Initial commitHEADmain

1 files changed, 10103 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/75161-0.txt b/75161-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9ac95a8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75161-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,10103 @@
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75161 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+  TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
+
+  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
+
+  Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have
+  been placed at the end of the book.
+
+  Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.
+
+
+
+
+THE BOOK OF THE
+AMERICAN INDIAN
+
+[Illustration: (icon)]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: An Indian Scout
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  A BUNCH OF BUCKSKINS
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published by_
+  R. H. RUSSELL, _1901_]
+
+
+
+
+                           THE BOOK OF THE
+                           AMERICAN INDIAN
+
+
+                              Written by
+                            HAMLIN GARLAND
+         _Member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters_
+
+                             Pictured by
+                          FREDERIC REMINGTON
+
+                 [Illustration: (Indian on a horse)]
+
+
+                    Harper & Brothers _Publishers_
+                         New York and London
+
+
+
+
+                           THE BOOK OF THE
+                           AMERICAN INDIAN
+
+
+                           Copyright, 1923
+                          By Hamlin Garland
+                        Printed in the U.S.A.
+
+
+
+
+                              CONTENTS
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+  WAHIAH—A SPARTAN MOTHER                                            1
+
+  NISTINA                                                           15
+
+  THE IRON KHIVA                                                    25
+
+  THE NEW MEDICINE HOUSE                                            39
+
+  RISING WOLF—GHOST DANCER                                          51
+
+  THE RIVER’S WARNING                                               67
+
+  LONE WOLF’S OLD GUARD                                             77
+
+  BIG MOGGASEN                                                      87
+
+  THE STORM-CHILD                                                   95
+
+  THE BLOOD LUST                                                   105
+
+  THE REMORSE OF WAUMDISAPA                                        113
+
+  A DECREE OF COUNCIL                                              121
+
+  DRIFTING CRANE                                                   127
+
+  THE STORY OF HOWLING WOLF                                        135
+
+  THE SILENT EATERS                                                159
+
+      I.     THE BEGINNINGS OF POWER                               159
+
+      II.    POLICY AND COUNCIL                                    168
+
+      III.   THE BATTLE OF THE BIG HORN                            173
+
+      IV.    DARK DAYS OF WINTER                                   189
+
+      V.     THE CHIEF SURRENDERS HIMSELF                          195
+
+      VI.    IN CAPTIVITY                                          204
+
+      VII.   HE OPPOSED ALL TREATIES                               215
+
+      VIII.  THE RETURN OF THE SPIRITS                             219
+
+      IX.    THE MESSAGE OF KICKING BEAR                           226
+
+      X.     THE DANCE BEGINS                                      232
+
+      XI.    THE BREAKING OF THE PEACE PIPE                        239
+
+      XII.   THE CHIEF PROPOSES A TEST                             252
+
+      XIII.  THE CHIEF PLANS A JOURNEY                             264
+
+      XIV.   THE DEATH OF THE CHIEF                                270
+
+
+
+
+                        LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  AN INDIAN SCOUT                                           _Frontis._
+
+  A KIOWA MAIDEN                                        _Facing p._  8
+
+  THE RED MAN’S PARCEL POST                                  ”       9
+
+  A COW-PUNCHER VISITING AN INDIAN VILLAGE                   ”      30
+
+  AN APACHE INDIAN                                           ”      31
+
+  AT AN APACHE INDIAN AGENCY                                 ”      42
+
+  THE ROMANTIC ADVENTURE OF OLD SUN’S WIFE                   ”      43
+
+  THE MEDICINE MAN’S SIGNAL                                  ”      54
+
+  THE GHOST DANCE                                            ”      55
+
+  ON AN INDIAN RESERVATION                                   ”      72
+
+  IN A STIFF CURRENT                                         ”      73
+
+  A MODERN COMANCHE INDIAN                                   ”      80
+
+  A BAND OF PIEGAN INDIANS IN THE MOUNTAINS                  ”      81
+
+  FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW                                     ”      98
+
+  GERONIMO AND HIS BAND RETURNING FROM A RAID IN
+      MEXICO                                                 ”      99
+
+  AN INDIAN BRAVE                                            ”     116
+
+  IN AN INDIAN CAMP                                          ”     122
+
+  CROW INDIANS FIRING INTO THE AGENCY                        ”     123
+
+  AN INDIAN TRAPPER                                          ”     138
+
+  A QUESTIONABLE COMPANIONSHIP                               ”     139
+
+  THE ARREST OF THE SCOUT                                    ”     152
+
+  AN INDIAN DUEL                                             ”     153
+
+  CHEYENNE SCOUTS PATROLLING THE BIG TIMBER OF THE
+      NORTH CANADIAN, OKLAHOMA                               ”     174
+
+  INDIANS RECONNOITERING FROM A MOUNTAIN-TOP                 ”     175
+
+  THE BRAVE CHEYENNES WERE RUNNING THROUGH THE
+      FROSTED HILLS                                          ”     186
+
+  CAMPAIGNING IN WINTER                                      ”     187
+
+  INDIANS AS SOLDIERS                                        ”     200
+
+  AN INDIAN DREAM                                            ”     201
+
+  BURNING THE RANGE                                          ”     212
+
+  AN OLD-TIME NORTHERN PLAINS INDIAN                         ”     213
+
+  AN INDIAN CHIEF                                            ”     226
+
+  A FANTASY FROM THE PONY WAR DANCE                          ”     236
+
+  CHIS-CHIS-CHASH SCOUT ON THE FLANKS                        ”     237
+
+  SCOUTS                                                     ”     260
+
+  ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN                                     ”     261
+
+
+
+
+WAHIAH—A SPARTAN MOTHER
+
+
+
+
+THE BOOK OF THE AMERICAN INDIAN
+
+
+
+
+WAHIAH—A SPARTAN MOTHER
+
+
+I
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 attempting to lead the nomads into the ways of the people of
+the plow.
+
+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!”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+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.
+
+“You see I have brought my son,” began the chief after Seger’s
+delighted greeting.
+
+“It is good. He will make a fine man.”
+
+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.”
+
+Seger was obstinate. “I will not take him. If he comes he must do as
+the rest—and he must obey me!”
+
+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.
+
+“No, no!” she wailed.
+
+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, weeping; let him be a
+small, red brave till to-morrow. I have given my word; I will bring
+him.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+II
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+The children looked at him as if he had gone crazy.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“I am going to have discipline,” said Seger, “or tan the jacket of
+every boy I’ve got.”
+
+Soon after this he met Tomacham and Tontonava, both men of great
+influence. After greeting him courteously Tomacham said:
+
+“I hear that you said you were going to whip our children. Is this
+true?”
+
+“It is!” answered Seger, curtly.
+
+“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.”
+
+“If the children act like mules I will whip them,” persisted Seger.
+“I punish only bad children—I do not beat good ones.”
+
+“It is not our custom to strike our children. Do you think we will
+permit white men to do so?” asked Tontonava, breathing hard.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“If we lose our children, then surely we are doomed to extinction,”
+Tomacham said.
+
+“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.
+
+But the graver men counseled patience and peace.
+
+“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.”
+
+“Then let us go to the school and frighten ‘Johnny Smoker’ so that he
+will not dare to whip any child,” cried Unko.
+
+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.”
+
+“No,” answered Unko. “Let us face him and command him to let our
+children alone. If he strikes my child he must die.”
+
+And to this many of the women cried out in piercing nasal tones: “Ah,
+that is good—do that!”
+
+But Wahiah, the mother of Atokan, looked at the ground and remained
+silent.
+
+
+III
+
+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.
+
+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 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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A Kiowa Maiden
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  THE WEST FROM A CAR WINDOW
+  _by_ Richard Harding Davis
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S WEEKLY, _May 14, 1892_]
+
+[Illustration: The Red Man’s Parcel Post
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  A PILGRIM ON THE GILA
+  _by_ Owen Wister
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _November, 1895_]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Meanwhile, Atokan strolled along the path, shooting his arrow at
+small objects on the ground, apparently oblivious of his teacher’s
+hastening footsteps.
+
+When within hearing Seger called: “You know the rules, Atokan. Why do
+you not answer the bell?”
+
+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.”
+
+“You must come now!”
+
+“You going whip me?”
+
+“Yes!”
+
+“Then I don’t come.”
+
+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:
+
+“My friend, what do you send your children to school for?”
+
+Taken by surprise, the chief hesitated. “To learn to read and write
+and speak like the white man.”
+
+“What do you think I am here for?”
+
+“To show our children the way,” he reluctantly answered. “But not to
+punish them.”
+
+Seger was addressing the women through the chief. “Do you think I can
+teach your children if they are out shooting birds?”
+
+“No, I do not think so.”
+
+“Do you think it would be honest if I took pay for teaching your
+children and let them run to camp all the time?”
+
+“No, I think it is necessary that the children be kept in school—but
+you must not whip them.”
+
+Seger faced Unko. “What kind of a person do you want to have teach
+your children—a liar?”
+
+“No, a liar is bad for them.”
+
+Unko saw the drift of Seger’s remarks, and he moved about uneasily,
+the butt of his pistol showing from beneath his blanket.
+
+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. 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!”
+
+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.
+
+“Will you obey me?” asked the master.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+Realizing his failure, Seger caught him with a wrestler’s twist,
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Atokan, will you obey me?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, sir,” the boy answered—his spirit broken.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+NISTINA
+
+
+
+
+NISTINA
+
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Hawk knew it, for they had often met at the river’s edge of a
+morning, when she came for water.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“I do not wish to marry,” she replied.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+Then she pretended to laugh, and said, “I am not sad,” and ran away.
+
+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:
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+She was living alone in a small hut on the river bank, and was not a
+good woman for Nistina to visit.
+
+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?”
+
+“Oh no; it is very easy,” Neeta replied, boastingly, and when Nistina
+went away her eyes were very thoughtful.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+Nistina did not waver. “Come, go with me.”
+
+With a smile on her face Neeta led the way to the office of the
+superintendent. “Professor Morten, I bring you a new scholar.”
+
+Morten, a tall, grave-faced man, looked up from his desk, and said:
+“Why, it’s Nistina! Good morning, Nistina.”
+
+“Mornin’,” said she, as well as she could.
+
+“She wants to go to school, eh? Well, better late than never,” he
+added, with a smile.
+
+“Tell him I want to work and earn money,” said Nistina.
+
+When Neeta interpreted this, the teacher exclaimed: “Well, well! This
+is most astonishing! Why, I thought she hated the white man’s ways!”
+
+“I think she want to marry white man,” remarked Neeta.
+
+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.”
+
+Neeta smiled broadly, quite unabashed. “I’m all settled down now—no
+more skylarking round. I’m keeping house.”
+
+“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.”
+
+To Nistina Neeta said, “He says he will let you help his squaw, and
+she will teach you how to read and write.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+When Neeta had explained what he said Nistina burst into a low cry,
+and, covering her face with her blanket, rushed away.
+
+“That’s the last you’ll see of her,” said Neeta, maliciously. “She
+likes the Indian ways best.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“It may be,” said her stepmother. “She does not open her heart to me.
+She talks no more than an owl.”
+
+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:
+
+  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.
+
+                                                            NISTINA.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“A letter!” exclaimed she. “Who is going to write you a letter?”
+
+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:
+
+“Don’t cry. I will go every day and ask, if you wish me to.”
+
+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.
+
+At last she composed another letter:
+
+  HAWK. 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.
+
+                                                            NISTINA.
+
+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.”
+
+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:
+
+“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.”
+
+“I am older. I am no longer a child,” she said, unsmilingly.
+
+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.
+
+“Here is your talking leaf,” she said. “Now I think you will laugh
+once more. Read it, for I am very curious.”
+
+But Nistina snatched the precious package and ran into her lodge, to
+be alone with her joy.
+
+It was a marvelous thing. There was the letter—a blue one—with her
+name spelled on it in big letters, _Nistina_, 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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“My letter is from Hawk,” she said, quietly. “He is coming home.”
+
+And at this message Macosa and Vetcora covered their mouths in sign
+of inexpressible astonishment.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+
+
+
+THE IRON KHIVA
+
+
+
+
+THE IRON KHIVA
+
+
+I
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+_Americano_ came in larger numbers year by year. He insisted that all
+Pueblan ways were wrong—only his were right.
+
+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
+view this house—and bring their children, and leave them to learn the
+white man’s ways.
+
+“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.”
+
+“We have come to teach you a new religion,” said the missionary.
+
+“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?”
+
+Then the brows of the men in black coats grew very stern, and they
+said:
+
+“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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+
+II
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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 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:
+
+“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 _boom_,
+_boom_, _boom_, a hundred times, and I will destroy you. These are
+the commands of my chief.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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!”
+
+
+III
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+[Illustration: A Cow-puncher Visiting an Indian Village
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  THE EVOLUTION OF THE COW-PUNCHER
+  _by_ Owen Wister
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _September, 1895_]
+
+[Illustration: An Apache Indian
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  SOME INDIAN RIDERS
+  _by_ Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A.
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _May, 1891_]
+
+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:
+
+“Our little ones came home last night, crying. They said you had
+threatened to carry them away into the East; what does this mean?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+
+IV
+
+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.”
+
+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?”
+
+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
+your other children must return to the Iron House each day as before.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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:
+
+“I do not believe it, you are deceiving me.”
+
+“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.
+
+“They are running,” said young Klee. “They are badly scared.”
+
+“Perhaps they go to Oraibi,” said one of the priests.
+
+“We have sent runners to all the villages. No, they are heading for
+the great desert.”
+
+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.
+
+“There they are!” cried Klee, the trailer.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+“There they are; go get them; my work is done!”
+
+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!”
+
+But Klee turned and said, “They are not sleeping—they are dead! I
+feel it.”
+
+With a sudden hoarse cry the father plunged down the hill and fell
+above the body of his son.
+
+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.
+
+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 blood of my
+son and go back to the white wolves who sent you. Leave us with our
+dead!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+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:
+
+“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.”
+
+“And so our sons died not in vain,” said Supela to Hozro, as they met
+on the mesa top.
+
+“Aye, but they are dead!” said Hozro, fiercely. “The going of the
+white man will not bring them back.”
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW MEDICINE HOUSE
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW MEDICINE HOUSE
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Why does she come here?” asked reflective old Tah-You, the sage of
+the camp on the Rosebud.
+
+“She comes to do you good, to give your children medicine when they
+are sick,” replied the subagent, speaking in signs.
+
+“She is not happy. Send her away. We do not need her. I am medicine
+giver.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+“More than this,” continued Tah-You, prompted by another, “the
+medicine woman drinks whisky in the night, and our children ought not
+to see that their medicine woman is a drunkard.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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
+of other people, but none whatever for their own. She thought “the
+government should force these Indians to come in and be treated.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: At an Apache Indian Agency
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  NATCHEZ’S PASS
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _February, 1901_]
+
+[Illustration: The Adventure of Old Sun’s Wife
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  CHARTERING A NATION
+  _by_ Julian Ralph
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _December, 1891_]
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“All right, Robert, I’ll watch with you to-night. I must go now, but
+I’ll come back at noon.”
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+When the agent came in the boy said: “Major, tell my mother. Let her
+come. Tell her I’m very sick, Major!”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+In vain Williams tried to tell her how faithful the nurse had been.
+She would not listen.
+
+“Father, let me take my son to the lodge. Then he will get well.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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!”
+
+The doctor laughed. “The old cuss might do him good. Who knows?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+The old man’s face fell and his lips worked as he watched the signs
+made by the white chief.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+The old man’s face grew tender. “I see now that you are our friend. I
+am content.”
+
+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.”
+
+“It will kill him to be moved,” said the nurse.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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 him ever farther from the
+world of the white man’s worry and unrest.
+
+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.”
+
+“I am glad,” said Williams.
+
+Tah-You blew a whiff from his pipe and said, with a spark of
+deep-seated humor in his glance:
+
+“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.”
+
+Williams laughed and turned toward the boy who lay looking out at the
+dear world with big, unwavering eyes. “Robert, how are you?”
+
+Slowly the boys lips shaped the whispered word, “Better.”
+
+“There is no place like home and mother when you’re sick, Robert.
+Hurry up and get well. I need you.”
+
+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.”
+
+“I will not let any one hurt him. Be at peace.”
+
+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.”
+
+To this, serene old Tah-You nodded: “He knows my medicine is very
+strong—for he is half red man.”
+
+
+
+
+RISING WOLF—GHOST DANCER
+
+
+
+
+RISING WOLF—GHOST DANCER
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“I am well brought up,” were his first words. “My father was chief
+medicine man[1] 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.
+
+“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.
+
+“My father made me the best bows, and my mother made pretty
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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:
+
+      “‘O Great Spirit!
+      I am a poor man.
+      I want to be wise.
+      I want to be big medicine man.
+      Help me, Great Spirit!
+      I want to be honored among my people.
+      Help me get blankets, horses.
+      Help me raise my children.
+      Help me live long,
+      Honored of my people.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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:
+
+“‘Make me a medicine man like Spotted Elk.’
+
+“He looked upon me and said:
+
+“‘My son, you are too young.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“I learned to make my own bows and also to make moccasins,
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.
+
+“All night I cried to the Great Spirits:
+
+      “‘Hear me—oh, hear me!
+      You are close beside me.
+      You are here in the tepee.
+      Hear me, for I am poor and weak.
+      I wish to be great medicine man.
+      I need horses, blankets. I am a boy.
+      I wish to be great and rich.
+      Hear me—oh, hear me!’
+
+“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.
+
+[Illustration: The Medicine Man’s Signal
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  THE SIOUX OUTBREAK IN SOUTH DAKOTA
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S WEEKLY, _January 24, 1891_]
+
+[Illustration: The Ghost Dance by the Ogallala Sioux at Pine Ridge
+Agency, Dakota, December, 1890
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  THE NEW INDIAN MESSIAH
+  _by_ Lieutenant Marion P. Maus, U.S.A.
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S WEEKLY, _December 6, 1890_]
+
+“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:
+
+“‘My son, I am glad to see you. I heard voices that were not yours
+calling in the tepee, and I was afraid.’
+
+“‘All is well,’ I said. ‘Give me food.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.’
+
+“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 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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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 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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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
+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:
+
+“‘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.
+
+“‘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.
+
+“‘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.
+
+“‘You have forgotten the ways of the fathers; therefore great
+distress is upon you. You must throw away all that the white man
+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.
+
+“‘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.’
+
+“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:
+
+“‘Oh, father, teach us the dance!’ and all the people sitting round
+said, ‘Good! teach us the dance!’
+
+“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:
+
+“‘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.’
+
+“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.
+
+“At last we reached home, and I called a big dance, and at the dance
+I told the people what I had seen, and they were very glad. ‘Teach us
+the dance,’ they cried to me.
+
+“‘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.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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?
+
+“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:
+
+      “Father, have pity on us.
+      We are crying for thirst—
+      All is gone!
+      We have nothing to eat,
+      Our Father, we are poor—
+      We are very poor.
+      The buffalo are gone,
+      They are all gone.
+      Take pity on us, O Father!
+      We are dancing as you wish,
+      Because you commanded us.
+      We dance hard—
+      We dance long.
+      Have pity!
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.
+
+      “Great Spirit, help us.
+      You are close by in the dark.
+      Hear us and help us.
+      Take away the white man.
+      Send back the buffalo.
+      We are poor and weak.
+      We can do nothing alone.
+      Help us to be as we once were,
+      Happy hunters of buffalo.
+
+“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.’
+
+“As the sun came near we all danced hard. My voice was almost gone.
+My feet were numb, my legs were weak, but my heart was big.
+
+“‘Oh, help us, Great Spirits,’ we cried in despair.
+
+      “‘Father, the morning star,
+      Father, the morning star,
+      Look on us!
+      Look on us, for we have danced till dawn;
+      Look on us, for we have danced until daylight.
+
+      Take pity on us,
+      O Father, the morning star!
+      Show us the road—
+      Our eyes are dark.
+
+      Show us our dead ones.
+      We cry and hold fast to you,
+      O morning star.
+      We hold out our hands to you and cry.
+      Help us, O Father!
+      We have sung till morning
+      The resounding song.’
+
+“But the sun came up, the soldiers fired a big gun, and the soldier
+chiefs laughed. Then the agent called to me,
+
+“‘Your Great Spirit can do nothing. Your Messiah lied.’
+
+“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.
+
+“‘Maybe he was right. Maybe the messenger was two-tongued and
+deceived us that the white man might laugh at us.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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 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.
+
+“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.’”
+
+
+
+
+THE RIVER’S WARNING
+
+
+
+
+THE RIVER’S WARNING
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.’
+
+“This made each one of them spring to his feet. ‘Good! Good!’ they
+said. ‘Lead us. We will follow. That is worth doing.’
+
+“‘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.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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.’”
+
+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.
+
+“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, _clank, clank, clunk-clank_. 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.
+
+“An Arapahoe stood there and I said in signs, ‘What do they do that
+for?’
+
+“He replied, ‘So that the horses can go over rocks without wearing
+off their hoofs.’
+
+“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?’
+
+“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.’
+
+“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?’
+
+“‘I want to see the agent.’
+
+“‘There he is; look at him,’ and he laughed.
+
+“The agent turned around and held out his hand. ‘How, how!’ he said.
+‘What is your name?’
+
+“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.’
+
+“‘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.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.’
+
+“They were all astonishment at this and some were instantly angry.
+‘Why not? What has changed your plan so suddenly?’
+
+“‘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.’
+
+“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.’”
+
+The old story teller was pitilessly dramatic in reciting the flood of
+ridicule and abuse poured out upon his head.
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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!’
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+[Illustration: On an Indian Reservation
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  THE WEST FROM A CAR WINDOW
+  _by_ Richard Harding Davis
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S WEEKLY, _May 14, 1892_]
+
+[Illustration: In a Stiff Current
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  TALKING MUSQUASH
+  _by_ Julian Ralph
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _March, 1892_]
+
+“‘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.
+
+“We had only a little dried beef to eat and the river water to drink,
+and my warriors were very hungry.
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.’
+
+“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.
+
+“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 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.
+
+“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: “_Peace, peace!
+You must go to war no more._” Come. We will ride away with clean
+hands and glad hearts.’”
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+LONE WOLF’S OLD GUARD
+
+
+
+
+LONE WOLF’S OLD GUARD
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“Boys,” he began, impressively, “we got to get out o’ here as 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.”
+
+This verdict carried the camp, and the party precipitately returned
+to Darlington to confer with the managers of the company.
+
+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:
+
+“Jack, can you put that line through?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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:
+
+“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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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 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.
+
+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:
+
+“What are you doing here?”
+
+“Running a line to mark out the land which the cattlemen have leased
+of the Cheyennes.”
+
+“We will go along and see where you are going,” they replied.
+
+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,
+
+“You noticed that these four men were armed, I reckon?”
+
+“Oh, yes, but they are all right. Didn’t you see how they shook hands
+all round? They’re just out hunting up ponies.”
+
+“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.”
+
+Pierce smiled, giving Seger a sidewise glance. “Are you getting
+nervous? If you are, you can drop to the rear.”
+
+Now Seger had lived for the larger part of his life among the red
+people, and knew their ways. He answered, quietly:
+
+“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,
+
+“We’ll just go along and see how you do it.”
+
+As they rode forward Seger uttered a more pointed warning.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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,
+
+“Stop; you must wait here till Lone Wolf comes.”
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A Modern Comanche Indian
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  SOME INDIAN RIDERS
+  _by_ Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A.
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _May, 1891_]
+
+[Illustration: A Band of Piegan Indians in the Mountains
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  SUN-DOWN’S HIGHER SELF
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _November, 1898_]
+
+“We can kill those who come,” said Lone Wolf. “They are few, but
+behind them are the soldiers and men who plough.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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,
+
+“Very well; then I will lead you.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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, 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.
+
+Halfway up the hill they met some of the young warriors. “Go bring
+all the white men to the council,” said Lone Wolf.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“I feel meaner about this than anything I ever did,” replied Speed,
+“but I am going to stay with the expedition.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+When this was interpreted to him, Pierce with a look of inquiry
+turned to Speed. “Tell the old fool this line is going to be run, and
+no old scarecrows like these can stop us.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“What does he say?” asked Pierce.
+
+“He says we must not go on.”
+
+“You tell him that he can’t run any such bluff on me with his old
+scarecrow warriors. This lines goes through.”
+
+Lone Wolf, tense and eager, asked, “What says the white chief?”
+
+“He says we must run the line.”
+
+Lone Wolf turned to his guard. “You may as well get ready,” he said,
+quietly.
+
+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.
+
+Speed drew his revolver-holster round to the front. “They’re going to
+fight,” he said. “Every man get ready!”
+
+But Seger, eager to avoid the appalling contest, cried out to Pierce:
+
+“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.”
+
+Into the hot mist of Pierce’s wrath came a realization that these old
+men were in mighty earnest. He hesitated.
+
+Lone Wolf saw his hesitation, and said: “If you are here by 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!”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+Seger turned to Lone Wolf. “The chief of the surveyors says: ‘Let us
+be friends. I will not run the line.’”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+BIG MOGGASEN
+
+
+
+
+BIG MOGGASEN
+
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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 pines where good
+grass grew and springs of water gushed from every cañon.
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+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.”
+
+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 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+One woman held up a big round silver piece, “You see this? 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.”
+
+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:
+
+“Friend, I do not know you but you are welcome. Come in and eat.”
+
+The old man entered and in due time Big Moggasen told his name and
+his errand and his fears.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“What is it?” he said to White-hairs in the Tinné tongue.
+
+“These are they from the mountains,” replied White-hairs. “This is
+Big Moggasen.”
+
+The Little Father rose and held out his hand, “How is your health?”
+
+Big Moggasen took his hand but coldly.
+
+“This is Tall-man and this Silver Arrow.”
+
+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?”
+
+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.”
+
+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?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“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.”
+
+Big Moggasen harshly replied: “I did not come to talk about school.”
+
+The answer was quick and stern: “But I did. You will get nothing
+until you send your children to me to be schooled.”
+
+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.”
+
+The Little Father remained calm. “It is true there are bad white men,
+but there are those who are good.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Then you can’t have any of the great fellow’s presents.”
+
+“Then I will go home as I came, hungry and cold,” replied the old
+man, wrapping his blanket around him.
+
+“To show that I am not angry,” said the Little Father. “I will give
+you something to eat on your way home.”
+
+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.”
+
+Turning abruptly he went out, followed by his companions and old
+White-hairs, whose face was very sad.
+
+
+
+
+THE STORM-CHILD
+
+
+
+
+THE STORM-CHILD
+
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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 herself
+before the feet of Waumdisapa. “My baby! My little boy is lost in the
+snow. O father, pity me—help me!”
+
+Quickly the chief questioned her. “Where?”
+
+“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!”
+
+The chief turned to her brothers (who had followed her and were
+looking on with sad faces) and said, “Is this true?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“The night is coming.”
+
+“No matter—search!” commanded the chief.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“No, no, father, I will stay with you,” she said.
+
+Swiftly the darkness fell upon the camp. The cold intensified. The
+tempest increased in violence, howling above the willows like 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.
+
+“They will bring him.”
+
+“The brave hunters will find your boy.”
+
+“They know no fear.”
+
+“They have sharp eyes.”
+
+“Their hearts are warm.”
+
+“They will rescue him.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“To lose one’s only child is sad. She has no man. She is alone.”
+
+“The sun-god has forsaken her,” said one old woman. “He is angry. She
+has neglected some sacrifice.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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 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.
+
+
+II
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“A white man comes—riding a pony and bearing something in his arms.
+He is within the camp circle!”
+
+[Illustration: Footprints in the Snow
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  WHEN A DOCUMENT IS OFFICIAL
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _September, 1899_]
+
+[Illustration: Geronimo and His Band Returning from a Raid in Mexico
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  BORDER TROUBLES
+  _by_ William M. Edwardy
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S WEEKLY, _August 18, 1888_]
+
+“Bring him to me!” commanded Waumdisapa. “I will know his errand.”
+
+To all this Oma paid little heed. What to her was any living
+creatures now that she was utterly bereaved?
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“I reckon that youngster’s gone to the right spot, chief. I thought
+he belonged to your band.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“I will send a messenger to say you are here. They shall also come to
+our feast.”
+
+“They may kill your messenger for we are at war.”
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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:
+
+“See! Oma is a widow. She already loves you. Stay with us and take
+her to wife.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+Waumdisapa followed him. “Friend, tell me your name.”
+
+“Your people call me ‘Blazing Hand,’” returned the young man.
+
+“Hah!” shouted the chief in surprise. “Blazing Hand! you are much
+admired among my men. You are swift to shoot.”
+
+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....”
+
+The young man lifted the door-flap. “_Addios_,” he said, fixing his
+eyes on Oma.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+
+
+
+THE BLOOD LUST
+
+
+
+
+THE BLOOD LUST
+
+
+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:
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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 had little dimpled
+hands, and when she put her arms about my neck my heart was like wax.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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——”
+
+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. 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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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 stream I gave her
+water to drink and bathed her wound, but it was of no avail—she died
+in my arms—”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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: “_After
+that I slept._”
+
+
+
+
+THE REMORSE OF WAUMDISAPA
+
+
+
+
+THE REMORSE OF WAUMDISAPA[2]
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+As the pipe came to Mattowan he, the traitor, passed it by with a
+gesture of contempt.
+
+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:
+
+“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——”
+
+“Aye, so he was,” said Mato.
+
+“He was a wise and good man also,” continued Waumdisapa.
+
+“Aye, aye,” chorused several of the old men.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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——”
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: An Indian Brave
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  A BUNCH OF BUCKSKINS
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published by_
+  R. H. RUSSELL, _1901_]
+
+For a minute Waumdisapa, tense and terrible in his anger, stood
+looking down upon his fallen calumniator—rigid, menacing, ready
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+A DECREE OF COUNCIL
+
+
+
+
+A DECREE OF COUNCIL
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Nothing was too small for his opponents to accept and nothing 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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: In an Indian Camp
+
+  _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.”_
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  SUN-DOWN LEFLARE’S WARM SPOT
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _September, 1898_]
+
+[Illustration: Crow Indians Firing into the Agency
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  THE TURBULENT CROWS
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S WEEKLY, _November 5, 1887_]
+
+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 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“The council has decreed,” was the stern answer, “and there is no
+appeal.”
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+“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.”
+
+Seger was very cautious. “What do the old chiefs say about it?”
+
+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.”
+
+“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, but if
+this old woman is as bad as Big Nose says, she is of no account.”
+
+White Shield, very quietly, replied, “Big Nose can never marry again.”
+
+“Why not?” inquired Seger, being interested in White Shield’s brevity
+and decision of utterance.
+
+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.”
+
+And from this decree there was no appeal.
+
+
+
+
+DRIFTING CRANE
+
+
+
+
+DRIFTING CRANE
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 the cold and snow with his
+cattle. Ask him why he does not drive his cattle home.”
+
+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.
+
+“How d’e do?” he said in reply. “Come in.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+The Indians smiled kindly, and drawing their blankets over their
+arms, went away toward the east.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Well, what d’ye think of it?” Wilson asked, with a smile.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Drifting Crane, how d’e do?”
+
+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 his
+broad, muscular body. There was a smileless gravity about his lips
+and eyes which was very impressive.
+
+“I’m glad to see you. Come in and get something to eat,” said Wilson,
+after a moment’s pause.
+
+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.
+
+“I don’t brag on my biscuits, chief, but they _eat_, 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?”
+
+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.
+
+“Cattleman, my young men brought me bad message from you. They
+brought your words to me, saying, he will not go away.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Who gave it away?” asked the chief. “My people were cheated out of
+it; they didn’t know what they were doing.”
+
+“I can’t help that; that’s for Congress to say. That’s the business
+of the Great Father at Washington.”
+
+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 they will fill the
+valley, and Drifting Crane and his people will be surrounded. The sod
+will all be black.”
+
+“I hope you’re right,” was the rancher’s grim reply.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+The chief rose. He was touched by the settler’s laugh; his eyes
+flashed; his voice took on a sterner note. “The white man _must_ go!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“You know this thing, chief?”
+
+The Indian nodded slightly.
+
+“Well, I’ll go when—this—is—empty.”
+
+“But my young men are many.”
+
+“So are the white men—my brothers.”
+
+The chief’s head dropped forward. Wilson, ashamed of his boasting,
+put the rifle back on the wall.
+
+“I’m not here to fight. You can kill me any time. You could ’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
+_got_ to be. You an’ I can’t help n’r hinder it.”
+
+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 _felt_ in him, something almost magnetic. He was a
+_man_; and a man of sorrows. The settler’s voice was husky when he
+spoke again, and his lips trembled.
+
+“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_cree_ 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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF HOWLING WOLF
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF HOWLING WOLF
+
+
+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.
+
+“Where have they gone?”
+
+“They gone to see it—their Ghost Dance Saviour,” explained Claude,
+the agency interpreter.
+
+“Who have gone?”
+
+Claude rapidly ran over the names, and ended with “Howling Wolf.”
+
+“Howling Wolf? Who is he? He isn’t on the rolls. I don’t know
+anything about him.”
+
+“He head man of Lizard Creek Camp.”
+
+“Why isn’t he on the rolls?”
+
+“He don’t get it—no rations.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“He is angry.”
+
+“Angry? What about?”
+
+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.
+
+A couple of cowboys came out of the door of the cabin and one pointed
+at the meditating man with derisive gestures. The other drew his
+revolver and said, “See me knock the hat off the old fool.”
+
+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.
+
+Springing to their horses the two ruffians galloped away with
+desperate haste.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+Captain Cook sat down and wrote a telegram to the agent of 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+Some weeks later Big Bear, the policeman, came in with the second
+announcement, “Howling Wolf come.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“How!” called Cook, pleasantly, extending his hand.
+
+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.
+
+“How—_how_!” called Cook again. “Are you deaf? What’s the matter with
+you? How!”
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+Angry and short of breath the agent stepped to the door.
+
+“Claude, come in here. Who is this man? What’s the matter with him?”
+
+“That Howling Wolf,” replied the interpreter, with evident fear.
+
+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.”
+
+They shook hands again, ceremoniously this time, and Howling Wolf
+withdrew in dignified reserve.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+Claude was shaking with fear, but regained composure as the young men
+withdrew.
+
+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?”
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: An Indian Trapper
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  SOME AMERICAN RIDERS
+  _by_ Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A.
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _May, 1891_]
+
+[Illustration: A Questionable Companionship
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  A QUESTIONABLE COMPANIONSHIP
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S WEEKLY, _August 9, 1890_]
+
+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 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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?
+
+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, here was this smiling
+man, his agent, waiting to hear what he had to say.
+
+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.”
+
+When he came two days later he met the agent with a smile. “How! My
+friend—How!” he said pleasantly.
+
+The agent took him to his inner office where none might hear and made
+the sign “Be seated.”
+
+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?”
+
+“Certainly,” replied the agent. “What shall it be?”
+
+The old man rose and with deep solemnity dictated these words to be
+mysteriously recorded in the white man’s wonderful tablet:
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+And he went out with the glow of good cheer upon his face.
+
+
+II
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The agent, hearing of this zeal of his convert, came down to see him
+and smilingly asked, “Why work so hard, Howling Wolf?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“Howling Wolf, you do me honor,” said the agent. “I shake your hand.
+You are now safely on the white man’s road.”
+
+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.”
+
+The teams laden with their skins had just passed the big red jaws of
+Bitterwood Cañon when a party of cowboys overtook them.
+
+“Hello there,” yelled one big fellow. “Where you going with those
+hides?”
+
+Howling Wolf heard the curses, but his heart was soft with newborn
+love for his enemies and he smilingly greeted his foes. “How! how!”
+
+“See the old seed grin. Let’s shoot him up a few and see him hustle.”
+
+“Oh come along, let ’em alone, Bill,” said one of the other men.
+
+“That’s old Howling Wolf,” put in the third man. “Better let him be.
+He’s a fighter.”
+
+“Are you old Howling Wolf?” asked Bill, riding alongside.
+
+Howling Wolf nodded and smiled again—though he understood only his
+name.
+
+“Fighter, are you?” queried the cowboy, “Eat men up—hey?”
+
+“How, how!” repeated the old man as pleasantly as he was able, though
+his eyes were growing stern.
+
+“I’d like to hand him out a package just for luck. He’s too
+good-natured. What say?”
+
+“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!”
+
+“Go to hell!” replied the driver, Harry Turtle, a Carlisle student.
+“You are a big fool.”
+
+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!”
+
+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 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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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——”
+
+Howling Wolf again understood only the curses, but he turned a calm
+face upon his enemy and extended his hand. “How? How, white man?”
+
+Bill spat into his hand.
+
+Quick as a flash Howling Wolf slapped the ruffian’s face. “Coyote!”
+he cried in his own tongue.
+
+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.
+
+Instantly the peaceful street became a place of savage outcry.
+
+“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.
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+“Hold on, boys! Wait a minute! This may be a courier. Be quiet now
+till I see.”
+
+He took the envelope and opened the paper while the crowd waited.
+“Read it Lannon.”
+
+Lannon read in a loud voice: “_I am Howling Wolf. Long I hated the
+white man. Now my heart is good._”
+
+A burst of derisive laughter interrupted the reader.
+
+“Oh, is it!”
+
+“Kill the old fool for luck!”
+
+“Lynch him.”
+
+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.
+
+He recoiled sharply as they came to the door of the jail. He knew
+what that meant. “I will not go!” he said. “Why do you put me in
+there? I have done nothing.”
+
+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:
+
+“Git in there or I’ll blow your head off.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+Harry Turtle went to the sheriff and said abruptly: “I want see
+Howling Wolf.”
+
+“You can’t see him,” replied the sheriff.
+
+“Why can’t I see him?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+They went out into the darkness and traveled all night very hard, and
+when morning came they were out of danger.
+
+When Turtle entered the agent’s office late next day he showed little
+sign of what he had been through.
+
+“Hello, Harry, I thought you went to town?”
+
+“I did. I got back. Heap trouble come.”
+
+“What’s matter?”
+
+“Cowboy fight Howling Wolf—Howling Wolf fight, too. White man get
+killed. Howling Wolf in calaboose. I come quick to tell you.”
+
+Cook grew grave. “Is that so, where are the other men?”
+
+“Outside.”
+
+“Bring ’em in, Claude,” he said to his interpreter. “You talk with
+these people and find out what it is all about.”
+
+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
+are allowed to cumber the earth. The State ought to slaughter them
+like wolves.”
+
+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.
+
+In the early morning he took Claude and went to the jail.
+
+The sheriff met him suavely. “Oh—certainly captain—you can see him,”
+he said, but his tone was insulting.
+
+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:
+
+“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.”
+
+When he had secured Wolf’s story in detail, the Major said, “Do not
+worry, Wolf, I will see that you are released.”
+
+To the sheriff he said: “What are you holding this man for?”
+
+“For shooting with intent to kill.”
+
+“But he didn’t shoot. He had no weapon. It is absurd.”
+
+“How do _you_ know he didn’t?”
+
+“Because all his companions say so; he says so.”
+
+“Oh! You’d take his word would you?”
+
+“Yes in a thing of that kind. Did you find a gun on him?”
+
+“No—but—”
+
+“What chance did he have for concealing it? Were you there when the
+shooting took place?”
+
+“No—but credible witnesses——”
+
+“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?”
+
+“I don’t believe it. You’ll take——”
+
+“It’s not your business to believe or disbelieve. Did you have a
+warrant to arrest Wolf?” asked the captain sternly.
+
+“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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“Very well, we’ll go to trial—but meanwhile release my man on parole.
+I’ll answer for him.”
+
+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——”
+
+“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
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+He gave her such comfort as he could and drove on mentally writing
+letters, which should make the townsmen writhe with shame of their
+inhumanity.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+He was not afraid of the soldier chiefs. They fought honorably. 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+He quietly followed the sheriff outside, but when he saw the
+handcuffs he rebelled and shook his head.
+
+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.”
+
+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:
+
+“If I am to die, I am ready; but I will die fighting.”
+
+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.”
+
+A man at the door of the drug store called jovially:
+
+“Where are you going, Mr. Sheriff?”
+
+“Out to see the ball game. I happened to have only this one prisoner
+so thought I’d take him along. Blowed if I’m going to miss the game
+for a greasy buck-Injun.”
+
+“Look out he don’t give you the slip.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: The Arrest of the Scout
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  MASSAI’S CROOKED TRAIL
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _January, 1898_]
+
+[Illustration: An Indian Duel
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  SUN-DOWN LEFLARE’S WARM SPOT
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _September, 1898_]
+
+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
+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.
+
+In the clamor of their breathless cursing and cries of hate a strong
+clear voice made itself heard—a vibrant manly voice:
+
+“STOP, _in the name o’ Christ_!” 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.
+
+“_Stand back!_ Are you fiends of hell? Where is your shame? A
+thousand to one! Is this your American chivalry? Oh, you cowards!”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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 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 _you_ 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“The man is alive!” said the doctor with a tone of awe. “Life is not
+extinct. Bring me some water.”
+
+“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!”
+
+“His heart is beating—and I think it grows stronger,” repeated the
+doctor as he fell to work with deft energy.
+
+“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:
+
+“Lord Jesus, grant me humbleness and patience with these people. Let
+my heart not harden with hate of this injustice.”
+
+Then, looking at the poor bruised body of Howling Wolf, he said:
+
+“O God, the pity of it! The pathos of it! His heart was good toward
+all men and they crushed him to earth!”
+
+They took Howling Wolf up, the priest received him in his house and
+cared for him and he lived—but so battered, so misshapen that his own
+wife did not know him.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE SILENT EATERS
+
+
+
+
+THE SILENT EATERS
+
+
+I
+
+THE BEGINNINGS OF POWER
+
+      I was born a soldier.
+      I have lived thus long.
+      In despite of all, I have lived thus long.
+                                      _——Sioux War Song._
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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. 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.”
+
+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?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+In this way was my chief _Ta-Tank-io-Tanka_, The Sitting Bull, 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 _coup_ 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.
+
+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:
+
+“We do not make reprisals upon our friends. We only take from our
+enemies,” and thereupon had led the horses back to their owners.
+
+In return for this good deed the Ogallallahs had made him a chief
+among them, though he took no part in their councils.
+
+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.
+
+Therefore nearly all the tribesmen were glad when he was made 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.
+
+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.’”
+
+In this way the white men first heard of The Sitting Bull.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+He laid aside all weapons—for this is the custom among the
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+“Take me to The Sitting Bull,” he said, and just then the chief
+looked from his lodge and said, “Bring him to me.”
+
+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?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+“That is a long tale,” said The Badger. “It is a story you must think
+about.”
+
+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 against these people. They are
+all-conquering. What can you do against magicians who create guns and
+knives and powder?”
+
+“I have no hate of them,” replied the chief. “All I ask is to be let
+alone.”
+
+“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.”
+
+The chief’s eyes flamed. “And if I refuse?”
+
+“Then he will send a long line of his horsemen to fetch you.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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: “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.”
+
+
+II
+
+POLICY AND COUNCIL
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+My chief’s policy remained as before. “Do not make war on the whites,
+but keep our territory clear of the Crows and Mandans.”
+
+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.
+
+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 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?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+I will tell you how this came about.
+
+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.”
+
+“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?”
+
+The captain laughed and mocked him and said, “We ride because our
+horses are fat and need exercise.”
+
+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 east of the
+Missouri. We can not afford to move again. It is necessary to make a
+stand.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+They said, “We come to buy the hills.”
+
+He replied, “I do not care to sell.”
+
+“We will pay well for the loan of the peaks—the high places where the
+gold is.”
+
+“I cannot lend; the hills belong to my people,” he said.
+
+“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 flood.
+Nothing can stop them; their eyes are fixed. You are fighting a
+losing battle.”
+
+“I will not sell,” he answered, and turned on his heel, and they too
+went away without success.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+
+III
+
+THE BATTLE OF THE BIG HORN
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+[Illustration: Cheyenne Scouts Patrolling the Big Timber of the North
+Canadian, Oklahoma
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  CHEYENNE SCOUTS IN OKLAHOMA
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S WEEKLY, _April 6, 1889_]
+
+[Illustration: Indians Reconnoitering from a Mountain-top
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  SUN-DOWN’S HIGHER SELF
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _November, 1898_]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+One day in midsummer—I remember it now with beating heart—just in
+the midst of our preparation for a dance, the cry arose: “_The white
+soldiers—they are coming!_ Get your horses!”
+
+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.
+
+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. All around
+me were hundreds of other young men and boys roping, bridling, and
+mounting the plunging ponies.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Once as I dashed near I caught a glimpse of the white soldiers,
+some kneeling, some standing, with their terrible guns ever ready,
+_crack_—_crack_—_crack_, while our warriors circled around them,
+dashing close in order to fire and retreating to reload. It seemed
+that some of the soldiers ran out of ammunition early, for they sat
+holding their guns without firing.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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 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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“_More soldiers are coming up the river—a mighty host in steamboats._”
+
+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.
+
+We camped that night in the hills far toward some great shining,
+snowy peaks, the like of which we had never seen.
+
+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 dead and
+retreated quickly down the Big Horn to the Yellowstone, followed by
+our scouts, who reported every movement to The Sitting Bull.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+Then the Cheyennes said: “We, too, have decided to return to our own
+land. We dread the desolate north.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+We were near the Missouri when Miles, the white chief, suddenly threw
+himself in our way and demanded a council.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Which of you is The Sitting Bull?” asked Colonel Miles.
+
+“I am,” replied the chief.
+
+“I am glad to meet you. You are a good warrior and a great leader.”
+
+To this my chief abruptly replied: “Why do you remain in my country?
+Why do you build a camp here?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“Why do you not come in and live quietly on your reservation at the
+Standing Rock?”
+
+“Because I am a red man and not an agency beggar. The 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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:
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+For two days Miles pushed us and we gave way. The white 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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+It was a solemn day for my race, a bitter moment for my chief. 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: The Brave Cheyennes Were Running Through the Frosted
+Hills
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  A SERGEANT OF THE ORPHAN TROOP
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _August, 1897_]
+
+[Illustration: Campaigning in Winter
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  A SERGEANT OF THE ORPHAN TROOP
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _August, 1897_]
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+One day as the old men sat in council a stranger, a friendly
+half-breed from the north, rose and said:
+
+“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 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+
+IV
+
+DARK DAYS OF WINTER
+
+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 on our
+trail. Many died and the cries of women never ceased. It was as if
+the Great Spirit had forgotten us.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“Why can’t I come home each night?” I asked.
+
+“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.”
+
+He took me to Father Julian and I began to read.
+
+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 Fort Peck,
+which was an agency for the Assiniboines, and so knew where the
+soldiers were at all times.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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?”
+
+The chief considered this carefully, but said nothing.
+
+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?”
+
+The chief broke forth passionately: “I did not leave the Black 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“Will you trade guns?”
+
+“No, I can’t do that.”
+
+“If we kill game we must have guns.”
+
+“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.”
+
+The Sitting Bull rose and took from his side his embroidered tobacco
+pouch.
+
+“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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+Many now said: “Let us go back. The buffalo are gone. We are helpless
+and our children starve while our brethren 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.”
+
+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.
+
+From my warm home with the priest, from the comfort and 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+V
+
+THE CHIEF SURRENDERS HIMSELF
+
+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.
+
+“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!”
+
+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, came, and
+The Sitting Bull called a council to sit with him, and some Canadian
+officers also were there.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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:
+
+      “I was born a soldier—
+      I have lived thus long.
+      Ah, I have lived to spend my days in poverty.”
+
+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 I could not
+blame his followers. They surrendered, not to the white man, but to
+the great forces of hunger and cold.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+Then his people all said, “No, we will go with you.”
+
+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.”
+
+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 Canadian
+territory, and led the way across the invisible wonderful line into
+the land of the bluecoats.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“I shall go to the white soldiers,” he said. “_They_ will know about
+my daughter. They are warriors, and warriors respect a chieftain.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.
+
+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 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.”
+
+Thereupon he showed us where to camp and issued rations to us, and,
+as we were all hungry, his kindness touched our hearts.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+Soon after this we went aboard the ship and began to move down the
+river.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 we were
+till the old men pointed out the landmarks and began to sing a sad
+song:
+
+      “We are returning, my brothers—
+      We are coming to see you,
+      But we come as captives.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: Indians as Soldiers
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustrations from_
+  INDIANS AS IRREGULAR CAVALRY
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S WEEKLY, _December 27, 1890_]
+
+[Illustration: An Indian Dream
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  HOW ORDER No. 6 WENT THROUGH
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _May, 1898_]
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Of him the chief abruptly asked, “Am I to be kept here all my life?”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“Is _that_ 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.
+
+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?”
+
+And so when one of the officers, Lieutenant Davies, saw me holding
+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.
+
+“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.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+“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 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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+VI
+
+IN CAPTIVITY
+
+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.
+
+My father complained also of the decreasing rations and said: “The
+agent’s memory is short; he has forgotten that these rations 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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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 akin to the wide skies, the brown
+hills, the west wind, and the smell of the lodge fire.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Wait, my friend. Where are you going so fast?”
+
+He turned his big glasses on me and said:
+
+“First of all, who are you that speak Lakota so badly?”
+
+“I am Iapi, the son of Shato.”
+
+“Ah!” he exclaimed, with a smile. “In that case you are getting back
+from school? I know you, for I am Red Thunder!”
+
+Red Thunder! I was silent with astonishment. A picture of 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:
+
+“Friend, you are changed since the council on the Powder River. I did
+not know you.”
+
+He took off his glasses and put aside his hat; his smile also passed
+away. He looked away to the west:
+
+“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.”
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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 prisoners and beggars. My
+heart was like lead as I reached the agency.
+
+It hurt me to do so, but I reported at once to the agent and asked
+leave to visit my father and mother.
+
+“They are expecting you,” he said. “You’ll find them camped just
+beyond the graveyard.”
+
+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!”
+
+Then her voice rose as she came hurrying to me, calling: “My son! My
+son has returned.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“Let us go down and see him to-night,” I replied, and for this reason
+we broke camp and started away across the plains.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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 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.
+
+He did not at first recognize me, but greeted my father, who, turning
+to me, said, “This is my son, returned from Washington.”
+
+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.”
+
+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?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+[Illustration: Burning the Range
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  BURNING THE RANGE
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S WEEKLY, _September 17, 1887_]
+
+[Illustration: An Old-Time Northern Plains Indian
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  SOME AMERICAN RIDERS
+  _by_ Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A.
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _May, 1891_]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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
+near I read. I wished to know what had taken place during the five
+years of my absence.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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.”
+
+The chief at last said, in answer to all similar requests, “I do not
+care to be on show.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+VII
+
+HE OPPOSED ALL TREATIES
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+Throwing off his lethargy, he became once more “the treaty chief.”
+Calling a council of all the head men he said to them:
+
+“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.”
+
+So they chose John Grass, Mad Bear, Chief Gall, and Big Head to
+speak, and went a few days later to meet the commissioners.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.”
+
+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.
+
+At last Gall, who sat beside the chief, spoke. “We are through. We
+are entirely finished.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+When the commissioners appeared at the Standing Rock they were
+triumphant through General Crook. Rations were short and 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.”
+
+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. Will you break down 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.”
+
+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.
+
+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——”
+
+But they were afraid of him and refused to hear him. “We want no more
+speaking. John Grass come forward and sign!”
+
+Grass went forward. The Sitting Bull cried out in a piercing voice:
+“_Do not sign!_ Let everybody follow me.”
+
+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 of the wisdom of the majority—for I knew the
+insatiable white man better than John Grass. To have rejected the
+treaty would have but delayed the end.
+
+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.
+
+“This is now the end,” he said, sorrowfully, to my father. “Nothing
+remains to us but a home in the Land of the Spirits.”
+
+
+VIII
+
+THE RETURN OF THE SPIRITS
+
+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.
+
+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 Minneconjous, 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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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?”
+
+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?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+“When he returns,” replied the chief, “tell him I wish to talk with
+him of this strange thing.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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?
+
+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, 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.
+
+
+IX
+
+THE MESSAGE OF KICKING BEAR
+
+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.
+
+“What do you want of The Sitting Bull?” he asked, with the authority
+of one of the old-time “Silent Eaters.”
+
+“We bring a message to him,” replied the head man. “I am Kicking
+Bear. Take us to him without delay.”
+
+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.
+
+“Father,” said my sire, “here are some men from the Cheyenne River to
+see you.”
+
+“I am Kicking Bear,” said the visitor, “for whom you sent.”
+
+[Illustration: An Indian Chief
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  A BUNCH OF BUCKSKINS
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published by_
+  R. H. RUSSELL, _1901_]
+
+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
+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.”
+
+The visitor’s voice was full of excitement, but well under control at
+first. He said:
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+“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 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.
+
+“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.”
+
+The Sitting Bull gave a startled exclamation: “Hoh! You saw the
+scars!”
+
+“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.’
+
+“‘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
+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.”’”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“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: _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._”
+
+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
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“But what proof is there of this? It is all a tale. It is as the
+sound of a pleasant breeze in the trees.”
+
+“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.”
+
+To this the chief made cautious reply: “We will not be hasty. Remain
+with us and we will talk further of these things.”
+
+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?”
+
+“The Father said that if all his words are obeyed he will cause the
+new earth to come with the springing grass.”
+
+“Do you believe this story?” asked the chief, pointedly.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“What causes your belief?”
+
+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.”
+
+“You speak of the destruction of the white people. How is that to be
+brought about?” asked the chief.
+
+“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:
+“_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!_”
+
+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.
+
+The Sitting Bull rose up quickly. “Hah! What is the meaning of this?”
+he asked, looking about him warily.
+
+“He has gone into a trance,” said one of the others. “He is even now
+in the spirit world. Do not touch him.”
+
+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.
+
+The Sitting Bull was deeply troubled. “We will talk of this
+to-morrow,” and he went away profoundly stirred by what he had seen.
+
+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. _You may teach us the dance._”
+
+
+X
+
+THE DANCE BEGINS
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 of this
+Saviour in the West. Certainly he could not forbid his people this
+comfort.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+There was something lofty in all this and it moved men very deeply
+and the chief listened intently to it all.
+
+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.
+
+“Nevertheless you must come and see this man. He is a wonderful
+magician. I do not understand him.”
+
+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.
+
+[Illustration: A Fantasy from the Pony War Dance
+
+  _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_
+  Departure for Battle. _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  CHARTERING A NATION
+  _by_ Julian Ralph
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _December, 1891_]
+
+[Illustration: Chis-Chis-Chash Scout On the Flanks
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  LIEUTENANT CASEY’S LAST SCOUT
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in
+  Pony Tracks_, Harper & Brothers, 1895]
+
+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:
+
+      “O great spirit in the west
+      Our Father,
+      Take pity on us. We are poor and weak.
+      Send us good tidings.
+      Help us to see the good land.
+      Help us to see our loved ones.”
+
+Then he began singing a song—a song of promise—and these were the
+words:
+
+      “The Father says so,
+      He has promised surely
+      You shall see your dead once more.
+      They will come to life again.
+      You shall see your kindred
+      Of the spirit land.
+      This the Father saith
+      To his faithful ones.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+      You shall reset the tepees.
+      You shall eat pemmican once more.
+      You shall hang up the buffalo meat.
+      And there shall be plenty everywhere.
+      You shall live and not die in the old world which returns anew.
+      You shall chase the buffalo.
+      You shall gayly race on the bright prairie.
+
+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.
+
+An old man, called Looking Eagle, suddenly rose and, stretching forth
+his hands, cried out in a thrilling voice:
+
+“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.”
+
+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:
+
+      “The whole world of the dead is returning.
+      Our nation is coming, is coming, is coming.
+      The eagle has brought us the message,
+      Bearing the word of the Father—
+      The word and the wish of the Father.
+      Over the glad new earth they are coming,
+      Our dead come driving the elk and the deer.
+      See them hurrying the herds of the bison.
+      This the Father has promised,
+      This the Father has given.”
+
+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 heard catching and trying the song. It was agonizing to hear. It
+strained every heart to bursting with longing and sadness.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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: ‘_All the people to the South are dancing my dance. Will the
+chief of all the Sioux walk behind his nation?_’”
+
+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.
+
+
+XI
+
+THE BREAKING OF THE PEACE PIPE
+
+A knowledge of the dance spread like flame throughout all the Grand
+River district, and young and old began to flock to The Sitting
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+I was very much alarmed by the order, and waited anxiously to learn
+what the chief would say. I feared his revolt.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+“Do you believe in it?” I asked.
+
+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.”
+
+“How do you know it was pemmican?”
+
+“I tasted it.”
+
+“Perhaps it was only beef.”
+
+“It may be so,” he said, but his eyes were still dim with dream.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+      “Our Father, we come.
+      We come to you weeping.
+      Take pity on us, O Father.
+      We are poor and weak,
+      Without you we can do nothing.
+      Help us, O Father.
+      Help us to see the old world,
+      The happy hunting ground of the buffalo,
+      The glorious land of our childhood.
+      Hear us, Great Spirit.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+My father looked troubled. “Do you come from the agent?”
+
+“Yes, he has heard of the dance and his orders are to stop it.”
+
+“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, ‘_Do not
+strike anyone_; leave all punishment to the Great Spirit?’ Go back
+and tell the agent there is no harm in it.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The interest was now very great. Waves of excitement seemed 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:
+
+      “There the Father comes,
+      There the Father comes,
+      Speaking as he flies.
+      Calling, as he comes, this joyous word,
+      ‘You shall live again,’ he calls,
+      ‘_You shall live beyond the grave_,’
+      He is calling as he comes.”
+
+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.
+
+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—_hah_!” until the frenzied one, convulsed and
+dreaming, fell into the ring and lay stiff and stark in the dirt.
+
+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.
+
+As I looked my heart contracted. It seemed that I was looking 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?
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+The song was no longer a cry—it had beautiful words. It grew more
+joyous:
+
+      “Do you see the world a-coming?
+      A new serener world is near.
+      The eagle brings the message to our tribe.
+      Thus the Father sayeth.
+      Covering all the plain they come,
+      The Buffalo and elk and deer.
+      The crow has brought the message to the tribe.
+      Thus the Father sayeth,
+      Thus he gives us cheer.”
+
+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:
+
+“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 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.”
+
+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.
+
+“What did you see?” asked Mato.
+
+“I saw my little one,” she replied.
+
+“Where was he? What was he doing?”
+
+“He was playing in the grass, in a beautiful country. My grandmother
+was near, cooking for him.”
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+“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; 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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The chief took his seat at the back of the lodge and said: “Speak. I
+listen.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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!”
+
+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?”
+
+I then replied: “_I_ do not come commanding these things. It is the
+agent who says them. Do not blame me.”
+
+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 will not give
+up the dance._’”
+
+In the hope of persuading him, I asked: “Do you believe in the dance?”
+
+“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.”
+
+“But that was long ago,” I hastened to say.
+
+“If such wonders happened then they can happen now,” he 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.”
+
+“He thinks it is a war dance,” I said. “He is afraid it will stir up
+strife.”
+
+“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.”
+
+I could see that his clear mind could not accept the new religion,
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+The chief looked less grim of lip and said to me, “Very well, Mato
+will go to-night.”
+
+“Good,” I said. “At ten o’clock to-night Bull Head and I will come to
+take them across the river.”
+
+My father and I went out and left him sitting alone.
+
+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:
+
+“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 _word_.” Then standing erect and in line the six
+messengers of the Messiah lifted the palms of their hands toward the
+west and prayed silently. A little later they began to sing this song:
+
+      “My children take this road,
+      My children go this way,
+        Says our Saviour.
+      It is a goodly road,
+        Says the Father;
+      It leads to joyous lands,
+        Says the Father.”
+
+As they sang the people began to cry out, “Stay and tell us more,”
+but Mato led the way out of the lodge.
+
+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.
+
+My chief’s last war with the white invader had begun.
+
+
+XII
+
+THE CHIEF PROPOSES A TEST
+
+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.
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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 did not refer to
+the breaking of his peace pipe, but he declined to give up the dance.
+
+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, ‘_If you wish to live
+join the dance I have given_.’ Whether this message is true or not I
+cannot yet tell. I am seeking proof.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+“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.”
+
+“That is it precisely,” replied the teacher. “See the kind of men
+who go into the trance. Your strong, clear-headed men do not believe.”
+
+“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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+“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.
+
+The line that divides the mysterious and the commonplace 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 they met their dead and they
+deeply resented the brutal order of the agent who would keep them
+from this sweet reunion.
+
+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!”
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+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?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+Unfortunately, a long letter he had written to Washington about “the
+Messiah craze” was given to the reporters, and the daily 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+He asked me to go as interpreter, and this I did, but very
+reluctantly, for it put me too much on his side.
+
+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 the terrible power of
+the President’s army, trembled as I saw the face of the agent blacken.
+
+“What foolery!” he said to me. “This has got to stop! Go tell The
+Sitting Bull to come to me.”
+
+I made my way to where the chief sat, and told him what the agent had
+demanded.
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+[Illustration: Scouts
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  MASSAI’S CROOKED TRAIL
+  _by_ Frederic Remington
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _January, 1898_]
+
+[Illustration: On the Little Big Horn
+
+  _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._
+
+  _Illustration from_
+  LITTLE BIG HORN MEDICINE
+  _by_ Owen Wister
+
+  _Originally published in_
+  HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _June, 1894_]
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+He greeted us with a low word and shook hands. We all sat about in
+the lodge. Few people were stirring.
+
+“Tell the chief I have come to talk with him about this dance,” began
+the agent.
+
+I told the chief, and he said: “Speak on, my ears are open.”
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+“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!”
+
+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 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.”
+
+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.
+
+“Tell him I refuse to consider that. It is as crazy as the dance. It
+would only be a waste of time.”
+
+I urged him to accept, for in the months to follow the excitement
+would die out, but he would not listen.
+
+“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.”
+
+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 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?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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?”
+
+This touched the chief to the quick, and he said, “I am not, but I do
+not desire trouble.”
+
+My father spoke and said: “Do not go. The white man will imprison you
+if you do.”
+
+Black Bull again shouted: “The white man is a liar! His tongue is
+double. He has set a trap. Will you walk into it?”
+
+The chief turned to me. “Is this true? Have they talked of putting me
+in prison?”
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+XIII
+
+THE CHIEF PLANS A JOURNEY
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+Thereupon he spoke to his “Silent Eaters” and said: “Put sentinels
+on the hills and keep watch on all that is done at the agency. Let no
+spy approach us.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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 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!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+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 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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Meanwhile the chief and his little band continued to test the new
+religion, but the Chief was not satisfied.
+
+“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?”
+
+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.
+
+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.”
+
+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?
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+It must have been in some such mood that he prepared for his long
+journey, while still the dance went on, and the white people accused
+him of leading a revolt.
+
+
+XIV
+
+THE DEATH OF THE CHIEF
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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 of them, for a new
+uniform and twenty dollars, would kill their blood relatives. Witness
+the so-called “scouts” of the army in Arizona.
+
+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.
+
+It would not seem strange to me if he had decided never to be taken
+from his people alive.
+
+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.”
+
+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.”
+
+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.
+
+As Bull Head laid a hand on him the chief opened his eyes and quietly
+asked. “What do you want?”
+
+“Be silent. The agent wants you to come to him,” Bull Head replied in
+a low voice. “Get up quickly.”
+
+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 with her
+children. Resistance would mean death. He did not wish to die in her
+presence.
+
+“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.”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The whole camp was in a tumult before Bull Head could rush The
+Sitting Bull to the threshold.
+
+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.”
+
+Bull Head replied: “The agent has ordered it. Keep away!”
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Taking shelter in the house, the other traitors killed the mute 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.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 he
+witnessed greater changes and comprehended more of my tribe’s tragic
+history than any other red man.
+
+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.”
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] 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.
+
+[2] A substantially true account of an incident well-known to border
+men.
+
+
+
+
+  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+
+  |                                                                      |
+  | BOOKS ABOUT INDIANS                                                  |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | _Published by_                                                       |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | HARPER & BROTHERS                                                    |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | 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.                                    |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | TRACK’S END                                        _by_ H. CARRUTH   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | 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.                                        |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | ADVENTURES OF BUFFALO BILL                         _by_ W. F. CODY   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | The autobiography of Buffalo Bill. An authentic story of Indian      |
+  | Pioneer life.                                                        |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | OLD TIMES IN THE COLONIES                        _by_ C. C. COFFIN   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | A vivid picture of the early struggles of the colonists in           |
+  | America. The accounts of Indian warfare make an unforgettable        |
+  | picture.                                                             |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | THE DEERSLAYER                          _by_ JAMES FENIMORE COOPER   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | One of the most convincing stories of pioneer days when western      |
+  | New York was our farthest frontier.                                  |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | CAPTURED BY THE NAVAJOS                  _by_ CAPTAIN C. A. CURTIS   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | An exciting story of early pioneer life with a sound historical      |
+  | background.                                                          |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | THE INDIANS’ BOOK                                   _by_ N. CURTIS   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | 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.                             |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | BOOTS AND SADDLES                           _by_ MRS. E. B. CUSTER   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | A thrilling account of the life on the plains. General Custer and    |
+  | his family are the central figures.                                  |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | INDIAN HISTORY FOR YOUNG FOLKS                    _by_ F. S. DRAKE   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | 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.                            |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | BOOK OF THE AMERICAN INDIAN                    _by_ HAMLIN GARLAND   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | 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.                              |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | CAPTAIN OF THE GRAY HORSE TROOP                _by_ HAMLIN GARLAND   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | The romance of a young army officer placed in charge of the          |
+  | Indian reservation at Fort Smith.                                    |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | RED ARROW                                        _by_ ELMER GREGOR   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | Fiction based on a thorough knowledge of the life of the red man     |
+  | in the early days of our country.                                    |
+  |                                                                      |
+  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+
+  | BOOKS ABOUT INDIANS                                                  |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | _Published by_                                                       |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | HARPER & BROTHERS                                                    |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | WAR PATH AND HUNTING TRAIL                       _by_ ELMER GREGOR   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | A collection of short stories about Indian boys of different         |
+  | tribes.                                                              |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | THE VANISHING AMERICAN                              _by_ ZANE GREY   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | An enlightening picture of the problems of the Indian to-day and     |
+  | his conflict with modern civilization. Zane Grey’s greatest novel.   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | THE AZTEC TREASURE HOUSE                        _by_ T. A. JANVIER   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | An exciting tale of treasure hunting among the remains of a          |
+  | Mexican Indian village.                                              |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | FLAMINGO FEATHER                                  _by_ KIRK MUNROE   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | A classic bit of fiction based on a sure knowledge of Indian         |
+  | pioneer life.                                                        |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | CROOKED TRAILS                             _by_ FREDERIC REMINGTON   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | 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.                                                        |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | PONY TRACKS                                _by_ FREDERIC REMINGTON   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | Real experiences with cowboys, Indians, and bandits, told in a       |
+  | narrative far more vivid than fiction.                               |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | THE RED MUSTANG                                _by_ W. O. STODDARD   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | Thrilling adventures with the Apache Indians.                        |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | TALKING LEAVES                                 _by_ W. O. STODDARD   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | The adventures of an Indian girl and her adopted white sister.       |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | TWO ARROWS                                     _by_ W. O. STODDARD   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | The story of a young Indian boy and the efforts of his white         |
+  | friends to educate him.                                              |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | THE BOOK OF INDIAN BRAVES                       _by_ KATE SWEETSER   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | Collection of biographical sketches of famous Indians in early       |
+  | American history.                                                    |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | WITH LA SALLE THE EXPLORER                    _by_ VIRGINIA WATSON   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | An authentic account of the exploration of La Salle and his          |
+  | French followers. Fiction and history fascinatingly interwoven.      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | RED PLUME                                  _by_ EDWARD H. WILLIAMS   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | A story of a boy in the frontier settlement, of his capture by       |
+  | the Indians, and of his dramatic escape.                             |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | RED PLUME RETURNS                          _by_ EDWARD H. WILLIAMS   |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | Further adventures of Dick Webster after his return to the           |
+  | frontier fort. Tales of Indian warfare and hunting adventures.       |
+  |                                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | BOYS’ BOOK OF INDIANS                                                |
+  |                                                                      |
+  | Collection of short stories about Indians written by various         |
+  | famous authors.                                                      |
+  |                                                                      |
+  +----------------------------------------------------------------------+
+
+
+
+
+  TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
+
+  Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
+  corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
+  the text and consultation of external sources.
+
+  Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some added,
+  when a predominant preference was found in the original book.
+
+  Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
+  and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.
+
+  Pg 194: ‘while our brethern’ replaced by ‘while our brethren’.
+  Pg 200: ‘ ut we come’ replaced by ‘But we come’.
+  Pg 218: ‘Will your break down’ replaced by ‘Will you break down’.
+  Pg 219: ‘of the widsom of’ replaced by ‘of the wisdom of’.
+  Pg 219: ‘Menneconjous’ replaced by ‘Minneconjous’.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75161 ***