are dark.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Show us our dead ones.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We cry and hold fast to you,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O morning star.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We hold out our hands to you and cry.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Help us, O Father!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We have sung till morning</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The resounding song.’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“But the sun came up, the soldiers fired a big gun, and the soldier +chiefs laughed. Then the agent called to me,</p> + +<p>“‘Your Great Spirit can do nothing. Your Messiah lied.’</p> + +<p>“Then I covered my head with my blanket and ran far away, +and I fell down on the top of the high hill. I lay there a long time, +thinking of the white man’s laugh. The wind whistled a sad song +in the grass. My heart burned, and my breath came hard.</p> + +<p>“‘Maybe he was right. Maybe the messenger was two-tongued +and deceived us that the white man might laugh at us.’</p> + +<p>“All day I lay there with my head covered. I did not want to +see the light of the sun. I heard the drum stop and the singing die +away. Night came, and then on the hills I heard the wailing of my +people. Their hearts were gone. Their bones were weary.</p> + +<p>“When I rose, it was morning. I flung off my blanket, and looked +down on the valley where the tepees of the white soldiers stood. I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span> +heard their drums and their music. I had made up my mind. The +white man’s trail was wide and dusty by reason of many feet passing +thereon, but it was long. The trail of my people was ended.</p> + +<p>“I said, ‘I will follow the white man’s trail. I will make him my +friend, but I will not bend my neck to his burdens. I will be cunning +as the coyote. I will ask him to help me to understand his ways, +and then I will prepare the way for my children. Maybe they will +outrun the white man in his own shoes. Anyhow, there are but two +ways. One leads to hunger and death, the other leads where the +poor white man lives. Beyond is the happy hunting ground, where +the white man cannot go.’”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">THE RIVER’S WARNING</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_RIVERS_WARNING">THE RIVER’S WARNING</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">We were visiting the camp of Big Elk on the Washeetay +and were lounging in the tepee of the chief himself as the +sun went down. All about us could be heard the laughter +of the children and the low hum of women talking over their work. +Dogs and babies struggled together on the sod, groups of old men +were telling stories and the savory smell of new-baked bread was +in the air.</p> + +<p>The Indian is a social being and naturally dependent upon his +fellows. He has no newspapers, no posters, no handbills. His news +comes by word of mouth, therefore the “taciturn red man” does +not exist. They are often superb talkers, dramatic, fluent, humorous. +Laughter abounds in a camp. The men joke, tell stories with the +point against themselves, ridicule those who boast and pass easily +from the humorous to the very grave and mysterious in their +faith. It is this loquacity, so necessary to the tribe, which makes it +so hard for a red man to keep a secret.</p> + +<p>In short, a camp of Indians is not so very unlike a country village +where nothing but the local paper is read and where gossip is the +surest way of finding out how the world is wagging. There are in +both villages the same group of old men with stories of the past, of +the war time, to whom the young men listen with ill-concealed impatience. +When a stranger comes to town all the story tellers rejoice +and gird up their loins afresh. It is always therefore in the character +of the eager listener that I visit a camp of red people.</p> + +<p>Big Elk was not an old man, not yet sixty, but he was a story +teller to whom everybody listened, for he had been an adventurous +youth, impulsive and reckless, yet generous and kindly. He was +a handsome old fellow natively, but he wore his cheap trousers so<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> +slouchily and his hat was so broken that at a distance in the daytime +he resembled a tramp. That night as he sat bareheaded in +his tepee with his blanket drawn around his loins, he was admirable. +His head was large, and not unlike the pictures of Ben Franklin.</p> + +<p>“You see, in those days,” he explained, “in the war time with +the game robbers, every boy was brought up to hate the white man +who came into our land to kill off our buffalo. We heard that these +men killed for money like the soldiers who came to fight us, and +that made our fathers despise them. I have heard that the white +boys were taught to hate us in the same way, and so when we met we +fought. The white man considered us a new kind of big game to +hunt and we considered him a wolf paid to rob and kill us. Those +were dark days.</p> + +<p>“I was about twenty-two, it may be, when the old man agent +first came to the east bank of the Canadian, and there sat down. +My father went to see him, I remember, and came back laughing. +He said, ‘He is a thin old man and can take his teeth out in pieces +and put them back,’ and this amused us all very much. To this day, +as you know, that is the sign for an agent among us—to take out +the upper teeth.</p> + +<p>“We did not care for the agent at that time for we had plenty of +buffalo meat and skins. Some of the camp went over and drew +rations, it is true, but others did not go. I pretended to be very +indifferent, but I was crazy to go, for I had never seen a white man’s +house and had never stood close to any white man. I heard the +others tell of a great many wonderful things over there—and they +said there were white women and children also.</p> + +<p>“I was ambitious to do a great deed in those days and had made +myself the leader of some fourteen reckless young warriors like +myself. I sat around and smoked in tepee, and one night I said, +‘Brothers, let us go to the agency and steal the horses.’</p> + +<p>“This made each one of them spring to his feet. ‘Good! Good!’ +they said. ‘Lead us. We will follow. That is worth doing.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span></p> + +<p>“‘The white men are few and cowardly,’ I said. ‘We can dash +in and run off the horses, and then I think the old men will no longer +call us boys. They will sing of us in their songs. We shall be counted +in the council thereafter.’</p> + +<p>“They were all eager to go and that night we slipped out of +camp and saddled and rode away across the prairie, which was +fetlock deep in grass. Just the time for a raid. I felt like a big chief +as I led my band in silence through the night. My bosom swelled +with pride like a turkey cock and my heart was fierce.</p> + +<p>“We came in sight of the white man’s village next day about +noon, and veering a little to the north, I led my band into camp +some miles above the agency. Here I made a talk to my band and +said: ‘Now you remain here and I will go alone and spy out the +enemy and count his warriors and make plans for the battle. You +can rest and grow strong while I am gone.’”</p> + +<p>Big Elk’s eyes twinkled as he resumed. “I thought I was a +brave lad to do this thing and I rode away trying to look unconcerned. +I was very curious to see the agency. I was like a coyote +who comes into the camp to spy out the meat racks.” This remark +caused a ripple of laughter, which Big Elk ignored. “As I forded +the river I glanced right and left, counting the wooden tepees” +(he made a sign of the roof), “and I found them not so many as I +had heard. As I rode up the bank I passed near a white woman +and I looked at her with sharp eyes. I had heard that all white +women looked white and sicklike. This I found was true. This +woman had yellow hair and was thin and pale. She was not afraid +of me—she did not seem to notice me and that surprised me.</p> + +<p>“Then I passed by a big wooden tepee which was very dirty +and smoky. I could see a man, all over black, who was pounding at +something. He made a sound, <i>clank, clank, clunk-clank</i>. I stood at +the door and looked in. It was all very wonderful. There were +horses in there and this black man was putting iron moccasins on +the horses’ feet.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span></p> + +<p>“An Arapahoe stood there and I said in signs, ‘What do they +do that for?’</p> + +<p>“He replied, ‘So that the horses can go over rocks without wearing +off their hoofs.’</p> + +<p>“That seemed to me a fine thing to do and I wanted my pony +fixed that way. I asked where the agent was, and he pointed +toward a tall pole on which fluttered a piece of red and white and +blue cloth. I rode that way. There were some Cheyennes at the +door, who asked me who I was and where I came from. I told +them any old kind of story and said, ‘Where is the agent?’</p> + +<p>“They showed me a door and I went in. I had never been in a +white man’s tepee before and I noticed that the walls were strong +and the door had iron on it. ‘Ho!’ I said, ‘This looks like a trap. +Easy to go in, hard to get out. I guess I will be very peaceful while +I am in here.’</p> + +<p>“The agent was a little old man—I could have broken his back +with a club as he sat with his back toward me. He paid no attention +till a half-breed came up to me and said, ‘What do you want?’</p> + +<p>“‘I want to see the agent.’</p> + +<p>“‘There he is; look at him,’ and he laughed.</p> + +<p>“The agent turned around and held out his hand. ‘How, how!’ +he said. ‘What is your name?’</p> + +<p>“His face was very kind, and I went to him and took his hand. +His tongue I could not understand, but the half-breed helped me. +We talked. I made up a story. ‘I have heard you give away things +to the Cheyennes,’ I said; ‘therefore I have come for my share.’</p> + +<p>“‘We give to good red people,’ he said. Then he talked sweetly +to me. ‘My people are Quakers,’ he said. ‘We have visions like +the red people—but we never go to war. Therefore has the Great +Soldier, the Great Father at Washington, put me here. He does +not want his children to fight. You are all brothers with different +ways of life. I am here to help your people,’ he said, ‘and you must +not go to war any more.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span></p> + +<p>“All that he said to me was good—it took all the fire and bitterness +out of my heart and I shook hands and went away with my head +bowed in thought. He was as kind as my own father.</p> + +<p>“I had never seen such white people before; they were all kind. +They fed me; they talked friendly with me. Not one was making a +weapon. All were preparing to till the soil. They were kind to the +beasts, and all the old Cheyennes I met said, ‘We must do as this +good old man says.’</p> + +<p>“I rode home very slowly. I strutted no more. The stuffing was +gone out of my chest. I dreaded to come back into my camp where +my warriors were waiting for me. I spread my blanket and sat down +without speaking, and though they were all curious to hear, they +waited, for I smoked a pipe in sign of thought. At last I struck the +ashes from my pipe and rose and said: ‘Listen, brothers I shall not +go to war against the agency.’</p> + +<p>“They were all astonishment at this and some were instantly +angry. ‘Why not? What has changed your plan so suddenly?’</p> + +<p>“‘I have seen the agent; he is a good old man. Every one was +pleasant to me. I have never seen this kind of white man. No one +was thinking of war. They are all waiting to help the Cheyennes. +Therefore my heart is changed—I will not go out against them.’</p> + +<p>“My band was in a turmoil. One by one they cried out: ‘You +are a girl, a coyote with the heart of a sparrow.’ Crow Kill made a +long speech: ‘This is strange business. You talk us into making +you chief; you lead us a long hard ride and now we are without meat, +while you, having your belly full of sweet food and a few presents +in your hand, want to quit and run home crying like a papoose.’”</p> + +<p>The old story teller was pitilessly dramatic in reciting the flood +of ridicule and abuse poured out upon his head.</p> + +<p>“Well, at last I said: ‘Be silent! Perhaps you are right. Perhaps +they deceived me. I will go again to-morrow and I will search +closely into hidden things. Be patient until I have studied the +ground once more.’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span></p> + +<p>“As I thought of it all that night I came to feel again a great +rage—I began to say: ‘You are a fool. You have been blinded.’ I +slept uneasily that night, but I was awake early and rode away to +the agency. I remained all day among them. I talked with all the +Cheyennes and in signs I conversed with the Arapahoe—all said +the same thing—‘The agent does not lie. He is a good man.’ Nevertheless, +I looked the ground all over and at night I rode slowly back +to the camp.</p> + +<p>“Again I said, ‘I will not go to war against these people,’ and +again my warriors cried out against me. They were angrier than +before. They called me a coward. ‘We will go on without you. +You are fitted only to carry a papoose and stir the meat in a pot,’ +they said.</p> + +<p>“This filled me with wrath and I rose and said: ‘You call me a +woman! Who of you can show more skill in the trail? Who of you +can draw a stronger bow or bring down bigger buffalo bulls? It +is time for you to be silent. You know me—you know what I have +done. Now listen: I am chief. To-morrow when the east gets light +we will cross the river and attack the agency! I have spoken!’</p> + +<p>“This pleased them very much and they listened and looked +eagerly while I drew on the sand lines to show where the horse corral +was and where the storehouse was. I detailed five men to go to the +big fence and break the chain on the gate, while I led the rest of the +band to break into the storehouse. Then I said: ‘Do not kill any +one unless they come out against you with arms in their hands. +Some of them gave me food; I shall be sorry if they are hurt.’</p> + +<p>“That night I could not sleep at all, for my heart was swollen +big in my bosom. I knew I was doing wrong, but I could not stand +the reproach of my followers.</p> + +<p>“When morning came, the river was very high, and we looked +at it in astonishment, for no clouds were to be seen. The banks +were steep and the current swift, and there was no use attempting +to carry out our plan that day.</p> + +<figure class="figleft illowp75" id="i_072fp" style="max-width: 40em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_072fp.jpg" alt="Indian on horseback"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-r">On an Indian Reservation<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>At Fort Reno in 1890, in the then Oklahoma Territory, +there was an agency for the Cheyennes and Arapahoes. +In those days one might see the Indians in their fantastic +mixture of colors and beads and red flannel and feathers—so +theatrical in appearance that the visitor expected to see +even the army officers look back over their shoulders when +one of these braves rode by.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +THE WEST FROM A CAR WINDOW<br> +<i>by</i> Richard Harding Davis<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Weekly</span>, <i>May 14, 1892</i></span> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_073fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_073fp.jpg" alt="Canoe struggling in a river"> + <figcaption class="caption-l">In a Stiff Current<br> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +TALKING MUSQUASH<br> +<i>by</i> Julian Ralph<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>March, 1892</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span></p> + +<p>“‘We must wait,’ I said, and with black looks and aching bellies +we waited all that day. ‘The river will go down to-morrow,’ I said, +to comfort them.</p> + +<p>“We had only a little dried beef to eat and the river water to +drink, and my warriors were very hungry.</p> + +<p>“That second morning I was awake before dawn, watching to see +what the river had done during the night. Behold, it was an arrow’s +length higher than before! Then I said: ‘Friends, I am no liar. +I started on this plan with a heart to carry it out, but now I am +deeply troubled. I did not sleep last night, for a pain in my breast +kept me awake. I will not deceive you. I am glad the water is +deeper this morning. I believe it is a sign from the Great Spirit +that we are to turn back and leave these white people in peace.’</p> + +<p>“But to this Crow Kill and most of the others would not listen. +‘If we go back now,’ said he, ‘everybody will laugh at us.’</p> + +<p>“Quickly I turned upon him and cried out: ‘Are you the boaster +who has prattled of our plans? The camp will know nothing of our +designs if you have not let your long tongue rattle on the outside +of your mouth.’ At this he fell silent and I went on. ‘Now I will +wait one more day. If the river is high to-morrow—the third +day—then it will surely be a sign, and we must all bow to the will +of the Great One who is above us.’</p> + +<p>“To this they all agreed, for the sky was still clear and blue +and the river was never known to rise on three successive days. +They put their weapons in order, and I recounted my words of +instruction as to the battle.</p> + +<p>“I went aside a little from the camp that night, and took my +watch on a little mound. The moon rose big in the east and made a +shining trail over the water. When a boy I used to think, may be +that trail led to the land of the spirits—and my heart was full of +peaceful thoughts that night. I had no hate of anybody.” The +old man’s voice was now deep and grave and no one laughed. “I +prayed to the Great Spirit to send the water so that I could go back<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> +without shame. All night I heard the water whisper, whisper in the +grass. It grew broader and broader and the moon passed over my +head. I slept a little, and then I woke, for something cold had +touched my heel. I looked down and in the grass at my feet lay +the shining edge of the river.</p> + +<p>“I leaped up and ran and touched the others. ‘See,’ I called out, +‘the water has come to speak to you!’ and I scooped water from the +river’s edge and flung it over them. ‘The Great Spirit has spoken. +All night I heard it whisper in the grass. It said: “<i>Peace, peace! +You must go to war no more.</i>” Come. We will ride away with clean +hands and glad hearts.’”</p> + +<p>As he finished his story Big Elk put away his pipe abstractedly, +as though his mind yet dwelt on the past. His hearers were silent +and very serious. He had touched the deepest chord in the red +man’s soul—the chord which vibrates when the Great Spirit speaks +to him in dreams.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">LONE WOLF’S OLD GUARD</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="LONE_WOLFS_OLD_GUARD">LONE WOLF’S OLD GUARD</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">Now it happened that Lone Wolf’s camp was on the line +between the land of the Cheyennes and the home of his +own people, the Kiowas, but he did not know this. He +had lived there long, and the white man’s maps were as unimportant +to him as they had been to the Cheyennes. When he moved +there he considered it to be his—a gift direct from the Creator—with +no prior rights to be overstepped.</p> + +<p>But the Consolidated Cattle Company, having secured the right +to enclose a vast pasture, cared nothing for any red man’s claim, +provided they stood in with the government. A surveying party +was sent out to run lines for fences.</p> + +<p>Lone Wolf heard of these invaders while they were at work +north of him, and learned in some mysterious way that they were +to come down the Elk and cut through his camp. To his friend +John, the interpreter, he sent these words:</p> + +<p>“The white man must not try to build a fence across my land. +I will fight if he does. Washington is not behind this thing. He +would not build a fence through my lines without talking with +me. I have sent to the agent of the Kiowas, he knows nothing +about it—it is all a plan of the cattlemen to steal my lands. Tell +them that we have smoked over this news—we have decided. This +fence will not be built.”</p> + +<p>When “Johnny Smoker” brought this stern message to the camp +of the surveyors some of them promptly threw up their hands. +Jim Bellows, scout and interpreter, was among these, and his +opinion had weight, for he wore his hair long and posed as an +Indian fighter of large experience.</p> + +<p>“Boys,” he began, impressively, “we got to get out o’ here as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> +soon as darkness covers us. We’re sixty miles from the fort, and +only fifteen all told, and not half-armed. Old Lone Wolf holds +over us, and we might as well quit and get help.”</p> + +<p>This verdict carried the camp, and the party precipitately +returned to Darlington to confer with the managers of the company.</p> + +<p>Pierce, the chief man, had reasons for not calling on the military +authorities. His lease was as yet merely a semi-private arrangement +between the Secretary of the Interior and himself, and he feared +the consequences of a fight with Lone Wolf—publicity, friction, +might cause the withdrawal of his lease; therefore he called in +John Seger, and said:</p> + +<p>“Jack, can you put that line through?”</p> + +<p>“I could, but I don’t want to. Lone Wolf is a good friend of +mine, and I don’t want to be mixed up in a mean job.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come now—you mustn’t show the white flag. I need you. +I want you to pick out five or six men of grit and go along and see +that this line is run. I can’t be fooling around here all summer. +Here’s my lease, signed by the Secretary, as you see. It’s all +straight, and this old fool of an Indian must move.”</p> + +<p>Jack reluctantly consented, and set to work to hire a half dozen +men of whose courage he had personal knowledge. Among these +was a man by the name of Tom Speed, a border man of great hardihood +and experience. To him he said:</p> + +<p>“Tom, I don’t like to go into this thing; but I’m hard up, and +Pierce has given me the contract to build the fence if we run the +line, and it looks like we got to do it. Now I wish you’d saddle +up and help me stave off trouble. How does it strike you?”</p> + +<p>“It’s nasty business, Jack; but I reckon we might better do it +than let some tenderfoot go in and start a killin’. I’m busted flat, +and if the pay is good, I jest about feel obliged to take it.”</p> + +<p>So it happened that two avowed friends of the red man led +this second expedition against Lone Wolf’s camp. Pierce sent his +brother as boss, and with him went the son of one of the principal<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> +owners, a Boston man, by the name of Ross. Speed always called +him “the Dude,” though he dressed quite simply, as dress goes in +Roxbury. He wore a light suit of gray wool, “low-quartered shoes,” +and a “grape box hat.” He was armed with a pistol, which +wouldn’t kill a turtledove at fifteen feet. Henry Pierce, on the +contrary, was a reckless and determined man.</p> + +<p>Moving swiftly across the Divide, they took up the line on Elk +Creek, and started directly toward Lone Wolf’s camp. As they +were nearing the bend in the river where Lone Wolf was camped, a +couple of young warriors came riding leisurely up from the south. +They were very cordial in their greeting, and after shaking hands +all around pleasantly inquired:</p> + +<p>“What are you doing here?”</p> + +<p>“Running a line to mark out the land which the cattlemen have +leased of the Cheyennes.”</p> + +<p>“We will go along and see where you are going,” they +replied.</p> + +<p>A couple of hours later, while they were still with the camp, +two others came riding quietly in from the east. They said, “We +are looking for horses,” and after shaking hands and asking Seger +what the white men were doing, rode forward to join their companions, +who seemed deeply interested in the surveyors and their +instruments. Turning to Pierce, Jack said,</p> + +<p>“You noticed that these four men were armed, I reckon?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, but they are all right. Didn’t you see how they shook +hands all round? They’re just out hunting up ponies.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I saw that; but I noticed they had plenty of ammunition +and that their guns were bright. Indians don’t hunt horses in +squads, Mr. Pierce.”</p> + +<p>Pierce smiled, giving Seger a sidewise glance. “Are you getting +nervous? If you are, you can drop to the rear.”</p> + +<p>Now Seger had lived for the larger part of his life among the +red people, and knew their ways. He answered, quietly:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span></p> + +<p>“There are only four of them now; you’ll see more of them +soon,” and he pointed away to the north, where the heads of three +mounted men were rising into sight over a ridge. These also proved +to be young Kiowas, thoroughly armed, who asked the same question +of the manager, and in conclusion pleasantly said,</p> + +<p>“We’ll just go along and see how you do it.”</p> + +<p>As they rode forward Seger uttered a more pointed warning.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Pierce, I reckon you’d better make some better disposition +of your men. They are all strung out here, with their guns on their +backs, in no kind of shape to make a defense.”</p> + +<p>Pierce was a little impressed by the scout’s earnestness, and took +trouble to point out the discrepancy between “a bunch of seven +cowardly Indians” and his own band of twenty brave and experienced +men.</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” replied Seger; “but these seven men are +only spies, sent out to see what we are going to do. We’ll have +to buckle up with Lone Wolf’s whole band very soon.”</p> + +<p>A few minutes later the seven young men rode quietly by and +took a stand on a ridge a little in front of the surveyors. As he +approached them, Seger perceived a very great change in their +demeanor. They no longer smiled; they seemed grim, resolute, +and much older. From a careless, laughing group of young men +they had become soldiers—determined, disciplined, and dignified. +Their leader, riding forth, held up his hand, and said,</p> + +<p>“Stop; you must wait here till Lone Wolf comes.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, in the little city of tents, a brave drama was being +enacted. Lone Wolf, a powerful man of middle age, was sitting +in council with his people. The long-expected had happened—the +cattlemen had begun to mark off the red man’s land as their own, +and the time had come either to submit or to repel the invaders. +To submit was hard, to fight hopeless. Their world was still narrow, +but they had a benumbing conception of the power and the remorseless +greed of the white man.</p> + +<figure class="figleft illowp70" id="i_080fp" style="max-width: 35em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_080fp.jpg" alt="Indian on horseback"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-r">A Modern Comanche Indian<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>In the ’nineties the Comanche of the Fort Sill region was +considered a good type of the Indian of that day. Not only +was he the most expert horse-stealer on the plains—a title +of honor rather than reproach among Indians—but he was +particularly noteworthy for knowing more about a horse +and horse-breeding than any other Indian.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +SOME INDIAN RIDERS<br> +<i>by</i> Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A.<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>May, 1891</i></span> +</div> + + +<figure class="figright illowp70" id="i_081fp" style="max-width: 35em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_081fp.jpg" alt="Raiding party on foot"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-l">A Band of Piegan Indians in the Mountains<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>Having made out the camp of the Crow Indians in the +plain many miles below, the Piegans are making their way +slowly through the mountains on foot, their object being to +raid the Crow camp and steal their war ponies.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +SUN-DOWN’S HIGHER SELF<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>November, 1898</i></span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p> + +<p>“We can kill those who come,” said Lone Wolf. “They are +few, but behind them are the soldiers and men who plough.”</p> + +<p>At last old White Buffalo rose—he had been a great leader in +his day, and was still much respected, though he had laid aside +his chieftainship. He was bent and gray and wrinkled, but his +voice was still strong, and his eyes keen.</p> + +<p>“My friends, listen to me! During seventy years of my life +I lived without touching the hand of a white man. I have always +opposed warfare, except when it was necessary; but now the time +has come to fight. Let me tell you what to do. I see here some +thirty old men, who, like me, are nearing the grave. This thing +we will do—we old men—we will go out to war against these cattlemen. +We will go forth and die in defense of our lands. Big Wolf, +come—and you, my brother, Standing Bear.”</p> + +<p>As he called the roll of the gray old defenders, the old women +broke into heart-piercing wailing, intermingled with exultant cries +as some brave wife or sister caught the force of the heroic responses, +which leaped from the lips of their fathers and husbands. A feeling +of awe fell over the young men as they watched the fires flame +once more in the dim eyes of their grandsires, and when all had +spoken, Lone Wolf rose and stepped forth, and said,</p> + +<p>“Very well; then I will lead you.”</p> + +<p>“Whosoever leads us goes to certain death,” said White Buffalo. +“It is the custom of the white men to kill the leader. You will +fall at the first fire. I will lead.”</p> + +<p>Lone Wolf’s face grew stern. “Am I not your war chief? +Whose place is it to lead? If I die, I fall in combat for my land, +and you, my children, will preserve my name in song. We do not +know how this will end, but it is better to end in battle than to +have our lands cut in half beneath our feet.”</p> + +<p>The bustle and preparation began at once. When all was ready +the thirty gray and withered old men, beginning a low humming +song, swept through the camp and started on their desperate charge,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> +Lone Wolf leading them. “Some of those who go will return, but if +the white men fight, I will not return,” he sang, as they began to +climb the hill on whose top the white man could be seen awaiting +their coming.</p> + +<p>Halfway up the hill they met some of the young warriors. +“Go bring all the white men to the council,” said Lone Wolf.</p> + +<p>As the white men watched the band leaving the village and +beginning to ascend the hill, Speed turned and said: “Well, Jack, +what do you think of it? Here comes a war party—painted and +armed.”</p> + +<p>“I think it’s about an even chance whether we ever cross the +Washita again or not. Now, you are a married man with children, +and I wouldn’t blame you if you pulled out right this minute.”</p> + +<p>“I feel meaner about this than anything I ever did,” replied +Speed, “but I am going to stay with the expedition.”</p> + +<p>As Lone Wolf and his heroic old guard drew near, Seger thrilled +with the significance of this strange and solemn company of old +men in full war-paint, armed with all kinds of old-fashioned guns, +and bows and arrows. As he looked into their wrinkled faces, the +scout perceived that these grandsires had come resolved to die. +He divined what had taken place in camp. Their exalted heroism +was written in the somber droop of their lips. “We can die, but +we will not retreat!” In such wise our grandsires fought.</p> + +<p>Lone Wolf led his Spartan host steadily on till near enough to +be heard without effort. He then halted, took off his war-bonnet +and hung it on the pommel of his saddle. Lifting both palms +to the sky, he spoke, and his voice had a solemn boom in it: “The +Great Father is looking down on us. He sees us. He knows I +speak the truth. He gave us this land. We are the first to inhabit +it. No one else has any claim to it. It is ours, and I will go under +the sod before any cattlemen shall divide it and take it away from +us. I have said it.”</p> + +<p>When this was interpreted to him, Pierce with a look of inquiry<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> +turned to Speed. “Tell the old fool this line is going to be run, and +no old scarecrows like these can stop us.”</p> + +<p>Seger, lifting his hand, signed: “Lone Wolf, you know me. I +am your friend. I do not come to do you harm. I come to tell +you you are wrong. All the land on my left hand the Great Father +says is Cheyenne land. All on my right is Kiowa land. The Cheyennes +have sold the right to their land to the white man, and we are +here to mark out the line. We take only Cheyenne land.”</p> + +<p>“I do not believe it,” replied the chief. “My agent knows nothing +of it. Washington has not written anything to me about it. +This is the work of robbers. Cattlemen will do anything for money. +They are wolves. They shall not go on.”</p> + +<p>“What does he say?” asked Pierce.</p> + +<p>“He says we must not go on.”</p> + +<p>“You tell him that he can’t run any such bluff on me with his +old scarecrow warriors. This lines goes through.”</p> + +<p>Lone Wolf, tense and eager, asked, “What says the white chief?”</p> + +<p>“He says we must run the line.”</p> + +<p>Lone Wolf turned to his guard. “You may as well get ready,” +he said, quietly.</p> + +<p>The old men drew closer together with a mutter of low words, +and each pair of dim eyes selected their man. The clicking of their +guns was ominous, and Pierce turned white.</p> + +<p>Speed drew his revolver-holster round to the front. “They’re +going to fight,” he said. “Every man get ready!”</p> + +<p>But Seger, eager to avoid the appalling contest, cried out to +Pierce:</p> + +<p>“Don’t do that! It’s suicide to go on. These old men have +come out to fight till death.” To Lone Wolf he signed: “Don’t +shoot, my friend!—let us consider this matter. Put up your guns.”</p> + +<p>Into the hot mist of Pierce’s wrath came a realization that these +old men were in mighty earnest. He hesitated.</p> + +<p>Lone Wolf saw his hesitation, and said: “If you are here by<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> +right, why do you not get the soldier chief to come and tell me? +If the Great Father has ordered this—then I am like a man with +his hands tied. The soldiers do not lie. Bring them!”</p> + +<p>Seger grasped eagerly at this declaration. “There is your chance, +Pierce. The chief says he will submit if the soldiers come to make +the survey. Let me tell him that you will bring an officer from +the fort to prove that the government is behind you.”</p> + +<p>Pierce, now fully aware of the desperate bravery of the old men, +was looking for a knothole of escape. “All right, fix it up with +him,” he said.</p> + +<p>Seger turned to Lone Wolf. “The chief of the surveyors says: +‘Let us be friends. I will not run the line.’”</p> + +<p>“Ho, ho!” cried the old warriors, and their faces, grim and +wrinkled, broke up into smiles. They laughed, they shook hands, +while tears of joy filled their eyes. They were like men delivered +from sentence of death. The desperate courage of their approach +was now revealed even to Pierce. They were joyous as children over +their sudden release from slaughter.</p> + +<p>Lone Wolf, approaching Seger, dismounted, and laid his arm +over his friend’s shoulder. “My friend,” he said, with grave tenderness, +“I wondered why you were with these men, and my heart +was heavy; but now I see that you were here to turn aside the guns +of the cattlemen. My heart is big with friendship for you. Once +more you have proved my good counselor.” And tears dimmed +the fierceness of his eyes.</p> + +<p>A week later, a slim, smooth-cheeked second lieutenant, by +virtue of his cap and the crossed arms which decorated his collar, +ran the line, and Lone Wolf made no resistance. “I have no fight +with the soldiers of the Great Father,” he said: “they do not come +to gain my land. I now see that Washington has decreed that this +fence shall be built.” Nevertheless, his heart was very heavy, and +in his camp his heroic old guard sat waiting, waiting!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">BIG MOGGASEN</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="BIG_MOGGASEN">BIG MOGGASEN</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">Far in the Navajoe Country there are mountains almost +unknown to the white man. Beginning on the dry penon +spotted land they rise to pine clad hills where many springs +are. Deep cañons with wondrous cliffs of painted stone cut athwart +the ranges and in crevices of these walls, so it is said, are the stone +houses of most ancient peoples. It is not safe for white men to go +there—especially with pick and shovel, for Big Moggasen the +Chief is keenly alive to the danger of permitting miners to peer +about the rocks and break them up with hammers.</p> + +<p>Because these mountains are unknown they are alluring and +men often came to the agency for permission to enter the unknown +land. To them the agent said, “No, I don’t want a hellabaloo +raised about your death in the first place, and in the second place +this reservation belongs to the Navajoes—you’d better prospect in +some other country.”</p> + +<p>Big Moggasen lived far away from the agency and was never +seen even by the native police. He lived quite independent of the +white man’s bounty. He drew no rations and his people paid no +taxes. His young men tended the sheep, the old men worked in +silver and his women wove blankets which they sold to the traders +for coffee and flour. In such wise he lived from the time that his +father’s death made him a chief.</p> + +<p>In winter his people retreated to the valleys where they were +sheltered from the wind—where warm hogans of logs and dirt protected +them from the cold, and in the spring when the snow began +to melt they drove their flocks of black and white sheep, mixed with +goats, higher in the hills. In midsummer when the valleys were +baking hot, the young herders urged their herd far up among the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> +pines where good grass grew and springs of water gushed from +every cañon.</p> + +<p>Their joys equaled their sorrows. True the old were always +perishing and birth was a pain, and the sheep sometimes starved +because the snow covered the grass, and the children died of throat +sickness, but of such is human life in all lands. For the most part +they had plenty of meat to roast, and berries and pinon nuts to make +it savory, and the young men always had hearts for dancing and the +young girls pulled at their robes and every one laughed in the light +of the dance-fire.</p> + +<p>But at last the people began to complain. Women chattered +their discontentment as they wove their blankets under the cedars +and the old men gossiped in twos and threes before their camp fires. +The children cried for coffee and cakes of flour, and at last +Big Moggasen was forced to consider the discontent of his people. +His brow was black as he rose in council to say: “What is the +matter that you all grumble and whine like lame coyotes? Of old +it was not so, you took what that sun spirits sent and were brave, +now you have the hearts of foxes. What is it you want?”</p> + +<p>Then Black Bear, a young chief man arose and said: “We will +tell you, father. The Tinné to the south have a better time than we +do. They have better clothing and coffee each day and wagons in +which to ride or carry heavy loads. They have shovels with which +to build hogans and to dig wells for their sheep. They have hats +also which keep off the sun in summer and snow in winter. Why +do we not have some of these good things also? We need wells and +have nothing to dig them with. We go about bareheaded and the +sun is hot on our hair. We grow tired of meat without drink. We +think therefore that we should go down and see the white man and +get some of these needed things.”</p> + +<p>To this applauded speech old Big Moggasen sharply replied: +“I have heard of these things for a long time, but a bear does not +present me with his ears for love of me. Why does the white man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> +give these things? I have trapped deer by such sly actions. It is +for some reason that our cousins are fed on sweet things by the +white man. They wish to make captives of us. They will steal +our children and our wives. I have known of the ways of white +men for many years. I am old and my face is wrinkled with thinking +about him. I am not to be instructed of boys in such a matter.”</p> + +<p>All the night long the talk raged. Big Moggasen stood like a +rock in the wash of the current. He repeated again and again his +arguments. “The white man does not give his coat to the Tinné +without hope of pay. It is all a trick.”</p> + +<p>At last he gave way and consented to go with two of his head +men and see the Little Father and find out for himself the whole +truth. He went reluctantly and with drawn brows for he was not +at all sure of returning again. All the old people shared his feeling +but Brown Bear and Four Fingers who had traveled much laughed +openly and said: “See, they go like sick men. Their heads hang +down toward their feet like sick ponies. They need some of the +white man’s hot drink.”</p> + +<p>They traveled hard to the south for three days coming into a +hot dry climate, which they did not like. There was little grass and +the sheep were running to and fro searching for food somewhere, +even eating sagebrush. The women were everywhere making +blankets, and each night when they stopped the men of the north +had coffee to drink and the people told many strange things of the +whites. The old men had heard these things before but they had +not really believed them. Some of the women said, “My children +are away at the white man’s big house. They wear the white man’s +clothes and eat three times each day from white dishes. They +are learning the ways of the white man.”</p> + +<p>“I like it not,” said Big Moggasen, “it is their plan to steal +them and make them work for the white man. Why do they do +these things?”</p> + +<p>One woman held up a big round silver piece, “You see this?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> +My man digs for the white man far in the south where the big iron +horse runs and he gets one of these every day. Therefore we have +coffee and flour often—and shoes and warm clothing.”</p> + +<p>Big Moggasen shook his head and went on to the south. He +came at last to the place where the soldiers used to be in the olden +time and behold there were some big new red houses and many +boys and girls and ten white people, and all about stood square +hogans in which Tinné also lived. At the door of one of these +hogans stood a white-haired man and he said:</p> + +<p>“Friend, I do not know you but you are welcome. Come in +and eat.”</p> + +<p>The old man entered and in due time Big Moggasen told his +name and his errand and his fears.</p> + +<p>To this White-hairs replied: “It is natural for you to feel so. +Once I felt the same but the white man has not harmed me yet. +My children have learned to speak his tongue and to write. They +are happier than they were and that makes me happy. I do not +understand the white people. They are strange. Their thoughts +are not our thoughts but they are wonder-workers. I am in awe +of them. They are wiser than the spirits. They do things which it +is impossible for us to do, therefore I make friends with them. +They have done me no harm. My children are fond of them and +so I am content.”</p> + +<p>All the evening the old men from the northern mountains sat +arguing, questioning, shaking their heads. At last they said, +“Very well, in the morning we will go to the Little Father and hear +what he has to say. To us it now seems that these strange people +have thrown dust in your eyes and that they are scheming to make +pack-ponies of you.”</p> + +<p>In the morning they drank again of the white man’s coffee with +sweet in it and ate of the white man’s bread and it was all very +seductive to the tongue. Then old White-hairs led them to the +Little Father’s room.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span></p> + +<p>The Little Father was a small man who wore bits of glass before +his eyes. He was short-spoken and his voice was high and shrill +but calm.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” he said to White-hairs in the Tinné tongue.</p> + +<p>“These are they from the mountains,” replied White-hairs. +“This is Big Moggasen.”</p> + +<p>The Little Father rose and held out his hand, “How is your +health?”</p> + +<p>Big Moggasen took his hand but coldly.</p> + +<p>“This is Tall-man and this Silver Arrow.”</p> + +<p>After they had shaken hands the Little Father said: “Sit down +and we will smoke.” He gave them some tobacco and when they +had rolled it into little leaves of paper he said: “Well now, what +can I do for you?”</p> + +<p>After a long pause Big Mogassen began abruptly: “We live in +the mountains, three days’ journey from here. We are poor. We +have no wagons or shovels like the people who live here. We are +of one blood with them. We do not see why we should not have +these things. We have come for them. My people want wagons +to carry logs in and shovels to dig wells and harnesses to put on our +ponies.”</p> + +<p>To this the Little Father replied: “Yes, we have these good +things and I give them to your people. They are for those who are +good and who walk in the white man’s trail. We wish to help you +also. Did you bring any children with you?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“You must do that. We wish to educate your children. If +you bring twenty children to school I will see what I can do for +you.”</p> + +<p>Big Moggasen harshly replied: “I did not come to talk about +school.”</p> + +<p>The answer was quick and stern: “But I did. You will get +nothing until you send your children to me to be schooled.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span></p> + +<p>Big Moggasen’s veins swelled with the rush of his hot blood. +He leaped to his feet tense and rigid. “No. My children shall not +come. I do not believe in the white man or his ways. I do not like +the white man’s ways. I am old and I have seen many things. The +white man makes our young men drunk. He steals away our +daughters. He takes away their hearts with sweet drinks and +clothes. He is a wolf.”</p> + +<p>The Little Father remained calm. “It is true there are bad +white men, but there are those who are good.”</p> + +<p>“Those I do not see,” growled the chief. “All my life I have +thrust the white men away because they came to steal our land. +I do not want my children to learn their ways.”</p> + +<p>“Then you can’t have any of the great fellow’s presents.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will go home as I came, hungry and cold,” replied the +old man, wrapping his blanket around him.</p> + +<p>“To show that I am not angry,” said the Little Father. “I will +give you something to eat on your way home.”</p> + +<p>The old man grew stern and set. “I did not come to beg of the +white man. I did not come to ask anything for myself. I came +because my people in council decided to send me. I have come. +I am old and I have not departed from the ways of my fathers. I +have lived thus far without the white man’s help, I will die as I +have lived. I have spoken.”</p> + +<p>Turning abruptly he went out, followed by his companions and +old White-hairs, whose face was very sad.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">THE STORM-CHILD</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORM-CHILD">THE STORM-CHILD</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">There was tranquillity in the warm lodge of Waumdisapa, +chief of the Tetons. It was always peaceful there for it is +the duty of a head man to render his people harmonious +and happy—but it was doubly tranquil on this midwinter day, for +a mighty tumult had arisen in the tops of the tall willows, and +across the grass of the bleak plain an icy dust was wildly sliding. +Nearly all the men of the band were in camp, so fierce was +the blast.</p> + +<p>Waumdisapa listened tranquilly to the streams of snow lashing +his tepee’s cap and felt it on his palm as it occasionally sifted +down through the smoke-vent, and said, “The demons may howl +and the white sands slide—my people are safe here behind the hills. +With food and plenty of blankets we can wait.”</p> + +<p>Hour by hour he smoked, or gravely meditated, his mind filled +with the pursuits and dangers of the past. Now and again as an +aged wrinkled warrior lifted the door-flap he was invited to enter +to partake of tobacco and to talk of the gathering spirits of winter.</p> + +<p>In a neighboring lodge the chief’s wife was at work beside her +kettle singing a low song as she minded her fire, and through the +roaring, whistling, moaning riot of the air-sprites other women +could be heard cheerfully beating their way from fire to fire. A +few hunters were still abroad, but no one was alarmed about them. +The tempest was a subject of jest and comparison with other days. +No one feared its grim power. Was it not a part of nature, an +enemy always to be met!</p> + +<p>Suddenly the sound of a moaning cry broke in upon the chief’s +meditation. The tent-door was violently thrown up and with +a hoarse wail, Oma, a young widow, entered the lodge, and threw<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> +herself before the feet of Waumdisapa. “My baby! My little boy +is lost in the snow. O father, pity me—help me!”</p> + +<p>Quickly the chief questioned her. “Where?”</p> + +<p>“Out there!” she motioned with her hand—a wild gesture +toward the bleak remorseless north. “I was with my brothers +hunting the buffalo—the storm came on—my baby wandered away +from the camp. We could not find him. They came away—taking +me, too. They would not let me stay. Send hunters—find him. +Take pity on me, my father!”</p> + +<p>The chief turned to her brothers (who had followed her and +were looking on with sad faces) and said, “Is this true?”</p> + +<p>“It is!” they said. “We were in temporary camp. We were +resting. The tempest leaped upon us. All was in confusion. The +baby wandered away—the snow must have covered him quickly. +We could not find him though we searched hard and long. The +storm grew. Some of us came on to bring the women and children +to camp. Three of us, my brothers and I, remained to look +for the boy. We could not find him. He is buried deep in +the snow.”</p> + +<p>The chief, touched by the woman’s agony, rose in reproof. +“Go back!” he said, sternly. “Take other of the young men. +Cover every foot of ground near your camp.”</p> + +<p>“The night is coming.”</p> + +<p>“No matter—search!” commanded the chief.</p> + +<p>A party of braves was soon made up. As they rode away into +the blast Oma wished to go with them, but the chief prevented her.</p> + +<p>All the afternoon she remained in the chief’s lodge crowding +close to his feet—listening, moaning, waiting. She was weak with +hunger, and shivering with cold, but she would not eat, would not +go to her silent and lonely fireplace.</p> + +<p>“No, no, father, I will stay with you,” she said.</p> + +<p>Swiftly the darkness fell upon the camp. The cold intensified. +The tempest increased in violence, howling above the willows like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> +an army of flying demons. The snows beat upon the stout skins of +the lodges and fell in heaps which grew ever higher, but the mothers +of the camp came one by one, young and old, to comfort the stricken +one, speaking words of cheer.</p> + +<p>“They will bring him.”</p> + +<p>“The brave hunters will find your boy.”</p> + +<p>“They know no fear.”</p> + +<p>“They have sharp eyes.”</p> + +<p>“Their hearts are warm.”</p> + +<p>“They will rescue him.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, two by two the hardy trailers returned, cold, +weary, covered with ice, their faces sad, their eyes downcast. +“Blackness is on the plain,” they reported. “Nothing +moves but the snow. We have searched hard. We have called, +we have listened close, no voice replies. Nothing is to be seen, +or heard.”</p> + +<p>With each returning unsuccessful scout the mother’s grief and +despair deepened. Heartbroken, she lay prone on the ground, her +face in the dust, while the sorrowful songs of the women went on +around her. Truly hers was a piteous plight.</p> + +<p>“To lose one’s only child is sad. She has no man. She is alone.”</p> + +<p>“The sun-god has forsaken her,” said one old woman. “He +is angry. She has neglected some sacrifice.”</p> + +<p>At last Hacone, the bravest, most persistent scout of all, one +who loved Oma, came silently in and dropped exhausted beside +the chieftain’s fire.</p> + +<p>“Night, black stranger, has come,” he said, “I can search no +longer. Twice I lost my way, twice my horse fell. Blinding was +the wind. My breath was taken. Long I looked for the camp. +The signal fires guided me. Dead is the child.”</p> + +<p>With a whimper of anguish the poor mother fell back upon the +floor and lay as one dead, hearing no sound. All night long her low +moans went on—and the women who lifted and bore her away<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> +sang songs of grief with intent to teach her that sorrow was the +lot of all women and that happiness was but a brief spot of sunlight +in a world of shadow.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>The morning broke at last, still, cold, clear, and serene. The +tall trees stood motionless to the tips as though congealed into +iron, and the smoke of each fire rose slow as though afraid to leave +the tepee’s mouth. Here and there an old woman scurried about +bearing fuel. The dogs slunk through the camp whining with cold—holding +up their half-frozen feet. The horses uneasily circled, +brushing close against each other for warmth. Indeed it was a +morning of merciless cruelty—the plain was a measureless realm +of frost.</p> + +<p>In Oma’s tent physical agony was added to grief, or so it seemed, +but in truth the mother knew only sorrow. She was too deeply +schooled by the terrors of the plains not to know how surely the +work of the winter demon had been done. Somewhere out there her +sweet little babe was lying stiff and stark in his icy bed—somewhere +on the savage and relentless upland his small limbs were at the +mercy of the cold.</p> + +<p>One by one her friends reassembled to help her bear her loss—eager +to offer food, quick to rebuild her fire—but she would not +listen, could not face the cheerful flame. Meat and the glow of +embers were of no avail to revive her frozen, hopeless heart.</p> + +<p>The chief himself came at last to see her—to inquire again +minutely of her loss. “We will seek further,” he said. “We will +find the boy. We will bring him to you. Be patient.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly a shout arose. “A white man! a white man!” and the +warning cry carried forward from lip to lip announced the news to +Waumdisapa.</p> + +<p>“A white man comes—riding a pony and bearing something +in his arms. He is within the camp circle!”</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_098fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_098fp.jpg" alt="Hunting group examining tracks on the snowy ground"> + <figcaption class="caption-r">Footprints in the Snow<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>To an old hunter, footprints in the snow are as an open +book, and it was by these “signs” on the trail that the buffalo hunters +knew the Sioux had crawled in upon the +dispatch-bearer as he rested in a timbered bottom and +poured in the bullets that put an end to his career. To +the trooper, the plains white with snow had seemed lonely +indeed, but, as he well knew, one could not, in those days, +trust the plains to be as lonely as they looked, what with +the possibility of Mr. Sitting Bull or Mr. Crazy Horse, +with a band of his braves, popping out of some coulee, +intent upon taking the scalp of any chance wayfarer.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +WHEN A DOCUMENT IS OFFICIAL<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>September, 1899</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + + +<figure class="figright illowp70" id="i_099fp" style="max-width: 35em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_099fp.jpg" alt="Apache raiding group"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-l"><span class="lht1">Geronimo and His Band Returning from a Raid in Mexico</span><br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"> +<i>Leaving their reservation under such leaders as Geronimo, +the Apache Indians, in the period 1882-86, used to take +refuge in the Sierra Madre Mountains, and from this +stronghold raid the settlements in Mexico and Arizona.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +BORDER TROUBLES<br> +<i>by</i> William M. Edwardy<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Weekly</span>, <i>August 18, 1888</i></span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span></p> + +<p>“Bring him to me!” commanded Waumdisapa. “I will know +his errand.”</p> + +<p>To all this Oma paid little heed. What to her was any living +creatures now that she was utterly bereaved?</p> + +<p>But the wail of a child pierced her heart and she sprang up, +listened intently, just as a smiling young white man, carrying a +bundle in his arms, entered the door and nodding carelessly to +the chief, said in Sioux, “Here’s a little chap I found in the snow +last night. I reckon it belongs here.”</p> + +<p>The frenzied mother leaped toward him and snatched the babe +from his arms. Her cry of joy was sweet to hear, and as she cuddled +the baby close, the hunter’s brown face grew very tender—though +he laughed.</p> + +<p>“I reckon that youngster’s gone to the right spot, chief. I +thought he belonged to your band.”</p> + +<p>Then Waumdisapa shook him by the hand and commanded +him to sit. “Go shelter the white man’s horse,” he said, to his +people, “and let a feast be cried, for the lost child is found. This +warm-hearted stranger has brought the dead to life, and we are all +glad.”</p> + +<p>The hunter laughed in some dismay, and put away the food +which the women began to press upon him. “I must go, chief. +My people wait. I do not deserve this fuss.”</p> + +<p>“I will send a messenger to say you are here. They shall also +come to our feast.”</p> + +<p>“They may kill your messenger for we are at war.”</p> + +<p>The chief considered. “Write large on a piece of paper. Say +that we are at war no more. This deed has made us friends. You +are one of us—we will honor you. We cannot let you go. See the +mother’s joy? She wishes to thank you!”</p> + +<p>It was true. Oma, holding her child in her arms, was kneeling +before the young hunter, her face upturned in gratitude. She caught +his hand and kissed it, pressing it to her cheek.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span></p> + +<p>“You are a good man. You have a brave warm heart. You +have restored my child. I love you. I will love all white people +hereafter. Stay and feast with us for I am very happy.”</p> + +<p>Flushed with embarrassment the young man shrank away. +“Don’t do that! I have done very little. Any white man would +have acted the same.”</p> + +<p>But the people of the snow would not have it so. Smilingly +they laid hands upon him and would not let him go. “No, you must +remain and dance with us. We will send for your companions—we +will write a new treaty of peace. Our gratitude shall make us +brothers.”</p> + +<p>Like a flower that springs up in the wet grass after a rain the +mother’s head lifted and her face shone with joy. The child was +untouched of frost, not even a toe had been pinched, and he fell +asleep again as soon as he was fed. Then Oma laid him down and +came to flutter about his rescuer with gestures of timid worship. +She smiled with such radiance that the young man wondered at the +change in her, and her ecstasy awoke his pity. Then the chief said:</p> + +<p>“See! Oma is a widow. She already loves you. Stay with us +and take her to wife.”</p> + +<p>Then the youth grew more uneasy than ever and with hesitation +said: “No, chief, I can’t do that—far away among the white +villagers is a girl who is to be my wife. I cannot marry anyone +else. I have made a vow.”</p> + +<p>The gentle old chief did not persist, but the women perceived +how Oma’s gratitude grew and one of them took the hunter by the +sleeve and while Oma stood before him in confusion said: “See! +You have made her very happy. She desires to show you how much +she owes to you—stay and be happy.”</p> + +<p>He shook them off, but in no unkindly way. “No,” he repeated. +“I must go,” and stepped toward the door of the lodge, strangely +moved by the passion of this primitive scene. These grateful women +moved him but he looked not back.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span></p> + +<p>Waumdisapa followed him. “Friend, tell me your name.”</p> + +<p>“Your people call me ‘Blazing Hand,’” returned the young man.</p> + +<p>“Hah!” shouted the chief in surprise. “Blazing Hand! you +are much admired among my men. You are swift to shoot.”</p> + +<p>Blazing Hand! The name ran from lip to lip, for they had +all heard of this reckless and remorseless young outlaw. More +eagerly than ever they crowded to see him—but the chief after a +moment regained his calm dignity of manner. “Blazing Hand, +you have befriended my people before. Now we are doubly anxious +to have you remain with us....”</p> + +<p>The young man lifted the door-flap. “<i>Addios</i>,” he said, fixing +his eyes on Oma.</p> + +<p>She plucked her child from its bed and ran toward him. “I +have heard your name. It shall remain in my ears while I live +and I will teach my child that he may say it after I am dead.”</p> + +<p>Waumdisapa called to his scouts: “See that this man is guided +safely to his fellows. And let no one molest him. Henceforth we +are brothers. He and his may hunt and trap where they choose +on Teton land.”</p> + +<p>The light was gray on the face of Oma as the stranger rode away—but +the voice of her babe comforted her. Her smile came back +and she said: “Perhaps the kind hunter will return. The face of +Blazing Hand will live forever in my heart.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">THE BLOOD LUST</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_BLOOD_LUST">THE BLOOD LUST</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">John Seger, having been detailed to run a mail route across +the country from Fort Reno to Camp Supply, selected his +friend Little Robe to be his guide. Little Robe was Cheyenne, +a tall, grave and rather taciturn man, much respected in his tribe. +Just as they were about to start he said to his employer, with +gentle decision:</p> + +<p>“I don’t know you—you don’t know me. I am Cheyenne, +you are white man. It is best that we take no weapons along. Each +of us may carry a knife, to use about the camp, but no guns.”</p> + +<p>This struck Seger as a bit risky, but, realizing that his life was +in the red man’s hands anyway, he decided to accept. “Very well,” +said he. “If you don’t need a gun, I don’t.”</p> + +<p>Driving a span of horses and carrying a meager camping outfit +Seger set forth hopefully. It was in the days of the Star Routers, +and this was a bogus line, but neither he nor Robe knew it. They +were indeed very much in earnest.</p> + +<p>The weather was beautiful, and the prairies glorious. Larks +were whistling, plovers crying. “I never enjoyed a ride more in +my life,” said Seger, and, as for Little Robe, he proved a capital +companion. His talk was most instructive. He never once became +coarse or commonplace, and after the second day Seger trusted him +perfectly—though he went to his blanket the first night with some +apprehension.</p> + +<p>He soon saw why Robe had been recommended to him. His +knowledge of the whole country was minute. Every stream suggested +a story, every hill discovered a memory. As he came to +like his white companion, he talked more and more freely of his life +as a warrior, telling tales quite as Seger would have done had he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> +been able to speak of his part in the Vicksburg campaign. To the +chief, every enterprise of his career was honorable. It’s all in the +point of view.</p> + +<p>He knew the heavens, too, and could lay his course almost as +well by night as by day, and Seger soon came to have a genuine +admiration as well as a feeling of affection for him. He was handy +as a woman around the camp kettle, and never betrayed weariness +or anger or doubt.</p> + +<p>One night as they rode down to camp in the valley of a small +stream Robe looked about him with more than usual care, and a +perceptible shadow fell over his face. “I know this place,” he said, +and Seger could see that he was saddened by some recollection +connected with it.</p> + +<p>He said no more till after they had eaten their supper, and were +sitting beside the smouldering fire; then he began slowly to utter +his mind.</p> + +<p>“Aye, friend, I know this place. It is filled with sad thoughts. +I camped here many years ago. I was a young warrior then and reckless, +but my wife was with me, and my little daughter.” His lips +took on a sweetness almost feminine as he paused. “She was very +lovely, my child. She had lived five years and she could swim like +an otter. She used to paddle about in this little pool. Several days +I camped here debating whether to go on into the south country or +not. You see, friend, I was in need of horses and in those days it +was the custom for the young warriors of my tribe to make raids +among the peaked hats, whom you call Mexicans, in order to drive +off their horses. This was considered brave and honorable, and I +was eager to go and enrich myself.</p> + +<p>“My wife did not wish me to take this journey. She wept when I +told her my plan. ‘Do not go,’ she said, ‘stay with me!’ Then I +began to consider taking her and my little daughter with me—for +I did not like to be separated from them even for a day. My child +was so pretty, her cheeks were so round and her eyes so bright. She<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span> +had little dimpled hands, and when she put her arms about my +neck my heart was like wax.”</p> + +<p>The old warrior’s voice trembled as he reached this point in his +story, and for a long time he could not go on. At last he regained +composure. “It was foolish to make the raid—it was very wrong +to take my little girl, but I could not leave her behind. Therefore +one day with my wife and daughter and my three brothers, I set +out into the southwest, resolute to win some ponies.</p> + +<p>“After the first two days we traveled at night and camped in a +concealed place during the day. Slowly we stole forward, until at +last we came near a small village of The Peaked Hats, where some +fine horses and mules were reported to be had by advancing with +boldness and skill.</p> + +<p>“My own ponies were poor and weak and as I saw the horses +about this village I became very eager to own some of them. +Especially did I desire a fine sorrel mare. It was not easy to get her, +for these people had been many times raided by the Comanches +and were very careful to round up their best animals at night and +put them into a high corral. Nevertheless, I told my brothers to be +ready and that I myself would adventure to the gate, open it, and +drive forth our prizes.</p> + +<p>“My wife begged me to give up my plan. She wept and clung +to my arm. ‘It will lead to evil, I feel it,’ she said. ‘You will be +killed.’ But I had given my word. I could not fail of it. ‘Take my +wife,’ I said sternly to my younger brother. ‘Take her and the +little one and ride northward toward that black butte. I will meet +you there at daybreak,’ I said.</p> + +<p>“My wife took our little daughter in her arms, and my brother +led them away. I could hear my wife moaning as she rode into +the dark night——”</p> + +<p>Again the deep voice faltered, as the memory of this parting +wail came back to him, but he soon resumed quietly: “Slowly I +crept forward. I reached the corral, but could not find the gate.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> +It was on the side nearest the village and as I crept round feeling +of the poles, the dogs began to bark. I kept on, however, +and at last found and tore down the bars. Entering the corral, +I began to lash the horses with my lariat. As the sorrel was +about to pass me I caught her and leaped upon her back. In +a few moments I was driving the whole herd like a whirlwind +across the plain.</p> + +<p>“My brother joined me and we tried to turn the herd northward, +but the leaders gave me great trouble. At last some of them escaped +and returned to the village. We heard shouting, we were pursued. +Roping and tying some of the best of the ponies we could overtake, +we drove them before us toward the butte, well pleased with our +capture.</p> + +<p>“We traveled hard, overtaking my brother and my wife and +baby girl, but thereafter we were unable to make speed on account +of the child and its mother, and on account of the horses, two of +which were fine but very stubborn. I could not consent to set them +loose though I knew I was endangering my dear ones by delay. +It was very foolish and I was made to suffer for my folly.</p> + +<p>“The Mexicans must have had other horses hidden and ready +saddled, for they came swiftly on our trail and before long they began +to shoot. Almost the first shot they fired struck my wife in the back, +and passing entirely through her body wounded my little daughter. +I turned then and began to shoot in return and my pursuers fell +back. We abandoned all the horses but two and when my wife told +me of her hurt I took my little girl in my arms and rode fast for a +place of concealment. My wife was badly crippled and got upon +another horse, and followed me closely.</p> + +<p>“That day we spent in swiftest flight—using every precaution +to conceal our trail. I did not know how sadly mangled my child +was, but she moaned with pain and that nearly broke my heart, +and yet I dared not stop. I realized how crazy I had been to bring +her into this land, but my repentance came too late. At every<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> +stream I gave her water to drink and bathed her wound, but it was +of no avail—she died in my arms—”</p> + +<p>The warrior stopped abruptly. His lips quivered and his eyes +were dim with memories too sad for speech. For some minutes he +sat in silence, the tears rolling down his browned and wrinkled +cheeks. At last he brokenly resumed.</p> + +<p>“Friend, we buried her there in that lonely land and kept on +our way. But thereafter I could not sleep. When I closed my eyes +I could see my baby’s little round face and feel her soft arms about +my neck, and my heart was full of bitterness. I longed for revenge. +My blood cried out for the death of the man whose bullet had taken +her life. Each night in our homeward way my heart burned hot +in my bosom, flaming with hate. It was like a live ember in my +flesh.</p> + +<p>“My woman who knew what was in my mind begged me not +to return to the south—but I shut my ears to her pleading. I +assembled my clan round me. I called upon those who wished to +help me revenge the death of my daughter to join me. Many +stepped forth and at last with a band of brave young men I swept +back and fell like a whirlwind on that town.</p> + +<p>“When I left it, only a heap of ashes could be seen. Of all who +inhabited that village not one escaped me—not one.” Then with +a face of bronze and with biblical brevity of phrase he concluded: +“<i>After that I slept.</i>”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">THE REMORSE OF WAUMDISAPA</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_REMORSE_OF_WAUMDISAPA">THE REMORSE OF WAUMDISAPA<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">There was dissension in the camp of Waumdisapa. Mattowan, +his cousin, jealous of his chief’s great fame, was +conspiring to degrade and destroy him.</p> + +<p>Waumdisapa, called “King of the Plains” by those border men +who knew him best, was famed throughout the valley of the Platte. +Grave, dignified, serious of face and commanding of figure, he rose +intellectually above all his people as his splendid body towered in +the dance, a natural leader of men. His people were still living their +own life, happy in their own lands, free to come and go, sweeping +from north to south as the bison moved, needing nothing of the +white man but his buffalo guns and his ammunition. It was in these +days that women emptied the flour of their rations upon the grass +in order to use the cloth of the sack, careless of the food of the paleface +which was considered enervating and destructive to warriors +and hunters.</p> + +<p>Yet even in those days Waumdisapa was friendly with the +traders, and like the famous Sitting Bull of the north, was only +anxious to keep his people from corrupting contact with the whites, +jealous to hold his lands and resolute to maintain his tribal traditions. +His was the true chief’s heart—all his great influence was +used to maintain peace and order. He carried no weapon—save the +knife with which he shaved his tobacco and cut his meat, and on +his arm dangled the beaded bag in which the sacred pipe of friendship +and meditation lay, and wherever he walked turmoil ceased.</p> + +<p>For these reasons he was greatly beloved by his people. No +one feared him—not even the children of the captive Ute woman +who served Iapa—and yet he had gained his preëminence by virtue<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> +of great deeds as well as by strong and peaceful thoughts. He was a +moving orator also—polished and graceful of utterance, conciliatory +and placating at all times. Often he turned aside the venomous +hand of revenge and cooled the hot heart of war. In tribal policies +he was always on the side of justice.</p> + +<p>Mattowan was a brave warrior, too, a man respected for his +horsemanship, his skill with death-dealing weapons, and distinguished, +too, for his tempestuous eloquence—but he was also feared. +His hand was quick against even his brothers in council. He could +not tolerate restraint. Checked now and again by Waumdisapa, +he had darkened with anger, and in his heart a desire for revenge +was smoldering like a hidden fire in the hollow of a great tree.</p> + +<p>He was ambitious. “Why should Waumdisapa be chief? Am +I not of equal stature, of equal fame as a warrior?” So he argued +among his friends, spreading disaffection. “Waumdisapa is growing +old,” he sneered. “He talks for peace, for submission to the +white man. His heart is no longer that of a warrior. He sits +much in his tepee. It is time that he were put away.”</p> + +<p>When the chief heard these words he was very sad and very +angry. He called a council at once to consider what should be done +with the traitor and the whole tribe trembled with excitement and +awe. What did it mean when the two most valiant men of the tribe +stood face to face like angry panthers?</p> + +<p>When the head men were assembled Waumdisapa, courteous, +grave and self-contained, placed Mattowan at his left and old Mato, +the hereditary chief, upon his right, and took his seat with serene +countenance. Outside the council tepee the women sat upon the +ground—silent, attentive, drawn closer to the speakers than they +were accustomed to approach. The children, even the girl babies, +crouched beside their mothers—their desire for play swallowed up +in a dim sense of some impending disaster. No feast was being +prepared, smiles were few and furtive. No one knew what was +about to take place, but a foreboding of trouble chilled them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span></p> + +<p>The chief lighted his pipe and passed it to Mato who put it to +his lips, drew a deep whiff and passed it to his neighbor. So it went +slowly from man to man while Waumdisapa sat, in silence, with +downcast eyes, awaiting its return.</p> + +<p>As the pipe came to Mattowan he, the traitor, passed it by +with a gesture of contempt.</p> + +<p>The chief received it again with a steady hand, but from his +lowered eye-lids a sudden flame shot. Handing the pipe to Mato +he rose, and looking benignantly, yet sadly, round the circle, +began very quietly:</p> + +<p>“Brothers, the Lakotans are a great people, just and generous +to their foes, faithful to the laws of their tribe. I am your chief. +You all know how I became so. Some of you knew my father—he +was a great warrior——”</p> + +<p>“Aye, so he was,” said Mato.</p> + +<p>“He was a wise and good man also,” continued Waumdisapa.</p> + +<p>“Aye, aye,” chorused several of the old men.</p> + +<p>“He brought me up in the good way. He taught me to respect +my elders and to honor my chief. He told me the stories of our +tribe. He taught me to pray—and to shoot. He taught me to +dance, to sing the ancient songs, and when I was old enough he led +me to battle. My skill with the spear and the arrow I drew from +him, he gave me courage and taught me forbearance. When he died +you made me leader in his place and carefully have I followed his +footsteps. I have kept the peace among my people. I have given +of my abundance to the poor. I have not boasted or spoken enviously +because my father would be ashamed of me if I did so. Now +the time has come to speak plainly. I hear that my brother who sits +beside me—Mattowan, the son of my mother’s sister—is envious. I +hear that he wishes to see me put aside as one no longer fit to rule.”</p> + +<p>He paused here and the tension was very great in all the +assembly, but Mattowan sullenly looked out over the heads of the +women—his big mouth close set.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span></p> + +<p>The chief gently said: “This shall be as you say. If you, my +brothers, head men of the Lakotans, say I am old and foolish, +then Waumdisapa will put aside his chief’s robes and go forth to sit +outside the council circle.” His voice trembled as he uttered this +resolution—but drawing himself to proud height he concluded in a +firm voice: “Brothers, I have spoken.”</p> + +<p>As he took his seat a low mournful sound passed among the +women, and the mother of Mattowan began to sing a bitter song +of reproach—but some one checked her, as old Mato rose. He was +small, with the face of a fox, keen, shrewd, humorous. After the +usual orator’s preamble, he said: “Brothers, this is very foolish. +Who desires to have Mattowan chief? Only a few boys and grumblers. +What has he done to be chief? Nothing that others have +not done. He is a crazy man. His heart is bad. Would he bring +dissension among us? Let us rebuke this braggart. For me I am +old—I sit here only by courtesy of Waumdisapa, but for me I want +no change. I do not wish to make a wolf the war chief of my people. +I have spoken.”</p> + +<p>As the pipe went round and one by one the head men rose to +praise and defend their chieftain, Mattowan became furious. He +trembled and his face grew ferocious with his almost ungovernable +hate and disappointment—plainly the day was going against him.</p> + +<p>At last he sprang up, forgetting all form—all respect. “You +are all squaws,” he roared. “You are dogs licking the bones this +whining coward throws to you——”</p> + +<p>He spoke no more. With the leap of a panther his chief fell +upon him and with one terrible blow sunk his knife to the hilt in +his heart. Smitten with instant palsy Mattowan staggered a +moment amid the moans of the women, and the hoarse shouts of +the men, and fell forward, face down in the very center of the +council circle.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp75" id="i_116fp" style="max-width: 35em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_116fp.jpg" alt="Indian on horseback"> + <figcaption class="caption-r">An Indian Brave<br> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +A BUNCH OF BUCKSKINS<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published by</i><br> +<span class="smcap">R. H. Russell</span>, <i>1901</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>For a minute Waumdisapa, tense and terrible in his anger, stood +looking down upon his fallen calumniator—rigid, menacing, ready<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> +to strike again—then his vast muscles relaxed, his eyes misted with +tears and with a moan of remorse and anguish he lifted his blanket +till his quivering lips were covered—crying hoarsely, “I have killed +my brother. I am no longer fit to be your chief.”</p> + +<p>Thereupon dropping his embroidered pipe-bag and his ceremonial +fan upon the ground he turned and walked slowly away +with staggering, shaking limbs, onward through the camp, out +upon the plain and there, throwing himself down upon the ground, +began to chant a wild song of uncontrollable grief.</p> + +<p>All night long he lay thus, mourning like a wounded lion, and +his awed people dared not approach. Over and over, with anguished +voice, he cried: “Father pity me. My hand is red with my brother’s +blood. I have broken the bond of the council circle. My heart is +black with despair!—Pity me!—My brother!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>In the morning he returned to his tepee, moving like an old man, +bent and nerveless, avoiding all eyes, ignoring all greetings—and +when next the council met, Waumdisapa, clad in rags, with dust +upon his head, silently took his place outside the council circle—self-accused +and self-deposed.</p> + +<p>The sight of their chief moving so humbly to a seat among the +obscure, deeply affected the women, and a wailing song ran among +them like an autumn wind—but Waumdisapa’s head was bowed +to hide his quivering lips.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">A DECREE OF COUNCIL</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_DECREE_OF_COUNCIL">A DECREE OF COUNCIL</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">Big Nose was an inveterate gambler. Like all the plains +tribes the Shi-an-nay are a social people. They love companionship +and the interchange of jest and story. At +evening, when the day’s hunt is over, they come together to tell +stories and joke and discuss each other’s affairs precisely as the +peasants of a French village do. And when amusement is desired +they dance or play games.</p> + +<p>It is this feeling on their part which makes it so difficult for the +Government to carry out its theories of allotment. It is difficult to +uproot a habit of life which has been thousands of years forming. +It is next to impossible to get one of these people to leave the village +group and go into his lonely little cabin a mile or two from a neighbor. +And the need of amusement is intensified by the sad changes in the +life of these people. Games of chance appeal to them precisely as +they do to the negro and to large classes of white people. They +play with the same abandon with which the negro enters into a +game of craps.</p> + +<p>One evening Big Nose was in company with three or four others +in the midst of Charcoal’s camp playing The Hand game. He had +been doing some work for the Post and had brought with him to +the camp a little heap of silver dollars. He was therefore in excellent +temper for a brisk game. But luck was against him. His little +store of money melted away and then he began taking his ponies, +his gun, and finally his blankets and his tepee; all went into the +yawning gulf of his bad luck. Before midnight came he had staked +everything but the clothing on his back and had reached a condition +of mind bordering on frenzy.</p> + +<p>Nothing was too small for his opponents to accept and nothing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> +was too valuable for him to stake. He began putting his moccasins +up on the chance and ended by tearing off his Gee string which +represented his absolute impoverishment. A reasonable being would +have ended the game here but with a desperation hitherto unknown +to the gamblers of his tribe, he sat naked on the ground and gambled +both his wives away.</p> + +<p>When he realized what had happened to him, that he was absolutely +without home or substance in the world, naked to the cold +and having no claim upon a human being, his frenzy left him and he +sank into pitiful dejection. Walking naked through the camp, he +began to cry his need, “Take pity on me, my friends. I have +nothing. The wind is cold. I have no blanket. I am hungry. I +have no tepee.”</p> + +<p>For a long time no one paid any heed to him, for they were +disgusted with his foolishness and they would not allow his +wives to clothe him or give him shelter. However, at last, his +brother came out and gave him a blanket and took him into his +tepee. “Let this be a lesson to you,” he said. “You are a fool. +Yet I pity you.”</p> + +<p>Next day a council was called to consider his case, which was +the most remarkable that had ever happened in the tribe. There +were many who were in favor of letting him take care of himself, +but in the end it was decreed that he should be clothed and that +he should have a tepee and the absolute necessities of life.</p> + +<p>The question of restoring him to his wives was a much +more serious one, the general opinion being that a man who +would gamble his wives away in this way had no further claim +upon a woman.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_122fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_122fp.jpg" alt="An argument outside a tepee"> + <figcaption class="caption-r">In an Indian Camp<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>The two men standing are in argument about the squaw +seated between them, for the possession of whom they had +gambled, the brave in the breech-clout, although the loser, +refusing, in Indian parlance, “to put the woman on the +blanket.”</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +SUN-DOWN LEFLARE’S WARM SPOT<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>September, 1898</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_123fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_123fp.jpg" alt="Confrontation with the Indian agent"> + <figcaption class="caption-l">Crow Indians Firing into the Agency<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>This incident occurred in 1887 on the Crow Reservation in +Northern Montana. A score or so of young Crow braves +having captured sixty horses in a raid they made on a +Piegan camp, were wildly celebrating the victory when the +agent sought to arrest them with his force of Indian police. +Upon this the raiders assumed a hostile attitude and as a +defiance they began firing into the agency buildings.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +THE TURBULENT CROWS<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Weekly</span>, <i>November 5, 1887</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>At last, old Charcoal arose to speak. He was a waggish old +fellow whose eye twinkled with humor as he said, “Big Nose has +two wives as you know. One of them is young. She is industrious. +She is very quiet, saying little and speaking in a gentle voice. The +other is old and has a sharp tongue. Her tongue is like a whip. It<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span> +makes her husband smart. Now let us restore him to his old wife. +She will be good discipline for him. She will not let him forget what +he has done.”</p> + +<p>This suggestion made every one laugh and it was agreed with. +And the news was carried to Big Nose. “I don’t want my old +wife,” he said. “I want my young wife.”</p> + +<p>“The council has decreed,” was the stern answer, “and there is +no appeal.”</p> + +<p>Big Nose accepted the ruling of the tribe and resolutely turned +his face in the right direction. He gave up gambling and became +one of the most progressive men of the tribe. By hard work he +acquired a team and a wagon and worked well, freighting for the +Agency and for the Post traders.</p> + +<p>His old wife, however, grew more and more unsatisfactory as +the years went by. For some inscrutable reason, she did not care +to make a home, but was always moving about from camp to camp, +full of gossip and unwelcome criticism. All this Big Nose patiently +endured for four years. But one day he came to Seger, the superintendent +of the school near him, and said:</p> + +<p>“My friend, you know I am walking the white man’s road. You +see that I want to do right. I have a team. I work hard. I want +a home where I can live quietly. But my old wife is trifling. She +is good for nothing. She wants to gad about all the time and never +stay home and look after the chickens. I want to put her away and +take another and better wife.”</p> + +<p>Seger was very cautious. “What do the old chiefs say about it?”</p> + +<p>Big Nose looked a little discouraged, but he answered defiantly, +“Oh, I am walking the white man’s road these days. I don’t care +what they say. I am listening to what you say.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll consider the matter,” he replied evasively, for he wished +to consult the head men. When he had stated the matter to White +Shield, he said, “Now, of course, whatever you think best in this +matter will be acceptable. I don’t know anything about the circumstances,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> +but if this old woman is as bad as Big Nose says, she +is of no account.”</p> + +<p>White Shield, very quietly, replied, “Big Nose can never marry +again.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?” inquired Seger, being interested in White Shield’s +brevity and decision of utterance.</p> + +<p>White Shield replied, “Haven’t you heard how Big Nose gambled +his wives away? That thing he did. Gambled away his tepees, +his clothing, and walked naked through the camp. We gave him +clothes. We gave back one wife, but we marked out a road and he +must walk in it. He cannot marry again.”</p> + +<p>And from this decree there was no appeal.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">DRIFTING CRANE</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="DRIFTING_CRANE">DRIFTING CRANE</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">The people of Boomtown invariably spoke of Henry Wilson +as the oldest settler in the Jim Valley, as he was of Buster +County, but the Eastern man, with his ideas of an “old +settler,” was surprised as he met the short, silent, middle-aged man, +who was very loath to tell anything about himself, and about +whom many strange and thrilling stories were told.</p> + +<p>Between his ranch and the settlements in Eastern Dakota there +was the wedge-shaped reservation known as the Sisseton Indian +Reserve, on which were stationed the customary agency and company +of soldiers. The valley was unsurveyed for the most part, +and the Indians naturally felt a sort of proprietorship in it, and +when Wilson drove his cattle down into the valley and squatted, +the chief, Drifting Crane, welcomed him, as a host might, to an +abundant feast whose hospitality was presumed upon, but who felt +the need of sustaining his reputation for generosity, and submitted +graciously.</p> + +<p>The Indians during the first summer got to know Wilson, and +liked him for his silence, his courage, his simplicity; but the older +men pondered upon the matter a great deal and watched with +grave faces to see him ploughing up the sod for his garden. There +was something strange in this solitary man thus deserting his +kindred, coming here to live alone with his cattle; they could not +understand it. What they said in those pathetic, dimly lighted +lodges will never be known; but when winter came, and the newcomer +did not drive his cattle back over the hills as they thought he +would, then the old chieftains took long counsel upon it. Night +after night they smoked upon it, and at last Drifting Crane said to +two of his young men: “Go ask this cattleman why he remains in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> +the cold and snow with his cattle. Ask him why he does not drive +his cattle home.”</p> + +<p>This was in March, and one evening a couple of days later, as +Wilson was about re-entering his shanty at the close of his day’s +work, he was confronted by two stalwart Indians, who greeted him +pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“How d’e do?” he said in reply. “Come in.”</p> + +<p>The Indians entered and sat silently while he put some food on +the table. They hardly spoke till after they had eaten. The +Indian is always hungry, for the reason that his food supply is +insufficient and his clothing poor. When they sat on the cracker-boxes +and soap-boxes which served as seats, they spoke. They +told him of the chieftain’s message. They said they had come +to assist him in driving his cattle back across the hills; that he +must go.</p> + +<p>To all this talk in the Indian’s epigrammatic way, and in the +dialect which has never been written, the rancher replied almost as +briefly: “You go back and tell Drifting Crane that I like this place; +that I’m here to stay; that I don’t want any help to drive my +cattle. I’m on the lands of the Great Father at Washington, +and Drifting Crane ain’t got any say about it. Now that sizes +the whole thing up. I ain’t got anything against you nor against +him, but I’m a settler; that’s my constitution; and now I’m settled +I’m going to stay.”</p> + +<p>While the Indians discussed his words between themselves he +made a bed of blankets on the floor, and said: “I never turn anybody +out. A white man is just as good as an Indian as long as he +behaves himself as well. You can bunk here.”</p> + +<p>In the morning he gave them as good a breakfast as he had,—bacon +and potatoes, with coffee and crackers. Then he shook +hands, saying: “Come again. I ain’t got anything against you; +you’ve done y’r duty. Now go back and tell your chief what I’ve +said. I’m at home every day. Good day.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span></p> + +<p>The Indians smiled kindly, and drawing their blankets over +their arms, went away toward the east.</p> + +<p>During April and May two or three reconnoitering parties of +land-hunters drifted over the hills and found him out. He was +glad to see them, for, to tell the truth, the solitude of his life was +telling on him. The winter had been severe, and he had hardly +caught a glimpse of a white face during the three midwinter months, +and his provisions were scanty.</p> + +<p>These parties brought great news. One of them was the advance +surveying party for a great Northern railroad, and they said a line +of road was to be surveyed during the summer if their report was +favorable.</p> + +<p>“Well, what d’ye think of it?” Wilson asked, with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Think! It’s immense!” said a small man in the party, whom +the rest called Judge Balser. “Why, they’ll be a town of four +thousand inhabitants in this valley before snow flies. We’ll send +the surveyors right over the divide next month.”</p> + +<p>They sent some papers to Wilson a few weeks later, which he +devoured as a hungry dog might devour a plate of bacon. The +papers were full of the wonderful resources of the Jim Valley. It +spoke of the nutritious grasses for stock. It spoke of the successful +venture of the lonely settler Wilson, how his stock fattened upon +the winter grasses without shelter, what vegetables he grew, etc.</p> + +<p>Wilson was reading this paper for the sixth time one evening in +May. He felt something touch him on the shoulder, and looked up +to see a tall Indian gazing down upon him with a look of strange +pride and gravity. Wilson sprang to his feet and held out his +hand.</p> + +<p>“Drifting Crane, how d’e do?”</p> + +<p>The Indian bowed, but did not take the settler’s hand. Drifting +Crane would have been called old if he had been a white man, +and there was a look of age in the fixed lines of his powerful, strongly +modeled face, but no suspicion of weakness in the splendid poise of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> +his broad, muscular body. There was a smileless gravity about his +lips and eyes which was very impressive.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad to see you. Come in and get something to eat,” +said Wilson, after a moment’s pause.</p> + +<p>The chief entered the cabin and took a seat near the door. He +took a cup of milk and some meat and bread silently, and ate while +listening to the talk of the settler.</p> + +<p>“I don’t brag on my biscuits, chief, but they <i>eat</i>, if a man is +hungry. An’ the milk’s all right. I suppose you’ve come to see why +I ain’t moseying back over the divide?”</p> + +<p>The chief, after a long pause, began to speak in a low, slow voice, +as if choosing his words. He spoke in broken English, of course, +but his speech was very direct and plain and had none of these +absurd figures of rhetoric which romancers invariably put into the +mouths of Indians. His voice was almost lionlike in its depth, and +yet was not unpleasant.</p> + +<p>“Cattleman, my young men brought me bad message from you. +They brought your words to me, saying, he will not go away.”</p> + +<p>“That’s about the way the thing stands,” replied Wilson, in +response to the question that was in the old chief’s steady eyes. “I’m +here to stay. This ain’t your land; this is Uncle Sam’s land, and +part of it’ll be mine as soon as the surveyors come to measure it off.”</p> + +<p>“Who gave it away?” asked the chief. “My people were +cheated out of it; they didn’t know what they were doing.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t help that; that’s for Congress to say. That’s the +business of the Great Father at Washington.”</p> + +<p>There was a look of deep sorrow in the old man’s face. At last +he spoke again: “The cattleman is welcome; but he must go, +because whenever one white man goes and calls it good, the others +come. Drifting Crane has seen it far in the east twice. The white +men come thick as the grass. They tear up the sod. They build +houses. They scare the buffalo away. They spoil my young men +with whisky. Already they begin to climb the eastern hills. Soon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> +they will fill the valley, and Drifting Crane and his people will be +surrounded. The sod will all be black.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you’re right,” was the rancher’s grim reply.</p> + +<p>“But they will not come if the cattleman go back to say the +water is not good, there is no grass, and the Indians own the land.”</p> + +<p>Wilson smiled at the childish faith of the chief. “Won’t do, +chief—won’t do. That won’t do any good. I might as well stay.”</p> + +<p>The chief rose. He was touched by the settler’s laugh; his eyes +flashed; his voice took on a sterner note. “The white man <i>must</i> go!”</p> + +<p>Wilson rose also. He was not a large man, but he was a very +resolute one. “I shan’t go,” he said through his clenched teeth.</p> + +<p>It was a thrilling, a significant scene. It was in absolute truth +the meeting of the modern vidette of civilization with one of the +rear guard of retreating barbarism. Each man was a type; each +was wrong, and each was right. The Indian as true and noble from +the barbaric point of view as the white man. He was a warrior and +hunter; made so by circumstances over which he had no control.</p> + +<p>The settler represented the unflagging energy and fearless heart +of the American pioneer. Narrow-minded, partly brutalized by +hard labor and a lonely life, yet an admirable figure for all that. As +he looked into the Indian’s face he seemed to grow in height. He +felt behind him all the weight of the millions of westward-moving +settlers; he stood the representative of an unborn state. He took +down a rifle from the wall, the magazine rifle, most modern of guns; +he patted the stock, pulled the crank, throwing a shell into view.</p> + +<p>“You know this thing, chief?”</p> + +<p>The Indian nodded slightly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll go when—this—is—empty.”</p> + +<p>“But my young men are many.”</p> + +<p>“So are the white men—my brothers.”</p> + +<p>The chief’s head dropped forward. Wilson, ashamed of his +boasting, put the rifle back on the wall.</p> + +<p>“I’m not here to fight. You can kill me any time. You could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> +’a’ killed me to-night, but it wouldn’t do any good. It’ud only +make it worse for you. Why, they’ll be a town in here bigger’n +all your tribe before two grass from now. It ain’t no use, Drifting +Crane; it’s <i>got</i> to be. You an’ I can’t help n’r hinder it.”</p> + +<p>Drifting Crane turned his head and gazed out on the western +sky, still red with the light of the fallen sun. His face was rigid as +bronze, but there was a dreaming, prophetic look in his eyes. A +lump came into the settler’s throat; for the first time in his life he +got a glimpse of the infinite despair of the Indian. He forgot that +Drifting Crane was the representative of a “vagabond race”; +he saw in him, or rather <i>felt</i> in him, something almost magnetic. +He was a <i>man</i>; and a man of sorrows. The settler’s voice was +husky when he spoke again, and his lips trembled.</p> + +<p>“Chief, I’d go to-morrow if it’ud do any good, but it won’t—not +a particle. You know that when you stop to think a minute. +What good did it do to massa<i>cree</i> all them settlers at New Ulm? +What good will it do to murder me and a hundred others? Not a +bit. A thousand others would take our places. So I might just as +well stay, and we might just as well keep good friends. Killin’ is +out o’ fashion; don’t do any good.”</p> + +<p>There was a twitching about the stern mouth of the Indian chief. +He understood all too well the irresistible logic of the pioneer. He +kept his martial attitude, but his broad chest heaved painfully, and +his eyes grew dim. At last he said, “Good-by. Cattleman right; +Drifting Crane wrong. Shake hands. Good-by.” He turned and +strode away.</p> + +<p>“This is all wrong,” muttered the settler. “There’s land +enough for us all, or ought to be. I don’t understand—Well, I’ll +leave it to Uncle Sam, anyway.” He ended with a sigh.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">THE STORY OF HOWLING WOLF</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_STORY_OF_HOWLING_WOLF">THE STORY OF HOWLING WOLF</h2> + +<p class="drop-capy">Within two weeks after Captain Cook took charge of +the Snake River Agency his native policemen reported +that fifteen of his people had crossed the reservation +line on their way to the Wind River Country.</p> + +<p>“Where have they gone?”</p> + +<p>“They gone to see it—their Ghost Dance Saviour,” explained +Claude, the agency interpreter.</p> + +<p>“Who have gone?”</p> + +<p>Claude rapidly ran over the names, and ended with “Howling +Wolf.”</p> + +<p>“Howling Wolf? Who is he? He isn’t on the rolls. I don’t +know anything about him.”</p> + +<p>“He head man of Lizard Creek Camp.”</p> + +<p>“Why isn’t he on the rolls?”</p> + +<p>“He don’t get it—no rations.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“He is angry.”</p> + +<p>“Angry? What about?”</p> + +<p>Out of a good deal of talk the agent secured this story. Seven +years before, a brother of Howling Wolf, a peaceful old man, was +sitting on a hilltop (near the road) wrapped in evening meditation. +His back was toward a white man’s cabin not far away +and he was looking at the sunset. His robe was drawn closely +round him, and his heart was at peace with all the world, for +he was thinking that the way is short between him and the +Shadow Land.</p> + +<p>A couple of cowboys came out of the door of the cabin and one +pointed at the meditating man with derisive gestures. The other<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> +drew his revolver and said, “See me knock the hat off the old +fool.”</p> + +<p>As he fired the old man sprang to his feet with a convulsive leap, +the blood streaming over his face. Numbed by the shock and +blinded with his own blood, he ran frenziedly and without design +toward the miscreant who shot him, and so on over the hill toward +Howling Wolf’s camp.</p> + +<p>Springing to their horses the two ruffians galloped away with +desperate haste.</p> + +<p>It was well they did so, for an hour later nothing remained of +the ranch but a heap of smoking embers. A hundred angry red men +had swept back over the hill—swift to avenge the madness of old +Medicine Crow.</p> + +<p>The old man was not killed, he lived for more than a year after +the wound, but he was never quite himself and when he died Howling +Wolf made a solemn declaration of war against the white +cattlemen and could not be convinced that the cowboys meant +merely to frighten and not to kill his brother. He lived in the hope +of some time meeting those men. No one had seen them but David +Big Nose, who had been to the white settlement that day, had met +the fugitives, and was able to describe them very well and every +word of his description burned itself into Howling Wolf’s memory. +Thereafter on all his excursions among the whites his eyes were ever +seeking, his ears ever listening. He never for an instant lost hope of +revenge.</p> + +<p>He withdrew from all friendly association with the whites. He +was sullen, difficult to deal with and in the end became a powerful +influence in checking the progress of the Shi-an-nay along the white +man’s road. The agent took little pains to help him clear away his +doubts and hates, and so it was that Claude, the interpreter, ended +by saying, “and so Howling Wolf no send children to school—no +take it rations, and never comes to agency—never.”</p> + +<p>Captain Cook sat down and wrote a telegram to the agent of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> +the Sho-sho-nee, saying, “Fifteen of my people are gone without +leave to visit the Messiah. If they come into your reservation +arrest them and send them back at once.”</p> + +<p>Some days later the Wind River agent replied: “Eleven of your +Indians came in here—I’ve sent them home. Four went round me +to the west. Probably they have gone into the Twin Lake Country, +where the Messiah is said to be.”</p> + +<p>Some weeks later Big Bear, the policeman, came in with the +second announcement, “Howling Wolf come.”</p> + +<p>“You tell Howling Wolf I want to see him,” said Cook. “Tell +him I want to talk with him, say to him I am his friend and that I +want to talk things over.”</p> + +<p>Two days later, as he sat at his desk in his inner office, the +captain heard the door open and close, and when he looked up, a +tall, handsome but very sullen red man was looking down upon +him.</p> + +<p>“How!” called Cook, pleasantly, extending his hand.</p> + +<p>The visitor remained as motionless as a bronze statue of hate, +his arms folded, his figure menacing. His eyes seemed to search +the soul of the man before him.</p> + +<p>“How—<i>how</i>!” called Cook again. “Are you deaf? What’s +the matter with you? How!”</p> + +<p>At this the chief seized the agent’s hand and began shaking it +violently, viciously. It was his crippled arm and Cook was soon +tired of this horseplay.</p> + +<p>“That’ll do, stop it! Stop it, I say. Stop it or by the Lord I’ll +smash your face,” he cried, seizing a heavy glass inkstand. He was +about to strike his tormentor, when the red man dropped his hand.</p> + +<p>Angry and short of breath the agent stepped to the door.</p> + +<p>“Claude, come in here. Who is this man? What’s the matter +with him?”</p> + +<p>“That Howling Wolf,” replied the interpreter, with evident +fear.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span></p> + +<p>Cook was enlightened. He turned with a beaming smile. +“Howling Wolf, how de do? I’m glad to see you.” And then to +Claude: “You tell him my arm is sick and he mustn’t be so hearty +with his greetings. Tell him I want to have a long talk with him +right off—but I’ve got some papers to sign and I can’t do it now. +Tell him to come to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>They shook hands again, ceremoniously this time, and Howling +Wolf withdrew in dignified reserve.</p> + +<p>After he went away Cook informed himself thoroughly concerning +the former agent’s treatment of Howling Wolf and was ready +next morning for a conference.</p> + +<p>As he walked into the yard about nine o’clock the agent found +fifteen or twenty young men of Howling Wolf’s faction lounging +about the door of the office. They were come to see that their leader +was not abused—at least such was Cook’s inference.</p> + +<p>He was irritated but did not show it. “Go out of the yard!” +he said quietly. “I don’t want you here. Claude will tell you all +you want to know.” He insisted and, though they scowled sullenly, +they obeyed, for he laid his open palm on the breast of the tallest +of them and pushed him to the gate. “Come, go out—you’ve no +business here.”</p> + +<p>Claude was shaking with fear, but regained composure as the +young men withdrew.</p> + +<p>As they faced Howling Wolf in the inner office, Cook said, “Well +now, Wolf, I want you tell me just what is the matter? I am your +friend and the friend of all your people. I am a soldier and a soldier +does his duty. My duty is to see that you get your rations and +that no one harms you. Now what is the trouble?”</p> + +<p>Howling Wolf mused a while and then began to recount his +grievances one by one. His story was almost exactly as it had been +reported by others.</p> + +<figure class="figleft illowp70" id="i_138fp" style="max-width: 35em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_138fp.jpg" alt="Trapper on horseback"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-r">An Indian Trapper<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>This Indian trapper depicted by Remington may be a +Cree, or perhaps a Blackfoot, whom one was apt to run +across in the Selkirk Mountains, or elsewhere on the plains +of the British Territory, or well up north in the Rockies, +toward the outbreak of the Civil War.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +SOME AMERICAN RIDERS<br> +<i>by</i> Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A.<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>May, 1891</i></span> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_139fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_139fp.jpg" alt="Indian and cowboy on horseback"> + <figcaption class="caption-l">A Questionable Companionship<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>In frontier days when the white man and the Indian met +on a lonely trail it was natural for them to watch each +other with suspicion as they rode side by side. To both the +companionship seemed questionable, until finally some +words of the red man convinced the white man that his +companion was trustworthy. After that there were a +sharing of food or water or tobacco and an admixture of +comfort to the companionship.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +A QUESTIONABLE COMPANIONSHIP<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Weekly</span>, <i>August 9, 1890</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>The other agent had sworn at him and once had kicked at him—“for +which I will kill him”—he added with quiet menace. “He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> +has tried to steal away my children to teach them white man’s ways. +I don’t want them to learn white man’s ways. White man lie, and +steal and quarrel. Then the agent cut off my rations which are a +part of our treaty and I was hungry. For all this I am angry at +white men.”</p> + +<p>When he had finished the agent said, “You’re all wrong, Howling +Wolf. Some white men are bad, but many are good and want to +do the Indian good. I am one of those who are set aside by the +Great Father to see that your rights are secured. You may depend +on me. Go ask Red Beard, Wolf Voice, or White Calf, they will tell +you the kind of man I am. I’m going to be your friend whether you +are my friend or not. I want you to come and see me. I want you +to draw your rations and be friends with me. Will you do it? I +want you to think about this to-night and come and see me again.”</p> + +<p>For fully five minutes Howling Wolf sat thinking deeply with +his eyes on the floor. His lips twitched occasionally and his broad +breast heaved with profound emotion. It was hard to trust the +white man even when he smiled, for his tongue had ever been forked +like the rattlesnake and his hand exceedingly cunning. His deeds +also were mysterious. Out of the east he came and monstrous +things followed him—canoes that belched flame and thunder, iron +horses that drew huge wagons, with a noise like a whirlwind. They +brought plows that tore the sod, machines that swept away the +grass. Their skill was diabolical. They all said, “dam Injun,” +and in those words displayed their hearts. They desolated, uprooted +and transformed. They made the red men seem like children +and weak women by their necromancy. Was there no end to +their coming? Was there no clear sky behind this storm? What +mighty power pushed them forward?</p> + +<p>And yet they brought good things. They brought sugar and +flour and strange fruits. They knew how to make pleasant drinks +and to raise many grains. They were not all bad. They were like +a rainstorm which does much harm and great good also. Besides,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> +here was this smiling man, his agent, waiting to hear what he had +to say.</p> + +<p>At last he was able to look up, and though he did not smile, his +face was no longer sullen. He rose and extended his hand. “I +will do as you say. I will go home and think. I will come to see +you again and I will tell you all my mind.”</p> + +<p>When he came two days later he met the agent with a smile. +“How! My friend—How!” he said pleasantly.</p> + +<p>The agent took him to his inner office where none might hear +and made the sign “Be seated.”</p> + +<p>Howling Wolf sat down and began by saying, “I could not come +yesterday, for I had not yet finished thinking over your words. +When night came I did as you said. I lay alone in my tepee looking +up at a star just above and my thoughts were deep and calm. +You are right, Howling Wolf is wrong. Nobody ever explained +these things to me before. All white men said, ‘Go here,’ ‘Do that,’ +‘Don’t go there,’ ‘Don’t do that,’—they never explained and I did +not understand their reasons for doing so. No white man ever shook +hands with me like a friend. They all said, ‘Dam Injun’—all +Shi-an-nay know those words. You are not so. You are a just +man—everybody tells me so. I am glad of this. It makes my +heart warm and well. I have taken on hope for my people once +more. I had a heart of hate toward all the white race—now all +that is gone. It is buried deep under the ground. I want to be +friends with all the world and I want you to make me a paper—will +you do it?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” replied the agent. “What shall it be?”</p> + +<p>The old man rose and with deep solemnity dictated these words +to be mysteriously recorded in the white man’s wonderful tablet:</p> + +<p>“Say this: I am Howling Wolf. Long I hated the white man. +Now my heart is good and I want to make friends with all white +men. I want to work with a plow and live in a house like the white +man. These are my words. Howling Wolf.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span></p> + +<p>To this the old man put his sign: and as he folded the paper and +put it away in his pouch, he said, “This shall be a sign to all men. +This paper I will show to all Shi-an-nay and to all the white +men. It will tell them that my heart is made good.”</p> + +<p>And he went out with the glow of good cheer upon his face.</p> + + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Now Howling Wolf was a chief. He had never lifted a heavy +burden in his life—though others of the Shi-an-nay came often to +the Agency farmer for work. They enjoyed freighting and whenever +there were hides to go to the distant railway or goods to be +fetched, the agent employed them and, though their ponies were +small and shifty, they managed, nevertheless, to do creditable +work with them. They cut wood and made hay and mended +bridges cunningly and well. Howling Wolf had kept away from +all this work. He did not believe in it.</p> + +<p>Two days after his talk with the agent the clerk was amazed to +see Howling Wolf drive down to the warehouse to secure a load of +hides. He had no wagon of his own, but he had hired one of his +son-in-law, Painted Feather, and was prepared to do his share. +In the glow of his new peace he wished to do more than his share. +He helped everybody to load and waited till the last, willing to take +what was left.</p> + +<p>The agent, hearing of this zeal of his convert, came down to see +him and smilingly asked, “Why work so hard, Howling Wolf?”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you,” said Howling Wolf. “In my evil days I took +no part in making the fences and laying the bridges—now I want to +catch up. Therefore I must work twice as hard as anyone else.”</p> + +<p>“Howling Wolf, you do me honor,” said the agent. “I shake +your hand. You are now safely on the white man’s road.”</p> + +<p>To this Howling Wolf only said, “My heart is very good to-day. +I am happy and I go to see the white man’s big camp. I shall +keep my eyes open and learn many good things.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span></p> + +<p>The teams laden with their skins had just passed the big red +jaws of Bitterwood Cañon when a party of cowboys overtook them.</p> + +<p>“Hello there,” yelled one big fellow. “Where you going with +those hides?”</p> + +<p>Howling Wolf heard the curses, but his heart was soft with +newborn love for his enemies and he smilingly greeted his foes. +“How! how!”</p> + +<p>“See the old seed grin. Let’s shoot him up a few and see him +hustle.”</p> + +<p>“Oh come along, let ’em alone, Bill,” said one of the other men.</p> + +<p>“That’s old Howling Wolf,” put in the third man. “Better let +him be. He’s a fighter.”</p> + +<p>“Are you old Howling Wolf?” asked Bill, riding alongside.</p> + +<p>Howling Wolf nodded and smiled again—though he understood +only his name.</p> + +<p>“Fighter, are you?” queried the cowboy, “Eat men up—hey?”</p> + +<p>“How, how!” repeated the old man as pleasantly as he was +able, though his eyes were growing stern.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to hand him out a package just for luck. He’s too +good-natured. What say?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come along Bill,” urged his companions. As they rode by +the next wagon, wherein sat a younger man, Bill called out, “Get +out o’ the road!”</p> + +<p>“Go to hell!” replied the driver, Harry Turtle, a Carlisle student. +“You are a big fool.”</p> + +<p>Bill drew his revolver and spurred his horse against Harry’s +off pony and bawled, “I’d cut your hide into strips for a cent!”</p> + +<p>Harry rose in his wagon and uttered a cry of warning which +stopped every team, and his eyes flamed in hot anger. “You go!” +he said, “or we will kill you.” The cowboys drew off, Brindle +Bill belching imprecations, but his companions were genuinely +alarmed and rode between him and the wagons and in this way prevented<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> +an outbreak. Howling Wolf reproved young Turtle and +said: “Do not make any reply to them. We must be careful not +to anger the white men.”</p> + +<p>They reached the railway safely and, having unloaded their +freight, went into camp about a half mile from the town on the +river flat beneath some cottonwood trees.</p> + +<p>To every white man that spoke to him Howling Wolf replied +pleasantly and was very happy to think he was serving the agent +and also earning some money. The citizens were generally contemptuous +of him, and some of them refused his extended hand, +but he did not lay that up against them. It had been long since +he had seen a white man’s town and he was vastly interested in +everything. He was amazed at the stores of blankets and saddles +and calico which he saw. He looked at the gayly painted wagons +with envy, for he had no wagon of his own and he saw that to +travel on the white man’s road a wagon was necessary. He looked +at harnesses also with covetous eyes. Every least thing had value +to him, the pictures on the fences, on the peach cans, on the tobacco +boxes, the pumps, the horse troughs and fountains—nothing escaped +his eager eyes. He was like a boy again.</p> + +<p>He was standing before a shop window lost in the attempt to +understand the use of all the marvelous things he saw there, when a +saloon door opened and a party of loud-talking white men came out. +He turned his head quickly and perceived the three cowboys who +had passed him on the road. They recognized him also and their +leader swaggered up to him, made reckless with drink, and began +to abuse him.</p> + +<p>“So you’re Howling Wolf, are ye? Big chief. Drink blood. +Why I’d break you in two pieces for a leatherette. I’m Brindle +Bill, you understand, I’d a killed you on the road only——”</p> + +<p>Howling Wolf again understood only the curses, but he turned a +calm face upon his enemy and extended his hand. “How? How, +white man?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span></p> + +<p>Bill spat into his hand.</p> + +<p>Quick as a flash Howling Wolf slapped the ruffian’s face. +“Coyote!” he cried in his own tongue.</p> + +<p>The cowboy jerked his revolver from its holster, but Howling +Wolf leaped behind a signpost and the bullet, going wild, glanced +from an iron rod and entered the knee of a man who stood in the +doorway of the saloon. With a scream of terror he fell flat on the +walk as if killed.</p> + +<p>Instantly the peaceful street became a place of savage outcry.</p> + +<p>“Kill him! Kill the red devil!” shouted a dozen who knew +nothing of what had happened, except that a man was shot and an +Indian was present.</p> + +<p>Like a bear at bay, Howling Wolf faced his hereditary enemies. +“I am peaceful. I have done nothing,” he called, jerking a paper +from his pocket. “See, this is true, read it!”</p> + +<p>The paper saved his life, for all were curious to see what this +long official envelope contained. It occurred to one of the men in +the circle to investigate.</p> + +<p>“Hold on, boys! Wait a minute! This may be a courier. Be +quiet now till I see.”</p> + +<p>He took the envelope and opened the paper while the crowd +waited. “Read it Lannon.”</p> + +<p>Lannon read in a loud voice: “<i>I am Howling Wolf. Long I +hated the white man. Now my heart is good.</i>”</p> + +<p>A burst of derisive laughter interrupted the reader.</p> + +<p>“Oh, is it!”</p> + +<p>“Kill the old fool for luck!”</p> + +<p>“Lynch him.”</p> + +<p>But, though they laughed at it, the letter cooled the excitement +of the crowd, and when the sheriff came he had no trouble in arresting +Howling Wolf, who went willingly, for he feared for his life in +the face of the crowd in the street—which grew greater each moment.</p> + +<p>He recoiled sharply as they came to the door of the jail. He knew<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> +what that meant. “I will not go!” he said. “Why do you put me +in there? I have done nothing.”</p> + +<p>The sheriff, ready to make capital for himself in the eyes of the +mob which had followed him, put his revolver to his captive’s head +and said brutally:</p> + +<p>“Git in there or I’ll blow your head off.”</p> + +<p>Wolf understood the man’s action, and, fearing the crowd which +followed, submitted to be pushed into the cell and was locked in. +He still held in his hand the document which had been contemptuously +thrust back upon him, and now sat half-stunned by +the sudden fury of the white men toward him. That the three cowboys +should make trouble did not surprise him—but that all the +white men should run toward him with angry faces and armed +fists appalled and embittered him. Perhaps there were only a few +friendly white men after all. Perhaps the agent was mistaken +and the Shi-an-nay must war to the death with these infuriated +cattlemen.</p> + +<p>“I did wrong to come here,” he thought. “I should have +remained deep in my own country among the rocks and the coyotes. +I have put myself into the hands of my deadly enemies. I shall die +here alone, because I have been a child and have listened to sweet +words.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile grossly distorted accounts of the affair passed from +saloon to barber shop and at last it took this shape: “A gang of +drunken reds had struck Hank Kelly for a drink and when he +refused one of them shot him in the stomach. All escaped but one, +old Howling Wolf, one of the worst old reprobates that ever lived. +He ought to be lynched and we’ll do it yet.”</p> + +<p>Bill the cowboy was a hero. He swaggered about saying, “I +had him in a hole. I winged him so’t sheriff had him easy.”</p> + +<p>Ultimately he grew too drunk to throw any light on the subject +at all and his companions took him and fled the town, leaving +Howling Wolf to bear the weight of the investigation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p> + +<p>Harry Turtle went to the sheriff and said abruptly: “I want +see Howling Wolf.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t see him,” replied the sheriff.</p> + +<p>“Why can’t I see him?”</p> + +<p>“Because I say so. Get out o’ here.... The whole tribe of ye +ought to be wiped out. Git—or I’ll put you where the dogs can +eat ye.”</p> + +<p>Turtle went away with a face dark with anger. He said to his +companions, “I must go back to the agent at once to tell him what +has happened. You better all keep together with me so if the cowboys +try to kill us we can defend ourselves. Come, let us go.”</p> + +<p>They went out into the darkness and traveled all night very +hard, and when morning came they were out of danger.</p> + +<p>When Turtle entered the agent’s office late next day he showed +little sign of what he had been through.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Harry, I thought you went to town?”</p> + +<p>“I did. I got back. Heap trouble come.”</p> + +<p>“What’s matter?”</p> + +<p>“Cowboy fight Howling Wolf—Howling Wolf fight, too. White +man get killed. Howling Wolf in calaboose. I come quick to tell +you.”</p> + +<p>Cook grew grave. “Is that so, where are the other men?”</p> + +<p>“Outside.”</p> + +<p>“Bring ’em in, Claude,” he said to his interpreter. “You talk +with these people and find out what it is all about.”</p> + +<p>In the end he ordered his team and with Claude drove away to +town, a long, hard, dusty road. He reached the hotel that night +too late to call on the sheriff and was forced to wait till morning. +The little rag of a daily paper had used the shooting as a text for +its well-worn discourse. “Sweep these marauding fiends out of the +State or off the face of the earth,” it said editorially. “Get them out +of the path of civilization. Scenes of disorder like that of yesterday +are sure to be repeated so long as these red pets of the Government<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span> +are allowed to cumber the earth. The State ought to slaughter +them like wolves.”</p> + +<p>Cook read this with a flush of hot blood in his face. He was +quite familiar with such articles, but he went to bed that night +feeling more keenly than ever in his life the difficult position he was +called upon to fill. To race hatred these people had added greed +for the Shi-an-nay lands. In this editorial was vented the savage +hate of thousands of white men. There could be no doubt of it—and +were it not for a fear of the general government the terms of its +hatred would have been carried out long ago.</p> + +<p>In the early morning he took Claude and went to the jail.</p> + +<p>The sheriff met him suavely. “Oh—certainly captain—you +can see him,” he said, but his tone was insulting.</p> + +<p>When the agent and his interpreter entered his cell Howling +Wolf looked up with a low cry of pleasure. He took Cook’s hand +in both of his and said slowly:</p> + +<p>“My friend, take me away from here. I cannot bear to be +locked up. I have done nothing. When I showed my paper the +cattlemen laughed. When I reached my hand in friendship they +spat upon it. This made my heart very bitter but I did not fight.”</p> + +<p>When he had secured Wolf’s story in detail, the Major said, +“Do not worry, Wolf, I will see that you are released.”</p> + +<p>To the sheriff he said: “What are you holding this man for?”</p> + +<p>“For shooting with intent to kill.”</p> + +<p>“But he didn’t shoot. He had no weapon. It is absurd.”</p> + +<p>“How do <i>you</i> know he didn’t?”</p> + +<p>“Because all his companions say so; he says so.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! You’d take his word would you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes in a thing of that kind. Did you find a gun on him?”</p> + +<p>“No—but—”</p> + +<p>“What chance did he have for concealing it? Were you there +when the shooting took place?”</p> + +<p>“No—but credible witnesses——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span></p> + +<p>“As a matter of fact the saloon keeper was struck by a bullet +aimed at Howling Wolf by a cowboy. Where is that cowboy? +Why has he not been arrested?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it. You’ll take——”</p> + +<p>“It’s not your business to believe or disbelieve. Did you have +a warrant to arrest Wolf?” asked the captain sternly.</p> + +<p>“No matter whether I did or not,” replied the sheriff insolently, +“he’s here and you can’t take him away. You can protect your +thieves and murderers in the reservation, but when they come in +here and go howling around you’ll find the case different.” In this +tone he blustered.</p> + +<p>The captain was firm. “I believe Wolf to be entirely innocent +and I’ll see justice done.” He called Claude again and said, “Tell +Howling Wolf to be quiet—tell him not to be scared. He’ll have to +remain in jail till I can get a release. I’m going to see the judge +now. Tell him I’m his friend and I won’t let these people harm +him.”</p> + +<p>The visit to the judge was still more disheartening. He, too, was +suave and patient, but it was plain he intended to do nothing to +help the agent. “It may be that a mistake has occurred, but if so +the trial will clear your man. As it is the Indian is arrested in a +street brawl in which a man is shot. The Indian is arrested, I may +add, in due course of law and must stand trial.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, we’ll go to trial—but meanwhile release my man on +parole. I’ll answer for him.”</p> + +<p>The judge had been expecting this, but professed to ponder. +“I don’t think that would be wise. We’ve had great difficulty in +apprehending offenders. We might find this man hard to reapprehend. +I appreciate your desire to——”</p> + +<p>“Judge Bray, you are mistaken,” replied Cook with heat, for +he understood the covert insult. “You have never failed of getting +your man but once, and then, as you know, it was the fault of your +sheriff. Where could this man go? I know every man on my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> +reservation. He could not hide out on the hills, and he would be a +marked man on any other reservation. Besides all these considerations—I +know Howling Wolf. I am peculiarly anxious to have him +released till his trial. He dreads confinement—he feels his arrest +as an injustice and it will embitter him. More than this I have +pledged my word to him to secure his release.”</p> + +<p>The judge was obdurate. “The citizens are incensed at the +frequent depredations of your charges,” he said, “and they will not +submit longer to any laxity. I cannot help you.”</p> + +<p>The agent rose grimly. “Very well, I’ll see justice done this +man if I bring the whole power of the department to bear on you. +I will enlist the aid of every lover of justice in the country. Howling +Wolf has been abused. So far from shooting he came in here as my +messenger unarmed and peaceful. Your drunken citizens assaulted +him. I do not wonder that my people say you have the hearts of +coyotes.”</p> + +<p>As Cook drove away out of the squalid town he felt as he had +several times before—the cruel, leering, racial hate of the border +man, to whom the red man is big game. He had a feeling that, +among all these thousands of American citizens, not one had the +heart to stand out and say, “I’ll help you secure justice.”</p> + +<p>His heat made him momentarily unjust, for there were many +worthy souls, even in this village, who would have joined him could +they have been made intimately informed of the case. At the +moment he felt the helpless dismay of the red man when enmeshed +by the laws of the whites.</p> + +<p>But he was not a man to yield a just position without a struggle. +As he rode he planned a campaign which should secure justice for +Howling Wolf. His meeting with the half-frenzied wife of the +captive only added new vigor to his resolution. With face haggard +with suffering the poor woman cried out to him, “Where is he—my +husband?”</p> + +<p>He gave her such comfort as he could and drove on mentally<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> +writing letters, which should make the townsmen writhe with shame +of their inhumanity.</p> + +<p>Court did not sit for many weeks, but Howling Wolf knew +nothing of that. He lived in daily hope of being released. He fed +his heart on the words of his friend the agent. He brooded over his +wrongs like a wounded wolf in his den, till his heart became bitter in +his bosom. The glow of his new found love of the white man had +died out—smothered by the cold gloom of his prison. He remembered +only one white face with pleasure—that of his agent. All +others were grinning or hateful or menacing.</p> + +<p>He would have gone mad but for the visits of his wife and +children who came to see him and were allowed to approach the bars +of his cell so that he might lay his hands on the head of his little +son. These brief visits comforted him—for the sake of his wife and +children he lived.</p> + +<p>In a week or two the people of Big Snake had quite forgotten +Howling Wolf. If any word recalled him to their minds they +merely said, “Do him good to feel the inside of a stone wall. It’ll +take the fight out of him. He’ll be good Injun once he gets out. +He’s in luck to escape being strung up.”</p> + +<p>Now the town possessed a baseball team that had defeated +every other club in the State, excepting one. St. Helen’s had +proved a Waterloo to Big Snake on the Fourth of July and so its +citizens fairly ached for a chance to “do St. Helen’s up,” and win +back some of the money they had lost.</p> + +<p>One morning about two weeks after his imprisonment Howling +Wolf’s keen ears caught the sound of far-off drums and he wondered +if the soldiers were coming at last to release him. His heart leaped +with joy and he sprang to his feet vigorous, alert, and so listened +long. He could hear plainly the voice of the bugle and he fancied +he could detect the marching of columned feet. His friend, the +agent, was coming to punish his captors.</p> + +<p>He was not afraid of the soldier chiefs. They fought honorably.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span> +They did not shut their enemies up in cells and take their +arms away. They made war in the open air and on the hills. A +shout of joy was about to break from his lips when the jailer entered +the corridor much excited. He talked as he came, “I’ll take the +redskin along—anyhow.”</p> + +<p>He made a great many signs to his captive, but Howling Wolf +only understood one or two of them. “Come with me,” and “I’ll +kill you.”</p> + +<p>He drew his blanket round him and thought. “I will go. I will +at least escape these walls. If I die I will die under the sky where +the sun can see me.”</p> + +<p>He quietly followed the sheriff outside, but when he saw the +handcuffs he rebelled and shook his head.</p> + +<p>The sheriff made bungling signs again and said, “All right—but +if you try to run away I’ll bore a hole in ye big as a haystack—that’s +all. I won’t stand any funny business.”</p> + +<p>Howling Wolf comprehended nothing of all this save the motion +toward the gun, which he took to mean that he was to be killed. +The excitement of his captor, the mystery of all he did, his threatening +gestures were convincing. But Howling Wolf was a chief. He +had never flinched in battle and as he felt the wind of the wide sky +on his face he lifted his head and said in his heart:</p> + +<p>“If I am to die, I am ready; but I will die fighting.”</p> + +<p>The sheriff motioned him to get into his buggy and he obeyed—for +the hand of the sheriff was on his revolver—and they rode +through the town, which was almost deserted. Far up the street +Howling Wolf could hear the noise of the drum and his heart swelled +big with a sense of coming trouble. Was he being led out to be +tortured? Perhaps he would be permitted to fight his way to death? +“No matter—I am ready.”</p> + +<p>A man at the door of the drug store called jovially:</p> + +<p>“Where are you going, Mr. Sheriff?”</p> + +<p>“Out to see the ball game. I happened to have only this one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> +prisoner so thought I’d take him along. Blowed if I’m going to +miss the game for a greasy buck-Injun.”</p> + +<p>“Look out he don’t give you the slip.”</p> + +<p>The sheriff winked meaningly. “There’ll be a right lively fox +hunt if he does. The boys would like nothing better than to rope +an Injun to-day. It would draw better than a bullfight.”</p> + +<p>They both laughed at this notion and Howling Wolf seized +upon the menace in the sheriff’s voice though his words were elusive. +As they neared the grand stand the noise of the great crowd reached +across the quiet fields and Howling Wolf saw hundreds of people +streaming along the road before him. His limbs grew tense. It was +plain that his captor was driving directly toward this vast throng +of savage white people.</p> + +<p>He looked round him. On either side were rows of growing +corn and beyond the field on the right was the grove of trees which +marked the course of the river. As he remembered this his final +resolution came. “If I am to die I will die now,” and he sprang +from his seat to the ground and dived beneath the wire fence. He +heard the sheriff’s gun crack twice and thrice, but he rose unhurt +and with a wild exultation in his heart ran straight toward the river. +Again the sheriff fired, his big revolver sounding loud in the windless +air.</p> + +<p>Then, as if his shooting were a signal, a squad of cowboys rose +out of a gully just before the fugitive, and with wild whoopings +swept toward him. They came with lariats swinging high above +their heads, and Howling Wolf, knowing well their pitiless ferocity, +turned and ran straight toward the sheriff, who stood loading his +gun on the inside of the fence. As he ran Howling Wolf could see +great ranks of yelling people rushing over the field. He ran now to +escape being dragged to death, hoping the sheriff might shoot him +through the heart as he came near.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_152fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_152fp.jpg" alt="Indian scouts arrest one of their own"> + <figcaption class="caption-r">The Arrest of the Scout<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>Suspected of having kidnaped an Indian girl and murdered +her mother, this man was traced to a tiswin camp, +where he was found carousing with other drinkers. Though +a member of their own corps, his brother scouts, after disarming +and binding him, brought him back to the post, +where he was lodged in the guard-house.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +MASSAI’S CROOKED TRAIL<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>January, 1898</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_153fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_153fp.jpg" alt="Duel with lances on horseback"> + <figcaption class="caption-l">An Indian Duel<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>The Indian on the pinto pony is armed with a big buffalo-lance, +while his opponent wields a skin-knife. As depicted +by the artist the buffalo-lance is being driven clean through +his antagonist’s shoulder.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +SUN-DOWN LEFLARE’S WARM SPOT<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>September, 1898</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + + +<p>The officer shot twice at long range but missed, and, as the +panting red man ran straight toward him the sheriff fell to the earth<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> +and crawled away, leaving Howling Wolf to face a squad of twenty +infuriated cowboys and a thousand citizens just behind on foot. +With the light of hell on their faces they shot down the defenseless +man and then alighted, and, with remorseless hate, crushed his +face beneath their feet as if he were a rattlesnake. They stabbed +his dead body and shot it full of bullets. They fought for a chance +to kick him. They lost all resemblance to men. Wolves fighting +over the flesh of their own kind could not have been more heartlessly +malevolent—more appalling in their ferocity.</p> + +<p>In the clamor of their breathless cursing and cries of hate a +strong clear voice made itself heard—a vibrant manly voice:</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Stop</span>, <i>in the name o’ Christ</i>!” And through the wolfish mass a +tall young man in the garb of a Catholic priest forced his way. His +big, broad face was set with resolution and his brow gleamed white +in the midst of the tumbling mass of bronzed weather-beaten +border men.</p> + +<p>“<i>Stand back!</i> Are you fiends of hell? Where is your shame? +A thousand to one! Is this your American chivalry? Oh, you +cowards!”</p> + +<p>He stood above the fallen man like a lion over the body of +his mate. His voice quivered with the sense of his horror and +indignation.</p> + +<p>“God’s curse on ye if you touch this man again.” The crowd +was silent now and the priest went on: “I have seen the beasts of +the African jungles at war and I know the habits of the serpents of +Nicaragua—I know your American bears and wolves, but I have +never seen any savagery like this.”</p> + +<p>Every word he spoke could be heard by the mob; every man +who listened looked aside. They were helpless under the lash of +the young priest’s scorn. “You are the brave boys of whom we +read,” he said, turning to the cowboys. “You are the Knights +of the plains——” Then his righteous wrath flamed forth again. +“Knights of the plains! The graveyard jackals turn sweet in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> +your presence. Brave men are ye to rope and drag a defenseless +man—and you!” He turned to the slinking sheriff. “You are of +my parish—I know you. The malediction of the church hangs +over <i>you</i> for this day’s work.” He paused for breath; then added: +“Take up the body of this man. He is dead but his blood will yet +make this town a stench in the nostrils of the world. You cannot +do these things to-day and not be condemned of all Christian +peoples.”</p> + +<p>With a contemptuous wave of his hand he dismissed the mob. +“Go home! Go back to your wives and children and boast of your +great deed. Leave the dead with me.”</p> + +<p>The crowd slunk away, leaving the sheriff, the priest, and a +doctor, who volunteered his services, to examine the bleeding +flesh that had once been a tall and powerful red chieftain.</p> + +<p>“The man is alive!” said the doctor with a tone of awe. “Life +is not extinct. Bring me some water.”</p> + +<p>“Save him—for the love of Christ!” exclaimed the priest as +he dropped on his knees beside the torn and trampled red man. “It +would be a miracle, a blessed miracle, if he should live. It is +impossible!”</p> + +<p>“His heart is beating—and I think it grows stronger,” repeated +the doctor as he fell to work with deft energy.</p> + +<p>“What is this?” asked the priest as he picked up a bloody and +crumpled paper. He opened it and, as he finished reading it, he +raised his eyes and prayed silently with a sort of breathless intensity, +while the tears ran down his cheeks:</p> + +<p>“Lord Jesus, grant me humbleness and patience with these +people. Let my heart not harden with hate of this injustice.”</p> + +<p>Then, looking at the poor bruised body of Howling Wolf, he +said:</p> + +<p>“O God, the pity of it! The pathos of it! His heart was good +toward all men and they crushed him to earth!”</p> + +<p>They took Howling Wolf up, the priest received him in his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span> +house and cared for him and he lived—but so battered, so misshapen +that his own wife did not know him.</p> + +<p>The cloud of his hate and despair never lifted. He spoke no +word to any white man save to the good priest and to his friend, the +agent, and when he died neither of them knew of it. No white man +knows where his body was hidden away.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p> +<p class="p4 p4b pfs240">THE SILENT EATERS</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span><br> + <span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SILENT_EATERS">THE SILENT EATERS</h2> + + +<h3 id="SE_I">I<br> + +<span class="fs70">THE BEGINNINGS OF POWER</span></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="p1 p1b poetry"> + <div class="verse indent0">I was born a soldier.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I have lived thus long.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In despite of all, I have lived thus long.</div> + <div class="verse indent20"><i>——Sioux War Song.</i></div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="drop-capy">One day in 1854, while the Uncapappas, a branch of my +father’s people, were camped in pursuit of buffalo on a +tributary of the Platte River, a half-breed scout came into +the circle from the south, bearing a strange message. He said: “The +great war chief of the whites is coming with beads and cloth and +many good things. He desires all the red men to meet him in a council +of peace. He is sorry that we are at war. Therefore, he is inviting +all your chieftains to his lodge to receive presents and to smoke.”</p> + +<p>Up to this time the Uncapappas had never made talk with the +soldiers, and many, like myself, had never seen a white man. Our +home lay to the east and north of the Black Hills, far away from contact +with the settlers. Of them we had heard, but only remotely. +Many of our own men had never seen a French trapper. Our lives +still went on as they had been going since the earliest time.</p> + +<p>We followed the buffalo wherever they went within the limits of +the hunting grounds which we claimed. On the east were our +cousins, the Yanktonaise and Minneconjous. To the north of the +Cannonball lived the Rees and Mandans; to the northwest, across +the Powder River lurked the Crows, our ever-ready enemies. On +the headwaters of the Arkansaw the Utes, a powerful mountain +people, dwelt. The Comanches and many other unknown folk held +the country far, far to the south, while to the east lay a land more<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> +mysterious than any other, for it was said that both white men and +red men claimed it and warred for the mastery of it. Of the rest +of the world most of us knew nothing; all was dark as a cave inhabited +by bats and serpents.</p> + +<p>Therefore, when the messenger had made his plea the chiefs +called a great council to ponder this new and important matter. +At this time the four head men, the civic chiefs, of my people, were +The Four Horns, The Red Horn, The Running Antelope and The +Loud-Voiced Hawk. These men had full power to call a convention +and all the people came together obediently and some of the boys, +like myself, crept near to listen.</p> + +<p>It was in early summer. The grass was new and sweet; the +buffalo were fat, the horses swift, and each day was a feast, with +much dancing, and we lads raced horses when the old men would +permit. Not one of all our tribe had care as a bedfellow at this +time. Even the aged smiled like children.</p> + +<p>In those days the plains were black with buffalo and the valleys +speckled with red deer and elk, and no lodge had fear of hunger or +frost. In winter we occupied tepees of thick warm fur with the +edges fully banked with snow and we were not often cold. We had +plenty of buckskin to wear and no one went unsatisfied. You would +look long to find a people as happy as we were, because we lived as +the Great Spirit had taught us to do, with no thought of change.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, our wise men had a foreboding of coming trouble, +and when The Hawk, who was a very old man, rose in the council +to speak, his face was deeply troubled. Once he had been ready of +speech, but his tongue now trembled with age and his shoulders +weighed heavy upon his lungs, for he coughed twice before he could +begin.</p> + +<p>“My friends, listen to me. I am an old man. I shall not be +able to meet in council again. The rime of many winters has stiffened +my lips, but I am glad this matter has come up now. My +heart is full of things to tell you. My children, I have had a dream.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> +Last night I went forth on the hill to pray and as I prayed I grew +weary and fell asleep, and I saw a great council such as that the +Graybeard now asks us to attend. I beheld much food and many +blankets given away, and then a great fight began. A cloud of thick +smoke arose. There were angry confusion and slaying and wailing +in the midst of the smoke, so that my limbs seemed rooted to the +ground in my fear. Now I know this dream was intended for a +warning. Beware of those who come bringing gifts. They seek to +betray you.” With uplifted hand he faced all the people and called +again, very loud, “Beware of those who bring presents, for they +will work sorrow among you.”</p> + +<p>Then he sank back exhausted and all the chiefs were silent, but +The Hawk’s wife began to sing a sad song, and as she sang, one by +one the other chiefs rose and said: “The Hawk is wise. We will +not go to meet this man. We will not take his presents. He comes +like a Comanche disguised as a wolf. We will be as cunning as he. +Why should he offer presents unless he wishes to gain an advantage +of us?”</p> + +<p>At last a young warrior, a grave man of gentle and serious face, +stood in his place and said: “My father, I am a young man. I +have seen only twenty-two winters and perhaps you will not listen +to me, but I intend to speak, nevertheless. I have always listened +when my elders have spoken, and especially have I opened my +ears when strangers from the East came to our lodges. Your decision +is wise. It is well to have nothing to do with these deceitful +ones. Listen now to my request. I desire to be the chief soldier in +this matter. If you wish to oppose the givers of gifts and the policy +which goes with their refusal, place the matter in my hands and I +will see that your desires are carried out.”</p> + +<p>The firm, courageous bearing of this youth pleased the elders, +and after deliberation they said: “It is well. We will make you +our executive in this matter. You shall be Chief Soldier of Treaties.”</p> + +<p>In this way was my chief <i>Ta-Tank-io-Tanka</i>, The Sitting Bull,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span> +made what you would call “Secretary of War” over seven hundred +lodges of my people. He had already attained rank as a valiant +but not reckless warrior. The Rees knew him, and so did the Crows. +He came of good family, though his father was only a minor chief. +His uncle was Four Horns, and his grandfather, The Jumping Bull, +was an active and powerful man whose influence undoubtedly was +of use to the young chief. His name had never been borne by any +other man of his tribe. At fourteen he had counted <i>coup</i> on a Crow. +He had been wounded in the foot while dashing upon an enemy, +and he still walked with a slight limp. He was active, unassuming, +and capable of many things.</p> + +<p>But his fame as a peacemaker had already far outrun his renown +as a warrior. He had been made a chief by the Ogallallahs because +of his firm sense of justice. Only a year before this time a band of +the young warriors of his own tribe had stolen from their cousins +a herd of horses while the two tribes were camped side by side, and +The Sitting Bull, having heard of this, went to the young men and +said:</p> + +<p>“We do not make reprisals upon our friends. We only take from +our enemies,” and thereupon had led the horses back to their owners.</p> + +<p>In return for this good deed the Ogallallahs had made him a chief +among them, though he took no part in their councils.</p> + +<p>He was a natural leader and a persuasive orator. A chief among +my people, you know, is a peacemaker, and The Sitting Bull was +always gentle of voice. If he saw two men squabbling he parted +them and said: “Do not make war among yourselves. What is +the matter? Tell me your dispute.” Sometimes he would say: +“Here is a horse for each of you. Go and wrangle no more.” When +he was very successful in the hunt he always went about the camp, +and wherever a sick man or an aged woman lived, there he left a +haunch of venison or some buffalo meat. This made him many +friends. He did not desire riches for himself, but for his tribe.</p> + +<p>Therefore nearly all the tribesmen were glad when he was made<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> +treaty chief and given the charge of all such matters. He was at +once what the white people would call Secretary of State and of War.</p> + +<p>Immediately after his election he called the treaty messenger +into his lodge and said: “Return to those that sent you and say +this: ‘The Uncapappas have no need of your food or clothing. +The hills are clouded with buffalo, the cherries are ripening in the +thickets. When we desire any of the white man’s goods we will +buy them. Go in peace.’”</p> + +<p>In this way the white men first heard of The Sitting Bull.</p> + +<p>Yes, in those wondrous days my people were many and powerful. +The allied tribes of Sioux (as you white men call them) held all the +land from Big Stone Lake westward to the Yellowstone River and +south to the Platte—that is to say, all of what you call South +Dakota, part of Wyoming, and half of Nebraska. We often went +as far as the Rocky Mountains in our search for food, for the buffalo +were always shifting ground. As the phantom lakes of the plain +mysteriously appear and disappear, so they came and went.</p> + +<p>Where the bison were, there plenty was; we had no fear. But +they roamed widely. For these reasons my people required much +territory, and, though the wild cattle were many, we were sometimes +obliged to enter the lands of our enemies to make our killing, and +these expeditions were the causes of our wars with the Crows on the +west and with the Comanches on the south. However, these wars +were not long or bloody. For the most part we lived quietly, peacefully, +with only games to keep our sinews tense.</p> + +<p>In the expeditions which followed The Sitting Bull’s promotion +he became the executive head. He was chief of police by virtue of +his office, and his was the hand which commanded tranquillity and +order in the camp. Whenever a messenger entered the circle the +sentinels brought him directly to the chief’s lodge and there waited +orders. No one thought of stepping between The Sitting Bull and +his duties, for, though so quiet, he could be very stern.</p> + +<p>He laid aside all weapons—for this is the custom among the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> +chiefs—and carried only his embroidered pipe-bag and his fan, +nothing more. His face was always calm and his voice gentle. He +seemed to have no thought of self, but spoke always of the welfare +of his tribe. When a question came to him for decision he said: +“This is good for my people. We will do it.” Or, “This is bad for +my people. We will refuse.” He raised himself by building upon +the welfare of his race.</p> + +<p>It was for this reason he refused again to meet General Harney +in 1855 at Fort Pierre. He knew something then of the floods of +white men pouring into Iowa and Minnesota. He had his spies out +and was aware of every boat that came up the Missouri. He +already possessed a well-defined policy. To every trader he said: +“Yes, I am glad to see you. My people have skins to sell and tobacco +and ammunition to buy. This exchange is good. Come and trade.” +But to the messenger of the white men’s government he said: +“I do not want your presents. My young men earn their goods by +hunting. We are not in need of treaty makers.”</p> + +<p>So it was that his fame spread among the border men and he +came to be called a fierce warrior, ever ready to kill, when the truth +is he protected those who came to his camp; even the spies of Washington +had reason to thank The Sitting Bull for his clemency.</p> + +<p>The years passed pleasantly and my tribe had little foreboding +of danger. Our game remained plentiful and, though the rumors +of the white man’s coming thickened, the people paid little heed to +them, though the chiefs counciled upon it gravely. Then one day +came the news that the Dakotas, our cousins, were at war with the +whites. Soon after this, word came that they had been driven out +of their land into our territory. Then it was that the Uncapappas +first began to know the power of the invaders. I was but a lad, but +I remember well the incredulous words of my father and mother +when the story of the battles first were told at our fireside. The +head men were uneasy and The Sitting Bull seemed especially +gloomy and troubled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span></p> + +<p>In council he said: “Our brothers have been wrong. They +should not make war upon the white man. He has many things +that we need—guns and cloth and knives. We should be friendly +with him. I do not make war on him, though I fear his presents +and stop my ears to his promises. I forecast that we shall be +pushed out.”</p> + +<p>The news came to us also at this time that the white men were +fighting among themselves far to the south, but we never met anyone +who had seen this with his own eyes. We had no clear conception +of what lay to the east of us. We only knew that the Chippewas +lived there and many whites who were friendly with them, but no +one of all our wise old men could tell us more.</p> + +<p>Once I heard the chief say: “I do not understand why the white +man leaves his own land to invade ours. It must be a sad country +with little game, and if he came here only to hunt or trade we would +make him welcome—but I fear he comes to steal our hunting grounds +away. If he is in need and comes peaceably, let him share our +buffalo. There is enough to feed all the world.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the four head chiefs were growing old and lethargic, +and so, naturally, step by step, The Sitting Bull came to be the head +of all our band. He drew toward him all those who believed in +living the simple life of our ancestors far away from all enemies. +With songs and dances and feasts we marked the seasons, living +peacefully for the most part, except now and then when a small +party was sent out against the Crows or the Mandans, till in the +110th mark of my father’s winter count—that is in 1869—the whites +established a trading post at the Grand River and put some soldiers +in it and sent out couriers to all the Sioux tribes to assemble there +for a council. The time had come (as it afterward appeared) when +the settlers wanted to inhabit our lands.</p> + +<p>This, I think, was the first time the chief clearly understood +the attitude of the government toward him. Another day marks +the beginning of the decline of my people.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span></p> + +<p>I remember well the coming of that messenger. I was awakened +by the sound of a horse’s feet, and, looking out of the tepee, I saw a +small man on a big horse—bigger than any I had ever seen before. +Warriors were surrounding him, asking, “Who are you?”</p> + +<p>“Take me to The Sitting Bull,” he said, and just then the +chief looked from his lodge and said, “Bring him to me.”</p> + +<p>He was brought and set before The Sitting Bull, and they +looked at each other for a time in silence. I was peering in under +the side of the lodge and could not see the chief’s face, but the +stranger smiled and said: “Are The Sitting Bull’s eyes getting dim +that he does not know his old playmate?”</p> + +<p>“The Badger,” replied the chief. Then he smiled and they +shook hands. “You are changed, my friend; you were but a boy +when we played at hunting in The Cave Hills.”</p> + +<p>“That is true,” replied the man, who was a French half-breed. +“I do not blame you for looking at me with blind eyes. I would +not have known you. I have a message for you.”</p> + +<p>“Bring food for our brother,” commanded the chief, and after +The Badger had eaten the chief said, “Now tell me whence you +come and why are you here?”</p> + +<p>“That is a long tale,” said The Badger. “It is a story you must +think about.”</p> + +<p>And so for three days The Badger sat before the chief and they +talked. And each night the camp muttered gravely, discussing the +same question. The chief’s face grew sterner each day. He smoked +long and there were times when his eyes rested on the ground in +a silence of deep thought while The Badger told of the mighty +white man—of his wonderful deeds, of his armies, of his iron horses, +of all these things which we afterward saw for ourselves. He went +farther. He told us of the white man’s government which was lodged +in a great village made of wood and stone. He said the white men +were more numerous than the buffalo and that their horses were +plenty as prairie dogs. “You do well, my friend, not to go to war<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> +against these people. They are all-conquering. What can you do +against magicians who create guns and knives and powder?”</p> + +<p>“I have no hate of them,” replied the chief. “All I ask is to be +let alone.”</p> + +<p>“Listen, my friend. This is what the white man is doing. +A great chief, whose name is Sheridan, followed by many warriors, +is killing or subduing all the red people to the south. He has broken +the Comanches; the Kiowas and Pawnees—all bend the neck to +him. Ferocious leaders have been sent out from Washington with +orders to gather all your race into certain small lands and there teach +them the white man’s way. Whether they wish to do so or not does +not matter. They must go or be blown to pieces by his guns. +My friend, that is what they mean to do with you. They want you +to come to the mouth of Grand River and to the Standing Rock, +there to give up your hunting and learn the white man’s way. The +great war chief of the whites has said it.”</p> + +<p>The chief’s eyes flamed. “And if I refuse?”</p> + +<p>“Then he will send a long line of his horsemen to fetch you.”</p> + +<p>The chief grimly smiled. “Hoh! Well, go back and tell them to +come. The Sitting Bull has got along very well in the ways of his +fathers thus far and in those ways he will continue. The land is +wide to the west and game is plenty.”</p> + +<p>But The Badger then said: “My brother, you know me well. +We can speak plainly. The white chief sent me, I say that now. +He asked me to come, and I did so. I came as a friend in order that +you might not be deceived. I tell you the truth—the white man is +moving westward, like a feeding herd of buffalo, slow but sure. +His heart is bitter toward us and we must keep silence before him. +He wants all the land east of the Missouri and south of the Black +Hills. He demands that you give it up.”</p> + +<p>My chief was sitting in his soldiers’ lodge; few were there. My +father was looking in at the door and I, a lad, was beside him. +I saw the veins swell out in the chief’s neck as he rose and spoke:<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span> +“My friend, out there” (he swept his hand to the west) “is our land, +a big open space covered with game. Go back to your friends, the +white men, and say that The Sitting Bull is Uncapappa and free +to do as he wills. He chooses to live as his fathers lived. As the +Great Spirit made him, so he is, and shall remain.”</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_II">II<br> + +<span class="fs70">POLICY AND COUNCIL</span></h3> + +<p>Nevertheless The Badger’s talk had enlightened my chief. +He pondered deeply over his words and came at last fairly to +understand the white man’s demands. He lived by planting; the +red man by hunting. The palefaces said: “The red man has too +much land. We will take part of it for ourselves. In return we will +teach him how to plant and make bread and clothing.” But they +did not stop there. They said if the red man does not wish to be a +planter and wear our clothing we will send out soldiers with guns +and make him do our will.</p> + +<p>The chief’s first duty was to reject these terms, and this he did; +but a second messenger came bringing tobacco and round disks of +bread. The chief ground the tobacco under his heel and his soldiers +spun the bread down the hill into the river. The emissary stood +by and saw this merry game and was wise enough to remain silent.</p> + +<p>Once a courier who would not cease talking when commanded +by the chief was whipped out of the village. So it came to be that +this great camp on the Little Missouri was called “The Hostile +Camp of Sitting Bull.”</p> + +<p>You have heard those who now deride my chief and say that +he was no warrior, that he was a coward, a man of no account; +but they are ignorant fools who say this. Go read in the books +of the agent at Standing Rock; there you will find records of the +respect and fear in which the agents of Washington held my chief +in those days. You may read there of seven messengers who were<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> +sent out to tell “Sitting Bull and his irreconcilables they must +come in and disarm”—and if you read on you will learn how these +spies came straggling back without daring to utter one word of the +government’s commands to my chief.</p> + +<p>They lied about him, the cowardly whelps, and said he threatened +them. In truth, they sneaked into his presence and said nothing. +In this way the agent got a false impression of the chief, and reported +that he was at war with the whites, which was not true.</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull was now both Secretary of War and commander-in-chief +of all those who believed in the ways of the fathers. He +drew men to him by the boldness and gentleness of his words. +His camp was the refuge of those who declined to obey the agents +of the white man’s government. The circle of his followers each +year widened and his fame spread far among the white men who +hated him for the lands he held.</p> + +<p>But while my chief was thus holding hard to the ancestral +customs, like a rock in a rushing stream, our cousins, the Yanktonaise +and the Ogallallahs, were slowly yielding to the power of +Washington. Like the Wyandottes, the Miamis and the Illini, +they were retiring before the wonder-working plowmen.</p> + +<p>In the autumn of the year 1869 the agent again sent out a call +for us to come and join another peace council. Washington wanted +to buy some more of our land. Of course The Sitting Bull refused, +and gave commands that no one leave his camp, except such +messengers as he sent to check the vote for a treaty. “I have made +a vow and I will never treat with you,” he said.</p> + +<p>In spite of all this a minority of the Sioux nation, weak, cowardly +souls, pieced out with half-breeds and rank outsiders, (like the Santees +who had no claim to be counted), made a treaty wherein they +basely ceded away, without our consent, a large strip of our land in +Dakota, and fixed upon certain small tracts which were to be held +perpetually as reservations for all the allied tribes of Sioux. The +Uncapappas were both sad and furious, but what could they do?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span></p> + +<p>The establishment of the agency at Grand River followed this, +and many of the Yanktonaise moved in and began to accept the +white man’s food and clothing in payment for their loss of freedom.</p> + +<p>I do not blame these men now. They were afraid, they were +overawed by the white men, but they had no power to make +such a treaty binding on us, and my chief, being very sad and +very angry, said: “Fools! They have sold us to our enemies in +a day of fear.”</p> + +<p>Our world began, at that moment, to fade away, for as the +fort and agencies grew in power along the Missouri, as they put +forth their will against my people, two great parties were formed. +There were many who said: “The white man is the world conqueror; +we must follow his trail,” but those who said, “We will die as we +have lived—red men, free and without fear,” came naturally to the +lodge of my chief and gladly submitted to his leadership. Go read in +the records of the War Department, whether this is true or false. You +do not need a red man’s accusation to prove the perfidy of Congress.</p> + +<p>My chief’s policy remained as before. “Do not make war on the +whites, but keep our territory clear of the Crows and Mandans.”</p> + +<p>He had surrounded himself with a band of trusted warriors +whom he used as a general uses the members of his staff. They were +his far-reaching eyes and ears. They brought him news of distant +expeditions. They kept order in the camp and protected him from +the jealousy of subordinate chiefs—for you must know there had +grown up in the hearts of lesser men a secret hate of our leader. +This bodyguard of the chief was called “The Silent Eaters,” because +they met in private feasts and talked quietly without songs or dancing, +whereas all the others in the tribe danced and made merry. +With these “Silent Eaters” the chief freely discussed all the great +problems which arose.</p> + +<p>My father was one of these and the chief loved him. To him +The Sitting Bull spoke plainly. “Why should we go to a reservation +and plow the hard ground,” he said, “when the buffalo are waiting<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> +for us in the wild lands? We owe the white man nothing. We can +take care of ourselves. We buy our guns and ammunition; we pay +well for them. We are on the earth which the Great Spirit gave to +us in the beginning. Its fruit is ours, its wood and pasturage are +ours. Let the white men keep to their own. Why do they trouble +us? Do they think the Great Spirit a fool, that he creates people +without reason?”</p> + +<p>He knew all that went on at the agency. He heard that leaders +in opposition to his ways, the ways of our fathers, were rising +among the renegades who preferred to camp in idleness beside +the white man’s storehouse. He knew that they were denouncing +him, but he did not retaliate upon them. “I do not shed blood out +of choice, but of necessity,” he said. “I ask only leave to live as +my father lived. The white man is cunning in the making of weapons, +but we are the better hunters. We will trade our skins for +knives and powder. So far all is well.”</p> + +<p>But you know how it is, the white men would not keep to their +own. They came into our lands, and when our young warriors +drove them out all white men cursed The Sitting Bull. This the +chief did not seek; it was forced upon him.</p> + +<p>I will tell you how this came about.</p> + +<p>In 1873 the government, being moved by those who seek gold, +sent a commission to meet with my chief, saying, “We desire to +buy the Black Hills.”</p> + +<p>“I do not care to sell,” he replied, and they went away chagrined. +Soon after this our scouts came upon a regiment of cavalry spying +round the hills. They came from the west, and Black Wolf, the +leader of the scouts, asked, “What are you doing here?”</p> + +<p>The captain laughed and mocked him and said, “We ride because +our horses are fat and need exercise.”</p> + +<p>These words, when repeated to my chief, disturbed him deeply. +“We must watch these men. They are spies of those who wish to +steal the Black Hills as the plowmen have already taken the land<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> +east of the Missouri. We can not afford to move again. It is necessary +to make a stand.”</p> + +<p>Then General Custer—“Long Hair”—was sent on an expedition +into the hills and the whole tribe became very anxious; even those +who had accepted the agent’s goods and lived slothfully at the Standing +Rock began to take alarm. They plainly felt at last the white +man pushing, pushing from the east.</p> + +<p>Those who went away to see came back reporting that the +settlers were thick beyond numbering on the prairies and that all +the forests were being destroyed by them. They were plowing +above the graves of our sires, whose bones were being flung to the +wolves. Steamboats hooted along the rivers and iron horses ran +athwart the most immemorial trails. Immigrants were already +lining the great muddy river with forts and villages, and some were +looking greedily at the Black Hills, in which the soldiers had +reported gold.</p> + +<p>My people considered Custer’s expedition an unlawful incursion +on their lands, just as, far to the south, so our friends the Ogallallahs +reported, other white men without treaty were moving westward, +building railways and driving the buffalo before them. It was +most alarming.</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull listened to these tales uneasily, hoping his +messengers were misled. He feared and hated the more fiercely all +messengers who came thereafter, bringing gifts, and the commission +which entered his camp in 1875 found him very dark of face and +very curt of speech. Never was he less free of tongue.</p> + +<p>They said, “We come to buy the hills.”</p> + +<p>He replied, “I do not care to sell.”</p> + +<p>“We will pay well for the loan of the peaks—the high places +where the gold is.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot lend; the hills belong to my people,” he said.</p> + +<p>“We are your friends. You had better sell, for if you don’t the +white men will take the hills without pay. They are coming in a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> +flood. Nothing can stop them; their eyes are fixed. You are +fighting a losing battle.”</p> + +<p>“I will not sell,” he answered, and turned on his heel, and they +too went away without success.</p> + +<p>To his “Silent Eaters” he said that night: “So long as the +buffalo do not leave us we are safe. It cannot be that the Great +Spirit will permit the white men to rob us of both our lands and our +means of life. He made us what we are, and so long as we follow our +ancient ways we are good in his sight.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, his friends saw that he was greatly troubled. +The white hunters were then slaughtering the buffalo for the robes. +They were killing merely for the pleasure of killing. The herds +were melting away like clouds in the sky, their bones covered the +plain, and my chief began to fear that the commissioner had told +the truth. He began to doubt the continuance of his race.</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_III">III<br> + +<span class="fs70">THE BATTLE OF THE BIG HORN</span></h3> + +<p>In the spring of 1876, as your count runs, news came to us that +the troops were fighting our brethren, and soon afterward some +Cheyennes came to our camp and warned the chief, “The soldiers +of Washington are marching to fight you. They intend to force +you to go to the reservation.”</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull was deeply moved by this news. “Why do they +do this? I am not at war with them. They are not good to eat. +I kill only game—the beasts that we need for food. I am always +for peace. You who know me will bear witness that I take most +joy in being peacemaker. I mediate gladly. Now I will make a +sign. To show them that we do not care to fight I will move camp. +Let us go deep into the West where the soil is too hard for the plow, +far from the white man, and there live in peace. It is a land for +hunters; those who plant the earth will never come to dispossess us.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span></p> + +<p>After a long discussion his plan was decided upon. It was a +sorrowful day for us when we were commanded to leave our native +hills and go into a strange land, far from the graves of our forefathers. +Songs of piercing sadness rang through the lodges when the camp +police went about ordering the departure, and some of the chieftains +wished to stay and fight.</p> + +<p>“We are surrendering our land to the enemy,” they said. “We +are throwing part of our people to the wolf in order to preserve +the rest.”</p> + +<p>“The land is wide and empty to the west,” urged the chief. +“Washington will now be satisfied. He has eaten hugely of our +hunting ground; his greed will now be appeased. He will not +follow us into the mysterious sunset, because his plow is useless +there.”</p> + +<p>Our camp at this time was in the Cave Hills between the Grand +River and the headwaters of the Moreau, and in a great procession +we set forth to the west, moving steadily till we reached the Powder +River Valley. There we met three hundred lodges of the Cheyennes +under the command of Crazy Horse, American Horse, and Two +Moon.</p> + +<p>To us American Horse said: “We are ready to fight. General +Crook is at war upon us, but we have beaten him once and we can +do it again. Now we will go with you and camp with you and battle +when the time comes. Our fortunes shall be yours. Whatever +happens, we will share it with you.”</p> + +<p>“There will be no need to war,” said my chieftain, solemnly. +“We have given up our land, we are going far into the west beyond +even the Crow country where the buffalo are. Our enemy will not +follow us there.”</p> + +<p>Crazy Horse shook his head. “He will come, this white man. +He trails us wherever we go. He has no more pity than the wolf. +He has made a vow to sweep us from the earth.”</p> + +<figure class="figleft illowp75" id="i_174fp" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_174fp.jpg" alt="Two scouts on horseback"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-r"><span class="lht1">Cheyenne Scouts Patrolling the Big +Timber of the North Canadian, Oklahoma</span><br> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +CHEYENNE SCOUTS IN OKLAHOMA<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Weekly</span>, <i>April 6, 1889</i></span> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_175fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_175fp.jpg" alt="Two indians looking over a valley"> + <figcaption class="caption-l">Indians Reconnoitering from a +Mountain-top<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>The keen eye of the Indian is able to distinguish objects +even in such an extensive view as this appears to be. To +the white man, however, the Western landscape—red, yellow, +blue, in a prismatic way, shaded by cloud forms and +ending among them—appears as something unreal.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +SUN-DOWN’S HIGHER SELF<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>November, 1898</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span></p> + +<p>Our camp was very large and my chief was in the fullness of +his command. Some of the Ogallallahs had joined us before and +with the Cheyennes we were nearly fifteen hundred lodges. We +made no effort at concealing our trail. We moved in a body, and +where we went we left a broad and dusty road. We trailed leisurely +up the Yellowstone to the mouth of the Rosebud and up the Rosebud +to the head of a small creek which emptied into Greasy Grass +Creek (a stream which the whites call the Little Big Horn) at a +point where there was plenty of wood and good grazing.</p> + +<p>The chief as he looked down upon this valley said: “It is good. +We will camp here,” and to this they all agreed. It was indeed a +beautiful place. I was but a lad, but I remember that beautiful +scene, finer than anything in all our own lands. Hunting parties +were at once sent out to find the buffalo, and some of the chief’s +“Silent Eaters” mounted the hills to spy backward on our trail.</p> + +<p>The hunters reported the country clear of foes and buffalo near, +and as the spies brought no news of invaders the people threw off +all care. With feasts and dances they began to celebrate their +escape from the oppressor. We were beginning the world anew in +this glorious country.</p> + +<p>One day in midsummer—I remember it now with beating heart—just +in the midst of our preparation for a dance, the cry arose: +“<i>The white soldiers—they are coming!</i> Get your horses!”</p> + +<p>I remember clearly the very instant. I was sitting in my father’s +lodge, painting my face for the dance, when this sound arose. The +shouting came from the camp of The Gall, whose lodges stood at the +extreme south end of the circle. From where I stood I could see +nothing, but as I ran up the west bank to find my horse I detected +a long line of white soldiers riding swiftly down the valley from +the south. They came like a moving wall and the sun glittered on +their guns as they reloaded them. Before them the women and +children were fleeing like willow leaves before a November wind.</p> + +<p>My heart was beating so hard I could scarcely speak. I was +but a boy and had never seen a white soldier, yet now I must fight.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> +All around me were hundreds of other young men and boys roping, +bridling, and mounting the plunging ponies.</p> + +<p>As we came sweeping back my father passed us, leading the +white horse of the chief, and as we came near the headquarters tent +the chief came out wearing a war-bonnet and carrying his saddle. +This he flung on his horse, and when he was mounted my father +and his guard surrounded him and they rode away. My father took +my horse and I saw neither him nor the chief till night. I heard +that he tried to check the battle, but the young men of Chief Gall’s +camp had routed the enemy’s column before he reached there and +the soldiers were spurring their horses into the river and dashing +up the hills in mad effort to get away.</p> + +<p>The camp was a mighty whirlpool of confusion. The women +were taking down the lodges, weeping and singing, the old men and +boys were roping the horses together, and the ground was covered +with a litter of blankets, saddles, pouches, and other things which +escaped notice or seemed unimportant, and all the time we could +hear the rapid cracking of the guns and it seemed as if we were all +to be killed. No one knew how many soldiers there were. All +seemed lost, our shining, peaceful world about to be shattered and +destroyed.</p> + +<p>I ran to catch another horse, and when I was mounted and +once more in sight of the valley it was almost deserted. The women +and children were all gathered in throngs on the west bank, straining +their eyes toward the cloud of smoke which marked the retreat +of soldiers to the southeast, singing songs of prayer and exaltation.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a wild cry arose, and looking where an old woman +pointed, I saw on the bare crest of the hill to the east a fluttering +flag. A moment later four horsemen appeared, then four more, and +so in column of fours they streamed into view, a long line of them.</p> + +<p>“Go tell the warriors,” screamed my mother to me, and, lashing +my pony, I started down the slope diagonally toward a body of our +soldiers who were returning from pursuit of the other soldiers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span></p> + +<p>They were warned by some one nearer to them than I. I saw +them turn and spur their horses in a wild race along the river bank. +I had no weapon, but I kept on till I joined the rear rank. There +were hundreds in this charge.</p> + +<p>You have heard that my people ambushed Custer. This is a +lie. The place where he stood to view our camp was a hill as bare +as your hand. He saw us, knew how many we were, and rode to +meet us. It was an open attack on our part. Chief Gall led his +band up a steep ravine and swept round behind the troopers, each +man clinging to the far side of his horse and shooting beneath +his neck.</p> + +<p>You have heard it said that we outnumbered Custer ten to one. +This, too, is false. We had less than twelve hundred warriors, +counting old and young. We had old-fashioned guns—many of our +men had only clubs or arrows or lances. Many were boys like +myself, with not even a club. We were taken unawares, not they. +They had the new magazine rifles and six-shot revolvers. They +were all experienced warriors, while we were not; indeed most of +our men had never been in battle before and they had no notion of +discipline. Each man fought alone, without direction. We were a +disorderly mass of excited men. Everybody gave orders; no one +was leader. That is the way of my people. We have no commander-in-chief. +We fight in bands. Chief Gall led one charge, the +daughter of Old Horse led another, American Horse led a third, and +so it proceeded as a mob goes to war.</p> + +<p>I could not see much of what followed, for a great cloud of dust +and smoke covered the hill. Nobody had any clear idea of the battle. +It was very hot and we took no notice of time, but it must have been +about half past ten when the fight began. It did not last very long.</p> + +<p>Once as I dashed near I caught a glimpse of the white soldiers, +some kneeling, some standing, with their terrible guns ever ready, +<i>crack</i>—<i>crack</i>—<i>crack</i>, while our warriors circled around them, dashing +close in order to fire and retreating to reload. It seemed that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> +some of the soldiers ran out of ammunition early, for they sat +holding their guns without firing.</p> + +<p>The fire was slackening as I rode down to the river to drink, and +when I returned all was still and the smoke was slowly drifting away. +Once or twice a band of young braves dashed in close to the last +group of tangled bodies, and when no weapon flashed back they dismounted +to peer about, looking for Long Hair.</p> + +<p>We did not know then that General Custer had cut his hair +short, and we all took the body of a man with long black hair to be +the chief. I now see that we were mistaken. He was a scout. Some +of the men stripped the bodies of the white men of their clothes, +while others moved about, counting the dead. There were not +many red men killed. Our manner of fighting saved us from heavy +loss. You have heard that our soldiers mangled the dead. This +is not true. Some crazy old women and a few renegades did so, +but our chiefs did not countenance this. You call this a “massacre,” +but to us it was a battle, honorable to us as to the bluecoats.</p> + +<p>The chief’s “Silent Eaters” rode forth among the old men and +women and commanded them to camp again. This they did, but +in a different place, farther down the river, near where the Crow +agency now stands.</p> + +<p>The chief was very sorrowful, for he realized the weight of this +battle. Foolish ones rode about exulting, but he rebuked them. +“This is all bad. The Great Father at Washington will now be very +angry, for we have killed his soldiers. The war chief will come +against us with greater fury than ever. We cannot remain here.”</p> + +<p>I was told that he did not visit the field of the dead. I do not +know the truth of this, but he sat in his lodge, pondering, while Gall +and his men held Reno prisoner on the hill. It was only a matter of +wearing them out and then the whole army would be defeated, so +the foolish ones said.</p> + +<p>All the chiefs met in council at sunset, and The Sitting Bull said: +“We cannot afford to make war on the white soldiers. They are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span> +too many and too brave. My heart is heavy with this day’s work. +It is our first battle with the bluecoats and I now look to see all +their war chiefs assemble against us. We must leave this place. +There is no refuge for us here. We must go farther into the unknown +world to the west. In ancient days our people migrated and now +our turn has come.”</p> + +<p>There was little sleep that night. All through the long hours +the wail of the grief-stricken ones went on, and over the field of the +dead the “war women” ran frenzied with grief, mutilating the +bodies of their enemies. It was a night to make a boy grow old. +My father said: “All hope of ever seeing our ancient home is gone. +Henceforth we must dwell in the lands of our enemies.” And his +face filled one with despair. I wept with my mother.</p> + +<p>Early next day the mass of our warriors swept out against Reno, +and he, too, would have perished like Custer but that the chief’s +ever-watchful spies from a distant butte caught and flashed forward +these terrifying signs.</p> + +<p>“<i>More soldiers are coming up the river—a mighty host in steamboats.</i>”</p> + +<p>Then the chief sent forth his camp soldiers among the lodges +with this news and with orders to get ready to move instantly. +Couriers rushed away to the hills to recall those who were besieging +Reno. The women and old men again hurriedly packed the lodges, +whilst we lads gathered up the ponies, and at last, following the old +chiefs and The Sitting Bull, we streamed away up the river toward +the mountains, leaving the field to our enemy’s scouts, but on every +hill stood a “Silent Eater,” and through them we had knowledge of +each movement of those who rescued Reno and buried the dead.</p> + +<p>We camped that night in the hills far toward some great shining, +snowy peaks, the like of which we had never seen.</p> + +<p>The troops which were under command of General Terry did +not stay long. They did not even look about very closely. They +were afraid they might find us, I think. They hurriedly buried the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> +dead and retreated quickly down the Big Horn to the Yellowstone, +followed by our scouts, who reported every movement to The +Sitting Bull.</p> + +<p>This retreat of Terry made many of our leaders bold, and some +of them, like The Gall, wished to pursue and strike again, but my +chief opposed that. It is true he gave orders to return to the mouth +of what is now Reno Creek, but he did this because in our haste we +had left many ropes and saddles and other things lying scattered +on the grass, and we needed them. This was the third day after the +battle and no enemy was in sight.</p> + +<p>On this night the chiefs counciled again and The Sitting Bull +advised flight. “Let us set our breasts to the west wind and not +look back,” he said. “The white man fills the East. Toward the +setting sun are the buffalo. Let us make friends with all our red +brethren and go among them, and live in peace.”</p> + +<p>But the old men were timid. They said: “We do not know +the land to the west; it is all very strange to us. It is said to be +filled with evil creatures. The mountains reach to the sky. The +people are strong as bears and will destroy us. Let us remain +among the Crows whom we know. Let us make treaty with them.”</p> + +<p>To this the chief at last agreed, and gave orders to be ready to +march early the next morning. “When a man’s heart beats with +fear it is a good thing to keep moving,” he said to my father.</p> + +<p>Thus began a retreat which is strange to tell of, for we retraced +our trail over the low divide back into the valley of the Rosebud, +and so down the Yellowstone to the Missouri, ready to enter upon +our exile. It was all new territory to most of us. Our food was +gone, and when our hunters brought news of buffalo ahead we +rushed forward joyously, keeping to the north, and so entered +the land of the Crows.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the white soldiers had also retreated. They didn’t +know where we were. Perhaps they were afraid we would suddenly +strike them on the flank. Anyhow, they withdrew and filled the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span> +East (as I afterward learned) with lies about us and our chiefs. +They said the chief had four thousand warriors, that he was accompanied +by a white soldier, and many other foolish things.</p> + +<p>Our people rejoiced now, and at The Sitting Bull’s advice our +band broke up into small parties, the better to hunt and prepare +meat for winter. It was easier to provide food when divided into +small groups, and so my chief’s great “army,” as the white men +called it, scattered, to meet again later.</p> + +<p>It must have been in October that we came together, and in +the great council which followed, the chief announced that the white +soldiers were coming again and that it was necessary to push on to +the north. This was on the Milk River, and there you may say the +last stand of the Sioux took place—for it was in this council that the +hearts of the Ogallallahs, our allies, weakened. One by one their +orators rose and said: “We are tired of running and fighting. We +do not like this cold northland. We do not care to go farther. The +new white-soldier chief is building a fort at Tongue River. He has +many soldiers and demands our surrender. He has offered to receive +us kindly.”</p> + +<p>My chief rose and with voice of scorn said: “Very well. If +your hearts are water, if you desire to become white men, go!” +And they rose and slipped away hastily and we saw them no more.</p> + +<p>Then the Cheyennes said: “We, too, have decided to return to +our own land. We dread the desolate north.”</p> + +<p>Then my chief was very sad, for the Cheyennes are mighty +warriors. “Very well, my brothers,” he replied. “You came of +your own accord and we will not keep you. We desire your friendship. +Go in peace.”</p> + +<p>So they left us. We were now less than half of our former +strength, but we faced the north winds with brave hearts—even the +women sang to cheer our way.</p> + +<p>We were near the Missouri when Miles, the white chief, suddenly +threw himself in our way and demanded a council.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p> + +<p>A battle would have been very unequal at this time, for our +warriors were few and our women and children many; therefore, +The Sitting Bull and five chiefs went forth to meet Miles and his +aides.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you have read the white man’s side of this. I will tell +you of the red man’s part, for my father rode beside our chief at +this time.</p> + +<p>Colonel Miles had over four hundred men and a cannon. His +men were all armed perfectly, while we had less than a thousand +men and boys, and many of even the men had no guns at all. We +were burdened with the women and children, too.</p> + +<p>Six white men met The Sitting Bull and his five braves. My +father was one of these men and he told me what took place.</p> + +<p>The chief rode forward slowly, and as he neared the white chief +he greeted him quietly, then lifted his hands to the sky in a prayer +to the Great Spirit. “Pity me, teach me. Give me wise words,” he +whispered.</p> + +<p>“Which of you is The Sitting Bull?” asked Colonel Miles.</p> + +<p>“I am,” replied the chief.</p> + +<p>“I am glad to meet you. You are a good warrior and a great +leader.”</p> + +<p>To this my chief abruptly replied: “Why do you remain in my +country? Why do you build a camp here?”</p> + +<p>Thereupon Miles sternly answered: “We are under orders to +bring you in. I do not wish to make war on you, but you must +submit and come under the rule of the department at Washington.”</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull made reply quietly, but with emphasis: “This +country belongs to the red man and not to the white man. I do +not care to make war on you. My people are weary of fighting and +fleeing.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you not come in and live quietly on your reservation +at the Standing Rock?”</p> + +<p>“Because I am a red man and not an agency beggar. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> +bluecoats drove us west of the Missouri, they robbed us of the Black +Hills, they have forced us to take this land from the Crows, but we +wish to live at peace. You have no right to come here. You must +withdraw all your troops and take all settlers with you. There +never lived a paleface who loved a redskin, and no Lakota ever +loves a paleface. Our interests are directly opposed. Only in trade +can we meet in peace. I am Uncapappa and I desire to live the +ways of my fathers in the valleys which the Great Spirit gave to my +people. I have not declared war against Washington, but I will +fight when you push me to the wall. I do not like to be at strife. +It is not pleasant to be always fleeing before your guns. This +western world is wide; it is lonely of human life. Why do you not +leave it to us? All my days I have lived far from your people. All +that I got of you I have paid for. My band owes you nothing. +Go back to the sunrise and we will live as the Great Spirit ordained +that we should do.”</p> + +<p>General Miles was much moved, but said: “I want you to go with +me to meet the Great Father’s representatives and talk with them.”</p> + +<p>“No,” my chief replied. “I am afraid to do that, now that we +have had a battle with your soldiers. We went far away and your +warriors followed us. They fell upon us while we were unprepared. +They shot our women and children and they burned our tepees. +Then we fought, as all brave men should, and we killed many. I did +not desire this, but so it came about. Do not blame me.”</p> + +<p>The white chief was silent for a time, then he said: “If you do not +give up your arms and come upon the reservation I will follow you +and destroy you.”</p> + +<p>At this my chief broke forth: “My friend, we had better quit +talking while we are good-natured.” Then lifting his arm in a +powerful gesture, he uttered a great vow: “So long as there is a +prairie dog for my children, or a handful of grass for my horses, The +Sitting Bull will remain Uncapappa and a freeman.” And he +turned his horse about and returned to our lines.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span></p> + +<p>During this time our spies had discovered the guns which +Miles had pointed at the chief, and knew that the soldiers were +ready to shoot our envoys down.</p> + +<p>When the chief was told this he said: “No matter. We have +held up our hands to the Great Spirit; we must not fire the first +shot.”</p> + +<p>He was anxious for peace, for, while he was still the leader of +many men, he knew something of the power of the War Department +and he feared it. All that night he sat in council with the chiefs, +who were gloomy and disheartened. Next morning, hearing that +General Miles was coming toward his camp, The Sitting Bull sent +out a white flag and asked for another talk. This Colonel Miles +granted and they met again. My chief said:</p> + +<p>“We have counseled on the matter and we have decided on these +terms. We ask the abandonment of this our country by your +soldiers. We ask that all settlements be withdrawn from our land, +except trading posts, and our country restored to us as it was before +the white settlers came. My people say this through me.”</p> + +<p>To this Miles harshly replied: “If you do not immediately +surrender and come under the rule of the reservations, I will attack +you and pursue you till you are utterly destroyed. I give you +fifteen minutes to decide. At the end of that time I open fire.”</p> + +<p>Then the heart of my chief took flame. Shaking his hand at the +soldiers, he whirled his horse, and came rushing back, shouting: +“Make ready! The white soldiers are about to shoot!”</p> + +<p>Under his orders I and other lads rushed to the front and began +to fire the grass, thus making a deep smoke between us and the +enemy. While the women hurriedly packed the tepees the men +caught their horses. All was confusion and outcry. But our +warriors held the enemy in check so that we got our camp out of +harm’s way. We were afraid of the big gun; we had little fear of +the horsemen and their carbines.</p> + +<p>For two days Miles pushed us and we gave way. The white<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> +historians are always ungenerous, if not utterly false. They do not +give my people credit. Consider our disadvantages. Our women +and children were with us and must be protected. It required many +of the young men to take care of our ponies and the camp stuff. We +were forced to live on game and game was scared away, while the +white soldiers had rations and the best of horses. The country was +not a good one for us. Hour by hour Miles pushed us, and in spite +of all the skill of our chiefs, we lost most of our ponies and a great +deal of our food and clothing, and our people became deeply disheartened. +The rapid-fire gun of the white soldiers terrified us—and +though the earth grew blacker and darker, we fled northward.</p> + +<p>At last, on the third day, decisive council took place among the +chiefs. The Sitting Bull and The Gall said, “We will not surrender!” +But many of the lesser ones cried out: “What is the use? The +white man is too strong. The country grows more barren, the game +has fled. Let us make peace. Let us meet Miles again.”</p> + +<p>But my chief indignantly refused. “Are we coyotes?” he said. +“Shall we slink into a hole and whine? You Yanktonaise and +Minneconjous have eaten too much white man’s bread. It has +taken the heart out of you. Do you wish to be the sport of our +enemies? Then go back to the agencies and grow fat on the scrap +they will throw to you. As for me, I am Uncapappa, I will not +submit. I owe the white race nothing but hatred. I do not seek +war with Miles, but if he pursues me I will fight. My heart is hot +that you are so cowardly. I will not take part in this peace talk. +I have spoken.”</p> + +<p>Once again he rose, and spoke with the most terrible intensity, +struggling to maintain his supremacy over his sullen and disheartened +allies, but all in vain. He saw at last that his union of +forces had been a failure, and, drawing his “Silent Eaters” around +him, he sent criers through the camp calling on all those who +wished to follow him to break camp.</p> + +<p>It was a solemn day for my race, a bitter moment for my chief.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span> +He saw his bond of union crumbling away, becoming sand where +he thought it steel. When Crazy Horse and the Cheyennes fell +behind he could not complain, for they were but friends who had +formed a temporary alliance, but the desertion of the Yanktonaise +was a different matter. They were of his blood and were leaving +us, not to fight, but to surrender. They were deserting us and +all that we stood for. And my chief’s heart was very sore as he saw +them ride away. Less than two hundred lodges went with The +Sitting Bull; the others surrendered.</p> + +<p>It took heroic courage to set face to the north at that time of +the year. The land was entirely unknown even to our guides, and +the winter was upon us. It was treeless, barren, and hard as iron. +As the snows fell our sufferings began. I have read the white +historians’ account of this. I have read in Miles’s book his boasting +words of the heroism of the white troops as they marched in pursuit +of us in the cold and snow, but he does not draw attention to the +fact that my chief and his people traversed the same road in the +same weather, with scanty blankets and no rations at all. According +to his own report his troops outnumbered us, man, woman, and +child, and yet he did not reach, much less capture, a man of us.</p> + +<p>Our side of all this warfare has never been told. You have all +the newspapers, all the historians. Your officers dare not report +the true number of the slain, and they always report the red men +to be present in vast number. It would make the world smile to +know the truth. You glorify yourselves at our cost, and we have +thus far had no one to dispute you. I am only a poor “Injun,” +after all, and no one will read what I write, but I say the white +soldiers could never defeat an equal number of my people on the +same terms.</p> + +<figure class="figleft illowp75" id="i_186fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_186fp.jpg" alt="Tribe moving through snowy hills"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-r"><span class="lht1">The Brave Cheyennes Were Running Through the Frosted Hills</span><br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>This is Dull Knife’s band of Northern Cheyennes, known +as the Spartans of the plains. And deservedly were they +called a Spartan band, for, relentlessly pursued by cavalry +troops for over ten days, these gallant warriors fought to +their last nerve, making their last stand only when nature +itself was exhausted.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +A SERGEANT OF THE ORPHAN TROOP<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>August, 1897</i></span> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_187fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_187fp.jpg" alt="Column of cavalry"> + <figcaption class="caption-l">Campaigning in Winter<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>A body of United States cavalry in winter rig in pursuit +of a band of Minneconjous Sioux, who had left their agency +and were making for the camp of the hostiles in the Bad Lands.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +A SERGEANT OF THE ORPHAN TROOP<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>August, 1897</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span></p> + +<p>Our moccasins grew thin with our hurrying. We were always +cold and hungry. No wood could be found. We burned our lodge +poles. Our horses weakened and died and we had no meat. The +buffalo had fled, there were no antelope, and the wind always +stung—yet we struggled on, cold, hungry, hearing the wails of our +children and the cries of our women, pushing for a distant valley +where our scouts had located game.</p> + +<p>At last the enemy dropped behind and we went into camp near +the mouth of the Milk River on the Big Muddy, and soon were +warm and fed again, but our hearts were sore for the unburied dead +that lay scattered behind us in the snow. Do you wonder that our +hate of you was very great?</p> + +<p>There we remained till spring. The soldiers had been relentless +in pursuit until the winter shut down; after that they, too, went +into camp and we lived in peace, recuperating from our appalling +march. And day by day The Sitting Bull sat in council with his +“Silent Eaters.”</p> + +<p>Our immediate necessities were met, but the chief’s heart was +burdened with thought of the future. All our allies had fallen away. +The Cheyennes and Ogallallahs were bravely fighting for their land +in the south, but the Yanktonaise and Minneconjous, our own +blood, with small, cold hearts, were sitting, self-imprisoned, in the +white man’s war camp.</p> + +<p>You must not forget that we had no knowledge of geography +such as you have. We knew only evil of the land that lay to the +north and west of us. We were like people lost in the night. Every +hill was strange, every river unexplored. On every hand the +universe ended in obscurity, like the lighted circle of a campfire. +A little of the earth we knew; all the rest was darkness and terror.</p> + +<p>We could not understand the government’s motives. Your +war chief’s persistency and his skill scared us. We were without +ammunition, we could neither make powder nor caps for our rifles, +and our numbers were few. Miles had the wealth of Washington +at his back. This you must remember when you read of wars upon +us. Where we went our women and children were obliged to go, +and this hampered our movements. What would Miles have done +with five hundred women and children to transport and guard?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span></p> + +<p>All these things made further warfare a hopeless thing for us, for +we were dependent upon our enemy for ammunition and guns, +without which the feeding of our people was impossible. To crown +all our troubles, the buffalo were growing very wild and were +retreating to the south.</p> + +<p>Up to this time we had only temporary scarcity of food, but +now, when we could not follow the buffalo in their migrations, +my chief began to see that they might fail us at the very time +we most needed them. “Surely the Great Spirit has turned his +face from us,” he said, as his scouts returned to say the buffalo +were leaving the valley.</p> + +<p>If you were to talk for a day, using your strongest words, you +could not set forth the meaning of the buffalo to my people at +this time. They were our bread and our meat. They furnished +us roof and bed. They lent us clothing for our bodies. The chase +kept us powerful, continent, and active. Our games, our dances, +our songs of worship, and many of our legends had to do with these +great cattle. They were as much a part of our world as the hills +and the trees, and to our minds they were as persistent and ever-recurring +as the grass.</p> + +<p>To say “The buffalo will fail” was like saying “The sun will +rise no more.” Our world was shaken to its base when a red man +began even to dream of this. We spoke of it with whispered words.</p> + +<p>“To go farther north is to say farewell to the buffalo,” the chief +said to my father—and in this line you may read the despair of +the greatest leader my tribe has produced. To go north was to +face ever-deepening cold in a gameless, waterless, treeless land; +to go south was to walk into the white chief’s snare.</p> + +<p>One day as the old men sat in council a stranger, a friendly +half-breed from the north, rose and said:</p> + +<p>“My friends, I have listened to your stories of hard fighting +and running, and it seems to me you are like a lot of foxes whose +dens have been shut tight with stones. The hunters are abroad<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span> +and you have no place of refuge. Now to the north, in my country, +there is a mysterious line on the ground. It is so fine you cannot +see it; it is finer than a spider’s web at dusk; but it is magical. +On one side of it the soldiers wear red coats and have a woman +chief. On the other they wear blue coats and obey Washington. +Open your ears now—listen! No blue soldier dares to cross that +line. This is strange, but it is true. My friends, why do you not +cross this wonder-working mark? There are still buffalo up there +and other game. There is a trader not three days’ ride from here, +one who buys skins and meat. There you can fill your powder cans +and purchase guns. Come with me. I will show the way.”</p> + +<p>As he drew this alluring picture loud shouts of approval rang +out. “Let us go!” they said one by one. “We are tired of being +hunted like coyotes.”</p> + +<p>The chief smoked in silence for a long time, and then he rose +and his voice was very sad as he chanted: “I was born in the +valley of the Big Muddy River. I love my native land, I dread +to leave it, but the pale soldiers have pushed us out and we are +wanderers. I have listened to our friend. I should like to believe +him, but I cannot. White people are all alike. They are all forked +and wear trousers. They will treat us the same no matter what +color of coats they wear. If any of you wish to go I will not hinder. +As for me, I am not yet weak in the knees, I can still run, and I can +still fight when need comes. I have spoken.”</p> + +<p>Part of the people took the advice of the Cree and went across +the line, but The Sitting Bull remained in the valley of the Missouri +till the spring sun took away the snow.</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_IV">IV<br> + +<span class="fs70">DARK DAYS OF WINTER</span></h3> + +<p>I shall never forget that dreadful winter. It seems now like +one continuous whirling storm of snow filled with wailing. We +were cold and hungry all the time, and the white soldiers were ever<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span> +on our trail. Many died and the cries of women never ceased. +It was as if the Great Spirit had forgotten us.</p> + +<p>The chief, satisfied at last that the Cree had told the truth and +despairing of the future, turned his little band to the north, and in +the early spring crossed the line near the head of Frenchman’s +Creek and camped close to the hill they call Wood Mountain, +where the redcoats had a station and a small store. No one would +have known this small, ragged, sorrowful band as “the army of +The Sitting Bull.”</p> + +<p>My father was a great man—as great in his way as his chieftain—but +he was what you call a philosopher. He spoke little, but +he thought much, and one day soon after this he called me to him +and said: “My son, you have seen how the white man puts words +on bits of paper. It is now needful that some one of us do the same. +We are far from our home and kindred. You must learn to put +signs on paper like the white man in order that we may send word +to those we have left behind. I have been talking with a black-robe +(a priest) and to-morrow you go with him to learn the white +man’s wonderful sign language.”</p> + +<p>My heart froze within me to hear this, and had I dared I would +have fled out upon the prairie; but I sat still, saying no word, and +my father, seeing my tears, tried to comfort me. “Be not afraid, +my son. I will visit you every day.”</p> + +<p>“Why can’t I come home each night?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Because the black-robe says you will learn faster if you live +with him. You must travel this road quickly, for we sorely need +your help.”</p> + +<p>He took me to Father Julian and I began to read.</p> + +<p>We lived here peacefully for two years. The Cree had told us +the truth. General Miles dared not cross the line, but he chased +my people whenever they ventured over it. At Wolf Point, on the +Missouri, was a trader who spoke our language (he had an Indian +wife) and with him my chief often talked. He had spies also at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span> +Fort Peck, which was an agency for the Assiniboines, and so knew +where the soldiers were at all times.</p> + +<p>I had a friend, a Cree, who could read the papers, and from +them I learned what the white people said of us. Through him I +heard that many people sympathized with The Sitting Bull and +declared that it was right to defend one’s native land.</p> + +<p>These words pleased the chief, but it made two of his head men +bitter. They grew jealous because their names were not spoken by +the white man, and they would have overthrown my chief if they +dared, but now the “Silent Eaters” came to his aid. With them to +guard him, the chief could treat the jealous ones with contempt. +Wherever he went my father and others of his bodyguard went with +him, so that no traitor could kill him and sell his head to the white +people.</p> + +<p>The redcoats liked my chieftain well. He was always just and +peaceful. If a reckless young man did a wrong thing against the +settlers The Sitting Bull punished him and said: “A righteous +man does not strike the hand which saves him from the wolf. No +one can steal from these our friends and not be punished.”</p> + +<p>Once when he went to visit the trader at Wolf Point I went with +him, and was present at a long talk which they held. The trader +gave us a tent and some food and at night when we had eaten he +came and sat down to smoke.</p> + +<p>“Sitting Bull,” he began, “I cannot understand you. I cannot +see as you do. We white people look ahead, we ask ourselves what +is going to happen in the future; but you seem to go on blindly. +My friend, what do you intend to do?”</p> + +<p>The chief considered this carefully, but said nothing.</p> + +<p>The trader went on: “The buffalo will soon be gone—you +can see that. The cold is killing them and the guns of the white +hunters crack, crack all the time. What will you do when they are +gone?”</p> + +<p>The chief broke forth passionately: “I did not leave the Black<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> +Hills of my own will; the soldiers pushed me out. I loved my +home, but the paleface came and with his coming all the old things +began to change. I kept out of his way, I did not seek war with +him, but he never slept till he drove me among the redcoats. The +redcoats do not say much to us, but what they speak is fair and +straight. So long as a gopher remains on the plains I will stay and +I will fight. All my life I have been a man of peace, but now my +back is to the rock; I shall run no more. I am not afraid to die +and all my warriors are of my mind.”</p> + +<p>The trader replied: “Your people are poor and suffering. The +Canadian government cannot help you. Our Great Father is rich. +He will take care of you and your people. Why don’t you do as +the Yanktonaise did—go to a reservation and settle down.”</p> + +<p>“Because I am a red man. If the Great Spirit had desired me +to be a white man he would have made me so in the first place. +He put in your heart certain wishes and plans, in my heart he put +other and different desires. Each man is good in His sight. It is +not necessary for eagles to be crows. Now we are poor, but we are +free. No white man controls our footsteps. If we must die we +will die defending our rights. In that we are all agreed. This you +may say to the Great Father for me.”</p> + +<p>The trader waited till the chief’s emotion passed away, and +then he said: “Look you, my friend, all white men are not your +enemies. There are many who are on your side.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot trust them. A few months ago some men came +professing friendship; they offered me land and a house, but I +fear all those who come bearing gifts. I will trade; I will not take +gifts. I do not make war; I only defend my women and children +as you would do.”</p> + +<p>The trader rose. “Very well. I have said all I care to say on that +head, but I shall be glad to see you at any time and I wish to trade +with you.”</p> + +<p>“Will you trade guns?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span></p> + +<p>“No, I can’t do that.”</p> + +<p>“If we kill game we must have guns.”</p> + +<p>“I know that, but I fear the soldiers as well as you, chief. They +tell me not to sell you guns, and I must obey.”</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull rose and took from his side his embroidered +tobacco pouch.</p> + +<p>“You are of good heart and I will trade with you.” He handed +the pouch to the trader, for this is an emblem of respect among +my people, and they shook hands and parted. If all men had been +like this man, we would not now be an outcast race.</p> + +<p>All that autumn while I studied the white man’s books my +people camped not far away and traded at Wolf Point. It was well +they did, for the winter set in hard. The cold became deadly and +they had few robes. They were forced to sell all they had to buy +food and ammunition. It is a terrible thing to be hungry in a land +of iron. Do you wonder that we despaired?</p> + +<p>Just when the winter was deep with snow a messenger came to +warn us that a great military expedition was on its way to catch +The Sitting Bull and his people. The chief immediately gave orders +to pack, and with stern face again led the way to the north across +the Great Divide. The white soldiers had plenty of blankets and +food. They followed us hard. The storms were incessant. The +snow, swept to and fro by the never-resting wind, blinded the +eyes of the scouts and path finders.</p> + +<p>Oh, that terrible march! In the gullies the horses floundered +and fell to rise no more. There was no tree to shelter a tepee, no +fuel for our fire. Women froze their arms and breasts, and little +children died of cold and hunger. The camp grew each day more +silent. The dogs were killed for food, and each night the lodge +poles were cut down to make kindling, till each tepee became like +a child’s toy. The guides lost their way in the storm and the whole +camp wandered desperately in a great circle. My words cannot +picture to you the despair and suffering of that march.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p> + +<p>When at last they came into the old camp at Wood Mountain +they were bleeding, ragged, and hollow eyed with hunger. The +Sitting Bull looked like an old man. The commander hardly +recognized him, so worn and broken was he, and I, who remembered +him as the proud leader of two thousand lodges of people, was +made sorrowful and bitter by the change in his face.</p> + +<p>That winter was the coldest known to my people. They sat +huddled over their camp fires in the storms, while hunters ranged +desperately for game. The redcoats helped us as much as they +could, and strangers far away, hearing of our need, sent a little food +and some clothing, but, in spite of all, many of our old people died.</p> + +<p>Hunting parties rode forth desperately to the south, and some +of them never returned. The buffalo were few and very, very +distant, and our scouts from the Yellowstone reported whole herds +already frozen. Myriads were starving because of the deep snow. +“By spring none will remain,” they said. “Surely the Great Spirit +has turned his face away from his red sons.”</p> + +<p>The sufferings of the children broke the proud hearts of the +chiefs. One by one they began to complain. Some of them +reproached The Sitting Bull and there were those who would have +delivered his head to the white men, but were prevented by the +“Silent Eaters,” who were ever watchful.</p> + +<p>Many now said: “Let us go back. The buffalo are gone. We +are helpless and our children starve <ins class="corr" id="tn-194" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'while our brethern'"> +while our brethren</ins> at the +Standing Rock have plenty and are warm. We are tired of fighting +and fleeing. The Great Spirit is angry with us. He has withdrawn +his favor and we must do as Washington wishes. We must +eat his food and do his work. He is all powerful. It is useless to +hold out longer.”</p> + +<p>To all this the chief made no reply, but brooded darkly, talking +only in the soldier’s lodge. His mind was busy with the problems +of life and death which the winter wind sang into his ears.</p> + +<p>From my warm home with the priest, from the comfort and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> +security which I was just beginning to comprehend and enjoy, I +went now and again into the camp, and the pity of it was almost +more than I could bear. No one talked, no one sang, no one smiled. +It was like some dreadful dream of the night.</p> + +<p>What could I do? I had nothing. I ate, but I could not carry +food to my chief. I had warm clothing, but I could not lend it +to my father. Though hardly more than a boy, my heart was big +as that of a man. I began to understand a little of the mighty +spread of the white man’s net, and yet I dared not tell the chief +my secret thought.</p> + +<p>How can I make you understand? Can you not see that we +were facing the end of our world? My chief was confronting captivity +and insult and punishment. His bright world of danger and +freedom and boundless activity was narrowing to a grave, and only +the instinctive love of life kept him and his “Silent Eaters” from +self-destruction. In all the history of the world there has been +no darker day for a race than this when midwinter fell upon us +in that strange land of the north.</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_V">V<br> + +<span class="fs70">THE CHIEF SURRENDERS HIMSELF</span></h3> + +<p>The first days of spring were worse than the winter. Rain +and sleet followed each other, and the few remaining buffalo seemed +to sink into the ground, so swiftly they disappeared. White people +read in papers of wars and elections and the price of wheat; our +news came by brave runners, and their tales were ever of the same +dole.</p> + +<p>“What of the buffalo? Where are the buffalo? Are the buffalo +starving?” The answers always were the same. “The buffalo are +gone. We are lost!”</p> + +<p>The report of our desperate condition went out over the world +and sympathetic people came to urge us to surrender. One messenger, +a priest, a friend of General Sherman, the great war chief,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> +came, and The Sitting Bull called a council to sit with him, and +some Canadian officers also were there.</p> + +<p>After they had all finished speaking, The Sitting Bull replied: +“I am ready to make a peace. But as for going to Standing Rock, +that is a question I must consider a long time. I am no fool. I +know that the man who kills me will be rewarded and I do not +intend to be taken prisoner. I have long understood the power +of the whites. I am like a fly in a mountain stream when compared +with this wonderful and cruel race. I do not care to have my head +sold to make some man-coyote rich. Now this is my answer: +I will make a peace. I will keep my people in order but I will not +go to the Standing Rock. My children can go if they think best.”</p> + +<p>The council broke up at this point, but in private the chief +said to a friend: “The Gall is going back, so is The Polar Bear and +many others. I shall soon be alone. Black Moon, Running Crane, +all are deserting me, but I shall remain; I will not return to die +foolishly for the white man’s pleasure.”</p> + +<p>All took place as he foresaw. Chief Gall went south and surrendered. +So did Red Fish and The Crane. Only a few remained, +among them my father and Slohan.</p> + +<p>The chief was pleased to know I was getting skilled in the +white man’s magic. “I need an interpreter, one I can trust,” he +said to me. “Go on in the road you have taken.”</p> + +<p>One day as he sat smoking in his tepee I heard him singing in a +low voice the “Song of the Chieftains,” but he had changed it to a +sad ending:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“I was born a soldier—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I have lived thus long.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ah, I have lived to spend my days in poverty.”</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>It broke my heart to look upon him sitting there. I had seen +him when he was the master spirit of the whole Sioux nation—a +proud and confident chief. Now he hovered above his fire, singing +a death song, surrounded by a little circle of ragged lodges. Yet<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> +I could not blame his followers. They surrendered, not to the +white man, but to the great forces of hunger and cold.</p> + +<p>If you ask what defeated The Sitting Bull, I will answer, “The +passing of the buffalo.” If you ask what caused him to surrender +his body to the whites, I will say his tender heart. You hear officers +boast of conquering Sitting Bull, but the one who brought him to +the post was his daughter. The love of the parent for the child is +strong in my race; it is terrible. Sitting Bull was a chief, stern and +resolved, but he was a father also.</p> + +<p>One day a letter came to the British officer from a friend of my +chieftain, who said, “Tell The Sitting Bull that the white men +have put his daughter in irons.”</p> + +<p>This daughter, his best-beloved child, had left the camp, lured +away by her lover, and the chief did not know where she was. His +heart was bleeding for her, and now when he heard this letter read +his indignation was very great. “Is it so?” he cried out. “Do they +make war on a poor weak girl? I will go to her. I will kill her +captors. I will die beside her.”</p> + +<p>That night he called the remnant of his band together and said, +“My children, you know that the white men have tried often to +get me to go south to act their pleasure, but I have always refused. +Now they have taken my daughter, a weak girl with no power to +defend herself. They have put irons on her feet and on her hands. +At last I must go south. I must follow her. I wish to find her and +to kill those who have abused her. I do not want you to go with +me. I go alone to suffer whatsoever comes to me.”</p> + +<p>Then his people all said, “No, we will go with you.”</p> + +<p>He replied: “Friends, you have stayed too long with me. If +you wish to go I cannot refuse, but the road is dark and dangerous; +whereto it leads I cannot tell.”</p> + +<p>We made ready at once to go with him, and though our hearts +were filled with fear, we were also glad. “We’re going home,” the +women sang. For the last time he gave orders to break camp in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> +Canadian territory, and led the way across the invisible wonderful +line into the land of the bluecoats.</p> + +<p>His following was very small now. Only his wives and sons +and a few of the more loyal of the “Silent Eaters” remained. +Many of even this bodyguard had gone away, but those who +remained were doubly faithful, and on them he relied to resent +any indignity. “If we are assaulted let us die fighting, as becomes +warriors,” he said, and all the men responded firmly, “Aye, that +will we.”</p> + +<p>Do you think it an easy thing to set your face toward the land +of your deadly foes, with only a handful of warriors to stand between +you and torture? Yet this is what my chieftain did. He knew the +hate and the fear in which the white man held him, for I could now +read to him and report to him what was said. He was aware of +the price on his head and that many men were eager to put him +in chains; yet he went.</p> + +<p>“I shall go to the white soldiers,” he said. “<i>They</i> will know +about my daughter. They are warriors, and warriors respect a +chieftain.”</p> + +<p>Small as his escort was, the commander at Fort Buford respected +it. He received The Sitting Bull like a chief, and said, “I have +orders to take you as military prisoner to Fort Yates.”</p> + +<p>“I know the road home,” my chief haughtily replied. Then +he handed his gun to me and added, in a milder tone: “I do not +come in anger toward the white soldiers. I am very sad. My +daughter went this road. Her I am seeking. I will fight no more. +I do not love war. I never was the aggressor. I fought only to +defend my women and children. Now all my people wish to return +to their native land. Therefore I submit.” My heart ached to +hear him say this, but it was true.</p> + +<p>The colonel was very courteous. “You shall be treated as one +soldier treats another,” he said. “In two days a boat will come +to take you back to your people at Standing Rock. It is easy to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span> +ride on a boat and you will have plenty to eat and I will send a +guard to see that you are not harmed by anyone.”</p> + +<p>Thereupon he showed us where to camp and issued rations to us, +and, as we were all hungry, his kindness touched our hearts.</p> + +<p>On the second day he came to see the chief again: “The boat +has come to carry you to Standing Rock. I hope you will go quietly +and take your place among your people who are living on their +ancient hunting grounds near the Grand River.”</p> + +<p>“I do not wish to be shut up in a corral,” replied The Sitting +Bull. “It is bad for the young men to be fed by the agent. It +makes them lazy and drunken. All the agency Indians I have ever +seen were worthless. They are neither red warriors nor white +farmers. They are neither wolf nor dog. But my followers +are weary of being hungry and cold. They wish to see their +brothers and their old home on the Missouri, therefore I bow my +head.”</p> + +<p>Soon after this we went aboard the ship and began to move +down the river.</p> + +<p>Some of us hardly slept at all, so deeply excited were we by the +wonder of the boat, but the chief sat in silence, smoking, speaking +only to remark on some change in the landscape or to point out +some settler’s cabin or a herd of cattle. “Our world—the Indian’s +world—is almost gone,” he muttered. But no one knew as well as I +how deeply we were penetrating the white man’s civilization.</p> + +<p>We all became excited as the boat neared Bismarck, for there +stood a large village of white people and men and women came +rushing out to see us. They laughed and shouted insulting words +to the chief, and some of them called out, “Kill ’em!” The soldiers +who guarded us kept them back and we went on unharmed, but +I could see that the sight of this throng of palefaces had again +made my chief very bitter.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget the strange pain at my heart as we neared +the high bluff which hides Fort Yates. I did not know how near<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span> +we were till the old men pointed out the landmarks and began to +sing a sad song:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“We are returning, my brothers—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We are coming to see you,</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><ins class="corr" id="tn-200" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: ' ut we come'"> + But we come</ins> as captives.”</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>At last we came in sight of the fort, where a great crowd of +people stood waiting to see us. It seemed as if all the Sioux tribes +were there, all my chief’s friends and all his enemies. Some laughed, +some sang, some shouted to us. All on board were crazy with joy, +but the chief did not change countenance; only by a quiver of his +lips could his feelings be read. We saw The Gall and The Running +Antelope and The Crow’s Mane and many more of our friends. +There were tears on the cheeks of these stern warriors and their +hands were outstretched to greet us.</p> + +<p>But the chief and my father were taken from the boat under +military guard and no one was allowed to come near them. My +mother and sister put up our tepee surrounded by the soldiers. +Only a few were permitted to come in and see us.</p> + +<p>The chief inquired anxiously for his daughter. One day she +came, and when she passed into her father’s lodge her face was +hidden in her hands, her form shook with weakness. I could not +hear what the chief said to her, for his voice was low and gentle, +but when I saw her next she was smiling. He had forgiven her and +was made happy by her promise to stay with him.</p> + +<p>He was greatly chagrined to find himself held a prisoner in the +face of all his people, and yet this care of his person—this fear of +him on the white man’s part—made some of his subordinates still +more jealous of his eminence. They were forgotten, while many +strangers came from afar and gave my chief many silver pieces +for his photograph. His fame was greater than even I could realize, +and chiefs who had no reason to hate him began to speak against +him. “Why should the white people send him presents?” they +asked, and began to belittle his position in the tribe.</p> + +<figure class="figleft illowp75" id="i_200fp" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_200fp.jpg" alt="Two different army uniforms"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-r">Indians as Soldiers<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>To the Indian, it was the soldier—the man in blue uniform—not +the civil agents sent out from Washington to dole out +bad and insufficient rations to a conquered race, that represented +courage, justice, and truth. Consequently the +Indians took great pride in being soldiers, and experience +has shown that they make not only the most efficient but +also the most faithful of scouts and the best possible material +for light, irregular cavalrymen.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustrations from</i><br> +INDIANS AS IRREGULAR CAVALRY<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Weekly</span>, <i>December 27, 1890</i></span> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp70" id="i_201fp" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_201fp.jpg" alt="Cheering indian on horseback"> + <figcaption class="caption-l">An Indian Dream<br> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +HOW ORDER No. 6 WENT THROUGH<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>May, 1898</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span></p> + +<p>I do not think my chief counseled evil during this time, but it +could not be said that he was submissive. He merely waited in +his tepee the action of his captors. The news that he got of the +condition of the reservation was not such as to encourage him and +the roar of his falling world was still in his ears. He was not yet +in full understanding of the purpose of Washington. “I do not +know whether I am to live or die,” he said to my father. “Whatsoever +my fate, I am happier, now that I have seen my child.”</p> + +<p>After some three weeks of this confinement we were startled +by an order to break camp and get on board the boat again. “You +are to go to Fort Randall as military prisoners,” the agent explained +to me. “Tell them these are my orders.”</p> + +<p>When I told the chief he was greatly troubled and, calling his +“Silent Eaters” about him, he said: “This may mean that they +are going to take us into the mysterious East to kill us in sport, or +to starve us in prison, far from our kind. Now listen, be ready! +Our reservation ends at Fort Randall. If they attempt to carry +us beyond that point let each man snatch a soldier’s gun and fight. +Let no one cease battle till the last man of us is killed. I am old +and broken, but I am still a chief. I will not suffer insult and I +will not be chained like a wolf for the white man’s sport.”</p> + +<p>All agreed to this plan, and as the boat neared the fort the +chief gave the word, and we were scattered, tense with resolution, +ready to begin our death struggle should the vessel pass beyond the +line. No one faltered. Nearer and nearer we floated, and all were +expecting the signal when the boat signaled to the shore and stopped. +The soldiers never knew how close they came to death on that day.</p> + +<p>Again we went into camp under guard, well cared for by the +soldiers. The officers all treated The Sitting Bull with marked +respect and during the day the colonel himself came to sit and +smoke and talk with us.</p> + +<p>Of him the chief abruptly asked, “Am I to be kept here all my +life?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span></p> + +<p>“No. After a while you are to be sent back north. As soon as +you are prepared to sign a peace and after the anger of the whites +dies out. I do not hate you. Come and talk to me whenever you +feel lonesome, I will do all I can to make your stay pleasant.”</p> + +<p>To this The Sitting Bull replied: “Your kindness makes my +heart warm. It gives me courage to tread the new paths that lie +before me. I am very sad and distrustful, for I am like a man who +enters a land for the first time. It is not easy for me to sit down as +a prisoner and dream out the future. It is all dark to me. You are +my friend. You are wise and your words have helped me. If we +could have the aid of men like you, the new road would be less +fearsome to our feet.”</p> + +<p>The young officers came and asked us many questions about +our ways of camping, our methods of fighting, and so on, and the +chief was always ready to talk. Sometimes I pretended not to understand +English in order that I might the better know what was being +said, and often I heard white people tell ridiculous things.</p> + +<p>“Is <i>that</i> The Sitting Bull? Why, he looks like an old woman. +He can’t be a warrior.” Others remarked, “What a sad face he +has!” and this was true, for he had grown old swiftly. He brooded +much and there were days when he spake no word to any one, not +even to my father.</p> + +<p>These were days of enlightenment to me, as well as to my chief, +but they brought no sign of hope. My father was a kind man, +naturally cheerful and buoyant, and his eyes were quick to see all +that the white man did. He comprehended as well as my chief the +overwhelming power of the white man, but he was less tenacious +of the past. “It is gone,” he repeated to me privately. “The +world of our fathers is swallowed up. Go you, my son, and learn +of the white man the secret power that enables him to make carts +and powder and rifles. How can we fight him when we must trade +with him to win his wonder-working arms and ammunition?”</p> + +<p>And so when one of the officers, Lieutenant Davies, saw me holding<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span> +a scrap of paper and asked me if I could read, I told him I could. +Thereafter he gave me books and helped me to understand them. +We called him “Blackbird,” because his mustaches were dark and +shaped like the wings of a bird. I came to love this man, for he was +the best paleface I ever knew. He did not condemn us because +we were red. He did not boast and he was a soldier. He talked +much with The Sitting Bull, and his speech did more to change +my chief’s mind than that of any other man.</p> + +<p>“Submit to all that the White Father demands,” he advised, +“for so it is ordered in the world. It is not a question of right, or +of the will of the Great Spirit,” he went on; “it is merely a question +of cannon and food.” There was something appalling in the way in +which he said these things. He did not believe in any Great Spirit. +I could not understand his religion, but his mind was large and his +heart gracious.</p> + +<p>“Knowledge is power,” he said to me. “Study, acquire wisdom, +the white man’s wisdom, then you will be able to defend the rights +of your people,” and his words sank deep into my heart.</p> + +<p>For two years we lived here under his influence, until one day +the order came for us to go back up the river, and with glad hearts +we obeyed.</p> + +<p>It was in the spring and there was joy in our blood, for these +years of close captivity had made the promise of life on the reservation +seem almost like freedom. We went back laughing for joy, +and when we again came in sight of the hill above the Standing +Rock my father lifted his hands in prayer and the women sang a +song of joy. As soon as we were released my chief called his old +guard about him, and said:</p> + +<p>“My sons, my mind has changed. We are now entering upon a +new life. The white man’s trail is broad and dusty before us. The +buffalo are entirely gone and we must depend on the fruit of the +earth. You observe that The Eagle Killer, The Fire Heart and +many of our people have oxen and wagons. If they did not come<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span> +into possession of these things by shooting them out of the sky, I +think we shall be able to acquire similar goods for ourselves. The +white people have promised that so long as grass grows and water +runs we shall be unmolested here. Let us live in peace with our +neighbors.”</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull was chief because he could do many things, +and, though he was now a captive with his people, his power and +influence remained. His “Silent Eaters” gathered round him and +to them his words were law. The agent also, for a time, treated him +with consideration, and was very friendly. They spoke often +together.</p> + +<p>We were at once given oxen and carts and located near the +agency, where we lived for a year, but the chief longed to return +to the Grand River, his native valley, and finally the agent gave +his consent, and we moved to the river flat, just where the Rock +Creek comes in. Here he built a little log cabin and settled down +to live like a white man, but I could see that his heart was ever +soaring to the hills of the West and his thoughts were busy with the +past. Truly it was strange to see Gall and Crane and Slohan +sitting in a small cabin, talking of the brave, free days of old.</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_VI">VI<br> + +<span class="fs70">IN CAPTIVITY</span></h3> + +<p>Of what took place on the reservation during the next four +years I know but little directly, for I went away to Washington to +study with Lieutenant Davies, who was assigned to duty in the War +Department, and I did not return to the Standing Rock for many +years. I heard now and then from my father, who wrote through +my friend Louie Primeau. He told me that the chief was living +quietly at Rock Creek, but that he was opposing every attempt of +the white man to buy our lands.</p> + +<p>My father complained also of the decreasing rations and said: +“The agent’s memory is short; he has forgotten that these rations<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> +are in payment for land. He calls them gifts.” My mother sent +word that my little sister had died and that many were sick of lung +diseases. “We are very cold and hungry in the winter,” she said, +and my heart bled with remorse, for I was warm and well fed.</p> + +<p>I would have returned at once had not my friend Davies told me +to stay on and learn all I could. “Go to the top,” he said. “Do +not halt in the middle of the trail. You will need to be very wise +to help your people.”</p> + +<p>He was a philosopher. He had no hate of any race. He looked +upon each people as the product of its conditions, and he often said, +“The plains Indian was a perfect adaptation of organism to environment +till the whites disturbed him.”</p> + +<p>His speech and his thought are in all that I write. He taught +me to put down my words simply and without rhetoric. He gave +me books to read that were both right and honest, and in all things +he was truthful. “Your life can never be happy,” he said. “You +will always be a red man in the clothing of the whites, but you will +find a pleasure in defending your people. Your race needs both +historian and defender. Your whole life should be one of teaching +your people how to live and how to avoid pain. I am not educating +you to be happy. There can be no shirking your duty. On the contrary, +I believe your only way to secure a moment’s peace of mind +after you return to your tribe is to help them bear their burdens.”</p> + +<p>He warned me of the change which had come to me, as to them. +“Your boyish imagination idealized your people and the life they +led. You saw them under heroic conditions. They are now poor +and despairing and you will be shocked at their appearance and +position under the agent, but do not let this dismay you. The race +is there beneath its rags and dirt, a wonderful race.”</p> + +<p>I shall never forget those long talks we had in his study, high up +in his little house, for he was not rich. Sometimes I could not sleep +for the disturbing new thoughts which he gave me. Often he nullified +all the teaching of the schools by some quiet remark.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span></p> + +<p>“I counsel you to be a Sioux, my boy,” he repeated to me one +night after I had been singing some of our songs for a group of his +friends. “You can never be a Caucasian. There are dusky corners +in your thought. The songs you sang to-night made your heart +leap with memories of the chase. A race is the product of conditions, +the result of a million years of struggle. I do not expect a red man to +become a white man. Those who do, know nothing of the human +organism. On the surface I can make some change; but deep down +your emotions, your superstitions are red and always must be; that +is not a thing to be ashamed of.”</p> + +<p>I am giving this glimpse into my school days in order that my +understanding of my chief and my race may appear plain. It is +due to my good friend Davies, the noblest white I ever knew. I +want everyone to know how much I owe to him.</p> + +<p>It was strange to me and very irritating to find what false ideas +of us and of our chief the Washington people held. When it became +known that I was a Sioux and had been with The Sitting Bull, +many were eager to question me about him, but I refused to do more +than say: “We fought for our lands as Washington fought for his. +Now you confine my chief as if he were a wolf. But he is a wise and +gentle man, a philosopher, therefore he has laid his hands to the +plow. His feet are in the white man’s road.”</p> + +<p>This story is not of me, else I could tell you how beautiful some +of the white women came to seem to me, and one small girl, fair +as a spring flower, ensnared my heart and kept me like an eagle +bound to my perch—only I did not struggle against the golden cord +that bound me. It was all very strange to me, for I still loved a +girl of my own race, who sent me presents of moccasins and who +wrote through Louis to say she was waiting for me. It was strange, +I say—for my heart clung to Anita, also, she was so fair and slender +and sweet. She was associated with all the luxury and mystery of +the white man’s life. She called to me in new ways—ways that +scared me—while Oma spoke to something deeper in me—something<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span> +akin to the wide skies, the brown hills, the west wind, and the smell +of the lodge fire.</p> + +<p>How it would have ended I don’t know, had not my friend Davies +been sent again into the West. His going ended my stay in the East. +Without him I was afraid to remain among the white people.</p> + +<p>“The time has come for you to return, Iapi,” he said to me. +“The white men are moving to force a treaty upon the Sioux, and +now is your time to help them.”</p> + +<p>It was very hard to say good-by to my friend, and harder yet +to my Anita, who loved me, but who told me she could not go with +me, though she wished to do so. “I cannot leave my poor mother, +who is sick and poor,” she said.</p> + +<p>I was not very wise, but I knew that I had no place, not even a +lodge, in which to keep her, and so I said: “I will go on before you +and prepare a place for you, and then sometime you will come and +you will help me to teach my people how to live?”</p> + +<p>To this she gave me promise and I went away very sad, for it +seemed a long way from Standing Rock to Washington, and especially +to a poor Sioux who knew of no way to earn money.</p> + +<p>Some friends joined with my friend, the white soldier chief, to +buy some clothes for me, and a few presents for my father and +mother, and so, with a heart so big I thought it would burst within +me, I took the cars for the West.</p> + +<p>I sat without moving for hours—all night long—while the terrible +engine of the white man’s fashioning sped into the darkness. At +dawn I looked out anxiously to see if the land were familiar, but +it was not. Only on the third day did it begin to awaken echoes in +my brain. My command of English words will not permit me to +express the wild thrill of my heart as I looked out of my window +and saw again the wide-lying plains of Dakota, marked by the feet +of the vanished buffalo. I was getting home!</p> + +<p>Five years is a long time when it involves such mental changes +as had come to me. It seemed that half a lifetime had passed since<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span> +I sorrowfully took the steamer to go down the river to learn the +white man’s language. I was a wild-eyed, long-haired lad then. +Now I was returning, clipped and clothed like a white man, yet in +my heart a Sioux.</p> + +<p>There were changes in the country, but not so great as I had +expected. Even the white man makes but little mark on these +arid levels. The cabins were grayer, the fields a little larger, that +was all. After dispossessing my people and destroying the buffalo, +the white settlers had discovered that it was a grim country for their +uses. Their towns seemed small and poor and sad.</p> + +<p>My heart came into my throat as I crossed the Cannonball and +entered upon Sioux land and saw the yellowed tepees of our cousins, +the Yanktonaise, scattered irregularly along the river. This was +still the land of my fathers; this much we had retained of all the +bright world which had been ours in the olden, splendid days!</p> + +<p>It was in June and the grass was still green. Herds of ponies +were feeding on the swells, and one of the horses I drove lifted his +head and neighed; he, too, remembered the old freedom. The sky +blazed with light and the hills quivered as if in ecstasy of living. +The region was at its best, delusively beautiful. I knew its moods. +I knew how desolate and pitiless those swells could be in midwinter, +how dry and hot of breath in July.</p> + +<p>As we topped the hill I met a man driving a small team to a heavy +wagon. He wore a wide hat which lay on his shoulders, and big +smoked goggles hid his eyes. As he came opposite I perceived that +he was a Sioux, and I called to him in my native tongue.</p> + +<p>“Wait, my friend. Where are you going so fast?”</p> + +<p>He turned his big glasses on me and said:</p> + +<p>“First of all, who are you that speak Lakota so badly?”</p> + +<p>“I am Iapi, the son of Shato.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he exclaimed, with a smile. “In that case you are getting +back from school? I know you, for I am Red Thunder!”</p> + +<p>Red Thunder! I was silent with astonishment. A picture of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span> +him as I saw him in 1876 rose in my mind. Tall and lithe he was +then, with keen, fierce eyes, the leader of the war faction among +the Yanktonaise, a wonderful horseman, reckless and graceful. +Now here he sat in a white man’s wagon, bent in the shoulders +and clad in badly fitting agency clothing. My heart was sick +as I said:</p> + +<p>“Friend, you are changed since the council on the Powder +River. I did not know you.”</p> + +<p>He took off his glasses and put aside his hat; his smile also passed +away. He looked away to the west:</p> + +<p>“My son, that is long ago and Red Thunder’s blood is no longer +made from buffalo meat. His muscles are weak. He prefers to +sit in his wagon and drive his ponies. The Great Spirit has forgotten +his red children and the White Father is in command over us. I do +the best I can. The old trails are closed; only one remains—the +one made by Washington.”</p> + +<p>I drove on, my exultation utterly gone. If Red Thunder was +of this bitter mood, how would I find the Uncapappas who had been +the conservatives of the tribe?</p> + +<p>I passed close by some of the cabins and they disheartened me, +they were so small and dirty. I was glad to see that some of them +still retained the sweat lodge. Each home consisted of a shack and +two or three tepees of canvas, and women were cooking beneath +bowers made of cottonwood as of old. Their motions, and the +smell of smoke, awoke such memories in me that I could hardly +keep from both shouting and weeping.</p> + +<p>The farther I went the more painful became the impression made +upon me by these captives. They were like poor white farmers, +ragged, dirty, and bent. The clothes they wore were shoddy gray +and deeply repulsive to me. Their robes of buffalo, their leggins of +buckskin, their beaded pouches—all the things I remembered with +pride—had been worn out (or sold). Even the proud warriors of +my tribe were reduced to the condition of those who are at once<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> +prisoners and beggars. My heart was like lead as I reached the +agency.</p> + +<p>It hurt me to do so, but I reported at once to the agent and +asked leave to visit my father and mother.</p> + +<p>“They are expecting you,” he said. “You’ll find them camped +just beyond the graveyard.”</p> + +<p>I am glad that I saw my father and mother first in their tepee. +My mother was cooking beneath a little shed of canvas. I called +to her, and when she looked at me, without knowing me, something +moved deep down in my heart. How brown and old and wrinkled +she looked! Then I said, “Don’t you know me, mother!”</p> + +<p>Then her voice rose as she came hurrying to me, calling: “My +son! My son has returned.”</p> + +<p>She took my hand, not daring to put her arms around me, for +I looked, she said, exactly like the white man, but I pressed her +hands, and then, while she sang a little song of joy, my father +came out of his lodge and came slowly toward me.</p> + +<p>I will not dwell on this meeting. I inquired at once concerning +our chief. “He is still living in the same place near Rock Creek, +and wishes to see you at once,” said my father. “The white men +are trying to get our land again and the chief wants to have a talk +about it with you.”</p> + +<p>“Let us go down and see him to-night,” I replied, and for this +reason we broke camp and started away across the plains.</p> + +<p>It was a strange thing to me to help my father harness a team to +a wagon. He whom I had seen a hundred times riding foremost in +the chase, whom I had watched at break of day leading a band of +scouts up the steep side of a sculptured butte, or with gun in hand +guarding The Sitting Bull as he slept, was now a teamster, and I, +clothed in the white man’s garments, was sad and ashamed. I +could not but perceive that we were both more admirable as red +warriors than as imitation Saxon farmers. That is my red blood, +you see.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span></p> + +<p>But my father was proud of me and of my power to converse +with the agent. “My son,” he said, “our hearts are big because you +are back with us. Now this is your duty. You must listen to all +that the commissioners say and tell us minutely so that we may not +be deceived. We hear that a big council sent out the papers which +Washington wishes us to put our mark on, but The Sitting Bull +and most of our head men are agreed that we will never do so. +Once before, three years ago, they tried to get us to sell, but when +the white men grew angry and said, ‘If you don’t do this we will take +your lands anyway!’ The Sitting Bull rose and said, ‘You are +crazy,’ and with a motion of his hand broke up the council and we +all went away. Now the traitorous whites are coming again and +we need you to listen and tell us what they say.”</p> + +<p>I knew of the council he spoke of—General Logan was the man +who had threatened them—but I had not heard that the chief had +dismissed the sitting. It showed me that The Sitting Bull was +still chief. This I remarked.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said my father, “he is head man of all the Sioux even +yet, but the agent has set his hand against him. He gives favor to +The Grass and The Gall and The Gray Eagle, who are all jealous +and anxious to be set above The Sitting Bull. The agent has become +bitter toward our chief because he will not do as he says, and because +our father works always for the good of his people. He does nothing +for himself alone, like many others.”</p> + +<p>As we came to the top of the hill and looked into the valley my +father pointed at a small two-room log cabin and said, “There he +lives, The Sitting Bull.”</p> + +<p>The chief was in a big tepee which stood near the house, and as +we entered we found him entertaining Slohan and Katolan. He was +seated in the center, cutting tobacco, while his guests ate from a dish +of bread and meat. As I stood in the presence of these my honored +leaders my heart swelled with longing for the good old time. Here +was the dignity and the courtesy of the days of the buffalo. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> +chief was partly in white man’s dress, but his hair was worn as of old +and his gestures were those of a gentle host. His dignity, as well as +the gravity of all the men, impressed me deeply.</p> + +<p>He did not at first recognize me, but greeted my father, who, +turning to me, said, “This is my son, returned from Washington.”</p> + +<p>Then the chief smiled, and cried out: “Ho, my son! I am glad +to see you. I have heard you were coming. You look so like a +white man my eyes were blinded. You must tell me all you have +done and all you have heard.”</p> + +<p>I shook hands with each of the old men and took a seat near the +chief, to whom I said: “Is all well with you? Does the agent treat +you fairly?”</p> + +<p>His face darkened, but he filled his pipe before he replied. “The +agent is no longer my friend. He orders me about as if I were a +dog. He refuses me permission to leave the reservation and checks +me in every way. I think he means to break me, but he will never +set his foot on my neck.”</p> + +<p>I was eager to understand the situation, and I listened carefully +while the others talked of the many injustices under which they +suffered. The chief urged me to write to Washington to have things +changed.</p> + +<p>I agreed to do so, but promised nothing more, for I well knew +such letters might work harm to those I loved. I foresaw also that +my position in my tribe was to be most difficult.</p> + +<p>“We are ready to live the new life,” declared the chief, “but we +cannot farm the soil as the agent wishes. Go look at our fields. +Each year they are burned white by the sun. The leaves of the +corn are even now rolled together. The wheat is beginning to dry +up. There is no hay and our rations are being cut down.”</p> + +<figure class="figleft illowp70" id="i_212fp" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_212fp.jpg" alt="An Indian setting fire to the grass"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-r">Burning the Range<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>Taught by experience that burning the grass insures its +better growth, we are here shown Indians in the act of +burning their range. In a day or two after the fire sweet, +succulent grasses spring up again, and then the hard-worked +Indian ponies revel for a short season on the tender +herbage.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +BURNING THE RANGE<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Weekly</span>, <i>September 17, 1887</i></span> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_213fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_213fp.jpg" alt="Indian on horseback with a lance"> + <figcaption class="caption-l">An Old-Time Northern Plains Indian<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>In order to claim a scalp, the warrior must give the dead +man the coup. In the illustration the Indian is in the act +of doing this. In olden times the coup was a stab with a +weapon, but in later times the Indians were provided with +coup sticks. Whoever first strikes the victim with the coup +can rightfully claim the scalp.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +SOME AMERICAN RIDERS<br> +<i>by</i> Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A.<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>May, 1891</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span></p> + +<p>I could see that he had no heart in his farming. The life was too +hard and too bitter. He was indeed like a chained eagle who sits +and dreams of the wide landscape over which he once floated in +freedom. He had thrown his influence in the right scale, but he was +critical and outspoken upon all debatable questions, and this had +come to anger the agent, who was eager to push all the people into +what he called “self-supporting ways.” This the chief did not +oppose, though he could not live in the white man’s country. “It +makes me both weary and sorrowful,” he said.</p> + +<p>It did not take me more than a day to see that I was between +two fires. My friends were all among those whom the agent called +“The irreconcilables,” and my chief was relying upon me to help +them defeat the treaty for their lands, at the same time that the +agent expected me to be a leader of the progressive party. It was +not easy to serve two masters, and I was forced to be in a sense +double tongued, which I did not like.</p> + +<p>The agent was outspoken against my chief. “The old man is +spoiled by newspaper notoriety,” he said to me. “His power must +be broken. He is a great and dangerous reactionary force and he +and all the old-time chiefs must be stripped of their power and +made of no account before the tribe can advance. He must be +taught that I am the master here and that no redskin has any +control.”</p> + +<p>To this I made no reply, for I could not agree with him. A man +who is a chief by virtue of his native ability cannot be degraded +and made of no account. The Sitting Bull was a chief by force of +character. As of old he worked for the good of his people. If he +saw a wrong he went forthwith to the agent and asked to have it +righted. This angered the agent, for he considered the chief officious. +He was jealous of his position as “little father.” He was a good man, +but he was opinionated and curt and irascible. He gave no credit +to my chief. When the others made him spokesman of their council +he would not listen to him. “He is a disturber,” he said.</p> + +<p>Now there are certain record books in the office in which copies +of all letters are kept, and when I found this out I took time to read +all that the agent had written of the chief. My position as issue +clerk permitted me the run of the office, and so when no one was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span> +near I read. I wished to know what had taken place during the +five years of my absence.</p> + +<p>At first the agent wrote well of the chief. In reply to inquiries +he said: “Sitting Bull is living here quietly and is getting ahead +nicely. He is quiet and inoffensive, though proud of his fame as +a chief.” A year later he wrote of him, “His influence is nonprogressive, +but believers in him are few, while many Indians are his +enemies.”</p> + +<p>This I found to be true. Chief Gall and John Grass were both +honored at his expense. The Grass was a man of intelligence and +virtue who had early allied himself with the white man. He was +a leader of those who saw the hopelessness of remaining in the ways +of the fathers, and naturally the agent treated him with marked +courtesy. In answer to a letter asking the names of the chief men +of the tribe he named John Grass first, Mad Bear second, The Gall +third—and ignored the chief entirely.</p> + +<p>The Gall, already jealous of the great fame of The Sitting Bull, +was easily won over to the side of the agent. He was a vigorous, +loud-voiced man, brave and manly, but not politic. He had not +entirely broken with his old chief, but he accepted position under +the agent and listened to dispraise of The Sitting Bull from the +agent’s point of view.</p> + +<p>With all his gentleness of manner, the old fire was in The Sitting +Bull, for he said to me, when speaking of the attack of Shell Fish +on him: “I am here, old and beaten—a prisoner subject to the word +of a white master, but no man shall insult me. I will kill the man +who strikes me. What is death to me? I will die as I have lived, +a chief.” For the most part he was so quiet and unassuming that +he was overlooked. He never thrust himself forward; he dreamed +in silence.</p> + +<p>He had visited the white man’s world several times, but these +visions had not helped him; they had, indeed, thrown him into +profound despair. “What can we do in strife with these wonder-working<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> +spirits?” he asked. “It is as foolish as trying to fly with the +eagles. The white man owns all the productive land. What can +we do farming on this hard soil? What are we beside these swarming +settlers? We are as grasshoppers before a rushing herd of buffalo.”</p> + +<p>He did not care to look out of the car windows on these journeys. +He and his warriors sat in silence or sang the songs of the chase and +the victorious homecoming, trying to forget the world outside.</p> + +<p>“Nothing astonished them and nothing interested them very +much,” said Louis to me in speaking of his trip to Washington. +“The chief was at a great disadvantage, but he seldom made a mistake. +He was Lakota and made no effort to be anything else.”</p> + +<p>The chief at last said, in answer to all similar requests, “I do not +care to be on show.”</p> + +<p>He was very subjective. He had always been a man of meditation +and prayer, and had scrupulously observed the ceremonials +of his tribe. Now when he saw no hope of regaining his old freedom +he turned his eyes inward and pondered. He was both philosopher +and child. Nature was mysterious, not in the ultimate as with the +educated man, but close beside him as with a boy. The moon, the +clouds, the wind in the grass, all these were to him things inexplicable, +as, indeed, they are to the greatest white men; only to my chief +they came nearer some way.</p> + +<p>Often during these days I saw him sitting at sunset on his favorite +outlook—a hill above his cabin—a minute speck against the sky, +deeply meditating upon the will of the Great Spirit, and my heart +was filled with pain. I, too, mourned the world that was passing +so swiftly and surely.</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_VII">VII<br> + +<span class="fs70">HE OPPOSED ALL TREATIES</span></h3> + +<p>During my absence the white settlers had swept across the +ancient home of the Dakotas and were already clamoring for the +land on which Sitting Bull dwelt, and he was deeply disturbed. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span> +knew how rapacious these plowmen were and he was afraid of them. +To his mind our home was pitifully small as it stood, and he urged +me to look into this threatened invasion at once.</p> + +<p>I did so, and reported to him that a commission was already on +its way to see us and that they would soon issue a call for us.</p> + +<p>Throwing off his lethargy, he became once more “the treaty +chief.” Calling a council of all the head men he said to them:</p> + +<p>“It will be necessary to choose speakers to represent us at this +meeting. It is not wise that I should be one of these. Let us council +upon what we are to do, name our speakers, and be ready for the +commission when it comes.”</p> + +<p>So they chose John Grass, Mad Bear, Chief Gall, and Big Head +to speak, and went a few days later to meet the commissioners.</p> + +<p>My people asked for their own interpreter, Louis Primeau, whom +they trusted, and the council began with everybody in good humor. +The commissioners rose one after the other and made talk and gave +out many copies of the treaty. Then the council adjourned.</p> + +<p>That night the head men all met at the lodge of the chief. I +read the treaty to him, and so did Louie. Again The Sitting Bull +said: “The pay is too small, and, besides, they have changed our +boundaries. Do not sign.” And so when we assembled the next +day our speakers declined to sign and the commissioners were much +disappointed. They argued long and loud, to no effect.</p> + +<p>It was explained to us again that the Government proposed to +set aside five great reservations, one for the Ogallallahs, one for the +Brulés, one for the Crow Creek people, one for the Cheyenne River +people, and that the lines were fixed for the great Sioux nation at +the Standing Rock. The north boundary was the Cannonball River; +on the south, the Moreau; but to the west it extended only eighty +miles.</p> + +<p>Speaking to his head men, our chief said: “Who made that line +on the west? Was it a white man or an Indian? They say the lines +of the old treaties, whether fixed by the red man or the white man,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span> +must stand. But I do not grant that treaty. It was stolen from us. +We have paid for all they have done for us, and more. They have +never fulfilled a treaty. See the pitiful small land that is left us. +Do not sign. If you sign we are lost.”</p> + +<p>The commissioners, hitherto displeased, now became furious. +They accused The Sitting Bull of intimidating the people. They +raged and expostulated. They wheedled and threatened, but the +chief shook his head and said: “Do not sign. This man is talking +for the white man’s papers, and not for us. He uses many words, +but he does not deceive me. Do not listen to him.” And they +laughed at the false speaker.</p> + +<p>At last Gall, who sat beside the chief, spoke. “We are through. +We are entirely finished.”</p> + +<p>Then The Sitting Bull rose and said: “We have spoken pleasantly +and have reached this point in good humor. Now we are going +home,” and made a sign and the council broke up in confusion.</p> + +<p>The treaty was not signed and The Sitting Bull was made to +bear the blame of its defeat. As for me, I exulted in his firmness, +his self-control, and his simple dignity. He was still the chief man +of treaties.</p> + +<p>But the white people did not give up. They never recede. The +defeat of the Democrats made a different Congress and a new attempt +was at once made to get a treaty. Profiting by the mistakes +of the other commissions, they did not come to the Standing Rock +first (they feared the opposition of The Sitting Bull); they went +to the lower reservations and secured all the Santees, all the +“breeds,” and members of other tribes, men whom my people did +not recognize as belonging to us. The news of this made my chief +very angry. “The white men have no sense of justice when they +deal with us,” he said, bitterly. “They are mad for our lands. +They will do anything to steal them away.”</p> + +<p>When the commissioners appeared at the Standing Rock they +were triumphant through General Crook. Rations were short and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> +the people were hungry and General Crook took advantage of this. +He was lavish of beef issues during the treaty. On the third day he +said, gruffly: “You’d better take what we offer. Congress will open +the reservation, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>Each night, as before, The Sitting Bull stood opposed to the +treaty. “It is all we have,” he said, despairingly. “Once we had +a mighty tract; now it is little. You have bought peace from the +whites by selling your lands; now when you have no more to sell +what will you do? I have never entertained a treaty from the whites. +I am opposed to this. I will not sign. Our lands are few and they +are bad lands. The white men have shut us up in a desert where +nothing lives, yet it is our last home. <ins class="corr" id="tn-218" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'Will your break down'"> +Will you break down</ins> the walls and let the white man sweep us away? You say we will have +a great deal of money in return. How has it been in the past? +How has the government fulfilled its obligations? Congress cuts +down our rations at will; what they owe us does not matter. You +have seen how difficult it is to raise food here. We need every +blanket’s breadth of our land if we are to live. I am getting to be +an old man; a few years and I will be with my fathers; but before +I go I want to see my children provided for. Let the government +pay us what they owe us in cattle and we will then be able to live. +I will not sign.”</p> + +<p>That night John Grass gave way. The commission convinced +him that this treaty was the best that could be secured. A new +council was hastily called in order to get The Grass to sign, and my +chief was not informed of it till the hearing was nearly over.</p> + +<p>As he came into the room he was both angry and despairing, and +demanded a chance to speak. “I have kept in the background so +far,” he said. “Now I wish to be heard——”</p> + +<p>But they were afraid of him and refused to hear him. “We want +no more speaking. John Grass come forward and sign!”</p> + +<p>Grass went forward. The Sitting Bull cried out in a piercing +voice: “<i>Do not sign!</i> Let everybody follow me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span></p> + +<p>At his command all his old guard rose and went away, but John +Grass took the pen and signed. He was the man of the hour; he +represented a compromise policy. He was willing to be the white +man’s tool. And I, sitting there as interpreter, powerless to aid my +chief in his heroic fight for the remnant of the empire that was +ours, could only bow my head in acknowledgment <ins class="corr" id="tn-219" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'ot the widsom of'"> +of the wisdom of</ins> the majority—for I knew the insatiable white man better than +John Grass. To have rejected the treaty would have but delayed +the end.</p> + +<p>My chief went to his lodge, still the Uncapappa, still unsubdued, +representing all that was distinctive and admirable in the old life of +the chase; but he knew now that the white man possessed the earth.</p> + +<p>“This is now the end,” he said, sorrowfully, to my father. +“Nothing remains to us but a home in the Land of the Spirits.”</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_VIII">VIII<br> + +<span class="fs70">THE RETURN OF THE SPIRITS</span></h3> + +<p>The year that followed the signing of this treaty was a dark +one for The Sitting Bull. Even those who had been most clearly +acquiescent in the white man’s way grew sad.</p> + +<p>You must remember that my people, the Uncapappas, are the +westernmost branch of the great Sioux nation and had known but +little of the white man up to the time of their surrender in 1880. +We knew nothing of tilling the soil. We were essentially buffalo +hunters and had been for many generations. The Yanktonaise, the +<ins class="corr" id="tn-219a" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'Menneconjous'"> +Minneconjous</ins>, had far greater knowledge of the white man’s ways. +In the days when they occupied the whole of the upper Mississippi +Valley we still kept our western position, always among the buffalo +and the elk. Our tepees were still made of skins.</p> + +<p>Can you not see that these horsemen of the plains—these +wandering, fearless, proud hunters—even under the best conditions +would have found it very hard to give up the roving life of the chase +and settle down to the planting of corn and squashes?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span></p> + +<p>It is easy to clip the wings of eagles, but it is not of much avail +to beat them and give command that they instantly become geese. +Under every fostering condition it would have been difficult for +Slohan and Gall and Sitting Bull to become farm laborers.</p> + +<p>I call upon you to be just to my great chief, for he honestly tried +to take on this new life. I assert that no man of his spirit and +training could have done more. He tried hard to be as good as his +word; for witness I call the agent himself who in those early days +said of him: “The Sitting Bull is living here peaceably and doing +well.” Even up to the month of November in 1888, the year of +the first commission, he praised him. It was afterward that the +agent changed his mind and began to abuse him. I will tell presently +why this was so.</p> + +<p>You see the white people allowed us no time to change. We +had been many centuries forming habits which they insisted should +be broken instantly. They cut us off from our game. They ordered +us to farm, and this without knowing the character of our reservation. +The soil of this country is very hard and dry and the +climate is severe. It is high, upland prairie cut by a few thin, slow +streams which lie in deep gullies. The upland grows a short, dry +grass, and there are many years when it is dry as hay in early June. +It is good for pasture, but it makes very little hay for winter. It is +a drought country; for the most part the crops burn up under the +fierce sun and the still more savage wind. In winter it is a terrible +place to live unless one is sheltered by the cottonwood and willow +groves on the river. It was given us originally because they thought +it useless to the plowmen.</p> + +<p>On this stern land the white man set my people and said, in a +terrible voice, “Farm or die!” We tried, but year by year the trial +ended in failure. Wrong implements were given us, great plows +which our ponies could not draw, and bad seeds, and this outlay +exhausted our annuity and cut us off from cattle issues. Our +friends among the white people early began to see the folly of trying<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span> +to force us to till this iron soil, and urged the issue of cattle, but the +giving of useless things was thereupon taken as an excuse for not +issuing stock, and when at last they were sent—a few cows and +sheep—too few to be of any use, they were used as warrant to cut +down our rations, which (as the chief constantly asserted) were not +a gratuity, but a just payment.</p> + +<p>They had never been enough even when they were honestly and +fully issued, and when the quality was bad or the issue cut down +many of them were actually hungry for three days in the week. You +may read in one of the great books of the government these words: +“Suddenly and almost without warning they were called upon to +give up all their ancient pursuits and without previous training +settle down to agriculture in a land largely unfitted for such uses. +The freedom of the chase was exchanged for the idleness of the +camp. The boundless range abandoned for the circumscribed +reservation, and abundance of plenty supplanted by limited and +decreasing subsistence and supplies. Under these circumstances +it is not in human nature not to be discontented and restless, +even turbulent and violent.” So said the Commissioner of Indian +Affairs.</p> + +<p>In spite of all these things I assert my people were patient. +The Sitting Bull was careful to do nothing which would harm his +people, and often he walked away in silence from the agent’s +harsh accusation.</p> + +<p>Hunger is hard to bear, but there were many other things to +make life very barren and difficult. Around us to north and east +and west the settlers were swarming. Our reservation seemed such +a little thing in comparison with our old range—like a little island +in great water. Every visit our head men made to the east or the +west taught them the gospel of despair. The flood of white men +which had been checked by the west bank of the Missouri now +flowed by in great streams to the west and curled round to the +north. Everywhere unfriendly ranchers set up their huts. They<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span> +all wore guns, while we were forbidden to do the like. They hated +us as we hated them, but they had all the law on their side.</p> + +<p>Thus physically we were being submerged by the rising tide of +an alien race. In the same way our old customs and habits were +sinking beneath the white man’s civilization. One by one our songs +were dying. One by one our dances were being cut off by the +government, and our prayers and ceremonies, sweet and sacred to +us, were already discountenanced or positively forbidden. Our +beautiful moccasins were tabooed, our buckskin beaded shirts +replaced by ragged coats. Our women were foolish in the dress of +cheap white women. We became a tribe of ragamuffins like the +poor men whom the newspapers make jokes about and call “hoboes.”</p> + +<p>Let me tell you farther. You cannot understand my people if +you consider the white man’s religion and the white man’s way of +life the only ones sanctioned by the Great Spirit.</p> + +<p>My friends in Washington, the men with whom I studied, gave +me this thought. There is good in all religions and all races and I +am trying to write of the wrongs of my people from that point of +view. The Sitting Bull loved the old life, but he often said: “We +were living the life the Great Spirit outlined for us. We knew no +other. If you can show us that your manner of life is better, that +it will make us happier, then we will come to your way,” and for a +time he thought that perhaps the white man’s way of life was nearer +to the Great Spirit’s will; but when he was cold and hungry he felt +the injustice of this superior race, and doubted.</p> + +<p>We all saw that as the years went on and the old joys slipped +away no new ones came to take their places, while want, a familiar +foe, remained close to every fireside. Our best thinkers perceived +that fine large houses and nice warm clothing were unattainable to +vast numbers of the white men, “how then can the simple red man +hope to win them?” They began to say: “We have given our +freedom, our world, our traditions, for a dark cabin, hard, cruel +boots, the settler’s contempt, and the soldier’s diseases.” “Our<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> +race is passing away. The new conditions destroy us. If we cannot +persist as Sioux, why persist at all? There are enough white beggars +in the world, why add ourselves to the army of the poor?”</p> + +<p>It was for this reason that the chief opposed the treaty subdividing +the reservation. “Our strength is in being a people. As +individuals the white man will spit on us.” When the treaty was +about to be executed a white man said to him: “What do you Indians +think of it?”</p> + +<p>He drew himself up and the old-time fire flamed in his eyes as he +said: “Indians! There are no Indians left but me.” But later he +said, sadly: “It is impossible for me to change. I cannot sign, but +my children may sign if they wish.”</p> + +<p>Just at this time our cattle began to die of a strange disease and +our children were seized by a mysterious malady which the white +people call grippe, but for which we had no name. We were without +medicine to counteract these fevers, and the agency doctor could +not do much for us. Our children died in hundreds. This was +terrible. It seemed that all were to be swept away.</p> + +<p>Bishop Hare and General Miles both saw and reported upon +these conditions, and I wrote to all my friends in agony of haste, +but the government was slow to act in our need, though it was ever +in haste to cut up our land and give it away. No one cared what +became of us. We had no votes, we could not help any man to +office. All promises were neglected, and to add to our misery it was +said the new administration would still further reduce our payments +and the rations which were our due. When this news came to us it +seemed as if the very earth on which we stood was sinking beneath +our feet. The old world of the buffalo, the free life of the past, +became each day more beautiful as the world about us, the prison +in which we lived, grew black with the clouds of despair.</p> + +<p>In this moment of hopeless misery—this intolerable winter of +tragic dejection—there came to my people the rumor of something +very wonderful. A messenger to my chief said that far in the west,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span> +at the base of a vast white mountain, a wondrous medicine man had +descended from a cloud to meet and save the red men. Just as +Christ came long ago to the Jews, so now the Great Spirit had sent a +messenger to the red people to bring back the old world of the +buffalo and to repeople its shining vistas with those who had died. +So they said, “By faith and purity we are to again prevail over that +earth.”</p> + +<p>It was a seed planted at the right time in the right soil. In the +night of his despair my chief listened to the message as to a sweet +story, not believing it, yet eager to hear more.</p> + +<p>The herald of the new faith was a Brulé, who ended by saying: +“The Kicking Bear, one of our chiefs, is gone to search into the +beginning of this story. He it was who sent me to you. He wished +me to acquaint you with what he had heard.”</p> + +<p>“When he returns,” replied the chief, “tell him I wish to talk +with him of this strange thing.”</p> + +<p>A report of this man’s message spread among the people and +many believed it. We began to hear obscurely about a new dance +which some of the people at Rosebud and Pine Ridge had adopted—a +ceremony to test the faith of those who believed—a medicine dance +to bring back the past—and the people brooded upon the words of +the Brulé, who said that the world of the buffalo was to be restored +to them and all the old customs and joys brought back.</p> + +<p>It was a magical thought. Their deep longing made it expand in +their minds like a wonderful flower, and they waited impatiently +the coming of the herald.</p> + +<p>You must not forget that every little word my people knew +of the Christian religion prepared them for this miraculous change. +The white man’s religion was full of miracles like this. Did not +Christ raise men from the dead? Was he not born of a Virgin and +did he not change water into wine? The wise men of the Bible, we +were told, were able to make the sun stand still, and once the walls +of a great city crumbled before the magic blast of rams’ horns.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span> +Many times we had heard the preachers, the wise men of the white +men, say: “By faith are mountains removed,” therefore our minds +were prepared to believe in the restoration of the world of the +buffalo. Was it not as easy for the Great Spirit as to make the +water cover the highest mountains? My friend the Blackbird used +to say “Every race despises the superstitions of others, but clings to +its own.” I am Sioux, I could not help being thrilled by this story.</p> + +<p>My brain responded to every story the old man told. I saw again +the splendid reaches of the plain. I rode in the chase of the buffalo. +I heard the songs of rejoicing as the women hung the red meat up +to dry. I played again among the lodges. Yes, it was all very +sweet to dream about, but I said to the chief: “I have been among +the white people; I have studied their books. The world never +turns backward. We must go on like the rivers, on into the mystery.”</p> + +<p>“We will see,” he answered. “I have often reproved you for +saying, ‘Yes, yes,’ to all that the white man says. This may be all +a lie. The Kicking Bear has gone forth into the west to meet this +wonder worker. When he returns we will council upon his report. +Till then we will do nothing.”</p> + +<p>But no power could prevent the spread of the story and its +dream among my people. They were quick to seize and build upon +this slender promise. Can you not understand our condition of +mind? Imagine that a great and powerful race had appeared from +over the sea and had driven your people from their ancestral lands, +on and on, until at last only a handful of you remained. Imagine +this handful corralled in a small, bleak valley cut off from all +natural activities, its religions tabooed, its dances and ceremonies +forbidden, hungry, cold, despairing. Could you then be logical and +reasonable and completely sane?</p> + +<p>If my race had been a servile race, ready to play the baboon, +quick to imitate, then it would not have vanished, as it has, in war +and famine. We are freemen. We had always been unhampered +by any alien laws. We moved as we willed, led by the buffalo,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span> +directed by the winds, cowering only before the snows. Therefore, +we resented the white man’s restrictions. We had the hearts of +eagles in our cages, and yet, having the eyes of eagles and the brains +of men, we came at last to see the utter futility of struggle. We +lost all faith in physical warfare and sat down to die. As a race we +were resigned to death, and in this night of our resignation the star +of prophecy rose. We turned toward the mystic powers for aid.</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_IX">IX<br> + +<span class="fs70">THE MESSAGE OF KICKING BEAR</span></h3> + +<p>One October day in 1890 a party of Brulé Sioux from the +Cheyenne River agency came riding down into the valley of the +Grand River, inquiring for The Sitting Bull. As they were passing +my father’s lodge he came out and stopped them.</p> + +<p>“What do you want of The Sitting Bull?” he asked, with the +authority of one of the old-time “Silent Eaters.”</p> + +<p>“We bring a message to him,” replied the head man. “I am +Kicking Bear. Take us to him without delay.”</p> + +<p>The chief at this time lived with his younger wife in a two-room +log house (a cabin for his first wife stood near) and as the strangers +came to the door they were accosted by an old woman who was at +work about the fire under an open lodge. In answer to my father’s +inquiry for the chief she pointed toward a large tepee standing +behind the house, and, turning aside, my father lifted the door-flap +and entered. The chief was alone, smoking his pipe in grave +meditation.</p> + +<p>“Father,” said my sire, “here are some men from the Cheyenne +River to see you.”</p> + +<p>“I am Kicking Bear,” said the visitor, “for whom you sent.”</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp75" id="i_226fp" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_226fp.jpg" alt="Indian with headress on horseback"> + <figcaption class="caption-r">An Indian Chief<br> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +A BUNCH OF BUCKSKINS<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published by</i><br> +<span class="smcap">R. H. Russell</span>, <i>1901</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p>The chief greeted his visitors with gentle courtesy and motioned +them to their seats. “My friends, I am glad to see you. You are +hungry. Rest and eat. When you are filled and refreshed we will +talk.” Then calling to his wife to put food before the guests, he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span> +smoked quietly while they ate. When they were satisfied and all +were composed and comfortable he said to Kicking Bear: “Now, +my friend, my ears are open.”</p> + +<p>The visitor’s voice was full of excitement, but well under control +at first. He said:</p> + +<p>“My friend, we all know you; your fame is wide. You are the +head of all our people. We know it. You have always been true +to the ways of the fathers. You fought long and well against the +coming of the whites. Therefore I come to you. This is the story: +The first people to know of the Messiah on earth were the Shoshones +and the Arapahoes. A year ago Good Thunder, the Ogallallah, +hearing of this wonderful story, took four of his friends and went to +visit the place where the wonder-working Son of the Great Spirit +was said to be. He was gone many days, but at last he sent word +that he had found the Messiah, that he was among those who eat +fish, far toward the high white mountains, and he asked that I come +and bear witness. Thereupon I also went—with much fear. After +many days I found the place. It was deep in a strange country—a +desert country. Many people were camped there. All tongues +were spoken, yet all were at peace. It was said that sixteen different +tribes were present, and that they had all come, as I had done, to +know the truth. No one thought of war. All strife was put away.”</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull listened with half-closed eyes, weighing every +word. It was plain, my father told me, that Kicking Bear was +struggling to control his emotion. One by one the chief’s family +gathered around the tepee to listen. It was a momentous hour.</p> + +<p>“They put up robes in a circle to make a dancing place,” +resumed the messenger, “and we all gathered there about sundown. +It was said that the Messiah was ready to appear and teach us a +new religion. Just after dark some one said, ‘There is the Great +Father.’ I looked and saw him sitting on one side of the circle. +I did not see him come. I do not know how he got there. The light +of the fire fell on him and I saw him plainly. He was not so dark as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span> +a red man, but he was not a white man. He was a good-looking +person with a kind, wise face. He was dressed in white and had no +beard or mustache. One by one all the chiefs drew near to greet +him. I went with the others, but when I came near I bowed my +head; his eyes were so keen they blinded me. Then he rose and +began to sing, and those who had been there before, began to dance +in the new ceremony.</p> + +<p>“When we stopped dancing for a little while he spoke, saying, +‘My children, I am glad to have you here. I have a great deal to +say to you. I am the Son of the Great Spirit, sent to save you from +destruction.’ We were very still as he spoke; no one whispered; +all listened. He spoke all languages, so that we could understand. +‘I am the Creator of this earth and everything you see about you. +I am able to go to the world of the dead, and I have seen all those +you have lost. I will teach you to visit the ghost world also; that +is the meaning of the dance. Once long ago I came to the white +people, but they misused me. They put nails in my feet. See the +scars!’ And he held up his hands and we saw the scars.”</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull gave a startled exclamation: “Hoh! You saw the +scars!”</p> + +<p>“I saw them plainly,” the Kicking Bear solemnly replied, as +words of wonder ran round the tepee, “and all my friends saw them +as plainly as I. Then the Messiah said: ‘I found my white children +bad and I returned to the Great Spirit, my Father. I told them that +after many hundreds of years I would return. Now am I returned, +but this time I come to the red people.’</p> + +<p>“‘I come to teach you a new religion and to make you happy. I +am to renew the earth, which is old and worn out. If you follow +my teaching, if you do as I bid you, I will bring to pass marvelous +things. This is the message of my Father the Creator. He has been +displeased with his children. He has turned his face away from the +red people for many years. If you had remained true to the ways of +the fathers these misfortunes would not have come upon you. You<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span> +would not now be shut up by the white man, you would be free and +happy as of old. But the heart of the Great Spirit is again soft +toward you and he bids me say, “If you will live according to the +ways of the Saviour whom I have sent among you I will again smile +upon you. I will cause the white man to disappear from the earth, +together with all the marks he has made with the plow and the +ax. I will cause the old world to come back. It will slide above the +present earth as one hand slides above the other; the white man +and all his works will be buried and the red man will be caught up +in the air and put down on this old earth as it returns, and he will +find the buffalo and the elk, the deer and the antelope, feeding as +of ancient days on the rich grass. The rifle will be no longer necessary +nor the white man’s food or clothing. All will be as it was in the +days of our fathers. No one will grow old, no one will be sick, no +one will die. All will be glad and happy once more.”’”</p> + +<p>As he talked The Kicking Bear grew greatly excited. He rose +and his voice rang loud and clear. The women began to moan, +but the Chief sat still, very still; his time to speak had not yet +come.</p> + +<p>The Kicking Bear went on. “He commanded that we put all +evil thoughts aside. We must not fight or take from one another +any good thing. We must be friends with everyone—with the +white man, too. Our hearts must be clean and good.</p> + +<p>“He also taught us the dance and new methods of purification, +and these he commanded me to carry to you.” In this way The +Kicking Bear ended, addressing the chief: “This is the message, +father, and this is the promise: <i>If all the red people unite, casting +away all that is of the white man, praying and purifying themselves, +then will the old world come back—the old happy world of the buffalo, +and all the dead ones of our race will return, a mighty host, driving the +buffalo before them.</i>”</p> + +<p>The chief sat in silence for a long time, and when he spoke his +voice was very quiet, with a sad cadence. “This would please me<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> +well. But how do I know that it is not a lie? What proof is there +that all these good things will come to pass? The invader is strong. +I have given up war because I know it is foolish to fight against him. +I have seen his land to the east. I know that he has devoured forests +and made corn to grow where deep waters once rolled. He is more +numerous than the buffalo ever were. All the red men of all the +plains and hills cannot defeat him. It is hopeless to talk of driving +him back.”</p> + +<p>“That is true,” replied The Kicking Bear, “but you have heard +how the white man’s Bible speaks of these things. In the olden +time, they say, when the people despaired of weapons and war they +began to pray to their Great Spirit, and he sent unseen powers to +help them. They tell of cities that fell at sound of a trumpet. We +are to fight no more with weapons. It is of no avail to use the +ax. We must please the Great Spirit; we must beseech him to +turn his face upon us again and our enemies will melt away.”</p> + +<p>“But what proof is there of this? It is all a tale. It is as the +sound of a pleasant breeze in the trees.”</p> + +<p>“The proof is in this,” earnestly replied The Kicking Bear. “In +this dance, men are able to leave the body and fly far away and +look upon the spirits of the dead, and to ride the old-time plains in +pursuit of the buffalo. I have myself seen this old world waiting to +be restored. Let us call a council. Let us dance and some of your +own people—perhaps The Sitting Bull himself—will be able to +leave the body and visit the wonderful world of the spirit and +return to tell the people of it! Let us dance; the proof will come.”</p> + +<p>To this the chief made cautious reply: “We will not be hasty. +Remain with us and we will talk further of these things.”</p> + +<p>To Slohan he said: “This man talks well. He claims to have +been in the west and to have seen the Messiah; yet we must be +careful. We will look minutely into the matter. We must not +seem foolish.” Then he turned again to the Brulé. “When is this +good change to come to us?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span></p> + +<p>“The Father said that if all his words are obeyed he will cause +the new earth to come with the springing grass.”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe this story?” asked the chief, pointedly.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“What causes your belief?”</p> + +<p>The Kicking Bear became deeply moved; his voice trembled +as he replied: “Because since I touched his hand I have been out of +the body many times. I too have visited the spirit world, and I +too have seen the dead, and I have seen the buffalo and the shining +new world, more beautiful than the old. Since my return I often see +the Saviour in my sleep. I know that through him you and all your +tribe can fly to the spirit world and see your friends. Therefore +have I come that I may teach you the songs and the dances which +bring the trance and the vision.”</p> + +<p>“You speak of the destruction of the white people. How is +that to be brought about?” asked the chief.</p> + +<p>“All by great magic. War is useless. All who believe must +wear an eagle plume, and when the new earth comes sliding over +the old, those who wear the sacred feather will be caught up and +saved, while the white man and all those who reject the Father’s +message will be swept down and buried deep.” Then the messenger +cried out with passion: “<i>Father, they are all dancing—the Piutes, the +Shoshones, the Ogallallahs, the Cheyennes—all the people. Hear me! +I bring a true message! Listen, I implore!</i>”</p> + +<p>He began to sing, and his companions joined him. The song they +sang was strange to my father, and very, very sad—as dolorous +as the wind in the bare branches of the elm tree. It was not a war +song; it was a mourning cry that made all hearts melt. As they +sang, Kicking Bear began to tremble, and then his right arm began +to whirl about wildly as if it were a club. Then he fell stiffly to +the ground like a man in a fit.</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull rose up quickly. “Hah! What is the meaning +of this?” he asked, looking about him warily.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span></p> + +<p>“He has gone into a trance,” said one of the others. “He is +even now in the spirit world. Do not touch him.”</p> + +<p>For a long time the messenger lay as if dead and no one dared +disturb him. My chief sat smoking, patiently waiting for Kicking +Bear to speak. At last he came to life again and sat up. “I have +seen the Father,” he said, with shining face, “and he has given me +a sign. He has made my left hand stronger than the strongest +man. Come and see!” He held out his hand and my father took +it, but it scared him and he flung it away from him. It made his +muscles contract and his flesh sting as if needles had been thrust +into it. Then The Bear cried out: “See! I am telling the truth. I +have seen the Messiah. He has given me an arm of power for a +sign. He told me to return and teach The Sitting Bull the new +religion.” He laid hold of a heavy white cup. “See the sign?” +he cried, and ground the cup to pieces on his hand.</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull was deeply troubled. “We will talk of this to-morrow,” +and he went away profoundly stirred by what he had +seen.</p> + +<p>The next morning he called a council of his close friends, and at +last sent for Kicking Bear, and said: “Your story is sweet in our +ears. It may be true. I do not think so, but we will try. We have +come to the time when all weapons are useless. We are despairing +and weak. Guns are of no avail. The Great Spirit has certainly +turned his face away. It may be that prayer and song will cause +him to smile upon us again. <i>You may teach us the dance.</i>”</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_X">X<br> + +<span class="fs70">THE DANCE BEGINS</span></h3> + +<p>So it was that in the prepared soil of my people’s minds this seed +of mystery fell. It was not a new religion; it was indeed very old. +Many other races had believed it; the time was come for the Sioux +to take it to themselves. In their despair they greedily seized upon +it. In their enforced idleness they welcomed it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span></p> + +<p>Swiftly the news flew, wildly exaggerated, of course. It was +said that the Messiah had sent a message direct to the chief, and +that a sign had been given to the courier which had convinced my +father and many others—though The Sitting Bull yet doubted.</p> + +<p>Uncapappas are like any other folk. There are excitable ones +and doubting ones, those who believe easily and those who are +disposed to prove all things. Many old women with sons and +daughters lately passed to the spirit land laid hold upon this news +with instant belief. Winter was coming again; food was scarce; the +children were ailing; life was joyless and held no promise of happier +things. So, as among the white people, the bereaved were quick to +embrace any faith which promised reunion.</p> + +<p>At last men of keener intelligence, like my father, considered it, +saying: “It may be true. The white man had a Saviour. Why +should not the Great Spirit send one to us? We can at least examine +into this man’s story. We can go and see the dance.”</p> + +<p>Others, who had outgrown the faith of their fathers, and who +had also rejected the Christian religion, smiled and said, “It is +foolish!” Nevertheless, curious to see what was done, they loitered +near to look on and laugh.</p> + +<p>Last of all were those who brooded bitterly upon the past—the +chained lions who had never accepted the white man’s dominion, +who feared nothing but captivity, and who sat ever in their tepees +with their blankets around them smoking, ruminating, reliving the +brave, ancient days. “We are prisoners,” they said. “We are not +allowed to leave the narrow bounds of our bleak reservation. We +can neither hunt nor visit our friends. What is the use of living? +Why not die in battle? Is it not better to be slain and pass at once +to the spirit land than to die of starvation and cold? We know the +fate of the dead cannot be worse than our lot here.”</p> + +<p>In the light of memory the country of their youth was a land of +waving grass, resplendent skies, rippling streams, shining tepees, +laughter, song, and heroic deeds. In dreams they were once more<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> +young scouts, selected for special duty. In dreams they rode again +over the boundless swelling plain, hunting the great black cattle of +the wild. They lay in wait for the beaver beside streams without a +name. They sat deep in pits, hearing the roaring rush of the +swooping eagle, and always when they woke to reality they found +themselves ragged beggars under the control of a white man, +betrayed and forgotten by their recreant allies.</p> + +<p>What had they retained of all this mighty heritage? A minute +patch of barren ground and the blessed privilege of working like a +Chinaman or a negro. Of all the old-time adventurous, plentiful, and +peaceful life the white settlers had bereft them. Mile by mile the +invaders had eaten up the sod. The buffalo, the elk, the beaver had +disappeared before their guns. Stream after stream they had +bridged and in the valleys they had set their fences. The agent +always talked as though every red man who wished could have a +large house and fruit trees and pleasant things, but it was quite +certain now that nothing remained for these proud hunters of the +bison but a practical slavery to the settler; to clean the dung from +the white man’s stables was their fate.</p> + +<p>With this view the “Silent Eaters” had most sympathy. In +the days immediately following their return from the north they +had caught some of the enthusiasm of their teachers. They, too, had +hoped for some of the good things of the white man’s civilization.</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull himself had been hopeful. He had spoken bravely +to them advising them to set their feet in the white man’s road; +but as the years passed one by one he had felt with ever-increasing +bitterness the checks and constraints of his warden. He had seen +sycophants and hypocrites exalted and his own wishes thwarted or +treated with contempt and his face had grown ever sadder and +sterner. When he looked into the future he saw the almost certain +misery and final extinction of his race, so inevitably he, too, had +turned his eyes inward to dream of the past. Having no hope of +earthly things, he was now, in spite of himself, allured by the stories<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> +of this Saviour in the West. Certainly he could not forbid his people +this comfort.</p> + +<p>He had, too, the natural pride of the leader. He considered +himself as he was, the head man of his tribe, and it hurt him to find +himself completely shorn of command. The agent now deliberately +humiliated him, ignoring his suggestions and misrepresenting him +among the white men. “These old chiefs must give way,” he said. +“If we are to civilize these Indians, all of the old tribal government +must be torn up.” And in this he had the support of many friends +of my race.</p> + +<p>One of the most serious differences existing at this time lay +in The Sitting Bull’s refusal to recognize the authority of the agent’s +native police. “I am still the head of my tribe,” he proudly said. +“I do not need your help in order to keep the peace.”</p> + +<p>Then the agent very shrewdly appointed those who were jealous +of the chief to be the heads of his police force, and so made sure of +them in case of trouble. The chief was made to look and feel like a +man living by sufferance, while renegades whom he despised and +recreants whom he hated were put in power over him. Yet he was +bearing all this quietly; he had even submitted to personal abuse, +rather than prove a disturber.</p> + +<p>This message from the Messiah came, therefore, just at a time +when the chief and his “Silent Eaters” were suffering their final +degradation at the hands of the agent. It was hard to die at this +time like outcast dogs, with no hope for their people. They could +not understand why they should be made the target of the agent’s +malice. They had the pride of leadership. It was honorable to be +a chief. The qualities which went to make a chieftain were not +mean; they were noble. Why should other and lower men be +placed in contemptuous authority over them?</p> + +<p>And so these proud spirits shut their eyes to the future and +longed, as no white man can ever know, for the glorious days of the +buffalo.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span></p> + +<p>For three days The Kicking Bear instructed the few who believed, +preparing them for the dance. “You must cast aside everything +that the white man has brought to you,” he said. “The +Messiah commands that all metals be thrown away. Lay down all +weapons, for this is a dance of peace. It is needful that you dress as +in the olden time before the invader came. Let each one who dances +and accepts the word of the Father wear a white eagle plume, for +this will be a sign when the new earth comes. You will be caught up +into the clouds by reason of your faith, while all others will perish. +You must purify yourselves, also, by use of the sweat lodge, and +after the dance you must bathe in clear, cold water. During this +time you must put away all anger and harshness and speak kindly to +all persons. Thus says the Father.”</p> + +<p>There was something lofty in all this and it moved men very +deeply and the chief listened intently to it all.</p> + +<p>On the third night of his preaching I was present, for my father +had sent for me to come. After drawing from me a promise to tell +no white man, he described all that had happened. I was not at +first impressed. “It is foolish,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Nevertheless you must come and see this man. He is a wonderful +magician. I do not understand him.”</p> + +<p>The meeting took place in the chief’s tepee, which was large +and strong. As I entered I saw many men and women sitting just +outside the door in little groups, but only about fifteen people had +been invited to join the circle which I soon found was formed to +rehearse some of the ceremonial songs of the Messiah. A small, +clear fire glowed in the center of the lodge, and the chief’s strong face +was fixed in its place at the back of the lodge. On his right was The +Kicking Bear. On his left was a vacant place; this my father took. +At a sign from the chief I sat next my father.</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_236fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_236fp.jpg" alt="Indian galloping on horseback"> + <figcaption class="caption-r">A Fantasy from the Pony War Dance<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>Among the many interesting features of the pageant given +on special occasions by the Blackfoot Indians on their +reservation in Canada, the most spectacular is the Pony +War Dance, or the</i> Departure for Battle. <i>In this scene +about sixty young men take part, riding horses as wild as +themselves. The acting is fierce—not like the conduct of +a mimic battle on our stage—but performed with the desperate +zest of men who hope for distinction in war.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +CHARTERING A NATION<br> +<i>by</i> Julian Ralph<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>December, 1891</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + + +<figure class="figright illowp70" id="i_237fp" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_237fp.jpg" alt="Scout on horseback"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-l">Chis-Chis-Chash Scout On the Flanks<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>The Cheyenne, or—to use the name the Cheyennes apply +to themselves—the Chis-Chis-Chash, scouts belonged to the +corps from Pine Ridge organized on that reservation, and, +with other Cheyennes from Tongue River, rendered valuable +service to Uncle Sam during the Sioux outbreak of +1890 in South Dakota. In December of that year these +brave Indians had many a skirmish with the savage Sioux, +who, clothed in the ghost shirt, went on the warpath, taking +refuge in the Bad Lands—a region that seemed made for +stratagem and murder, with nothing to witness its mysteries +but the cold blue winter sky.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +LIEUTENANT CASEY’S LAST SCOUT<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in<br> +Pony Tracks</i>, Harper & Brothers, 1895</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span></p> + +<p>Shortly after our entry the chief lit his pipe, and after offering +it to the Earth Spirits and to the Spirits Above, handed it to his +visitor. The Bear made the same offering, and after smoking passed +it on. So it went round the circle. When the chief had it in his +hands once more, The Kicking Bear and his five companions rose +and, stretching their hands to the west, stood still while The Bear +prayed:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“O great spirit in the west</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our Father,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Take pity on us. We are poor and weak.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Send us good tidings.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Help us to see the good land.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Help us to see our loved ones.”</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Then he began singing a song—a song of promise—and these +were the words:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“The Father says so,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He has promised surely</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You shall see your dead once more.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They will come to life again.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You shall see your kindred</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of the spirit land.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This the Father saith</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To his faithful ones.”</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>This song moved me, though I was a doubter. It was sung with +great vigor and earnestness. It was the opening song of the dance, +The Bear explained to us, and then all sat down, and one by one +the visitors took up and sang the songs they had learned. There +were many of them and they were based upon the same idea—that +of a resurrection of the dead, the renewal of the worn-out old earth +and the return of the buffalo.</p> + +<p>As they sang my head was filled with many great but confused +thoughts. In that light, with those surroundings, any magic seemed +possible. It was thus that the disciples of Christ of Galilee came +together and talked of his message. I had listened often to the +white man’s religion, and yet the hymns of the martyrs could not +move me as did these songs. The past and the present fused together +strangely in my mind as the ancient shining winds blew and +the old rejoicing days came back.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span></p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indent0">You shall reset the tepees.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You shall eat pemmican once more.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You shall hang up the buffalo meat.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And there shall be plenty everywhere.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You shall live and not die in the old world which returns anew.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You shall chase the buffalo.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">You shall gayly race on the bright prairie.</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>These were the promises of the songs, and as the visitors sang my +despairing people became like little children; their hearts melted, +they laughed and wept and shouted in time to the music. Some +strange power seemed to go with the motions of The Bear’s hands. +We all seemed to be looking upon the very scenes of which he sang, +and my throat closed with an emotion I could not control.</p> + +<p>An old man, called Looking Eagle, suddenly rose and, stretching +forth his hands, cried out in a thrilling voice:</p> + +<p>“I see it—the new land! I can see the buffalo feeding in myriads. +It is Spring and the grass is new. My father stands at the door of +his lodge. He calls with his hand. My mother is there. Ho! I +come, my father.”</p> + +<p>Then he fell on the ground and The Kicking Bear and his +friends joined hands and, breaking into a song which made my own +heart leap, they began to dance in a circle about the fire:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“The whole world of the dead is returning.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our nation is coming, is coming, is coming.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The eagle has brought us the message,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bearing the word of the Father—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The word and the wish of the Father.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Over the glad new earth they are coming,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Our dead come driving the elk and the deer.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">See them hurrying the herds of the bison.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This the Father has promised,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This the Father has given.”</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>One by one those sitting gave way and rose and joined the dance, +till only the chief, Slohan, and I remained seated. My father joined +them at the last, and outside the tepee the voices of women could be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span> +heard catching and trying the song. It was agonizing to hear. It +strained every heart to bursting with longing and sadness.</p> + +<p>Suddenly The Bear’s head began to rock violently from side +to side; it seemed as if it would wrench itself from its place. His +eyes set in a dreadful stare, his mouth fixed in a horrible gape. Then +shaking himself free, he fell close to the fire, face downward.</p> + +<p>The others danced for a little while longer, then took seats and +waited for the return of the spirit of their priest. Looking Eagle +still slept.</p> + +<p>The Sitting Bull sat in silence, smoking gravely, slowly, but his +hand trembled. It was plain that he, too, longed to believe in the +dance, but he could not. My own nerves were quivering with +the excitement and I waited with almost breathless eagerness for +the waking of the sleepers.</p> + +<p>It was a long time—it seemed that it was nearly morning—when +The Bear began to stir again and to rub his eyes as if wakened from +sleep. He was very quiet and his voice was gentle as he said: “I +have been with the Father. He gave me another message to The +Sitting Bull. This it is: ‘<i>All the people to the South are dancing my +dance. Will the chief of all the Sioux walk behind his nation?</i>’”</p> + +<p>Then the chief said, “When my son there,”—he touched my arm—“or +one of my trusted warriors can go to the spirit world and return +to tell me it is true, then I may believe. If this religion is true all +other deeds are worthless. Bring me proof. My ears are open, my eyes +are not yet dim. If these songs are true, then I shall weep no more. If +they are not true, then I wish to die. Let us hold a dance to-morrow.” +And with a sign he dismissed us, but he himself remained alone +with Looking Eagle, who still lay motionless where he had fallen.</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_XI">XI<br> + +<span class="fs70">THE BREAKING OF THE PEACE PIPE</span></h3> + +<p>A knowledge of the dance spread like flame throughout all the +Grand River district, and young and old began to flock to The Sitting<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> +Bull’s camp, eager to hear more, eager to experiment. “We also +wish to see our friends who have gone before us,” they said. “We +wish to hear what they say. Teach us the way of the trance.”</p> + +<p>I felt the influence of their thought very strongly what time I +sat among them, but afterward, when I had returned to the agency, +it appeared but the rankest folly, and when others asked me about +it I always said: “It is but a foolish thing; do not value it.” But +my words did not check the wave of belief in it.</p> + +<p>While no special pains were taken to conceal the fact from the +white people, it was several days before the agent had any knowledge +of Kicking Bear or his mission. This agent, let me say, was a good +man, but jealous of his authority, and when he learned that the +chief had himself invited The Kicking Bear into the reservation he +was angry and said, “I won’t have any of this nonsense here,” and +calling Crow, lieutenant of the police, he said: “Crow, go down to +The Sitting Bull’s house and tell him this Kicking Bear and Messiah +business must stop. Put Kicking Bear off the reservation at once!”</p> + +<p>I was very much alarmed by the order, and waited anxiously +to learn what the chief would say. I feared his revolt.</p> + +<p>The next day the Crow returned from Rock Creek like a man +walking in his sleep. He could give the agent no intelligible account +of himself or of what he had seen. “He is a wonder worker,” he +repeated, “I couldn’t put him away. When he took my hand I was +weak as a child. I saw the dance, and when he waved a feather I +became dizzy, I fell to the ground, and my eyes were turned inward.”</p> + +<p>The agent stared at him as if he were crazy; then he turned to +me and said: “Iapi, I wish you’d go down and see what all this +hocus-pocus means. Take a couple of policemen with you and make +sure that they start this mischief maker on his way home. And tell +The Sitting Bull that I want to see him. Say to him the agent +expects him to fire Kicking Bear off the reservation.”</p> + +<p>I did not tell him that I already knew what was being done. I +felt that if some one must carry such a message to the chief it was<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> +well for me to do it, for he was in no mood to be reproved like a boy. +I took no policemen, but rode away alone with many misgivings.</p> + +<p>No sooner had I passed the fort than I regretted my acceptance +of the mission. After all, I was Uncapappa and I honored my chief. +Whenever I entered the shadow of a tepee I was no longer alien; +I fused with my tribe. The gravity and order of my chieftain’s lodge +were pleasant to me, and the sound of the women’s songs melted +my bones. I was not white; I was red. Acquiring the language of +the conquering race had not changed my heart.</p> + +<p>For all these reasons I saw that I was set forth on a dishonorable +mission. To speak the words of the agent were impossible to me. +When I met Circling Thunder, an old playmate of mine, and learned +that many were dancing, my face stiffened. I had hoped to be able +to have a word with the chief in private.</p> + +<p>“Do you believe in it?” I asked.</p> + +<p>My friend shook his head. “I don’t know. Many claim to have +visited the spirit world—and Looking Eagle brought back a handful +of pemmican, so they say. The buffalo were thick over there and +the people were very happy.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know it was pemmican?”</p> + +<p>“I tasted it.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it was only beef.”</p> + +<p>“It may be so,” he said, but his eyes were still dim with dream.</p> + +<p>Many of those whom I met were in this state of doubt. They +wished to be convinced. It was so sweet to dream of the old-time +world, and yet they could not quite believe it. They stood too near +the stern reality of hunger and cold, and yet my people are a race +of seers. To them the dream has not yet lost its marvelous portent. +In time of trouble they go upon the hills and wait for the vision which +shall instruct and comfort them.</p> + +<p>In my youth I had shared in these beliefs. I had had my days +of fasting and prayer; yes, I too had entered the sleep which reveals. +I had met and talked with birds and animals, and once I felt the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span> +hand of my dead mother move in my hair. I had fasted until I +could walk among the painted tepees of the spirit world and I had +gazed on the black herds of buffalo.</p> + +<p>My training among scholars had given me a new understanding +of these conditions, but I could not impart my knowledge to my +people. My wisdom was accounted alien and therefore to be distrusted. +Of what avail to argue with them when the frenzy was +upon them?</p> + +<p>It was brilliant October, very warm and hazy, and our cruel, +treacherous land was indolently beautiful. The sky was without +cloud—a whitish blue—and the plain, covered with tawny short +grass on the uplands, and with purple and golden garments of blue-joint +in the hollows, seemed to lift on every side like a gigantic bowl. +My horse’s hoofs drummed on the dry sod as I hurried forward.</p> + +<p>This is an inexorable land—a land in which man should be free +to migrate like the larks or the buffalo. In the old days we never +thought of living on these high, wind-swept spaces. They were +merely our hunting grounds. Our winter camps were always beside +the river, behind the deep banks, in the shelter of the oaks and cottonwoods. +In those days the plain seemed less ferocious than now, +when we are forced to cross it in all kinds of weather, poorly clothed. +In the days of the buffalo we chose our time and place to migrate; +now we were fastened to one spot like chained coyotes.</p> + +<p>As I came to the hill which overlooked the wooded flat I saw +a great many tepees set about the chief’s cabin, and I perceived also +that the dance was going on. Occasionally a cry reached me, +pulsing faintly through the hazy air. In some such way, perhaps, +the white fisher folk of Galilee drew together to greet the coming of +their Messiah. Was this Saviour of the west any more incredible +than Christ?</p> + +<p>So I mused as I rode slowly down the hill. What if it were all +true? The white man who claims to know all things believes in his +Bible and his Bible is full of miracles.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span></p> + +<p>Soon I could hear the song. It was the sad song I had heard +them sing in the chief’s tepee. It was in most violent opposition +to the sunlit earth and the soft caressing wind, and reached my +heart like the wail of a mourning woman. Soon I was near enough +to hear the wistful words. It was all of entreaty:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“Our Father, we come.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We come to you weeping.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Take pity on us, O Father.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">We are poor and weak,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Without you we can do nothing.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Help us, O Father.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Help us to see the old world,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The happy hunting ground of the buffalo,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The glorious land of our childhood.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Hear us, Great Spirit.”</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>They were dancing in a great circle, some sixty men and women, +their hands interlacing, their eyes on the ground. Each dancer +wore a plain buckskin shirt without ornament. No one carried a +weapon of any kind. They had deliberately gone far back of the +white man, discarding all things on which his desolating hand had +been laid. On each head (even of the women) waved an eagle plume, +the sacred feather, and all were painted with a red paint, which +the Mato had brought with him—a sacred paint he called it. +Around them were many others, watching, and here and there on +the ground lay those who were entranced.</p> + +<p>Just as I came up the song ended and Mato, who stood in the +circle, lifted a peculiar wand in his hand and cried out like a priest: +“Think hard only of that which you wish to see in your sleep, and +it will be given to you. The old shall be young and the sick shall be +made well. Put away all anger and hatred and turn your thoughts +to the Messiah in the west who listens to all his children.”</p> + +<p>Then some one started another song and they began again to +dance. I looked for the chief, and saw him sitting in the shadow +of a small tree close to the circle of dancers. My father, Slohan,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span> +Circling Hawk, and another whom I do not recall, sat with him. +They were all very grave and very intent. They hardly saw me and +my task grew heavy and hard.</p> + +<p>I motioned to my father and he came out, and I said: “I am +from the agency. I am hungry and so is my horse.”</p> + +<p>He sent a boy with my pony and took me to his tepee near by, +and there I ate some bread and meat in silence. When I had +finished I began: “Father, I have come to stop the dance and to +put the priest away.”</p> + +<p>My father looked troubled. “Do you come from the agent?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he has heard of the dance and his orders are to stop it.”</p> + +<p>“My son, all that is bad. It makes my heart sore. Do not +speak to the chief now. Wait till evening, when he is weary. The +agent is wrong. There is no harm in this dance. Has not the +Messiah said, ‘<i>Do not strike anyone</i>; leave all punishment to the +Great Spirit?’ Go back and tell the agent there is no harm in it.”</p> + +<p>I did not listen well, for the song outside was wilder and sadder +each moment. They were dancing very fast now, and the ground, +bare and very dry, had been tramped into dust, fine as flour, and +this rose from under their feet like smoke, half concealing those on +the leeward side. All were singing a piteous song of entreaty. The +women’s voices especially pierced me with their note of agonized +appeal. It was a song to make me shudder—the voice of a dying +people crying out for life and pleading for the return of the happy +past. I could not understand how the white men could listen to it +and not be made gentle.</p> + +<p>The chief gazed intently at the circle. He seemed waiting in +rigid expectancy, his face deeply lined and very sad. He looked +like one threescore and ten sitting so. It was plain that he did not +yet permit himself to believe in the message. He, too, felt the pain +and weariness of the world, but still he could not join in the song. +His mind was too clear and strong to be easily confused.</p> + +<p>The interest was now very great. Waves of excitement seemed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> +to run over the circle and those who watched. Shouts mingled with +the singing. The principal song, which they repeated endlessly, +was the Messiah’s promise of eternal life:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“There the Father comes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There the Father comes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Speaking as he flies.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Calling, as he comes, this joyous word,</div> + <div class="verse indentq">‘You shall live again,’ he calls,</div> + <div class="verse indentq">‘<i>You shall live beyond the grave</i>,’</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He is calling as he comes.”</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Many did not sing; they only cried out for help, entreating to be +shown those who had died. “Oh, hear me! Great Spirit, let me see +my little one—my boy; let me hear his voice,” pleaded one woman, +and her voice shook me till my hair moved as if a spirit passed.</p> + +<p>Some of the women’s faces were distorted with grief, and a kind +of nervous action which they could not control seized upon them. +One by one as they began to show this tension, Mato and his +helpers confronted them, waving before their eyes a feather on a wand +and uttering a hoarse chant, monotonous and rapid, “Ha—ha—ha—ha—ha—<i>hah</i>!” +until the frenzied one, convulsed and dreaming, +fell into the ring and lay stiff and stark in the dirt.</p> + +<p>But the ring did not halt. The fall of each new convert seemed +to add new vigor to the song, for each hoped to be the next one +smitten. Suddenly Shato, dropping the hands of those dancing +near him, flung his hands to the sky with a gesture as if he would +tear the sun from its place. The hooked intensity of his fingers was +terrible to see. He remained fixed in that way, rigid as iron, yet +standing on his feet firm as an oak. No one touched him; on the +contrary, all were careful not to disturb those who were in trance. +Another man stood at bay, buffeting the dancers to keep them from +trampling upon his wife, who, being sick of some wasting disease, +had joined the circle, seeking health of the Great Spirit.</p> + +<p>As I looked my heart contracted. It seemed that I was looking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span> +upon the actual dissolution—the death pangs—of my race. My +learning was for the moment of no avail. I shook like a reed in +the gust of this primeval passion. Was it insanity or was it some +inexplicable divine force capable in very truth of uniting the quick +and the dead in one convulsive, rapturous coalition?</p> + +<p>A thrill of momentary belief swept over me. Was it not better to +end it all, to die and go with all my people to the happy hunting +grounds! The white man’s world, what was it but a world of care +and grief?</p> + +<p>The songs continued, but they grew quieter. Several of those +who called loudest now lay silent in the dust. Those who circled +and sang were keener of eye and calmer of feature. These were +they who reasoned, and to them the trance could not come. I +began to see that those who had taken on the dream were not the +most intelligent but the most emotional men and women of my tribe, +those who were weakened by the loss of dear ones.</p> + +<p>The song was no longer a cry—it had beautiful words. It grew +more joyous:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“Do you see the world a-coming?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A new serener world is near.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The eagle brings the message to our tribe.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus the Father sayeth.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Covering all the plain they come,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Buffalo and elk and deer.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The crow has brought the message to the tribe.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus the Father sayeth,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thus he gives us cheer.”</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>At the end of this song, four times repeated, the dancers unclasped +hands and sat down on the earth. As they did this the +chief arose and, stepping into the circle, took a seat near Mato, +who arose and, lifting his hands to the west, again prayed silently +for a moment, then said:</p> + +<p>“My friends, you see the words of the Messiah are true words. +Many are asleep. They will return soon and tell us of their good +journey to the spirit world. Ever since the Messiah talked to me<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> +I have thought upon what he said and I see only good in it. It is +a sweet religion. The white man’s religion is not for us. Its words +are all strange. It deals with unknown animals and tells of far-off +countries. The names of the chiefs we do not understand, but +this new religion all can understand. It is filled with familiar +words. It is for us. Our Messiah has told us that all our dead are +to come back to the earth, and as the earth is too small for such a +throng he must remove the white man. He will also bring heaven +down to make the world wider, and then all the red men will be +able to dwell together in friendship. There will be no more war, +only hunting and feasting and games. This good world will come to +us if we do as he commands.”</p> + +<p>At this moment Chasing Hawk, who acted as usher, brought to +the circle a woman who had just wakened out of a trance. Her face +was shining with happiness, but her tongue was thick, she could +barely make herself heard. As she spoke the chief listened intently.</p> + +<p>“What did you see?” asked Mato.</p> + +<p>“I saw my little one,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“Where was he? What was he doing?”</p> + +<p>“He was playing in the grass, in a beautiful country. My +grandmother was near, cooking for him.”</p> + +<p>Mato called her answers aloud to all who listened, and everyone +crowded near to hear the glories of the land from which her spirit +had returned. Cries of joy arose in swift echo of the priest’s shouting, +but the chief’s face remained gravely meditative.</p> + +<p>When this woman was led away Eagle Holder, another dreamer, +came into the circle, one who needed no crier. He was a proud +orator. Reaching out his hand in a gesture of exultation, he cried:</p> + +<p>“In my sleep I saw a vast eagle coming toward me. He came +rushing; the noise of his wings was like a storm, his eyes were red +like the moon at dusk. As he came near I caught him by the neck, +and with a rush he carried me away.” Cries of astonishment +broke forth. “He swept away with me high up and toward the east;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span> +the wind cried about my ears and for a time I could see nothing; +all was mist. At last he began to circle and I looked away and I +saw the new land of the Messiah.” (“Hah! Hah!” called the +people.) “It was a prairie country” (the women began to sing) +“with countless buffalo feeding” (“Ah! Ah!”) “and lakes with +great white birds sailing about. On the bank of the lake was a +circle of tepees and they were made of skins whitened by clay, +and they were very large and clean and new. A hunting party +was just riding forth; they were very happy and sang as they went.”</p> + +<p>He paused abruptly, while the women wailed in rapture. At +last he continued: “Then the eagle entered a cloud and I saw no +more. I woke and found myself here on the ground.”</p> + +<p>This story, magnificently told though it was, affected the hearers +less than the shining, ecstatic face of the mother who had seen her +spirit child. Her slow, dreamy utterance was more eloquent than +the vivid gestures and musical voice of Eagle Holder.</p> + +<p>One by one others awoke and told of meeting friends and revisiting +old scenes. Some told of people they had never met in life, +and minutely described lodges they had never entered. These +stories awoke wild cries of amazement and joy. It was plain that +many believed. I had not seen my people so happy since I was a +child, before the battle of the Big Horn.</p> + +<p>At last when all had spoken they arose and joined hands and +began singing once more; then the chief rose and left the circle, +and I, intercepting him, said: “Chief, I bring a message to you.” +He made a motion which means follow, and I accompanied him to +his tepee, which he loved because of its associations with old days, +and to which he went for meditation and council.</p> + +<p>It would be wrong if I did not confess that I knew the chief +distrusted me, for he did. After I had taken my position under the +agent he was less free to speak his mind to me, and this was a grief +to me. My father saw us go and joined us, and I was glad of his +presence. His kind old face made it easier for me to begin.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span></p> + +<p>The chief took his seat at the back of the lodge and said: +“Speak. I listen.”</p> + +<p>“Sire,” I said, “the agent has heard bad things of this dance on +other reservations, and some days ago he sent policemen down here +to forbid it. He now hears it is still going on and he has sent me +to say that Mato, the messenger, must go away and the dance +must stop.”</p> + +<p>I could see the veins of his neck fill with hot blood as he listened, +and when I had finished he said: “Are we dogs to be silenced by +kicking! You say to the agent that the white men have beaten us +and left us naked of every good thing, but they shall not take away +our religion. I will not obey this command! I have said it!”</p> + +<p>Here my father broke in, saying to me: “You yourself have told +me that you saw among the white people dreams like this. Why do +they seek to prevent us? You have read us the white man’s sacred +Big Book, and you say it is full of medicine dreams. Why should we +not dream also?”</p> + +<p>I then replied: “<i>I</i> do not come commanding these things. It +is the agent who says them. Do not blame me.”</p> + +<p>The chief, who had regained his composure, interposed quietly: +“My son, you are right. We should not blame you, but the one +who sent you. Therefore I say take these words to the agent: ‘<i>I +will not give up the dance.</i>’”</p> + +<p>In the hope of persuading him, I asked: “Do you believe in the +dance?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know,” he replied. “I am watching, I am listening. +It is like the white man’s religion—very wonderful and very difficult +to believe. I wish to try it and see. The white men are very +wise, yet their preachers say that the sun stood still for Joshua, +and Christ, their great Medicine Man, healed the lame and raised +the dead.”</p> + +<p>“But that was long ago,” I hastened to say.</p> + +<p>“If such wonders happened then they can happen now,” he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span> +answered. Then he passionately broke forth: “I desire this new +earth. My people are in despair, their hearts are utterly gone. +We need help. My warriors will soon be like the Chinaman at the +fort, fit only to wash windowpanes. Our rations are being cut +off. What is there to look forward to? Nothing. I saw in the +east many poor people. They worked very hard and wore ragged +clothes. All were not rich and happy. Among the white men my +people would be only other poor people, ragged and hungry, creeping +about, eating scraps of food like hungry curs. I fear for them, +therefore my ears are open to the words of this new religion which +assures me that the old world—the world of my fathers—is to +return. You say the agent is displeased. Is there anything I can +do which does not displease him? The white men have their religion—they +pray and sing. Why should not we sing if we have heart to +do so? Go ask him if he is afraid that the Messiah has come of a +truth, and that the white man is to be swept away.”</p> + +<p>“He thinks it is a war dance,” I said. “He is afraid it will stir +up strife.”</p> + +<p>“Go tell him what you have seen. Say to him that it is a peaceful +dance. There are no weapons here; there is no talk of fighting. +It is a magical prayer. Mato says those who lie out there are with +the spirits. You heard them tell what they saw. If these tales are +true and if we could all be as they, then would the white man’s +world indeed vanish like smoke and the pasture of the buffalo come +again. It is strange—that I know—but the white man’s religion +is also very hard to believe. The priest will tell you stories just as +wonderful, and the preacher, too. Their Messiah was born in a +stable among cattle; ours appears among the mountains. Their +Christ rose from the dead. So does ours. Their Christ came to the +poor people, so they say. Are we so despised of God that we cannot +have our Messiah, too? I do not say all this is true, I only wish to +test it and see.”</p> + +<p>I could see that his clear mind could not accept the new religion,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> +yet his heart desired it deeply. Once he had said: “I do not +understand your Christ and his teaching. I must have time to +think; I will not be pushed into it,” and as he had often reproved +his people for saying yes to everything the white man said, so now +he was equally cautious, only he was older, with a deeper longing to +be comforted.</p> + +<p>My task was only half completed and I said: “Chief, the agent +told me to say to you, ‘Put Mato away.’ I beg you to come with +me and meet the agent and explain to him the meaning of the dance, +and then maybe he will not insist on this inhospitable thing.”</p> + +<p>The chief’s face grew very stern. “The agent is a dog! He +insults me. I will not see him! If he wishes to talk with me let him +come here. I am waiting.”</p> + +<p>My father made me a sign to go, and I went away. I could +hear them conversing in low voices, but I could not understand what +they said. At last my father called, and I went in again.</p> + +<p>The chief looked less grim of lip and said to me, “Very well, +Mato will go to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” I said. “At ten o’clock to-night Bull Head and I will +come to take them across the river.”</p> + +<p>My father and I went out and left him sitting alone.</p> + +<p>When I returned at ten o’clock with Bull Head the chief’s lodge +was filled with people. The women were weeping and the men +were sullen. As I entered the tepee Mato was speaking. The chief +sat smoking, with his eyes fixed on the floor. The priest was +saying:</p> + +<p>“You see how it is! The red man can keep nothing from the +white man, who is jealous even of our religion. Washington would +deprive us of our dreams. The agent is a wolf. Nevertheless, I +will go, for my mission here is fulfilled. I have spoken the words +of the Father; I have taught you the ceremonials. Henceforth you +can test for yourself the truth of the <i>word</i>.” Then standing erect and +in line the six messengers of the Messiah lifted the palms of their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> +hands toward the west and prayed silently. A little later they began +to sing this song:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="verse indentq">“My children take this road,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">My children go this way,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Says our Saviour.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It is a goodly road,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Says the Father;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">It leads to joyous lands,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Says the Father.”</div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>As they sang the people began to cry out, “Stay and tell us +more,” but Mato led the way out of the lodge.</p> + +<p>As I stood at the door, ready to follow him, the chief stood upon +his feet, with a look on his face which silenced every one who saw it; +it was fierce, yet it was exalted. Holding his pipe in his outstretched +hands, his beloved pipe which he had carried since his first chieftainship, +he said: “Here break I my peace pipe. If this religion is true +then there is no more war. If it is not true, then I wish to die as a +warrior dies, fighting!” With a gesture he snapped the stem in +pieces. All the people cried out, and with a heart cold with fear I +went forth into the night.</p> + +<p>My chief’s last war with the white invader had begun.</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_XII">XII<br> + +<span class="fs70">THE CHIEF PROPOSES A TEST</span></h3> + +<p>Meanwhile the dance was going on not only among all the +Sioux, but among the Cheyenne, Arapahoe, and Shoshone peoples, +and the settlers of many states were greatly alarmed. They pretended +to believe the ceremonial was warlike. They knew nothing +of the songs or prayers. Cowboys, drunk and desiring a little amusement, +raced into the border towns shouting, “The Sioux are on the +warpath!” and whole settlements, frenzied with fear, fled to the +east, crying loudly for the government to send troops. “Stop +this outbreak,” became the demand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span></p> + +<p>All this pressure and excitement made our situation worse. +Those who believed said, “You see how it is, the white people are +afraid of our religion; they are seeking to prevent the coming of the +new world”; and those reckless ones who were willing to fight +cried out: “Make ready. Let us war!”</p> + +<p>Letters and telegrams poured in upon the agent at the Standing +Rock, asking for a true statement of affairs. To all these he +replied, “There is no danger, these Indians are peaceful”; but he +took occasion in his answers to defame my chief.</p> + +<p>In this he overshot his mark, for in calling The Sitting Bull a +man of no force, a liar, and a coward, he became unreasonable. +To fear a man so small and mean was childish. He also misstated +the religion of the dance. He sneered at my father and others +as “Indians lately developed into medicine men,” and ended by +saying, “The Sitting Bull is making rebellion among his people.” +Forgetting all the favorable reports he had many times made of +my chief, he falsely said, “The Sitting Bull has been a disturbing +element ever since his return in 1883.”</p> + +<p>What could such a man know of the despair into which my people +had fallen? He was hard, unimaginative, and jealous of his authority. +He was also a bigot and it is hard for anyone not a poet or philosopher +to be just to a people holding a different view of the world. +Race hatred and religious prejudices stand like walls between the +red man and the white. The Sioux cannot comprehend the priest +and the priest will not tolerate the Sioux. Our agent became angry, +arrogant, and unreasonable. He felt that his government was in +question. His pride was hurt.</p> + +<p>For a few days after I reported the departure of Mato all was +quiet and the agent believed that the frenzy was over so far as +his wards were concerned. He was only anxious that The Sitting +Bull and his followers should not know how deeply their dances +had stirred the settlements. Nevertheless, the chief knew, and it +helped him to retain some faith in the magic he was testing. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> +did not refer to the breaking of his peace pipe, but he declined to +give up the dance.</p> + +<p>To his friend, John Carignan, the teacher, he said: “The agent +complains that I feed my cattle to those who come to dance. What +does it matter? If the buffalo come back I will not need them. +If the new religion is a lie then I do not care to raise cattle. The +Great Spirit has sent me a message. He has said, ‘<i>If you wish to +live join the dance I have given</i>.’ Whether this message is true or not +I cannot yet tell. I am seeking proof.”</p> + +<p>Against the bitter words of the agent I will put the words of +John Carignan, who kept the school near The Sitting Bull’s home. +This man speaks our language. “I knew the chief well,” he said, +“and I saw no evil in him. He was an Indian, but I can’t blame him +for that.”</p> + +<p>During this troublesome period my chief went often to see +the teacher of his children. Jack was the one white man with +whom he could talk freely, and together they argued upon the new +religion. Jack liked my chief and told me so one day as we were +discussing the agent’s attitude toward the dance. “Often the chief +came to eat with my family and he has always borne himself with +dignity and honor. I have always found him considerate and +unassuming.”</p> + +<p>“Our religion seems foolish to you, but so does yours to +me,” my chief said. “The Baptists and Methodists and Presbyterians +and Catholics all have a different God. Why cannot +we have one of our own? Why does the agent seek to take away +our religion? My race is dying. Our God will soon die with us. +If this new religion is not true, then what does it matter? I do not +know what to believe. If I could dream like others and visit the +spirit land myself, then it would be easy for me to believe, but +the trance does not come to me. It passes me by. I help others to +see their dead, but I am not aided.”</p> + +<p>“That is it precisely,” replied the teacher. “See the kind of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span> +men who go into the trance. Your strong, clear-headed men do +not believe.”</p> + +<p>“That is true,” the chief admitted, “but I am hoping some +of my head men may yet enter the trance. Perhaps we do not +know how to prepare the way.”</p> + +<p>By this he meant that they had not learned how to hypnotize, +for that is what the dance became. It was like a meeting of spiritualists +who sit for visions. It was like the revival meetings of the +Free Methodists or the old-time Shakers or Quakers. My friend +Davies wrote me a long letter wherein he said: “It is foolish, +as you say, but no more absurd to my mind than scores of other +forms of religious ecstasy. My advice is let it run; it will wear +itself out. Movements of this kind grow by opposition.”</p> + +<p>All that he said was true, but, like the chief, I could not help +hoping something would happen, for when they sang their songs +warmed my heart and made my learning of little weight. The +painted arrows, the fluttering feathers, the symbolic figures—every +little thing had its appeal to me. When they raised their +quivering palms in the air and cried to the Messiah in the west, +I could scarcely restrain myself from joining in their supplication. +This may seem strange, but it is true and you will never comprehend +this last despairing cry of my race if I do not tell you the +truth.</p> + +<p>We believed in what we were. We had the pride of race. We +were fulfilling our destiny as hunters and freemen. Do you think +that in ten years you can make my proud people bow the neck to +the scourge of a white man’s daily hatred? Is the Great Spirit a +bungler? Does he draw a figure on the earth, only to wipe it away +as a child writes upon a slate?</p> + +<p>“Why are we so thrust upon and degraded? It must be that +we have angered the Great Spirit. We must go back to the point +wherein our old trail is found,” so my father argued.</p> + +<p>The line that divides the mysterious and the commonplace<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> +is very slender, in the minds of my people. You do not realize +that. They take up a cartridge. How wonderful it is! How is it +made? A knife—what gives the point its gleam and its spring? +The grass blade, what causes it to thrust from the earth? The +clouds, where do they go—what are they? To the west of us is the +Crow country; beyond that, who knows? You must put yourself +in the place of those who think in this way before you judge them +harshly. Many of these things I now understand, but I do not +know why men are born and why they die. I do not know why the +sun brings forth the grass.</p> + +<p>My chief comprehended more than most men of his tribe, but +to him the world was just as mysterious as to me. It did him no +good to study the white man’s religions. They were so many +and so contradictory that he was confused. He had always been +a prayerful man—and had kept the Sun Dance, and all the ceremonials +of the Uncapappas carefully. He was a grave soul, doing +nothing thoughtlessly. He always asked the Great Spirit for guidance, +yet he was never a medicine man, as the white men say. +He did not become so during this dance. He helped to hypnotize +the dancers, but so did others; that did not mean that they were +priests or medicine men—it only meant they had the power to +induce these trances.</p> + +<p>It was a time of great bewilderment, of question and of doubt. +No one thought of the present; all were dreaming of the past, +hoping to bring the past. The future was black chaos unless the +Great Spirit should restore their world of the buffalo.</p> + +<p>The dance went on with steadily growing excitement. The +autumn remained very mild and favorable to the ceremony, and +yet there were fewer people in it than the agent supposed. Those +most active continued to be the mourners. Those who had lost +children crowded to the dance, as white people go to spiritualistic +seances, in the hope of touching the hands of their babes and hearing +the voices of their daughters. They sincerely believed that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> +they met their dead and they deeply resented the brutal order of +the agent who would keep them from this sweet reunion.</p> + +<p>It was deeply moving to look upon their happy faces as they +stood and called in piercing voices: “I saw my child—my little +son. He was playing with his small bow and arrows. I called +him and he ran to me. He was very happy with his grandfather. +The sun was shining on the flowers and no one was hungry. My +boy clung to my hand. I did not wish to come back. Oh, teach +me the way to go again!”</p> + +<p>I think the number of those who believed that the new world +of the buffalo was coming, that the white man would be swept +away, were few, but hundreds considered it possible to go to the +spirit land and see those who were dead, and they resented, as +my chief, the interference of the government. There was nothing +worth while left in the world but this, and they used bitter words +when they were commanded to lay this comforting faith aside. +“Why should our spirit meetings be taken from us?” they asked +of me.</p> + +<p>In spite of the wind, the dust, and the blazing October sun, +a veil of mysterious passion lay over the camp. The children were +withdrawn from school to participate in the worship. Nothing +else was talked of. During the day, as the old chiefs counciled, +the women gathered together and told their experiences. There +were deceivers among those who took part in this, and many who +were self-deceived, but for the most part they were in deadly +earnestness; the exultation on their faces could not be simulated. +They moved in a cloud of joyous memories, with no care, no thought +of the Great Father’s commands. They were borne above all other +considerations but this—“How may we bring back the vanished +world of the fathers?”</p> + +<p>Up at the agent’s office was an absolutely different world. +There hate and cynical coarseness ruled. To go from the dance +to the agent was a bitter experience for me. I was forced into deception.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> +No one dared to speak of the dance, except in terms of laughter +or disbelief. All the renegades in the pay of the government +joined in the jests and told ribald stories of the chief and of the +ceremonies. They could not understand what it meant. As for +me, I said little, but I foresaw trouble for my people and sorrow +for myself.</p> + +<p>The chief clerk hated me and all Indians. He was a most capable +man, but sour and sullen to everyone who did not appeal to him. +He had no children, no wife, and no faith. His voice was a snarl, his +face a chill wind. He never spoke to an Indian that he did not +curse. The agent was not so, but he was a zealot impatient of the +old, eager to make a record for himself and the post. Loyal to the +white man’s ideal, he was unsympathetic and harsh and materialistic +in dealing with the traditional prejudices of my race.</p> + +<p>He sent for Jack, the teacher, and asked him to come up and talk +with him. “Tell me all about it,” he said, “What is the meaning of +it?”</p> + +<p>In reply Jack said, soberly: “They are very much in earnest +about this new religion of theirs, but they are peaceable. The +Sitting Bull talked with me a long time yesterday, and I found it a +hard matter to meet his arguments, which he bases on the miracles +of the Bible. The dancers are told to lay aside all that the white +man has made and fix their minds on what they wish to see most of +all. They go into a trance and lie for hours. When they wake they +are very happy. They come and tell me their dreams and some of +them are very beautiful. My advice is to let them alone. It is a +craze like the old-fashioned Methodist revival. It will die out as +winter comes on.”</p> + +<p>This testimony by a man who understood our language and was +in daily contact with The Sitting Bull band led the agent to pursue +a calmer course. He decided to wait the ebbing of the excitement.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, a long letter he had written to Washington about +“the Messiah craze” was given to the reporters, and the daily<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span> +papers were instantly filled with black headlines introducing foolish +and false accounts of what was taking place. Writers hurried to +the Standing Rock and wired alarming reports of what they heard, +and all this reacted unfavorably upon the dancers.</p> + +<p>The agent then laid the burden of the blame upon my chief. +“He is a reactionary,” he said; “he is a disturber and has been from +the first. He has opposed every treaty and has insisted at all times +on being treated as a chief,” and in all his letters and talks he continued +to speak ill of him.</p> + +<p>He sent word by me and by Jack, saying to The Sitting Bull: +“Come to the agency. I want to talk with you. Stop this foolish +dance and come here and camp for a while where I can talk with you. +The white people are alarmed and you must stop this dance.”</p> + +<p>The chief, embittered by the agent’s attack upon him, refused to +go to the Standing Rock. “I am not a dog to be whistled at. I +will not go to the agent to be insulted and beaten,” and he called +his old guard of “Silent Eaters” around him. “The agent threatens +to imprison me and break up the dance. If he comes to fight he will +find us ready.”</p> + +<p>Day by day the feeling between the agency and its police on +the one side, and the chief and the dancers on the other, got more +alarming, and the agent was obliged to send many telegrams to +Washington and the outside world to quiet the fears of the settlers, +and at last he decided to go down to Rock Creek and see for himself +what was going on. He should have done so before.</p> + +<p>He asked me to go as interpreter, and this I did, but very +reluctantly, for it put me too much on his side.</p> + +<p>He planned to come upon the scene of the dance suddenly, and +many were dancing as we rode up to the outer circle of lodges. The +word went about that the agent was come, but no one stopped +dancing on that account. They were too much in earnest to give +heed to any authority. Some of those to whom he called replied +with words of contempt, defying his command, and I, who knew<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> +the terrible power of the President’s army, trembled as I saw the +face of the agent blacken.</p> + +<p>“What foolery!” he said to me. “This has got to stop! Go +tell The Sitting Bull to come to me.”</p> + +<p>I made my way to where the chief sat, and told him what the +agent had demanded.</p> + +<p>I could see that he associated me with the renegades who fawned +upon the agent, and he listened to what I said with cold, stern face. +I pleaded with him to do as he was commanded. I informed him of +the fury of fear which had fallen upon the settlers and I warned him +that the soldiers would come to put a stop to the dance.</p> + +<p>To all this he made no reply other than to say: “Since the +agent has come to see me, tell him I will talk with him in the morning. +I am busy now. I cannot leave the dance.”</p> + +<p>The agent was furious when I told him this, and as we drove off +down to the school muttered a threat, “I’ll make him suffer for this, +the insolent old dog.” We found Carignan, the teacher, almost +alone at the school. The Sitting Bull had said: “If this religion is +true, then it is more important than your books,” and had told his +people to withdraw their children from their studies. “If the white +man’s world is coming to an end, of what use is it to learn his +ways?” he argued.</p> + +<p>To Carignan the agent talked freely of the chief. “He must be +brought low,” he declared, wrathfully. “His power must be broken. +I will see him in the morning and give him one more chance to quit +peaceably. If he does not I will arrest him. He will find he can’t +run this reservation.”</p> + +<p>To this Carignan replied: “I don’t think he means to make +trouble, but he is profoundly interested in this new religion. I +think he will yield to reason.”</p> + +<figure class="figleft illowp75" id="i_260fp" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_260fp.jpg" alt="Tracking a fugitive on a rocky hillside"> +</figure> + + <div class="chapter"></div> +<div class="caption-r">Scouts<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>These Indian scouts are on the trail of a Chiricahua +Apache named Massai, famous in the ’nineties as the +wildest and most cruel of the Apaches. So crooked was +Massai’s trail that even the Indians themselves could not +follow it.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +MASSAI’S CROOKED TRAIL<br> +<i>by</i> Frederic Remington<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>January, 1898</i></span> +</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_261fp" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_261fp.jpg" alt="Troop of cavalry at a river"> + <figcaption class="caption-l">On the Little Big Horn<br> + +<p class="fs70 noindent"><i>When Cheschapah, son of the aged Crow chief, Pounded +Meat, became a medicine man and aspired to leadership +of the tribe, a party of Sioux came on a visit to the Crows. +Fearing that the feasting and eloquence of Cheschapah +might turn their thoughts to war, troops were sent to bring +the visitors home. The Sioux started for home meekly +enough, but Cheschapah, with a yelling swarm of his +young friends, began to buzz about the column, threatening +to attack the troopers who had so rudely broken up their +dinner party, and did not desist even when the soldiers +had forded the river. Whereupon the chief of the Crow +police rode out to Cheschapah, commanding him to turn +back, and received for an answer an insult that with Indians +calls for blood. But for old chief Pounded Meat, who then +rode out to his son and cowed him with a last flare of command, +firing would have begun then and there.</i></p> + +<span class="fs70"> +<i>Illustration from</i><br> +LITTLE BIG HORN MEDICINE<br> +<i>by</i> Owen Wister<br> +<br> +<i>Originally published in</i><br> +<span class="smcap">Harper’s Magazine</span>, <i>June, 1894</i></span> +</figcaption> +</figure> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span></p> + +<p>There had already been a great deal of talk of the War Department +sending someone to quiet the disturbance, and this the agent +did not relish. He had been an Indian agent for many years and +prided himself on knowing how to handle his people, and was +especially anxious to keep the chief authority entirely in his own +hands. Poor and despised as The Sitting Bull had become, even the +agent considered it an honor to arrest and imprison him. Furthermore, +I could see that he did not care to attempt this except as a +last resort.</p> + +<p>The following morning the agent, Carignan, and myself went +up to see The Sitting Bull. He was in his tepee, smoking beside a +small smoldering fire. He was very cold and quiet, and looked tired +and weak. His hair parted in the middle and the sad look of his +face made him resemble an old woman. To me he was only a +tragic wraith of his former self. His eyes were dull and heavy. +He was a type of my vanishing race as he sat there, and my heart +went out to him.</p> + +<p>He greeted us with a low word and shook hands. We all sat +about in the lodge. Few people were stirring.</p> + +<p>“Tell the chief I have come to talk with him about this dance,” +began the agent.</p> + +<p>I told the chief, and he said: “Speak on, my ears are open.”</p> + +<p>“Tell him I hear he is dancing this foolish dance almost every +day, making his people tired, so that they neglect their cattle and +have taken their children from school. Tell him that all the people +are getting excited. Therefore, Washington says the dance must +stop!” continued the agent.</p> + +<p>I told the chief this. His face did not change, but his eyes fired +a little. “Are the white people afraid of this new religion? Why +do they wish to stop it?” he scornfully asked, in answer.</p> + +<p>“Say to him that I do not fear the dance—I consider it foolish—but +I do not want him wasting the energies of the people. He must +stop it at once!”</p> + +<p>To this the chief replied: “I am a reasonable man and a peacemaker. +I do not seek trouble, but my people take comfort in this +dance. They have lost many dear ones and in this dance they see<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span> +them again. Whether it is true or not I have not yet made up my +mind, but my people believe in it and I see no harm in it.” Here he +paused for a moment. “I have a proposition to make to you,” +he said firmly. “This new religion came to me from the Brulé +Reservation; they got it from the west. The Mato and Kios claim +to have seen the Messiah. Let us two, you and I, set forth together +with intent to trail down this story of the Messiah. If, when we +reach the last tribe in the land where the story originated, they +cannot show us the Messiah or give us satisfactory proof, then we +will return and I will tell my people that they have been too credulous. +This report will end the dance forever. It will not do to order +my people to stop; that will make them sure the dance is true +magic.”</p> + +<p>The chief was very serious in this offer. He knew that he could +not, by merely ordering it, stop the dance; but if he should go on +this journey with the agent and make diligent inquiry, then he +could on his return speak with authority. He made this offer as +one reasonable man to another, and, had the agent met him halfway +or even permitted him to send my father or Slohan, the final tragedy +might have been averted, but the agent was too angry now to parley. +His answer was contemptuous.</p> + +<p>“Tell him I refuse to consider that. It is as crazy as the dance. +It would only be a waste of time.”</p> + +<p>I urged him to accept, for in the months to follow the excitement +would die out, but he would not listen.</p> + +<p>“I will not consider it. It would be like trying to catch up the +wind that blew last year. I do not care to argue here. Tell him to +come to my house to-morrow and I will give him a night and a day +to prove to me that he is not a foolish old man, chasing a will-o’-the-wisp.”</p> + +<p>To this the chief replied: “Are there miracles only in the white +man’s religion? I hear you believe there was once a great flood and +all the people were drowned but a man and a woman, who took all<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span> +the animals, male and female, into a big steamboat. When did this +happen? How do you know it? Is the ghost dance more foolish? +Are my people to be without a religion because it does not please the +white man?”</p> + +<p>To this the agent answered, impatiently: “I refuse to debate. +I have orders to stop the dance, and these orders must be carried +out. Tell him to come to the agency to-morrow and we will talk +it out there. I can’t do it now.”</p> + +<p>To my surprise, the chief pacifically responded: “I will come. +My people are few and feeble, I do not wish to make trouble. Let +us speak wisely in this matter. You are angry now and my people +are excited. I will come and we will talk quietly together.”</p> + +<p>But the faces of the old guard were dark, and Black Bull, who +stood near, cried out, saying: “Let us alone. We will not give up +the dance. We are afraid. Send the coyote away! Is The Sitting +Bull afraid?”</p> + +<p>This touched the chief to the quick, and he said, “I am not, +but I do not desire trouble.”</p> + +<p>My father spoke and said: “Do not go. The white man will +imprison you if you do.”</p> + +<p>Black Bull again shouted: “The white man is a liar! His +tongue is double. He has set a trap. Will you walk into it?”</p> + +<p>The chief turned to me. “Is this true? Have they talked of +putting me in prison?”</p> + +<p>I could not deny this, and while I sat in silence, seeking +words which would not inflame him, Catch the Bear said: “I +have heard that they have planned to kill you. Do not go to the +agency.”</p> + +<p>The chief was now convinced that the agent and myself had +come to entice him into a snare. He rose, and his face took on +the warrior’s lionlike look as he said: “I will not go to the agency. +I will not die in prison. If I am to die it will be here, as a soldier, on +the spot where I was born.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span></p> + +<p>Even then the agent could have won him by pacific speech, +but he too was angry, and he said: “I give you till to-morrow morning +to decide. If you do not come to the agency I will send the +police and take you.” He then went back to the school.</p> + +<p>To Carignan he said, as he got into his wagon: “You had better +send all your people up to the post. I am going to arrest The +Sitting Bull to-night and it may make trouble,” and in this spirit +he drove away.</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_XIII">XIII<br> + +<span class="fs70">THE CHIEF PLANS A JOURNEY</span></h3> + +<p>That was a dark night in The Sitting Bull’s camp. The women +were weeping and the men, with faces sullen and fierce, gathered +in solemn council. Black Wolf, Catch the Bear and The Two +Strike loudly advocated resistance, their hot hearts aflame, but +the chief kept on smoking his pipe, which is the sign of indecision. +He was still the peacemaker and concerned over the welfare of his +people.</p> + +<p>When he spoke he said: “To fight now is to die. The white +man will crush us like flies. I know that for I have seen his armies. +The happy hunting grounds are as near to me as to any of you, +but I am not ready to die. I have thought deeply over the matter, +and I have resolved not to fight, for unless we intend to kill all +our children and so leave no one to follow us, the white man will +visit his hate on those who remain. If the agent comes with his +renegades to arrest me I will resist to the death, but if the soldiers +come for me I will go with them, for they have the hearts of warriors +and know how to treat a chief. This is my decision; but +whatever comes, let no one interfere in my behalf, for to do so +would only mean bloodshed, and that will do no good. I am your +head—they will visit their punishment on me. I will meet them +alone.”</p> + +<p>Thereupon he spoke to his “Silent Eaters” and said: “Put<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span> +sentinels on the hills and keep watch on all that is done at the +agency. Let no spy approach us.”</p> + +<p>The dance went on after that in a sort of frenzy, as if desperate +by need. The cries of those who prayed were heart-breaking to +hear. “O Great Spirit, save us; bring the happy land quickly, ere +the white man slays us,” this they wailed over and over again, for +the days were fleet and the wolves of winter near.</p> + +<p>When the chief did not appear as he had promised, then the +agent drew a dead line between the agency and the camp, and +brought into play the forces of hunger and cold. He sent word to +all the Grand River people, commanding them to move up and go +into permanent camp near the agency. “Those who do not come +will be cut off from their rations.” And to his clerk he said: “That +will show the old chief’s followers where they stand.”</p> + +<p>The effect of this order cannot be overstated. The north wind +was now keen, and the people had little meat and no meal. They +were dependent on the agency issue for their daily food. They +were forbidden to leave the reservation to hunt and there was +very little game left anywhere. This order drew the line sharply +between those who had faith in the dance and those who only +pretended to sympathize with it. To remain was to starve and +freeze; to go was to acknowledge the final supremacy of the white +man and all he stood for. Such was the desolating decision +thrust upon them.</p> + +<p>When the order reached The Sitting Bull’s camp the dancers +were thrown into confusion. A hurried council was called and the +leaders were soon decided on the question of giving up the dance. +Most of them at once said: “It is of no use. The Great Spirit +has not heard us. There is but one thing to do. Let us obey the +agent. To fight is foolish.”</p> + +<p>There were others who said: “What does a few months of +life in captivity matter? Let us dance, and if the white man comes +to fight let us all die like braves.” And as they spoke the women<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span> +began to sing old battle songs, urging resistance to the invaders. +“We can starve and die, for when we die we go to the happy land. +A little pain and all is over. Let us fight!”</p> + +<p>As soon as the chief had thought the matter out he said: “So +long as I have cattle or money you shall be fed,” but he had little +left. He had already given all he had.</p> + +<p>I do not know the mind of my chief at this point. I think +that at times when his indignation mounted high he, too, said: +“Let us fight to the death. The happy hunting grounds are near. +They await us. Why do we continue in our hunger and despair?” +And then, as some good man spoke to him, recalled to him the +friends he had among the palefaces, he had a gleam of hope, and +recalled his bitter words.</p> + +<p>That he was not afraid I know. Death held nothing appalling. +Life offered little. Why should he fear to die? He was fifty-six +years old and his days were nearly done. Furthermore, he could +not look into the future without pain, for he saw his people slaves +or vagabonds among an alien race.</p> + +<p>During these weeks fear and hate of him revived among the +settlers in all the Western states and the papers were filled with +demands for his death. The near-by white settlers called loudly for +troops, and some of those to the north went so far as to patrol the +borders of the reservation in order to meet the warriors of The +Sitting Bull when they broke forth in war array. They were +glad of an excuse to utter their charges against us as cumberers of +the earth, which they desired. Feeling the millions of their fellows +back of them and knowing that troops were near, they were very +brave.</p> + +<p>In spite of the agent’s cruel order, a large number of the sternest +warriors of the Uncapappas remained at Rock Creek, and when he +saw this he was afraid to carry out his plan for arresting the chief. +With intent to league himself with cold and snow, he waited for +winter to fall, keeping vigilant eye on the War Department, lest<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span> +the Secretary should steal away the honor of arresting the chief. +He was not anxious to invite interference on the part of the military. +“I can take care of the reservation,” he repeated to the +commander of the post.</p> + +<p>The chief understood his feeling and said to my father: “I +will obey the orders of the great war chief, but I will not be ordered +about by this agent. He has used me like a dog. The Great Father +at Washington said to me: ‘Sitting Bull, you are the head of the +Sioux nation, and I hold you responsible for the conduct of your +people. Keep the peace.’ I promised him that I would do this, +but the agent has always turned his back to me or has thrown +words at me that are like stones or mud. He has lied about me and +his letters have made the settlers angry. He now wishes to shut +me up merely that he can smile and say: ‘I am a great chief; I +have conquered The Sitting Bull.’ This I will not permit him +to do.”</p> + +<p>Therefore, his armed sentries continued to ride the buttes +surrounding the camp. No one could come within twenty miles +of his camp without seeing shadowy horsemen appear and disappear +on the high hills. Every blanket concealed a weapon, while the +dance went on almost day and night, and one by one his cattle +were killed and eaten, till at last all were gone.</p> + +<p>My own position became each day more intolerable. Within +my heart opposing passions warred. Here were my brothers about +to fight their last battle—persisting in a defiance which was as +insane as their religion. I could not deceive myself. The instant +I returned to the white men and the sight of my books I acknowledged +the tragic desperation of my people. The dance became +merely another of the religious frenzies which wise men say have +attacked the human race, at intervals, for ten thousand years. A +letter from The Blackbird said: “Keep away, Philip. Don’t mix +in that mess. You can do no good. Your letter makes it evident +that a tragic end is inevitable. You have done all you can. Throw<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> +in your lot with the white man. On the whole, the white man has +the organization for the new conditions. To die with your people +would be superb, but it would be wasteful. Don’t do it, my boy. +Use your best influence against violence, but avoid danger. There +is work for you to do in helping your people bridge the chasm +between their mode of life and ours.”</p> + +<p>I told him that I was already denounced as a coward and a +traitor to my race. He replied: “No matter; ten years from now +those who are still alive will see you in the light of a wise leader.” +And in the spirit of this letter I sent word to my chief, saying +that it was best to accept the agent’s rule.</p> + +<p>The department did not like to be called rash; it feared the +influence of the Indians’ friends in the East and so it hesitated, +and these days of waiting were days of torture to us all. I could +not look any man in the face. I went about my duties as if I, too, +were in a trance. I really could have been called a spy, for when +one of the scouts of my father asked me what was going on at the +agency I told him I was under suspicion by both races and knew +not where to turn for comfort.</p> + +<p>The agent required my presence in his office each day, and to +see my father and my chief meant a night ride of nearly eighty +miles. This I dared not attempt, for the chief now reasoned that +I had surely gone over to the enemy and I was certain he would +not let me come to him. I was despised and rejected of both white +man and red man, and had no one to comfort me.</p> + +<p>The weather continued mild. Each day I searched the sky +for signs of a storm. If only a tempest of snow would sweep over +us it would stop the dancing, it would cool the fury of anger, and +yet when the hate and contempt of the white man broke forth +in my presence I hoped that my chief would fight. Better to die +like the lion than live like a trapped wolf.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the chief and his little band continued to test the +new religion, but the Chief was not satisfied.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span></p> + +<p>“Why do these visions come only to the women and weak +men? Why do they not come to my ‘Silent Eaters?’ Why does +it not happen that I can go and see these things and return?”</p> + +<p>He was growing weary of his prison and longed for the bright +world where the spirits were. At last he came to a great resolution. +He determined to leave the reservation and visit The Kicking +Bear in order to learn more of the Messiah. He wished to know +whether any new revelation had been made to other tribes. He +had exhausted the value of the phenomena in his own camp and +remained unconvinced.</p> + +<p>He said: “The agent is going to send for me soon. I may go +to the agency and I may not. No matter. You must not get into +trouble on my account.”</p> + +<p>Can you imagine what it means to a chief, when his proud, +free race sinks to the position of beggars and children, forbidden +to trade, forbidden to hunt, forbidden to make presents, ordered +into line like cattle, debarred from amusement like convicts, and +condemned to wear the white man’s cast-off clothing?</p> + +<p>“If this religion is true, then we may hope. If it is not, then +all is over,” he said. “I will myself go seek those who saw the +wonder worker. Perhaps I shall find him and he will take pity +on us and save us from destruction. Wait patiently till I return, +for then you will know the truth.”</p> + +<p>He arranged to leave at daybreak, and his guard was to follow +him later to see that he was not mistreated. There were not many +of the “Silent Eaters” now, but they were ready to go where he +went, and die with him if need rose.</p> + +<p>I do not pretend to follow the turnings of his mind, but I think +he had resolved to leave the reservation even at the risk of being +arrested and brought back by the police, considering that the +word and the promise he sought to verify were worth more than +anything else on the earth.</p> + +<p>It must have been in some such mood that he prepared for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> +his long journey, while still the dance went on, and the white people +accused him of leading a revolt.</p> + + +<h3 id="SE_XIV">XIV<br> + +<span class="fs70">THE DEATH OF THE CHIEF</span></h3> + +<p>The news of the chief’s intended departure, which was brought +to the agent by a spy, decided him to act at once. In accordance +with instructions from the department he went to Colonel Drum, +the commander of the garrison, and arranged to seize the chief +before he rose the next morning. The native police were to make +the arrest, but the troops were to be within supporting distance +and to share in the honor!</p> + +<p>The leaders of the police were enemies of the chief. The Shave +Head was especially malignant. The reason was this: When The +Sitting Bull visited the Crows in 1884 Shave Head accompanied +him. During a dance one night the Crows grossly insulted the +visitors and Shave Head wished to kill them, but the chief counseled +mild speaking. “We must not quarrel,” he said, and went away. +Shave Head was very angry, and for his forbearance called The +Sitting Bull a coward, when, as a matter of fact, a single gesture +by this reckless fool might have involved the whole camp in an +uproar. Thereafter he lost no opportunity for insulting and annoying +the chief, who bore it patiently, knowing that a harsh word in +reply would only make matters worse.</p> + +<p>Big Head, the lieutenant of police, was also opposed to the chief; +in truth the entire force was carefully chosen from those hangers-on +at the agency or from the Yanktonaise, ready, under the white +man’s pay, to act against the chief, whose contempt for such traitors +and weaklings was well known. In the days of The Sitting Bull’s +power these factions existed. The Gall and The Gray Bear were +jealous of his great fame, although The Gall never became actually +disloyal. The Gray Bear did and lost no chance of doing his old +chief harm. It is a disgraceful thing to say of my people, but some<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span> +of them, for a new uniform and twenty dollars, would kill their +blood relatives. Witness the so-called “scouts” of the army in +Arizona.</p> + +<p>My father says that The Sitting Bull advised against all violence, +but I must admit that his supporters were armed and that +they had sworn to protect him against mistreatment. Perhaps +he accepted their loyalty gratefully, and when he decided to go +forth on his search for the Messiah they asked to go with him in +a body.</p> + +<p>It would not seem strange to me if he had decided never to +be taken from his people alive.</p> + +<p>He was growing old, and to suffer exile would be to die lingeringly. +How much he knew of the agent’s plan to imprison him +I do not know, but I have heard him assert his right (which the +commissioner had orally given him) to come and go as any other +citizen of the state. As chief man of his nation he considered it +a gross injustice to be told, “You shall not cross this line.” “So +long as I go peaceably and feed myself I do not see what right the +agent has to object. Washington has said it and I go.”</p> + +<p>On the night before his departure he addressed the “Silent +Eaters.” “Be peaceful, do nothing harsh,” he said; “wait for my +return. I go to visit Mato. Perhaps he has a new message for +us. Perhaps he has again visited the Messiah. If he has not, +then we will go together.”</p> + +<p>He was at the dance till midnight and, being weary was still +sleeping soundly when just before dawn Bull Head and seven +other renegades gathered silently round his bed.</p> + +<p>As Bull Head laid a hand on him the chief opened his eyes and +quietly asked. “What do you want?”</p> + +<p>“Be silent. The agent wants you to come to him,” Bull Head +replied in a low voice. “Get up quickly.”</p> + +<p>The chief lay for a time in thought. He saw the armed men +and knew them to be enemies. Across the room his wife was sleeping<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span> +with her children. Resistance would mean death. He did not +wish to die in her presence.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said, calmly, “I will go.” He partly rose. “But +I must dress. It is cold, I wish to wear my new overcoat. Let +me wake my wife to fetch it.”</p> + +<p>Bull Head, less savage than Shave Head, said: “Good. We +will wait,” but as the wife realized what these men had come to +do she began to wail, “They will take him away,” and this wakened +the children, who also began to cry.</p> + +<p>Soon many feet were heard running rapidly. Catching up +their blankets and concealing their rifles beneath their garments, +the “Silent Eaters” came hurrying to the rescue, not knowing +what was happening, but ready for battle.</p> + +<p>The whole camp was in a tumult before Bull Head could rush +The Sitting Bull to the threshold.</p> + +<p>One of the first of the old guard was The Bear Catcher, a man +of fiery resolution, who cried out in a loud voice: “They are +taking our chief. Let us prevent them.”</p> + +<p>Bull Head replied: “The agent has ordered it. Keep away!”</p> + +<p>Bear Catcher again cried: “Let us stop this thing,” and, flinging +aside his blanket, leveled his rifle at Bull Head and fired. The +renegade fell, but in falling shot the chief. At almost the same +instant Shave Head, recreant dog, seized the opportunity to put +a bullet into the great heart of my chief, who fell and died without +speaking a word, while the battle went on above his prostrate +body.</p> + +<p>For a time nothing could be heard but the shouts of the warring +ones and the crack of their guns. When it was ended eight of +the “Silent Eaters” lay dead beside their chief, and with them +fell four renegades who went to their tragic end under a mistaken +call of duty—to be forever execrated for slaying their chief at +the white man’s command.</p> + +<p>Taking shelter in the house, the other traitors killed the mute<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span> +son of the chief and were about to be burned out by the “Silent +Eaters” when the sound of a cannon on the hill announced the +coming of the soldiers. The renegades were saved by the bluecoats.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It is well that the body of my chief fell into the hands of his +honorable enemies, for it was being mutilated when the colonel +interfered. There were Sioux warriors so misbegotten that they +were ready to crush the dead lion’s helpless head, but the white +commander of the garrison took every precaution that the bones of +the chief should lie undisturbed in death.</p> + +<p>The post surgeon at Fort Yates received the body and prepared +it for burial. In the afternoon of the following day it was sewn +up in canvas and placed in a coffin and buried in the northeast +corner of the military cemetery, without ceremony and with few +to mourn, though far away my people were waiting in unappeasable +grief over the passing of their great leader.</p> + +<p>And so it is that in spite of vandal white men and traitorous +reds the dust of my chieftain lies undisturbed in a neglected corner +of a drear little military graveyard, near the Great Muddy River +which was the eastern boundary of his lands. The sod is hot with +untempered sun in summer, and piled with snow in winter, but in +early spring the wild roses bloom on the primeval sod above his +bones. No hand cares for the grave, no one visits it, and yet, nevertheless, +the name written on that whitewashed board is secure on +the walls of the red man’s pantheon, together with that of Red +Jacket and Tecumseh, Osceola and Black Hawk. Civilization +marches above his face, but the heel of the oppressor cannot wear +from the record of his race the name of “Ta-tank-yo-tanka,” +The Sitting Bull.</p> + +<p>He epitomized the epic, tragic story of my kind. His life spanned +the gulf between the days of our freedom and the death of every +custom native to us. He saw the invader come and he watched the +buffalo disappear. Within the half century of his conscious life<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span> +he witnessed greater changes and comprehended more of my +tribe’s tragic history than any other red man.</p> + +<p>These are the words of my father, the chief of the “Silent Eaters,” +and his voice was tremulous as he spoke them: “Ta-tank-yo-tanka +was a great chief and a good man. He had nothing bad about him. +He was ever peacemaker, and just and honorable in his dealings. +He cared only for the good of his people. He was unselfish and +careful of others. He will grow bigger like a mountain as he recedes +into the past. He was chief among red men and we shall never see +his like again. If the Great Spirit does not hate his red children, +our Father is happy in the home of the spirits—the land of the +returning buffalo.”</p> + + +<p class="p4 p4b pfs90">THE END</p> + + +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<div class="footnotes"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES:</h2> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> In Indian use the word “medicine” should be understood to mean magic power. A medicine +man may heal the sick, but a healer is not necessarily a medicine man. A medicine man is a seer, +a yogi.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> A substantially true account of an incident well-known to border men.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<div class="chapter"></div> + + <div class="box"> +<p class="center lsp"> +<span class="fs120">BOOKS ABOUT INDIANS</span><br> +<i>Published by</i></p> +<p class="center lsp">HARPER & BROTHERS</p> + +<p class="fs70 noindent">The House of Harper has won the deserved reputation of having on its list many +of the best books on the American Indian available—books of Indian history, lore and +romance, by such authorities as Frederic Remington, Hamlin Garland, Buffalo Bill (W. F. +Cody), and others. Readers of every age will find fascinating and valuable books about +Indians among those listed below.</p> + + <div class="blockquotx"> + +<p class="fs150">TRACK’S END <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">H. Carruth</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">One of the best adventure stories ever written, tells of a winter spent alone +by the boy hero in a mining camp, and his encounters with Indians and +wild beasts.</div> + +<p class="fs150">ADVENTURES OF BUFFALO BILL <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">W. F. Cody</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">The autobiography of Buffalo Bill. An authentic story of Indian Pioneer life.</div> + +<p class="fs150">OLD TIMES IN THE COLONIES <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">C. C. Coffin</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">A vivid picture of the early struggles of the colonists in America. The +accounts of Indian warfare make an unforgettable picture.</div> + +<p class="fs150">THE DEERSLAYER <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">James Fenimore Cooper</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">One of the most convincing stories of pioneer days when western New York +was our farthest frontier.</div> + +<p class="fs150">CAPTURED BY THE NAVAJOS <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Captain C. A. Curtis</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">An exciting story of early pioneer life with a sound historical background.</div> + +<p class="fs150">THE INDIANS’ BOOK <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">N. Curtis</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">A world-famous book of Indian music, art, and folk lore, obtained from the +Indians themselves. Contains actual reproductions of tribal songs, and of +art and the crafts.</div> + +<p class="fs150">BOOTS AND SADDLES <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Mrs. E. B. Custer</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">A thrilling account of the life on the plains. General Custer and his family +are the central figures.</div> + +<p class="fs150">INDIAN HISTORY FOR YOUNG FOLKS <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">F. S. Drake</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">A new edition of this book based on all histories of the Indians. The illustrations +by Henry Pitz have caught the spirit of the Indian and the romance +of his background.</div> + +<p class="fs150">BOOK OF THE AMERICAN INDIAN <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Hamlin Garland</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">Illustrated by Frederic Remington. A delightful book, part history and +part romance. Stories and sketches of Indian life by two men who knew and +loved the Indians.</div> + +<p class="fs150">CAPTAIN OF THE GRAY HORSE TROOP <span class="pad1"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Hamlin Garland</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">The romance of a young army officer placed in charge of the Indian reservation +at Fort Smith.</div> + +<p class="fs150">RED ARROW <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Elmer Gregor</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">Fiction based on a thorough knowledge of the life of the red man in the early +days of our country.</div> + + </div> + </div> + + +<div class="chapter"></div> + + <div class="box"> +<p class="center lsp"> +<span class="fs120">BOOKS ABOUT INDIANS</span><br> +<i>Published by</i></p> +<p class="p1b center lsp">HARPER & BROTHERS</p> + + <div class="blockquotx"> + +<p class="fs150">WAR PATH AND HUNTING TRAIL <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Elmer Gregor</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">A collection of short stories about Indian boys of different tribes.</div> + +<p class="fs150">THE VANISHING AMERICAN <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Zane Grey</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">An enlightening picture of the problems of the Indian to-day and his conflict +with modern civilization. Zane Grey’s greatest novel.</div> + +<p class="fs150">THE AZTEC TREASURE HOUSE <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">T. A. Janvier</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">An exciting tale of treasure hunting among the remains of a Mexican Indian +village.</div> + +<p class="fs150">FLAMINGO FEATHER <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Kirk Munroe</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">A classic bit of fiction based on a sure knowledge of Indian pioneer life.</div> + +<p class="fs150">CROOKED TRAILS <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Frederic Remington</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">A volume of true stories of early Western days, telling of battle with the +Indians and of bringing the law to the far end of civilization.</div> + +<p class="fs150">PONY TRACKS <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Frederic Remington</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">Real experiences with cowboys, Indians, and bandits, told in a narrative far +more vivid than fiction.</div> + +<p class="fs150">THE RED MUSTANG <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">W. O. Stoddard</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">Thrilling adventures with the Apache Indians.</div> + +<p class="fs150">TALKING LEAVES <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">W. O. Stoddard</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">The adventures of an Indian girl and her adopted white sister.</div> + +<p class="fs150">TWO ARROWS <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">W. O. Stoddard</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">The story of a young Indian boy and the efforts of his white friends to educate him.</div> + +<p class="fs150">THE BOOK OF INDIAN BRAVES <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Kate Sweetser</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">Collection of biographical sketches of famous Indians in early American history.</div> + +<p class="fs150">WITH LA SALLE THE EXPLORER <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Virginia Watson</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">An authentic account of the exploration of La Salle and his French followers. +Fiction and history fascinatingly interwoven.</div> + +<p class="fs150">RED PLUME <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Edward H. Williams</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">A story of a boy in the frontier settlement, of his capture by the Indians, and +of his dramatic escape.</div> + +<p class="fs150">RED PLUME RETURNS <span class="pad4"><i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Edward H. Williams</span></span></p> + +<div class="pad3">Further adventures of Dick Webster after his return to the frontier fort. +Tales of Indian warfare and hunting adventures.</div> + +<p class="fs150">BOYS’ BOOK OF INDIANS</p> + +<div class="pad3">Collection of short stories about Indians written by various famous authors.</div> + + </div> + </div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div> + +<div class="p4 transnote"> +<a id="TN"></a> +<p><strong>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE</strong></p> + +<p>Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been +corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within +the text and consultation of external sources.</p> + +<p>Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some added, +when a predominant preference was found in the original book.</p> + +<p>Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, +and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.</p> + +<p> +<a href="#tn-194">Pg 194</a>: ‘while our brethern’ replaced by ‘while our brethren’.<br> +<a href="#tn-200">Pg 200</a>: ‘ ut we come’ replaced by ‘But we come’.<br> +<a href="#tn-218">Pg 218</a>: ‘Will your break down’ replaced by ‘Will you break down’.<br> +<a href="#tn-219">Pg 219</a>: ‘of the widsom of’ replaced by ‘of the wisdom of’.<br> +<a href="#tn-219a">Pg 219</a>: ‘Menneconjous’ replaced by ‘Minneconjous’.<br> +</p> +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75161 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75161-h/images/cover.jpg b/75161-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0f79025 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_008fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_008fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6556c68 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_008fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_009fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_009fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1fe480 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_009fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_030fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_030fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e33780b --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_030fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_031fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_031fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b54fd4 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_031fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_042fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_042fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e9d2417 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_042fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_043fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_043fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..202e2a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_043fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_054fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_054fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4bec23 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_054fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_055fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_055fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b93cc6 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_055fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_072fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_072fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..029981a --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_072fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_073fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_073fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b0c68b2 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_073fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_080fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_080fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f6d1d6c --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_080fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_081fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_081fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..14489af --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_081fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_098fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_098fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e52724 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_098fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_099fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_099fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8618c28 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_099fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_116fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_116fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f60766d --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_116fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_122fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_122fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..36e162d --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_122fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_123fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_123fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a196ac --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_123fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_138fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_138fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8428d58 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_138fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_139fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_139fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a15ad2d --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_139fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_152fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_152fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..564d173 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_152fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_153fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_153fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b552700 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_153fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_174fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_174fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..eaf4d7b --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_174fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_175fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_175fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..660b16f --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_175fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_186fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_186fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7bfc5d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_186fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_187fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_187fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..15fe16d --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_187fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_200fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_200fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a4b49dd --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_200fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_201fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_201fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..df64a3a --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_201fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_212fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_212fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..80ed0c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_212fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_213fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_213fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5aab6b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_213fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_226fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_226fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bca155e --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_226fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_236fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_236fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..74b93f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_236fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_237fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_237fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..97936bd --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_237fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_260fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_260fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8074b7f --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_260fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_261fp.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_261fp.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea5e0c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_261fp.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5049905 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_icon.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_icon.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b8c12d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_icon.jpg diff --git a/75161-h/images/i_icon2.jpg b/75161-h/images/i_icon2.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d8b30c4 --- /dev/null +++ b/75161-h/images/i_icon2.jpg |
