[Illustration: Snana called loudly to her companion turnip-diggers. Frontispiece. _See page_ 123. ]

INDIAN CHILD LIFE

By

CHARLES A. EASTMAN

(_Ohiyesa_)

ILLUSTRATED BY

GEORGE VARIAN

BOSTONLITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY1915

_Copyright, 1913_, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 

_All rights reserved_

PrintersS. J. PARKHILL & CO. , BOSTON, U. S. A. 

Transcriber's Note: In the name "Hak[=a]dah" the [=a] represents an"a" with a macron above it. 

A LETTER TO THE CHILDREN

DEAR CHILDREN:--You will like to know that the man who wrote these truestories is himself one of the people he describes so pleasantly and solovingly for you. He hopes that when you have finished this book, theIndians will seem to you very real and very friendly. He is not willingthat all your knowledge of the race that formerly possessed thiscontinent should come from the lips of strangers and enemies, or thatyou should think of them as blood-thirsty and treacherous, as savageand unclean. 

War, you know, is always cruel, and it is true that there were sternfighting men among the Indians, as well as among your own forefathers. But there were also men of peace, men generous and kindly andreligious. There were tender mothers, and happy little ones, and a homelife that was pure and true. There were high ideals of loyalty andhonor. It will do you good and make you happier to read of thesethings. 

Perhaps you wonder how a "real, live Indian" could write a book. I willtell you how. The story of this man's life is itself as wonderful as afairy tale. Born in a wigwam, as he has told you, and early leftmotherless, he was brought up, like the little Hiawatha, by a goodgrandmother. When he was four years old, war broke out between hispeople and the United States government. The Indians were defeated andmany of them were killed. Some fled northward into Canada and tookrefuge under the British flag, among them the writer of this book, withhis grandmother and an uncle. His father was captured by the whites. 

After ten years of that wild life, now everywhere at an end, of whichhe has given you a true picture in his books, his father, whom the goodPresident Lincoln had pardoned and released from the military prison, made the long and dangerous journey to Canada to find and bring backhis youngest son. The Sioux were beginning to learn that the old lifemust go, and that, if they were to survive at all, they must follow"the white man's road, " long and hard as it looked to a free people. They were beginning to plow and sow and send their children to school. 

Ohiyesa, the Winner, as the boy was called, came home with his fatherto what was then Dakota Territory, to a little settlement of Siouxhomesteaders. Everything about the new life was strange to him, and atfirst he did not like it at all. He had thoughts of running away andmaking his way back to Canada. But his father, Many Lightnings, who hadbeen baptized a Christian under the name of Jacob Eastman, told himthat he, too, must take a new name, and he chose that of CharlesAlexander Eastman. He was told to cut off his long hair and put oncitizen's clothing. Then his father made him choose between going toschool and working at the plow. 

Ohiyesa tried plowing for half a day. It was hard work to break thetough prairie sod with his father's oxen and the strange implement theygave him. He decided to try school. Rather to his surprise, he likedit, and he kept on. His teachers were pleased with his progress, andsoon better opportunities opened to him. He was sent farther east to abetter school, where he continued to do well, and soon went higher. Inthe long summer vacations he worked, on farms, in shops and offices;and in winter he studied and played football and all the other gamesyou play, until after about fifteen or sixteen years he found himselfwith the diplomas of a famous college and a great university, aBachelor of Science, a Doctor of Medicine, and a doubly educatedman--educated in the lore of the wilderness as well as in some of thedeepest secrets of civilization. 

Since that day, a good many more years have passed. Ohiyesa, known asDoctor Charles A. Eastman, has now a home and six children of his ownamong the New England hills. He has hundreds of devoted friends of bothraces. He is the author of five books which have been widely read, someof them in England, France and Germany as well as in America, and hespeaks face to face to thousands of people every year. Perhaps some ofyou have heard from his own lips his recollections of wild life. Youmay find all the stories in this book, and many more of the same sort, in the books called "Indian Boyhood, " and "Old Indian Days, " publishedby Doubleday, Page and Company, of Garden City, L. I. , who have kindlyconsented to the publication of this little volume in order that thechildren in our schools might read stories of real Indians by a realIndian. 

CONTENTS

PART ONE

MY INDIAN CHILDHOOD

CHAPTER PAGE

 I. "THE PITIFUL LAST" 1

 II. EARLY HARDSHIPS 9

III. AN INDIAN SUGAR CAMP 19

 IV. GAMES AND SPORTS 26

 V. AN INDIAN BOY'S TRAINING 37

 VI. THE BOY HUNTER 48

VII. EVENING IN THE LODGE 58

PART TWO

STORIES OF REAL INDIANS

 I. WINONA'S CHILDHOOD 75

 II. WINONA'S GIRLHOOD 83

III. A MIDSUMMER FEAST 93

 IV. THE FAITHFULNESS OF LONG EARS 103

 V. SNANA'S FAWN 118

 VI. HAKADAH'S FIRST OFFERING 131

VII. THE GRAVE OF THE DOG 145

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Snana called loudly to her companion turnip-diggers _Frontispiece_

So he bravely jumped upon the nest PAGE 32

"Oh, what nice claws he has, uncle!" I exclaimed eagerly 69

He began to sing a dirge for him 140

PART ONE

MY INDIAN CHILDHOOD

I

"THE PITIFUL LAST"

What boy would not be an Indian for a while when he thinks of thefreest life in the world? This life was mine. Every day there was areal hunt. There was real game. 

No people have a better use of their five senses than the children ofthe wilderness. We could smell as well as hear and see. We could feeland taste as well as we could see and hear. Nowhere has the memory beenmore fully developed than in the wild life, and I can still see whereinI owe much to my early training. 

Of course I myself do not remember when I first saw the day, but mybrothers have often recalled the event with much mirth; for it was acustom of the Sioux that when a boy was born his brother must plungeinto the water, or roll in the snow naked if it was winter time; and ifhe was not big enough to do either of these himself, water was thrownon him. If the new-born had a sister, she must be immersed. The ideawas that a warrior had come to camp, and the other children mustdisplay some act of hardihood. 

I was so unfortunate as to be the youngest of five children who, soonafter I was born, were left motherless. I had to bear the humiliatingname "Hak[=a]dah, " meaning "the pitiful last, " until I should earn amore dignified and appropriate name. I was regarded as little more thana plaything by the rest of the children. 

The babe was done up as usual in a movable cradle made from an oakboard two and a half feet long and one and a half feet wide. On oneside of it was nailed with brass-headed tacks the richly embroideredsack, which was open in front and laced up and down with buckskinstrings. Over the arms of the infant was a wooden bow, the ends ofwhich were firmly attached to the board, so that if the cradle shouldfall the child's head and face would be protected. On this bow werehung curious playthings--strings of artistically carved bones and hoofsof deer, which rattled when the little hands moved them. 

In this upright cradle I lived, played, and slept the greater part ofthe time during the first few months of my life. Whether I was made tolean against a lodge pole or was suspended from a bough of a tree, while my grandmother cut wood, or whether I was carried on her back, orconveniently balanced by another child in a similar cradle hung on theopposite side of a pony, I was still in my oaken bed. 

This grandmother, who had already lived through sixty years ofhardships, was a wonder to the young maidens of the tribe. She showedno less enthusiasm over Hakadah than she had done when she held herfirst-born, the boy's father, in her arms. Every little attention thatis due to a loved child she performed with much skill and devotion. Shemade all my scanty garments and my tiny moccasins with a great deal oftaste. It was said by all that I could not have had more attention hadmy mother been living. 

Uncheedah (grandmother) was a great singer. Sometimes, when Hakadahwakened too early in the morning, she would sing to him something likethe following lullaby:

 Sleep, sleep, my boy, the Chippewas Are far away--are far away. Sleep, sleep, my boy; prepare to meet The foe by day--the foe by day! The cowards will not dare to fight Till morning break--till morning break. Sleep, sleep, my child, while still 'tis night; Then bravely wake--then bravely wake!

The Dakota women were wont to cut and bring their fuel from the woodsand, in fact, to perform most of the drudgery of the camp. This ofnecessity fell to their lot because the men must follow the game duringthe day. Very often my grandmother carried me with her on theseexcursions; and while she worked it was her habit to suspend me from awild grape vine or a springy bough, so that the least breeze wouldswing the cradle to and fro. 

She has told me that when I had grown old enough to take notice, I wasapparently capable of holding extended conversations in an unknowndialect with birds and red squirrels. Once I fell asleep in my cradle, suspended five or six feet from the ground, while Uncheedah was somedistance away, gathering birch bark for a canoe. A squirrel had foundit convenient to come upon the bow of my cradle and nibble his hickorynut, until he awoke me by dropping the crumbs of his meal. It was acommon thing for birds to alight on my cradle in the woods. 

After I left my cradle, I almost walked away from it, she told me. Shethen began calling my attention to natural objects. Whenever I heardthe song of a bird, she would tell me what bird it came from, somethingafter this fashion:

"Hakadah, listen to Shechoka (the robin) calling his mate. He says hehas just found something good to eat. " Or "Listen to Oopehanska (thethrush); he is singing for his little wife. He will sing his best. "When in the evening the whippoorwill started his song with vim, nofurther than a stone's throw from our tent in the woods, she would sayto me:

"Hush! It may be an Ojibway scout!"

Again, when I waked at midnight, she would say:

"Do not cry! Hinakaga (the owl) is watching you from the tree-top. "

I usually covered up my head, for I had perfect faith in mygrandmother's admonitions, and she had given me a dreadful idea of thisbird. It was one of her legends that a little boy was once standingjust outside of the teepee (tent), crying vigorously for his mother, when Hinakaga swooped down in the darkness and carried the poor littlefellow up into the trees. It was well known that the hoot of the owlwas commonly imitated by Indian scouts when on the war-path. There hadbeen dreadful massacres immediately following this call. Therefore itwas deemed wise to impress the sound early upon the mind of the child. 

Indian children were trained so that they hardly ever cried much in thenight. This was very expedient and necessary in their exposed life. Inmy infancy it was my grandmother's custom to put me to sleep, as shesaid, with the birds, and to waken me with them, until it became ahabit. She did this with an object in view. An Indian must always riseearly. In the first place, as a hunter, he finds his game best atdaybreak. Secondly, other tribes, when on the war-path, usually maketheir attack very early in the morning. Even when our people are movingabout leisurely, we like to rise before daybreak, in order to travelwhen the air is cool, and unobserved, perchance, by our enemies. 

As a little child, it was instilled into me to be silent and reticent. This was one of the most important traits to form in the character ofthe Indian. As a hunter and warrior it was considered absolutelynecessary to him, and was thought to lay the foundations of patienceand self-control. 

II

EARLY HARDSHIPS

One of the earliest recollections of my adventurous childhood is theride I had on a pony's side. I was passive in the whole matter. Alittle girl cousin of mine was put in a bag and suspended from the hornof an Indian saddle; but her weight must be balanced or the saddlewould not remain on the animal's back. Accordingly, I was put intoanother sack and made to keep the saddle and the girl in position! Idid not object, for I had a very pleasant game of peek-a-boo with thelittle girl, until we came to a big snow-drift, where the poor beastwas stuck fast and began to lie down. Then it was not so nice!

This was the convenient and primitive way in which some mothers packedtheir children for winter journeys. However cold the weather might be, the inmate of the fur-lined sack was usually very comfortable--at leastI used to think so. I believe I was accustomed to all the precariousIndian conveyances, and, as a boy, I enjoyed the dog-travaux ride asmuch as any. The travaux consisted of a set of rawhide strips securelylashed to the tent-poles, which were harnessed to the sides of theanimal as if he stood between shafts, while the free ends were allowedto drag on the ground. Both ponies and large dogs were used as beastsof burden, and they carried in this way the smaller children as well asthe baggage. 

This mode of travelling for children was possible only in the summer, and as the dogs were sometimes unreliable, the little ones were exposedto a certain amount of danger. For instance, whenever a train of dogshad been travelling for a long time, almost perishing with the heat andtheir heavy loads, a glimpse of water would cause them to forget alltheir responsibilities. Some of them, in spite of the screams of thewomen, would swim with their burdens into the cooling stream, and I wasthus, on more than one occasion, made to partake of an unwilling bath. 

I was a little over four years old at the time of the "Sioux massacre"in Minnesota. In the general turmoil, we took flight into BritishColumbia, and the journey is still vividly remembered by all ourfamily. A yoke of oxen and a lumber-wagon were taken from some whitefarmer and brought home for our conveyance. 

How delighted I was when I learned that we were to ride behind thosewise-looking animals and in that gorgeously painted wagon! It seemedalmost like a living creature to me, this new vehicle with four legs, and the more so when we got out of axle-grease and the wheels wentalong squealing like pigs!

The boys found a great deal of innocent fun in jumping from the highwagon while the oxen were leisurely moving along. My elder brotherssoon became experts. At last, I mustered up courage enough to join themin this sport. I was sure they stepped on the wheel, so I cautiouslyplaced my moccasined foot upon it. Alas, before I could realize whathad happened, I was under the wheels, and had it not been for theneighbor immediately behind us, I might have been run over by the nextteam as well. 

This was my first experience with a civilized vehicle. I cried out allpossible reproaches on the white man's team and concluded that adog-travaux was good enough for me. I was really rejoiced that we weremoving away from the people who made the wagon that had almost ended mylife, and it did not occur to me that I alone was to blame. I could notbe persuaded to ride in that wagon again and was glad when we finallyleft it beside the Missouri river. 

The summer after the "Minnesota massacre, " General Sibley pursued ourpeople across this river. Now the Missouri is considered one of themost treacherous rivers in the world. Even a good modern boat is notsafe upon its uncertain current. We were forced to cross inbuffalo-skin boats--as round as tubs!

The Washechu (white men) were coming in great numbers with their bigguns, and while most of our men were fighting them to gain time, thewomen and the old men made and equipped the temporary boats, bracedwith ribs of willow. Some of these were towed by two or three women ormen swimming in the water and some by ponies. It was not an easy matterto keep them right side up, with their helpless freight of littlechildren and such goods as we possessed. 

In our flight, we little folks were strapped in the saddles or held infront of an older person, and in the long night marches to get awayfrom the soldiers, we suffered from loss of sleep and insufficientfood. Our meals were eaten hastily, and sometimes in the saddle. Waterwas not always to be found. The people carried it with them in bagsformed of tripe or the dried pericardium of animals. 

Now we were compelled to trespass upon the country of hostile tribesand were harassed by them almost daily and nightly. Only the strictestvigilance saved us. 

One day we met with another enemy near the British lines. It was aprairie fire. We were surrounded. Another fire was quickly made, whichsaved our lives. 

One of the most thrilling experiences of the following winter was ablizzard, which overtook us in our wanderings. Here and there, a familylay down in the snow, selecting a place where it was not likely todrift much. For a day and a night we lay under the snow. Uncle stuck along pole beside us to tell us when the storm was over. We had plentyof buffalo robes and the snow kept us warm, but we found it heavy. After a time, it became packed and hollowed out around our bodies, sothat we were as comfortable as one can be under those circumstances. 

The next day the storm ceased, and we discovered a large herd ofbuffaloes almost upon us. We dug our way out, shot some of thebuffaloes, made a fire and enjoyed a good dinner. 

I was now an exile as well as motherless; yet I was not unhappy. Ourwanderings from place to place afforded us many pleasant experiencesand quite as many hardships and misfortunes. There were times of plentyand times of scarcity, and we had several narrow escapes from death. Insavage life, the early spring is the most trying time and almost allthe famines occurred at this period of the year. 

The Indians are a patient and a clannish people; their love for oneanother is stronger than that of any civilized people I know. If thiswere not so, I believe there would have been tribes of cannibals amongthem. White people have been known to kill and eat their companions inpreference to starving; but Indians--never!

In times of famine, the adults often denied themselves in order to makethe food last as long as possible for the children, who were not ableto bear hunger as well as the old. As a people, they can live withoutfood much longer than any other nation. 

I once passed through one of these hard springs when we had nothing toeat for several days. I well remember the six small birds whichconstituted the breakfast for six families one morning; and then we hadno dinner or supper to follow! What a relief that was to me--although Ihad only a small wing of a small bird for my share! Soon after this, wecame into a region where buffaloes were plenty, and hunger and scarcitywere forgotten. 

Such was the Indians' wild life! When game was to be had and the sunshone, they easily forgot the bitter experiences of the winter before. Little preparation was made for the future. They are children ofNature, and occasionally she whips them with the lashes of experience, yet they are forgetful and careless. Much of their suffering might havebeen prevented by a little calculation. 

During the summer, when Nature is at her best, and provides abundantlyfor the savage, it seems to me that no life is happier than his! Foodis free--lodging free--everything free! All were alike rich in thesummer, and, again, all were alike poor in the winter and early spring. However, their diseases were fewer and not so destructive as now, andthe Indian's health was generally good. The Indian boy enjoyed such alife as almost all boys dream of and would choose for themselves ifthey were permitted to do so. 

The raids made upon our people by other tribes were frequent, and wehad to be constantly on the watch. I remember at one time a nightattack was made upon our camp and all our ponies stampeded. Only a fewof them were recovered, and our journeys after this misfortune wereeffected mostly by means of the dog-travaux. 

The second winter after the massacre, my father and my two olderbrothers, with several others, were betrayed by a half-breed atWinnipeg to the United States authorities. As I was then living with myuncle in another part of the country, I became separated from them forten years. During all this time we believed that they had been killedby the whites, and I was taught that I must avenge their deaths as soonas I was able to go upon the war-path. 

III

AN INDIAN SUGAR CAMP

With the first March thaw the thoughts of the Indian women of mychildhood days turned promptly to the annual sugar-making. Thisindustry was chiefly followed by the old men and women and thechildren. The rest of the tribe went out upon the spring fur-hunt atthis season, leaving us at home to make the sugar. 

The first and most important of the necessary utensils were the hugeiron and brass kettles for boiling. Everything else could be made, butthese must be bought, begged or borrowed. A maple tree was felled and alog canoe hollowed out, into which the sap was to be gathered. Littletroughs of basswood and birchen basins were also made to receive thesweet drops as they trickled from the tree. 

As soon as these labors were accomplished, we all proceeded to the barksugar house, which stood in the midst of a fine grove of maples on thebank of the Minnesota river. We found this hut partially filled withthe snows of winter and the withered leaves of the preceding autumn, and it must be cleared for our use. In the meantime a tent was pitchedoutside for a few days' occupancy. The snow was still deep in thewoods, with a solid crust upon which we could easily walk; for weusually moved to the sugar house before the sap had actually started, the better to complete our preparations. 

My grandmother did not confine herself to canoe-making. She alsocollected a good supply of fuel for the fires, for she would not havemuch time to gather wood when the sap began to flow. Presently theweather moderated and the snow began to melt. The month of Aprilbrought showers which carried most of it off into the Minnesota river. Now the women began to test the trees--moving leisurely among them, axein hand, and striking a single quick blow, to see if the sap wouldappear. Trees, like people, have their individual characters; some wereready to yield up their life-blood, while others were more reluctant. Now one of the birchen basins was set under each tree, and a hardwoodchip driven deep into the cut which the axe had made. From the cornersof this chip--at first drop by drop, then, more freely--the saptrickled into the little dishes. 

It is usual to make sugar from maples, but several other trees werealso tapped by the Indians. From the birch and ash was made adark-colored sugar, with a somewhat bitter taste, which was used formedicinal purposes. The box-elder yielded a beautiful white sugar, whose only fault was that there was never enough of it!

A long fire was now made in the sugar house, and a row of brass kettlessuspended over the blaze. The sap was collected by the women in tin orbirchen buckets and poured into the canoes, from which the kettles werekept filled. The hearts of the boys beat high with pleasantanticipations when they heard the welcome hissing sound of the boilingsap! Each boy claimed one kettle for his especial charge. It was hisduty to see that the fire was kept under it, to watch lest it boilover, and finally, when the sap became sirup, to test it upon the snow, dipping it out with a wooden paddle. So frequent were these tests thatfor the first day or two we consumed nearly all that could be made; andit was not until the sweetness began to pall that my grandmother setherself in earnest to store up sugar for future use. She made it intocakes of various forms, in birchen molds, and sometimes in hollow canesor reeds, and the bills of ducks and geese. Some of it was pulverizedand packed in rawhide cases. Being a prudent woman, she did not give itto us after the first month or so, except upon special occasions, andit was thus made to last almost the year around. The smaller candieswere reserved as an occasional treat for the little fellows, and thesugar was eaten at feasts with wild rice or parched corn, and also withpounded dried meat. Coffee and tea, with their substitutes, were allunknown to us in those days. 

Every pursuit has its trials and anxieties. My grandmother's specialtribulations, during the sugaring season, were the upsetting andgnawing of holes in her birch-bark pans. The transgressors were therabbit and squirrel tribes, and we little boys for once became useful, in shooting them with our bows and arrows. We hunted all over the sugarcamp, until the little creatures were fairly driven out of theneighborhood. Occasionally one of my older brothers brought home arabbit or two, and then we had a feast. 

I remember on this occasion of our last sugar bush in Minnesota, that Istood one day outside of our hut and watched the approach of avisitor--a bent old man, his hair almost white, and carrying on hisback a large bundle of red willow, or kinnikinick, which the Indiansuse for smoking. He threw down his load at the door and thus salutedus: "You have indeed perfect weather for sugar-making. "

It was my great-grandfather, Cloud Man, whose original village was onthe shores of Lakes Calhoun and Harriet, now in the suburbs of the cityof Minneapolis. He was the first Sioux chief to welcome the Protestantmissionaries among his people, and a well-known character in thosepioneer days. He brought us word that some of the peaceful sugar-makersnear us on the river had been attacked and murdered by roving Ojibways. This news disturbed us not a little, for we realized that we too mightbecome the victims of an Ojibway war party. Therefore we all felt someuneasiness from this time until we returned heavy laden to our village. 

IV

GAMES AND SPORTS

The Indian boy was a prince of the wilderness. He had but very littlework to do during the period of his boyhood. His principal occupationwas the practice of a few simple arts in warfare and the chase. Asidefrom this, he was master of his time. 

It is true that our savage life was a precarious one, and full ofdreadful catastrophes; however, this never prevented us from enjoyingour sports to the fullest extent. As we left our teepees in themorning, we were never sure that our scalps would not dangle from apole in the afternoon! It was an uncertain life, to be sure. Yet weobserved that the fawns skipped and played happily while the graywolves might be peeping forth from behind the hills, ready to tear themlimb from limb. 

Our sports were molded by the life and customs of our people; indeed, we practiced only what we expected to do when grown. Our games werefeats with the bow and arrow, foot and pony races, wrestling, swimmingand imitation of the customs and habits of our fathers. We had shamfights with mud balls and willow wands; we played lacrosse, made warupon bees, shot winter arrows (which were used only in that season), and coasted upon the ribs of animals and buffalo robes. 

No sooner did the boys get together than, as a usual thing, theydivided into squads and chose sides; then a leading arrow was shot atrandom into the air. Before it fell to the ground a volley from thebows of the participants followed. Each player was quick to note thedirection and speed of the leading arrow and he tried to send his ownat the same speed and at an equal height, so that when it fell it wouldbe closer to the first than any of the others. 

It was considered out of place to shoot by first sighting the objectaimed at. This was usually impracticable in actual life, because theobject was almost always in motion, while the hunter himself was oftenupon the back of a pony at full gallop. Therefore, it was the off-handshot that the Indian boy sought to master. There was another game witharrows that was characterized by gambling, and was generally confinedto the men. 

The races were an every-day occurrence. At noon the boys were usuallygathered by some pleasant sheet of water, and as soon as the ponieswere watered, they were allowed to graze for an hour or two, while theboys stripped for their noonday sports. A boy might say to some otherwhom he considered his equal:

"I can't run; but I will challenge you to fifty paces. "

A former hero, when beaten, would often explain his defeat by saying:"I drank too much water. "

Boys of all ages were paired for a "spin, " and the little red mencheered on their favorites with spirit. 

As soon as this was ended, the pony races followed. All the speedyponies were picked out and riders chosen. If a boy declined to ride, there would be shouts of derision. 

Last of all came the swimming. A little urchin would hang to his pony'slong tail, while the latter, with only his head above water, glidedsportively along. Finally the animals were driven into a fine field ofgrass and we turned our attention to other games. 

The "mud-and-willow" fight was rather a severe and dangerous sport. Alump of soft clay was stuck on the end of a limber and springy willowwand and thrown as boys throw apples from sticks, with considerableforce. When there were fifty or a hundred players on each side, thebattle became warm; but anything to arouse the bravery of Indian boysseemed to them a good and wholesome diversion. 

Wrestling was largely indulged in by us all. It may seem odd, butwrestling was done by a great many boys at once--from ten to any numberon a side. It was really a battle, in which each one chose hisopponent. The rule was that if a boy sat down, he was let alone, but aslong as he remained standing within the field, he was open to anattack. No one struck with the hand, but all manner of tripping withlegs and feet and butting with the knees was allowed. Altogether it wasan exhausting pastime--fully equal to the American game of football, and only the young athlete could really enjoy it. 

One of our most curious sports was a war upon the nests of wild bees. We imagined ourselves about to make an attack upon the Ojibways or sometribal foe. We all painted and stole cautiously upon the nest; then, with a rush and war-whoop, sprang upon the object of our attack andendeavored to destroy it. But it seemed that the bees were always onthe alert and never entirely surprised, for they always raised quite asmany scalps as did their bold assailants! After the onslaught upon thenest was ended, we usually followed it by a pretended scalp dance. 

On the occasion of my first experience in this mode of warfare, therewere two other little boys who were also novices. One of themparticularly was really too young to indulge in an exploit of thatkind. As it was the custom of our people, when they killed or woundedan enemy on the battle-field, to announce the act in a loud voice, wedid the same. My friend, Little Wound (as I will call him, for I do notremember his name), being quite small, was unable to reach the nestuntil it had been well trampled upon and broken and the insects hadmade a counter charge with such vigor as to repulse and scatter ournumbers in every direction. However, he evidently did not want toretreat without any honors; so he bravely jumped upon the nest andyelled:

"I, the brave Little Wound, to-day kill the only fierce enemy!"

[Illustration: So he bravely jumped upon the nest. _Page 32. _]

Scarcely were the last words uttered when he screamed as if stabbed tothe heart. One of his older companions shouted:

"Dive into the water! Run! Dive into the water!" for there was a lakenear by. This advice he obeyed. 

When we had reassembled and were indulging in our mimic dance, LittleWound was not allowed to dance. He was considered not to be inexistence--he had been killed by our enemies, the Bee tribe. Poorlittle fellow! His swollen face was sad and ashamed as he sat on afallen log and watched the dance. Although he might well have styledhimself one of the noble dead who had died for their country, yet hewas not unmindful that he had _screamed_, and this weakness would beapt to recur to him many times in the future. 

We had some quiet plays which we alternated with the more severe andwarlike ones. Among them were throwing wands and snow-arrows. In thewinter we coasted much. We had no "double-rippers" or toboggans, butsix or seven of the long ribs of a buffalo, fastened together at thelarger end, answered all practical purposes. Sometimes a strip ofbass-wood bark, four feet long and about six inches wide, was used withconsiderable skill. We stood on one end and held the other, using theslippery inside of the bark for the outside, and thus coasting downlong hills with remarkable speed. 

The spinning of tops was one of the all-absorbing winter sports. Wemade our tops heart-shaped of wood, horn or bone. We whipped them witha long thong of buckskin. The handle was a stick about a foot long andsometimes we whittled the stick to make it spoon-shaped at one end. 

We played games with these tops--two to fifty boys at one time. Eachwhips his top until it hums; then one takes the lead and the restfollow in a sort of obstacle race. The top must spin all the waythrough. There were bars of snow over which we must pilot our top inthe spoon end of our whip; then again we would toss it in the air on toanother open spot of ice or smooth snow-crust from twenty to fiftypaces away. The top that holds out the longest is the winner. 

We loved to play in the water. When we had no ponies, we often hadswimming matches of our own, and sometimes made rafts with which wecrossed lakes and rivers. It was a common thing to "duck" a young ortimid boy or to carry him into deep water to struggle as best he might. 

I remember a perilous ride with a companion on an unmanageable log, when we were both less than seven years old. The older boys had put uson this uncertain bark and pushed us out into the swift current of theriver. I cannot speak for my comrade in distress, but I can say nowthat I would rather ride on a swift bronco any day than try to stay onand steady a short log in a river. I never knew how we managed toprevent a shipwreck on that voyage and to reach the shore. 

We had many curious wild pets. There were young foxes, bears, wolves, raccoons, fawns, buffalo calves and birds of all kinds, tamed byvarious boys. My pets were different at different times, but Iparticularly remember one. I once had a grizzly bear for a pet, and sofar as he and I were concerned, our relations were charming and veryclose. But I hardly know whether he made more enemies for me or I forhim. It was his habit to treat every boy unmercifully who injured me. 

V

AN INDIAN BOY'S TRAINING

Very early, the Indian boy assumed the task of preserving andtransmitting the legends of his ancestors and his race. Almost everyevening a myth, or a true story of some deed done in the past, wasnarrated by one of the parents or grand-parents, while the boy listenedwith parted lips and glistening eyes. On the following evening, he wasusually required to repeat it. If he was not an apt scholar, hestruggled long with his task; but, as a rule, the Indian boy is a goodlistener and has a good memory, so that the stories were tolerably wellmastered. The household became his audience, by which he wasalternately criticized and applauded. 

This sort of teaching at once enlightens the boy's mind and stimulateshis ambition. His conception of his own future career becomes a vividand irresistible force. Whatever there is for him to learn must belearned; whatever qualifications are necessary to a truly great man hemust seek at any expense of danger and hardship. Such was the feelingof the imaginative and brave young Indian. It became apparent to him inearly life that he must accustom himself to rove alone and not to fearor dislike the impression of solitude. 

It seems to be a popular idea that all the characteristic skill of theIndian is instinctive and hereditary. This is a mistake. All thestoicism and patience of the Indian are acquired traits, and continualpractice alone makes him master of the art of wood-craft. Physicaltraining and dieting were not neglected. I remember that I was notallowed to have beef soup or any warm drink. The soup was for the oldmen. General rules for the young were never to take their food veryhot, nor to drink much water. 

My uncle, who educated me up to the age of fifteen years, was a strictdisciplinarian and a good teacher. When I left the teepee in themorning, he would say: "Hakadah, look closely to everything you see";and at evening, on my return, he used often to catechize me for an houror so. 

"On which side of the trees is the lighter-colored bark? On which sidedo they have most regular branches?"

It was his custom to let me name all the new birds that I had seenduring the day. I would name them according to the color or the shapeof the bill or their song or the appearance and locality of thenest--in fact, anything about the bird that impressed me ascharacteristic. I made many ridiculous errors, I must admit. He thenusually informed me of the correct name. Occasionally I made a hit andthis he would warmly commend. 

He went much deeper into this science when I was a little older, thatis, about the age of eight or nine years. He would say, for instance:

"How do you know that there are fish in yonder lake?"

"Because they jump out of the water for flies at mid-day. "

He would smile at my prompt but superficial reply. 

"What do you think of the little pebbles grouped together under theshallow water? and what made the pretty curved marks in the sandybottom and the little sand-banks? Where do you find the fish-eatingbirds? Have the inlet and the outlet of a lake anything to do with thequestion?"

He did not expect a correct reply at once to all the questions that heput to me on these occasions, but he meant to make me observant and agood student of nature. 

"Hakadah, " he would say to me, "you ought to follow the example of theshunktokecha (wolf). Even when he is surprised and runs for his life, he will pause to take one more look at you before he enters his finalretreat. So you must take a second look at everything you see. 

"It is better to view animals unobserved. I have been a witness totheir courtships and their quarrels and have learned many of theirsecrets in this way. I was once the unseen spectator of a thrillingbattle between a pair of grizzly bears and three buffaloes--a rash actfor the bears, for it was in the moon of strawberries, when thebuffaloes sharpen and polish their horns for bloody contests amongthemselves. 

"I advise you, my boy, never to approach a grizzly's den from thefront, but to steal up behind and throw your blanket or a stone infront of the hole. He does not usually rush for it, but first puts hishead out and listens and then comes out very indifferently and sits onhis haunches on the mound in front of the hole before he makes anyattack. While he is exposing himself in this fashion, aim at his heart. Always be as cool as the animal himself. " Thus he armed me against thecunning of savage beasts by teaching me how to outwit them. 

"In hunting, " he would resume, "you will be guided by the habits of theanimal you seek. Remember that a moose stays in swampy or low land orbetween high mountains near a spring or lake, for thirty to sixty daysat a time. Most large game moves about continually, except the doe inthe spring; it is then a very easy matter to find her with the fawn. Conceal yourself in a convenient place as soon as you observe any signsof the presence of either, and then call with your birchen doe-caller. 

"Whichever one hears you first will soon appear in your neighborhood. But you must be very watchful, or you may be made a fawn of by a largewild-cat. They understand the characteristic call of the doe perfectlywell. 

"When you have any difficulty with a bear or a wild-cat--that is, ifthe creature shows any signs of attacking you--you must make him fullyunderstand that you have seen him and are aware of his intentions. Ifyou are not well equipped for a pitched battle, the only way to makehim retreat is to take a long sharp-pointed pole for a spear and rushtoward him. No wild beast will face this unless he is cornered andalready wounded. These fierce beasts are generally afraid of the commonweapon of the larger animals, --the horns, --and if these are very longand sharp, they dare not risk an open fight. 

"There is one exception to this rule--the gray wolf will attackfiercely when very hungry. But their courage depends upon theirnumbers; in this they are like white men. One wolf or two will neverattack a man. They will stampede a herd of buffaloes in order to get atthe calves; they will rush upon a herd of antelopes, for these arehelpless; but they are always careful about attacking man. "

Of this nature were the instructions of my uncle, who was widely knownat that time as among the greatest hunters of his tribe. 

All boys were expected to endure hardship without complaint. In savagewarfare, a young man must, of course, be an athlete and used toundergoing all sorts of privations. He must be able to go without foodand water for two or three days without displaying any weakness, or torun for a day and a night without any rest. He must be able to traversea pathless and wild country without losing his way either in the day ornight time. He cannot refuse to do any of these things if he aspires tobe a warrior. 

Sometimes my uncle would waken me very early in the morning andchallenge me to fast with him all day. I had to accept the challenge. We blackened our faces with charcoal, so that every boy in the villagewould know that I was fasting for the day. Then the little tempterswould make my life a misery until the merciful sun hid behind thewestern hills. 

I can scarcely recall the time when my stern teacher began to givesudden war-whoops over my head in the morning while I was sound asleep. He expected me to leap up with perfect presence of mind, always readyto grasp a weapon of some sort and to give a shrill whoop in reply. IfI was sleepy or startled and hardly knew what I was about, he wouldridicule me and say that I need never expect to sell my scalp dear. Often he would vary these tactics by shooting off his gun just outsideof the lodge while I was yet asleep, at the same time givingblood-curdling yells. After a time I became used to this. 

When Indians went upon the war-path, it was their custom to try the newwarriors thoroughly before coming to an engagement. For instance, whenthey were near a hostile camp, they would select the novices to goafter the water and make them do all sorts of things to prove theircourage. In accordance with this idea, my uncle used to send me offafter water when we camped after dark in a strange place. Perhaps thecountry was full of wild beasts, and, for aught I knew, there might bescouts from hostile bands of Indians lurking in that very neighborhood. 

Yet I never objected, for that would show cowardice. I picked my waythrough the woods, dipped my pail in the water and hurried back, alwayscareful to make as little noise as a cat. Being only a boy, my heartwould leap at every crackling of a dry twig or distant hooting of anowl, until, at last, I reached our teepee. Then my uncle would perhapssay: "Ah, Hakadah, you are a thorough warrior!" empty out the preciouscontents of the pail, and order me to go a second time. 

Imagine how I felt! But I wished to be a brave man as much as a whiteboy desires to be a great lawyer or even President of the UnitedStates. Silently I would take the pail and endeavor to retrace myfoot-steps in the dark. 

With all this, our manners and morals were not neglected. I was made torespect the adults and especially the aged. I was not allowed to joinin their discussions, nor even to speak in their presence, unlessrequested to do so. Indian etiquette was very strict, and among therequirements was that of avoiding the direct address. A term ofrelationship or some title of courtesy was commonly used instead of thepersonal name by those who wished to show respect. We were taughtgenerosity to the poor and reverence for the "Great Mystery. " Religionwas the basis of all Indian training. 

VI

THE BOY HUNTER

There was almost as much difference between the Indian boys who werebrought up on the open prairies and those of the woods, as between cityand country boys. The hunting of the prairie boys was limited and theirknowledge of natural history imperfect. They were, as a rule, goodriders, but in all-round physical development much inferior to the redmen of the forest. 

Our hunting varied with the season of the year, and the nature of thecountry which was for the time our home. Our chief weapon was the bowand arrows, and perhaps, if we were lucky, a knife was possessed bysome one in the crowd. In the olden times, knives and hatchets weremade from bone and sharp stones. 

For fire we used a flint with a spongy piece of dry wood and a stone tostrike with. Another way of starting fire was for several of the boysto sit down in a circle and rub two pieces of dry, spongy woodtogether, one after another, until the wood took fire. 

We hunted in company a great deal, though it was a common thing for aboy to set out for the woods quite alone, and he usually enjoyedhimself fully as much. Our game consisted mainly of small birds, rabbits, squirrels and grouse. Fishing, too, occupied much of our time. We hardly ever passed a creek or a pond without searching for somesigns of fish. When fish were present, we always managed to get some. Fish-lines were made of wild hemp, sinew or horse-hair. We eithercaught fish with lines, snared or speared them, or shot them with bowand arrows. In the fall we charmed them up to the surface by gentlytickling them with a stick and quickly threw them out. We havesometimes dammed the brooks and driven the larger fish into a willowbasket made for that purpose. 

It was part of our hunting to find new and strange things in the woods. We examined the slightest sign of life; and if a bird had scratched theleaves off the ground, or a bear dragged up a root for his morningmeal, we stopped to speculate on the time it was done. If we saw alarge old tree with some scratches on its bark, we concluded that abear or some raccoons must be living there. In that case we did not goany nearer than was necessary, but later reported the incident at home. An old deer-track would at once bring on a warm discussion as towhether it was the track of a buck or a doe. Generally, at noon, we metand compared our game, noting at the same time the peculiarcharacteristics of everything we had killed. It was not merely a hunt, for we combined with it the study of animal life. We also kept strictaccount of our game, and thus learned who were the best shots among theboys. 

I am sorry to say that we were merciless toward the birds. We oftentook their eggs and their young ones. My brother Chatanna and I oncehad a disagreeable adventure while bird-hunting. We were accustomed tocatch in our hands young ducks and geese during the summer, and whiledoing this we happened to find a crane's nest. Of course, we weredelighted with our good luck. But, as it was already midsummer, theyoung cranes--two in number--were rather large and they were a littleway from the nest; we also observed that the two old cranes were in aswampy place near by; but, as it was moulting-time, we did not supposethat they would venture on dry land. So we proceeded to chase the youngbirds; but they were fleet runners and it took us some time to come upwith them. 

Meanwhile, the parent birds had heard the cries of their little onesand come to their rescue. They were chasing us, while we followed thebirds. It was really a perilous encounter! Our strong bows finallygained the victory in a hand-to-hand struggle with the angry cranes;but after that we hardly ever hunted a crane's nest. Almost all birdsmake some resistance when their eggs or young are taken, but they willseldom attack man fearlessly. 

We used to climb large trees for birds of all kinds; but we neverundertook to get young owls unless they were on the ground. The hootingowl especially is a dangerous bird to attack under these circumstances. 

I was once trying to catch a yellow-winged woodpecker in its nest whenmy arm became twisted and lodged in the deep hole so that I could notget it out without the aid of a knife; but we were a long way from homeand my only companion was a deaf-mute cousin of mine. I was about fiftyfeet up in the tree, in a very uncomfortable position, but I had towait there for more than an hour before he brought me the knife withwhich I finally released myself. 

Our devices for trapping small animals were rude, but they were oftensuccessful. For instance, we used to gather up a peck or so of large, sharp-pointed burrs and scatter them in the rabbit's furrow-like path. In the morning, we would find the little fellow sitting quietly in histracks, unable to move, for the burrs stuck to his feet. 

Another way of snaring rabbits and grouse was the following: We madenooses of twisted horse-hair, which we tied very firmly to the top of alimber young tree, then bent the latter down to the track and fastenedthe whole with a slip-knot, after adjusting the noose. When the rabbitruns his head through the noose, he pulls the slip-knot and is quicklycarried up by the spring of the young tree. This is a good plan, forthe rabbit is out of harm's way as he swings high in the air. 

Perhaps the most enjoyable of all was the chipmunk hunt. We killedthese animals at any time of year, but the special time to hunt themwas in March. After the first thaw, the chipmunks burrow a hole throughthe snow crust and make their first appearance for the season. Sometimes as many as fifty will come together and hold a socialreunion. These gatherings occur early in the morning, from daybreak toabout nine o'clock. 

We boys learned this, among other secrets of nature, and got ourblunt-headed arrows together in good season for the chipmunkexpedition. 

We generally went in groups of six to a dozen or fifteen, to see whichwould get the most. On the evening before, we selected several boys whocould imitate the chipmunk's call with wild oat-straws and each ofthese provided himself with a supply of straws. 

The crust will hold the boys nicely at this time of the year. Brightand early, they all come together at the appointed place, from whicheach group starts out in a different direction, agreeing to meetsomewhere at a given position of the sun. 

My first experience of this kind is still well remembered. It was afine crisp March morning, and the sun had not yet shown himself amongthe distant tree-tops as we hurried along through the ghostly wood. Presently we arrived at a place where there were many signs of theanimals. Then each of us selected a tree and took up his positionbehind it. The chipmunk-caller sat upon a log as motionless as hecould, and began to call. 

Soon we heard the patter of little feet on the hard snow; then we sawthe chipmunks approaching from all directions. Some stopped and ranexperimentally up a tree or a log, as if uncertain of the exactdirection of the call; others chased one another about. 

In a few minutes, the chipmunk-caller was besieged with them. Some ranall over his person, others under him and still others ran up the treeagainst which he was sitting. Each boy remained immovable until theirleader gave the signal; then a great shout arose, and the chipmunks intheir flight all ran up the different trees. 

Now the shooting-match began. The little creatures seemed to realizetheir hopeless position; they would try again and again to come downthe trees and flee away from the deadly aim of the youthful hunters. But they were shot down very fast; and whenever several of them rushedtoward the ground, the little redskin hugged the tree and yelledfrantically to scare them up again. 

Each boy shoots always against the trunk of the tree, so that the arrowmay bound back to him every time; otherwise, when he had shot away allof them, he would be helpless, and another, who had cleared his owntree, would come and take away his game, so there was warm competition. Sometimes a desperate chipmunk would jump from the top of the tree inorder to escape, which was considered a joke on the boy who lost it anda triumph for the brave little animal. At last all were killed or gone, and then we went on to another place, keeping up the sport until thesun came out and the chipmunks refused to answer the call. 

VII

EVENING IN THE LODGE

I had been skating on that part of the lake where there was anoverflow, and came home somewhat cold. I cannot say just how cold itwas, but it must have been intensely so, for the trees were crackingall about me like pistol-shots. I did not mind, because I was wrappedup in my buffalo robe with the hair inside, and a wide leather beltheld it about my loins. My skates were nothing more than strips ofbasswood bark bound upon my feet. 

I had taken off my frozen moccasins and put on dry ones in theirplaces. 

"Where have you been and what have you been doing?" Uncheedah asked asshe placed before me some roast venison in a wooden bowl. "Did you seeany tracks of moose or bear?"

"No, grandmother, I have only been playing at the lower end of thelake. I have something to ask you, " I said, eating my dinner and suppertogether with all the relish of a hungry boy who has been skating inthe cold for half a day. 

"I found this feather, grandmother, and I could not make out what tribewear feathers in that shape. "

"Ugh, I am not a man; you had better ask your uncle. Besides, youshould know it yourself by this time. You are now old enough to thinkabout eagle feathers. "

I felt mortified by this reminder of my ignorance. It seemed areflection on me that I was not ambitious enough to have found all suchmatters out before. 

"Uncle, you will tell me, won't you?" I said, in an appealing tone. 

"I am surprised, my boy, that you should fail to recognize thisfeather. It is a Cree medicine feather, and not a warrior's. "

"Then, " I said, with much embarrassment, "you had better tell me again, uncle, the language of the feathers. I have really forgotten it all. "

The day was now gone; the moon had risen; but the cold had notlessened, for the trunks of the trees were still snapping all aroundour teepee, which was lighted and warmed by the immense logs whichUncheedah's industry had provided. My uncle, White Footprint, nowundertook to explain to me the significance of the eagle's feather. 

"The eagle is the most war-like bird, " he began, "and the most kinglyof all birds; besides, his feathers are unlike any others, and theseare the reasons why they are used by our people to signify deeds ofbravery. 

"It is not true that when a man wears a feather bonnet, each one of thefeathers represents the killing of a foe or even a _coup_. When a manwears an eagle feather upright upon his head, he is supposed to havecounted one of four _coups_ upon his enemy. "

"Well, then, a _coup_ does not mean the killing of an enemy?"

"No, it is the after-stroke or touching of the body after he falls. Itis so ordered, because oftentimes the touching of an enemy is much moredifficult to accomplish than the shooting of one from a distance. Itrequires a strong heart to face the whole body of the enemy, in orderto count the _coup_ on the fallen one, who lies under cover of hiskinsmen's fire. Many a brave man has been lost in the attempt. 

"When a warrior approaches his foe, dead or alive, he calls upon theother warriors to witness by saying: 'I, Fearless Bear, your brave, again perform the brave deed of counting the first (or second or thirdor fourth) _coup_ upon the body of the bravest of your enemies. 'Naturally, those who are present will see the act and be able totestify to it. When they return, the heralds, as you know, announcepublicly all such deeds of valor, which then become a part of the man'swar record. Any brave who would wear the eagle's feather must giveproof of his right to do so. 

"When a brave is wounded in the same battle where he counted his_coup_, he wears the feather hanging downward. When he is wounded, butmakes no count, he trims his feather, and in that case it need not bean eagle feather. All other feathers are merely ornaments. When awarrior wears a feather with a round mark, it means that he slew hisenemy. When the mark is cut into the feather and painted red, it meansthat he took the scalp. 

"A brave who has been successful in ten battles is entitled to awar-bonnet; and if he is a recognized leader, he is permitted to wearone with long, trailing plumes. Also those who have counted many_coups_ may tip the ends of the feathers with bits of white or coloreddown. Sometimes the eagle feather is tipped with a strip of weaselskin; that means the wearer had the honor of killing, scalping andcounting the first _coup_ upon the enemy all at the same time. 

"This feather you have found was worn by a Cree--it is indiscriminatelypainted. All other feathers worn by the common Indians mean nothing, "he added. 

"Tell me, uncle, whether it would be proper for me to wear any feathersat all if I have never gone upon the war-path. "

"You could wear any other kind of feathers, but not an eagle's, "replied my uncle, "although sometimes one is worn on great occasions bythe child of a noted man, to indicate the father's dignity andposition. "

The fire had gone down somewhat, so I pushed the embers together andwrapped my robe more closely about me. Now and then the ice on the lakewould burst with a loud report like thunder. Uncheedah was busyre-stringing one of uncle's old snow-shoes. There were two differentkinds that he wore; one with a straight toe and long; the other shorterand with an upturned toe. She had one of the shoes fastened toe down, between sticks driven into the ground, while she put in some newstrings and tightened the others. Aunt Four Stars was beading a newpair of moccasins. 

Wabeda, the dog, the companion of my boyhood days, was in troublebecause he insisted upon bringing his extra bone into the teepee, whileUncheedah was determined that he should not. I sympathized with him, because I saw the matter as he did. If he should bury it in the snowoutside, I knew Shunktokecha (the coyote) would surely steal it. I knewjust how anxious Wabeda was about his bone. It was a fat bone--I mean abone of a fat deer; and all Indians know how much better they are thanthe other kind. 

Wabeda always hated to see a good thing go to waste. His eyes spokewords to me, for he and I had been friends for a long time. When I wasafraid of anything in the woods, he would get in front of me at onceand gently wag his tail. He always made it a point to look directly inmy face. His kind, large eyes gave me a thousand assurances. When I wasperplexed, he would hang about me until he understood the situation. Many times I believed he saved my life by uttering the dog word intime. 

Most animals, even the dangerous grizzly, do not care to be seen whenthe two-legged kind and his dog are about. When I feared a surprise bya bear or a gray wolf, I would say to Wabeda: "Now, my dog, give yourwar-whoop!" and immediately he would sit up on his haunches and bark"to beat the band, " as you white boys say. When a bear or wolf heardthe noise, he would be apt to retreat. 

Sometimes I helped Wabeda and gave a war-whoop of my own. This drovethe deer away as well, but it relieved my mind. 

When he appealed to me on this occasion, therefore, I said: "Come, mydog, let us bury your bone so that no Shunktokecha will take it. "

He appeared satisfied with my suggestion, so we went out together. 

We dug in the snow and buried our bone wrapped up in a piece of oldblanket, partly burned; then we covered it up again with snow. We knewthat the coyote would not touch anything burnt. I did not put it up atree because Wabeda always objected to that, and I made it a point toconsult his wishes whenever I could. 

I came in and Wabeda followed me with two short rib bones in his mouth. Apparently he did not care to risk those delicacies. 

"There, " exclaimed Uncheedah, "you still insist upon bringing in somesort of bone!" but I begged her to let him gnaw them inside because itwas so cold. Having been granted this privilege, he settled himself atmy back and I became absorbed in some specially nice arrows that unclewas making. 

"Oh, uncle, you must put on three feathers to all of them so that theycan fly straight, " I suggested. 

"Yes, but if there are only two feathers, they will fly faster, " heanswered. 

"Woow!" Wabeda uttered his suspicions. 

"Woow!" he said again, and rushed for the entrance of the teepee. Hekicked me over as he went and scattered the burning embers. 

"En na he na!" Uncheedah exclaimed, but he was already outside. 

"Wow, wow, wow! Wow, wow, wow!"

A deep guttural voice answered him. Out I rushed with my bow and arrowsin my hand. 

"Come, uncle, come! A big cinnamon bear!" I shouted as I emerged fromthe teepee. 

Uncle sprang out, and in a moment he had sent a swift arrow through thebear's heart. The animal fell dead. He had just begun to dig upWabeda's bone, when the dog's quick ear had heard the sound. 

"Ah, uncle, Wabeda and I ought to have at least a little eaglet'sfeather for this! I too sent my small arrow into the bear before hefell, " I exclaimed. "But I thought all bears ought to be in theirlodges in the winter time. What was this one doing at this time of theyear and night?"

"Well, " said my uncle, "I will tell you. Among the tribes, some arenaturally lazy. The cinnamon bear is the lazy one of his tribe. Healone sleeps out of doors in the winter, and because he has not a warmbed, he is soon hungry. Sometimes he lives in the hollow trunk of atree, where he has made a bed of dry grass; but when the night is verycold, like to-night, he has to move about to keep himself fromfreezing, and as he prowls around, he gets hungry. "

We dragged the huge carcass within our lodge. "Oh, what nice claws hehas, uncle!" I exclaimed eagerly. "Can I have them for my necklace?"

[Illustration: "Oh, what nice claws he has, uncle!" I exclaimedeagerly. _Page 69. _]

"It is only the old medicine-men who wear them regularly. The son of agreat warrior who has killed a grizzly may wear them upon a publicoccasion, " he explained. 

"And you are just like my father and are considered the best hunteramong the Santees and Sissetons. You have killed many grizzlies, sothat no one can object to my bear's-claw necklace, " I said appealingly. 

White Foot-print smiled. "My boy, you shall have them, " he said, "butit is always better to earn them yourself. " He cut the claws offcarefully for my use. 

"Tell me, uncle, whether you could wear these claws all the time?" Iasked. 

"Yes, I am entitled to wear them, but they are so heavy anduncomfortable, " he replied, with a superior air. 

At last the bear had been skinned and dressed and we all resumed ourusual places. Uncheedah was particularly pleased to have some more fatfor her cooking. 

"Now, grandmother, tell me the story of the bear's fat. I shall be sohappy if you will, " I begged. 

"It is a good story and it is true. You should know it by heart andgain a lesson from it, " she replied. "It was in the forests ofMinnesota, in the country that now belongs to the Ojibways. From theBedawakanton Sioux village a young married couple went into the woodsto get fresh venison. The snow was deep; the ice was thick. Far away inthe woods they pitched their lonely teepee. The young man was awell-known hunter and his wife a good maiden of the village. 

"He hunted entirely on snow-shoes, because the snow was very deep. Hiswife had to wear snow-shoes too, to get to the spot where they pitchedtheir tent. It was thawing the day they went out, so their path wasdistinct after the freeze came again. 

"The young man killed many deer and bears. His wife was very busycuring the meat and trying out the fat while he was away hunting eachday. In the evenings she kept on trying the fat. He sat on one side ofthe teepee and she on the other. 

"One evening, she had just lowered a kettle of fat to cool, and as shelooked into the hot fat she saw the face of an Ojibway scout lookingdown at them through the smoke-hole. She said nothing, nor did shebetray herself in any way. 

"After a little she said to her husband in a natural voice:'Marpeetopah, some one is looking at us through the smoke-hole, and Ithink it is an enemy's scout. '

"Then Marpeetopah (Four-skies) took up his bow and arrows and began tostraighten and dry them for the next day's hunt, talking and laughingmeanwhile. Suddenly he turned and sent an arrow upward, killing theOjibway, who fell dead at their door. 

"'Quick, Wadutah!' he exclaimed; 'you must hurry home upon our trail. Iwill stay here. When this scout does not return, the war-party may comein a body or send another scout. If only one comes, I can soon dispatchhim and then I will follow you. If I do not do that, they will overtakeus in our flight. '

"Wadutah (Scarlet) protested and begged to be allowed to stay with herhusband, but at last she came away to get re-inforcements. 

"Then Marpeetopah (Four-skies) put more sticks on the fire so that theteepee might be brightly lit and show him the way. He then took thescalp of the enemy and proceeded on his track, until he came to theupturned root of a great tree. There he spread out his arrows and laidout his tomahawk. 

"Soon two more scouts were sent by the Ojibway war-party to see whatwas the trouble and why the first one failed to come back. He heardthem as they approached. They were on snow-shoes. When they came closeto him, he shot an arrow into the foremost. As for the other, in hiseffort to turn quickly his snow-shoes stuck in the deep snow anddetained him, so Marpeetopah killed them both. 

"Quickly he took the scalps and followed Wadutah. He ran hard. But theOjibways suspected something wrong and came to the lonely teepee, tofind all their scouts had been killed. They followed the path ofMarpeetopah and Wadutah to the main village, and there a great battlewas fought on the ice. Many were killed on both sides. It was afterthis that the Sioux moved to the Mississippi river. "

I was sleepy by this time and I rolled myself up in my buffalo robe andfell asleep. 

PART TWO

STORIES OF REAL INDIANS

I

WINONA'S CHILDHOOD

 Hush, hushaby, little woman! Be brave and weep not! The spirits sleep not; 'Tis they who ordain To woman, pain. 

 Hush, hushaby, little woman! Now, all things bearing, A new gift sharing From those above-- To woman, love. 

 _--Sioux Lullaby. _

"Chinto, wéyanna! Yes, indeed; she is a real little woman, " declaresthe old grandmother, as she receives and critically examines the tinybit of humanity. 

There is no remark as to the color of its hair or eyes, both so blackas almost to be blue, but the old woman scans sharply the delicateprofile of the baby face. 

"Ah, she has the nose of her ancestors! Lips thin as a leaf, and eyesbright as stars in midwinter!" she exclaims, as she passes on the furrybundle to the other grandmother for her inspection. 

"Tokee! she is pretty enough to win a twinkle from the evening star, "remarks that smiling personage. 

"And what shall her name be?

"Winona, the First-born, of course. That is hers by right of birth. "

"Still, it may not fit her. One must prove herself worthy in order toretain that honorable name. "

"Ugh, " retorts the first grandmother, "she can at least bear it onprobation!"

"Tosh, tosh, " the other assents. 

Thus the unconscious little Winona has passed the first stage of theIndian's christening. 

Presently she is folded into a soft white doeskin, well lined with theloose down of cattails, and snugly laced into an upright oaken cradle, the front of which is a richly embroidered buckskin bag, with porcupinequills and deer's hoofs suspended from its profuse fringes. This gaycradle is strapped upon the second grandmother's back, and thatdignitary walks off with the newcomer. 

"You must come with me, " she says. "We shall go among the father andmother trees, and hear them speak with their thousand tongues, that youmay know their language forever. I will hang the cradle of thewoman-child upon Utuhu, the oak; and she shall hear the love-sighs ofthe pine maiden!"

In this fashion Winona is introduced to nature and becomes at once"nature-born, " in accord with the beliefs and practices of the wild redman. 

The baby girl is called Winona for some months, when the medicine-manis summoned and requested to name publicly the first-born daughter ofChetonska, the White Hawk; but not until he has received a present of agood pony with a finely painted buffalo-robe. It is usual to conferanother name besides that of the "First-born, " which may be resumedlater if the maiden proves worthy. The name Winona implies much ofhonor. It means charitable, kind, helpful; all that an eldest sistershould be!

The herald goes around the ring of lodges announcing in singsongfashion the christening, and inviting everybody to a feast in honor ofthe event. A real American christening is always a gala occasion, whenmuch savage wealth is distributed among the poor and old people. Winonahas only just walked, and this fact is also announced with additionalgifts. A well-born child is ever before the tribal eye and in thetribal ear, as every little step in its progress toward manhood orwomanhood--the first time of walking or swimming, first shot with bowand arrow (if a boy), first pair of moccasins made (if a girl)--isannounced publicly with feasting and the giving of presents. 

So Winona receives her individual name of Tatiyopa, or Her Door. It issymbolic, like most Indian names, and implies that the door of thebearer is hospitable and her home attractive. 

The two grandmothers, who have carried the little maiden upon theirbacks, now tell and sing to her by turns all the legends of their mostnoted female ancestors, from the twin sisters of the old story, themaidens who married among the star people of the sky, down to their ownmothers. All their lullabies are feminine, and designed to impress uponher tender mind the life and duties of her sex. 

As soon as she is old enough to play with dolls, she plays mother inall seriousness and gravity. She is dressed like a miniature woman (andher dolls are clad likewise), in garments of doeskin to her ankles, adorned with long fringes, embroidered with porcupine quills, and dyedwith root dyes in various colors. Her little blanket or robe, withwhich she shyly drapes or screens her head and shoulders, is the skinof a buffalo calf or a deer, soft, white, embroidered on the smoothside, and often with the head and hoofs left on. 

"You must never forget, my little daughter, that you are a woman likemyself. Do always those things that you see me do, " her mother oftenadmonishes her. 

Even the language of the Sioux has its feminine dialect, and the tinygirl would be greatly abashed were it ever needful to correct her forusing a masculine termination. 

This mother makes for her little daughter a miniature copy of everyrude tool that she uses in her daily tasks. There is a little scraperof elk-horn to scrape raw-hides preparatory to tanning them, anotherscraper of a different shape for tanning, bone knives, and stonemallets for pounding choke-cherries and jerked meat. 

While her mother is bending over a large buffalo-hide stretched andpinned upon the ground, standing upon it and scraping off the fleshyportion as nimbly as a carpenter shaves a board with his plane, Winona, at five years of age, stands upon a corner of the great hide andindustriously scrapes away with her tiny instrument. When the motherstops to sharpen her tool, the little woman always sharpens hers also. Perhaps there is water to be fetched in bags made from the driedpericardium of an animal; the girl brings some in a smaller water-bag. When her mother goes for wood she carries one or two sticks on herback. She pitches her play teepee to form an exact copy of hermother's. Her little belongings are nearly all practical, and her veryplay is real!

II

WINONA'S GIRLHOOD

 Braver than the bravest, You sought honors at death's door; Could you not remember One who weeps at home-- Could you not remember me?

 Braver than the bravest, You sought honors more than love; Dear, I weep, yet I am not a coward; My heart weeps for thee-- My heart weeps when I remember thee!

 _--Sioux Love Song. _

The sky is blue overhead, peeping through window-like openings in aroof of green leaves. Right between a great pine and a birch tree theirsoft doeskin shawls are spread, and there sit two Sioux maidens amidtheir fineries--variously colored porcupine quills for embroidery laidupon sheets of thin birch-bark, and moccasin tops worked in colors likeautumn leaves. It is Winona and her friend Miniyata. 

They have arrived at the period during which the young girl iscarefully secluded from her brothers and cousins and future lovers, andretires, as it were, into the nunnery of the woods, behind a veil ofthick foliage. Thus she is expected to develop her womanly qualities. In meditation and solitude, entirely alone or with a chosen companionof her own sex and age, she gains a secret strength, as she studies theart of womanhood from nature herself. 

"Come, let us practise our sacred dance, " says one to the other. Eachcrowns her glossy head with a wreath of wild flowers, and they dancewith slow steps around the white birch, singing meanwhile the sacredsongs. 

Now upon the lake that stretches blue to the eastward there appears adistant canoe, a mere speck, no bigger than a bird far off against theshining sky. 

"See the lifting of the paddles!" exclaims Winona. 

"Like the leaping of a trout upon the water!" suggests Miniyata. 

"I hope they will not discover us, yet I would like to know who theyare, " remarks the other, innocently. 

The birch canoe approaches swiftly, with two young men plying the lightcedar paddles. 

The girls now settle down to their needle-work, quite as if they hadnever laughed or danced or woven garlands, bending over theirembroidery in perfect silence. Surely they would not wish to attractattention, for the two sturdy young warriors have already landed. 

They pick up the canoe and lay it well up on the bank, out of sight. Then one procures a strong pole. They lift a buck deer from thecanoe--not a mark upon it, save for the bullet wound; the deer looks asif it were sleeping! They tie the hind legs together and the fore legsalso and carry it between them on the pole. 

Quickly and cleverly they do all this; and now they start forward andcome unexpectedly upon the maidens' retreat! They pause for an instantin mute apology, but the girls smile their forgiveness, and the youthshurry on toward the village. 

Winona has now attended her first maidens' feast and is consideredeligible to marriage. She may receive young men, but not in public orin a social way, for such is not the custom of the Sioux. When hespeaks, she need not answer him unless she chooses. 

It was no disgrace to the chief's daughter in the old days to work withher hands. Indeed, their standard of worth was the willingness to work, but not for the sake of accumulation, only in order to give. Winona haslearned to prepare skins, to remove the hair and tan the skin of a deerso that it may be made into moccasins within three days. She has a bonetool for each stage of the conversion of the stiff rawhide into velvetyleather. She has been taught the art of painting tents and rawhidecases, and the manufacture of garments of all kinds. 

Generosity is a trait that is highly developed in the Sioux woman. Shemakes many moccasins and other articles of clothing for her malerelatives, or for any who are not well provided. She loves to see herbrother the best dressed among the young men, and the moccasinsespecially of a young brave are the pride of his woman-kind. 

Her own person is neatly attired, but ordinarily with great simplicity. Her doeskin gown has wide, flowing sleeves; the neck is low, but not solow as is the evening dress of society. 

Her moccasins are plain; her leggins close-fitting and not as high asher brother's. She parts her smooth, jet-black hair in the middle andplaits it in two. In the old days she used to do it in one plait woundaround with wampum. Her ornaments, sparingly worn, are beads, elks'teeth, and a touch of red paint. No feathers are worn by the woman, unless in a sacred dance. She is supposed to be always occupied withsome feminine pursuit or engaged in some social affair, which also isstrictly feminine as a rule. 

There is an etiquette of sitting and standing, which is strictlyobserved. The woman must never raise her knees or cross her feet whenseated. She seats herself on the ground sidewise, with both feet underher. 

Notwithstanding her modesty and undemonstrative ways, there is no lackof mirth and relaxation for Winona among her girl companions. 

In summer, swimming and playing in the water is a favorite amusement. She even imitates with the soles of her feet the peculiar, resonantsound that the beaver makes with her large, flat tail upon the surfaceof the water. She is a graceful swimmer, keeping the feet together andwaving them backward and forward like the tail of a fish. 

Nearly all her games are different from those of the men. She has asport of wand-throwing, which develops fine muscles of the shoulder andback. The wands are about eight feet long, and taper gradually from aninch and a half to half an inch in diameter. Some of them areartistically made, with heads of bone and horn, so that it isremarkable to what a distance they may be made to slide over theground. In the feminine game of ball, which is something like "shinny, "the ball is driven with curved sticks between two goals. It is playedwith from two or three to a hundred on a side, and a game between twobands or villages is a picturesque event. 

A common indoor diversion is the "deer's foot" game, played with sixdeer hoofs on a string, ending in a bone or steel awl. The object is tothrow it in such a way as to catch one or more hoofs on the point ofthe awl, a feat which requires no little dexterity. Another is playedwith marked plum-stones in a bowl, which are thrown like dice and countaccording to the side that is turned uppermost. 

Winona's wooing is a typical one. As with any other people, love-makingis more or less in vogue at all times of the year, but more especiallyat midsummer, during the characteristic reunions and festivities ofthat season. The young men go about usually in pairs, and the maidensdo likewise. They may meet by chance at any time of day, in the woodsor at the spring, but oftenest seek to do so after dark, just outsidethe teepee. The girl has her companion, and he has his, for the sake ofpropriety or protection. The conversation is carried on in a whisper, so that even these chaperons do not hear. 

At the sound of the drum on summer evenings, dances are begun withinthe circular rows of teepees, but without the circle the young menpromenade in pairs. Each provides himself with the plaintive flute andplays the simple cadences of his people, while his person is completelycovered with his fine robe, so that he cannot be recognized by thepasser-by. At every pause in the melody he gives his yodel-likelove-call, to which the girls respond with their musical, sing-songlaughter. 

Matosapa has improved every opportunity, until Winona has at last shylyadmitted her willingness to listen. For a whole year he has beencompelled at intervals to repeat the story of his love. Through theautumn hunting of the buffalo and the long, cold winter he oftenpresents her kinsfolk with his game. 

At the next midsummer the parents on both sides are made acquaintedwith the betrothal, and they at once begin preparations for the comingwedding. Provisions and delicacies of all kinds are laid aside for afeast. Matosapa's sisters and his girl cousins are told of theapproaching event, and they too prepare for it, since it is their dutyto dress or adorn the bride with garments made by their own hands. 

The bride is ceremoniously delivered to her husband's people, togetherwith presents of rich clothing, collected from all her clan, which sheafterward distributes among her new relations. Winona is carried in atravois handsomely decorated, and is received with equal ceremony. 

III

A MIDSUMMER FEAST

The Wahpetonwan village on the banks of the Minnesota river was alivewith the newly-arrived guests and the preparations for the comingevent. Meat of wild game had been put away with much care during theprevious fall in anticipation of this feast. There was wild rice andthe choicest of dried venison that had been kept all winter, as well asfreshly dug turnips, ripe berries and an abundance of fresh meat. 

Along the edge of the woods the teepees were pitched in groups orsemi-circles, each band distinct from the others. The teepee of Mankatoor Blue Earth was pitched in a conspicuous spot. Just over the entrancewas painted in red and yellow a picture of a pipe, and directlyopposite this the rising sun. The painting was symbolic of welcome andgood will to men under the bright sun. 

A meeting was held to appoint some "medicine-man" to make the ballsthat were to be used in the lacrosse contest; and presently the heraldannounced that this honor had been conferred upon old Chankpee-yuhah, or "Keeps the Club, " while every other man of his profession wasdisappointed. 

Towards evening he appeared in the circle, leading by the hand a boyabout four years old. Closely the little fellow observed every motionof the man; nothing escaped his vigilant black eyes, which seemedconstantly to grow brighter and larger, while his glossy black hair wasplaited and wound around his head like that of a Celestial. He wore abit of swan's down in each ear, which formed a striking contrast withthe child's complexion. Further than this, the boy was paintedaccording to the fashion of the age. He held in his hands a miniaturebow and arrows. 

The medicine-man drew himself up in an admirable attitude, andproceeded to make his short speech:

"Wahpetonwans, you boast that you run down the elk; you can outrun theOjibways. Before you all, I dedicate to you this red ball. Kaposias, you claim that no one has a lighter foot than you; you declare that youcan endure running a whole day without water. To you I dedicate thisblack ball. Either you or the Leaf-Dwellers will have to drop your eyesand bow your head when the game is over. I wish to announce that if theWahpetonwans should win, this little warrior shall bear the nameOhiyesa (winner) through life; but if the Light Lodges should win, letthe name be given to any child appointed by them. "

The ground selected for the great game was on a narrow strip of landbetween a lake and the river. It was about three quarters of a milelong and a quarter of a mile in width. The spectators had alreadyranged themselves all along the two sides, as well as at the two ends, which were somewhat higher than the middle. The soldiers appointed tokeep order furnished much of the entertainment of the day. They paintedartistically and tastefully, according to the Indian fashion, not onlytheir bodies but also their ponies and clubs. They were so strict inenforcing the laws that no one could venture with safety within a fewfeet of the limits of the field. 

Now all of the minor events and feasts, occupying several days' time, had been observed. Heralds on ponies' backs announced that all whointended to participate in the final game were requested to repair tothe ground; also that if any one bore a grudge against another, he wasimplored to forget his ill-feeling until the contest should be over. 

The most powerful men were stationed at the half-way ground, while thefast runners were assigned to the back. It was an impressive spectaclea fine collection of agile forms, almost stripped of garments andpainted in wild imitation of the rainbow and sunset sky on humancanvas. Some had undertaken to depict the Milky Way across their tawnybodies, and one or two made a bold attempt to reproduce the lightning. Others contented themselves with painting the figure of some fleetanimal or swift bird on their muscular chests. 

At the middle of the ground were stationed four immense men, magnificently formed. A fifth approached this group, paused a moment, and then threw his head back, gazed up into the sky in the manner of acock and gave a smooth, clear operatic tone. Instantly the little blackball went up between the two middle rushers, in the midst of yells, cheers and war-whoops. Both men endeavored to catch it in the air; butalas! each interfered with the other; then the guards on each siderushed upon them. For a time, a hundred lacrosse sticks vied with eachother, and the wriggling human flesh and paint were all one could seethrough the cloud of dust. Suddenly there shot swiftly through the airtoward the south, toward the Kaposias' goal, the ball. There was ageneral cheer from their adherents, which echoed back from the whitecliff on the opposite side of the Minnesota. 

As the ball flew through the air, two adversaries were ready to receiveit. The Kaposia quickly met the ball, but failed to catch it in hisnetted bag, for the other had swung his up like a flash. Thus it struckthe ground, but had no opportunity to bound up when a Wahpeton pouncedupon it like a cat and slipped out of the grasp of his opponents. Amighty cheer thundered through the air. 

The warrior who had undertaken to pilot the little sphere was riskingmuch, for he must dodge a host of Kaposias before he could gain anyground. He was alert and agile; now springing like a panther, nowleaping like a deer over a stooping opponent who tried to seize himaround the waist. Every opposing player was upon his heels, while thoseof his own side did all in their power to clear the way for him. But itwas all in vain. He only gained fifty paces. 

Thus the game went. First one side, then the other would gain anadvantage, and then it was lost, until the herald proclaimed that itwas time to change the ball. No victory was in sight for either side. 

After a few minutes' rest, the game was resumed. The red ball was nowtossed in the air in the usual way. No sooner had it descended than oneof the rushers caught it and away it went northward; again it wasfortunate, for it was advanced by one of the same side. The scene wasnow one of the wildest excitement and confusion. At last, the northwardflight of the ball was checked for a moment and a desperate struggleensued. 

The ball had not been allowed to come to the surface since it reachedthis point, for there were more than a hundred men who scrambled forit. Suddenly a warrior shot out of the throng like the ball itself!Then some of the players shouted: "Look out for Antelope!" But it wastoo late. The little sphere had already nestled into Antelope's palmand that fleetest of Wahpetons had thrown down his lacrosse stick andset a determined eye upon the northern goal. 

Such a speed! He had cleared almost all the opponents' guards--therewere but two more. These were exceptional runners of the Kaposias. Ashe approached them in his almost irresistible speed, every savage heartthumped louder in the Indian's dusky bosom. In another moment therewould be a defeat for the Kaposias or a prolongation of the game. Thetwo men, with a determined look approached their foe like two panthersprepared to spring; yet he neither slackened his speed nor deviatedfrom his course. A crash--a mighty shout!--the two Kaposias collided, and the swift Antelope had won the laurels!

The turmoil and commotion at the victors' camp were indescribable. Afew beats of a drum were heard, after which the criers hurried alongthe lines, announcing the last act to be performed at the camp of the"Leaf Dwellers. "

The day had been a perfect one. Every event had been a success; and, asa matter of course, the old people were happy, for they largelyprofited by these occasions. Within the circle formed by the generalassembly sat in a group the members of the common council. Blue Eartharose, and in a few appropriate and courteous remarks assured hisguests that it was not selfishness that led his braves to carry off thehonors of the last event, but that this was a friendly contest in whicheach band must assert its prowess. In memory of this victory, the boywould now receive his name. A loud "Ho-o-o" of approbation reverberatedfrom the edge of the forest upon the Minnesota's bank. 

Half frightened, the little fellow was now brought into the circle, looking very much as if he were about to be executed. Cheer after cheerwent up for the awe-stricken boy. Chankpee-yuhah, the medicine-man, proceeded to confer the name. 

"Ohiyesa (or Winner) shall be thy name henceforth. Be brave, be patientand thou shalt always win! Thy name is Ohiyesa. "

IV

THE FAITHFULNESS OF LONG EARS

Away beyond the Thin Hills, above the Big Lone Tree upon the Powderriver, the Uncpapa Sioux had celebrated their Sun Dance, some fortyyears ago. It was midsummer and the red folk were happy. They lackedfor nothing. The yellowish green flat on either side of the Powder wasstudded with wild flowers, and the cottonwood trees were in full leaf. One large circle of buffalo-skin teepees formed the movable village. 

The tribal rites had all been observed, and the usual summerfestivities enjoyed to the full. The camp as it broke up divided itselfin three parts, each of which had determined to seek a favoritehunting-ground. 

One band journeyed west, toward the Tongue river. One followed atributary of the Powder to the south. The third merely changed camp, onaccount of the grazing for ponies, and for four days remained near theold place. 

The party that went west did not fail to realize the perilous nature oftheir wanderings, for they were trespassing upon the country of thewarlike Crows. 

On the third day at sunrise, the Sioux crier's voice resounded in thevalley of the Powder, announcing that the lodges must be razed and thevillagers must take up their march. 

Breakfast of jerked buffalo meat had been served and the women wereadjusting their packs, not without much chatter and apparent confusion. Weeko (Beautiful Woman), the young wife of the war-chief Shunkaska, whohad made many presents at the dances in honor of her twin boys, nowgave one of her remaining ponies to a poor old woman whose only beastof burden, a large dog, had died during the night. 

This made it necessary to shift the packs of the others. Nakpa, or LongEars, her kitten-like gray mule, which had heretofore been honored withthe precious burden of the twin babies, was to be given a heavier andmore cumbersome load. Weeko's two-year-old spotted pony was selected tocarry the babies. 

Accordingly, the two children, in their gorgeously beaded buckskinhoods, were suspended upon either side of the pony's saddle. As Weeko'sfirst-born, they were beautifully dressed; even the saddle and bridlewere daintily worked by her own hands. 

The caravan was now in motion, and Weeko started all her ponies afterthe leader, while she adjusted the mule's clumsy burden of kettles andother household gear. In a moment:

"Go on, let us see how you move with your new load! Go on!" sheexclaimed again, with a light blow of the horse-hair lariat, as theanimal stood perfectly still. 

Nakpa simply gave an angry side glance at her load and shifted herposition once or twice. Then she threw herself headlong into the airand landed stiff-legged, uttering at the same time her unearthlyprotest. First she dove straight through the crowd, then proceeded in acircle, her heels describing wonderful curves and sweeps in the air. Her pack, too, began to come to pieces and to take forced flights fromher undignified body and heels, in the midst of the screams of womenand children, the barking of dogs, and the war-whoops of the amusedyoung braves. 

The cowskin tent became detached from her saddle, and a moment laterNakpa stood free. Her sides worked like a bellows as she stood there, meekly indignant, apparently considering herself to be the victim of anuncalled-for misunderstanding. 

"I should put an arrow through her at once, only she is not worth agood arrow, " said Shunkaska, or White Dog, the husband of Weeko. At hiswife's answer, he opened his eyes in surprised displeasure. 

"No, she shall have her own pack again. She wants her twins. I oughtnever to have taken them from her!"

Weeko approached Nakpa as she stood alone and unfriended in the face ofher little world, all of whom considered that she had committed theunpardonable sin. As for her, she evidently felt that her misfortuneshad not been of her own making. She gave a hesitating, sidelong look ather mistress. 

"Nakpa, you should not have acted so. I knew you were stronger than theothers, therefore I gave you that load, " said Weeko in a conciliatorytone, and patted her on the nose. "Come, now, you shall have your ownpet pack, " and she led her back to where the young pony stood silentlywith the babies. 

Nakpa threw back her ears and cast savage looks at him, whileShunkaska, with no small annoyance, gathered together as much as hecould of their scattered household effects. The sleeping brown-skinnedbabies in their chrysalis-like hoods were gently lowered from thepony's back and attached securely to Nakpa's padded wooden saddle. Thefamily pots and kettles were divided among the pack-ponies. Order wasrestored and the village once more in motion. 

"Come now, Nakpa; you have your wish. You must take good care of mybabies. Be good, because I have trusted you, " murmured the young motherin her softest tones. 

"Really, Weeko, you have some common ground with Nakpa, for you bothalways want to have your own way, and stick to it, too! I tell you, Ifear this Long Ears. She is not to be trusted with babies, " remarkedShunkaska, with a good deal of severity. 

But his wife made no reply, for she well knew that though he mightcriticize, he would not actually interfere with her domesticarrangements. 

He now started ahead to join the men in advance of the slow-movingprocession, thus leaving her in undivided charge of her household. Oneor two of the pack ponies were not well trained and required all herattention. Nakpa had been a faithful servant until her escapade of themorning, and she was now obviously satisfied with her mistress'arrangements. She walked alongside with her lariat dragging, andperfectly free to do as she pleased. 

Some hours later, the party ascended a slope from the river bottom tocross over the divide which lay between the Powder River and atributary stream. The ford was deep, with a swift current. Here andthere a bald butte stood out in full relief against the brilliant bluesky. 

"Whoo! whoo!" came the blood-curdling signal of danger from the front. It was no unfamiliar sound--the rovers knew it only too well. It meantsudden death--or at best a cruel struggle and frantic flight. 

Terrified, yet self-possessed, the women turned to fly while yet therewas time. Instantly the mother looked to Nakpa, who carried on eitherside of the saddle her precious boys. She hurriedly examined thefastenings to see that all was secure, and then caught her swiftestpony, for, like all Indian women, she knew just what was happening, andthat while her husband was engaged in front with the enemy, she mustseek safety with her babies. 

Hardly was she in the saddle when a heartrending war-whoop sounded ontheir flank, and she knew that they were surrounded! Instinctively shereached for her husband's second quiver of arrows, which was carried byone of the pack-ponies. Alas! the Crow warriors were already upon them!The ponies became unmanageable, and the wild screams of women andchildren pierced the awful confusion. 

Quick as a flash, Weeko turned again to her babies, but Nakpa hadalready disappeared!

When the Crows made their flank charge, Nakpa apparently appreciatedthe situation. To save herself and the babies, she took a desperatechance. She fled straight through the attacking force. 

When the warriors came howling upon her in great numbers, she at oncestarted back the way she had come, to the camp left behind. They hadtravelled nearly three days. To be sure, they did not travel more thanfifteen miles a day, but it was full forty miles to cover before dark. 

"Look! look!" exclaimed a warrior, "two babies hung from the saddle ofa mule!"

No one heeded this man's call, and his arrow did not touch Nakpa oreither of the boys, but it struck the thick part of the saddle over themule's back. 

"Whoo! whoo!" yelled another Crow to his comrades, "the Sioux havedispatched a runner to get reinforcements! There he goes, down on theflat! Now he has almost reached the river bottom!"

It was only Nakpa. She laid back her ears and stretched out more andmore to gain the river, for she realized that when she had crossed theford the Crows would not pursue her farther. 

Now she had reached the bank. With the intense heat from her exertions, she was extremely nervous, and she imagined a warrior behind everybush. Yet she had enough sense left to realize that she must notsatisfy her thirst. She tried the bottom with her forefoot, then wadedcarefully into the deep stream. 

She kept her big ears well to the front as she swam, to catch theslightest sound. As she stepped on the opposite shore, she shookherself and the boys vigorously, then pulled a few mouthfuls of grassand started on. 

Soon one of the babies began to cry, and the other was not long injoining him. Nakpa did not know what to do. She gave a gentle whinnyand both babies apparently stopped to listen; then she took up an easygait as if to put them to sleep. 

These tactics answered only for a time. As she fairly flew over thelowlands, the babies' hunger increased and they screamed so loud that apassing coyote had to sit upon his haunches and wonder what in theworld the fleeing long-eared horse was carrying on his saddle. Evenmagpies and crows flew near as if to ascertain the meaning of thiscurious sound. 

Nakpa now came to the Little Trail creek, a tributary of the Powder, not far from the old camp. There she swerved aside so suddenly asalmost to jerk her babies out of their cradles. Two gray wolves, one oneach side, approached her, growling low--their white teeth showing. 

Never in her humble life had Nakpa been in more desperate straits. Thelarger of the wolves came fiercely forward to engage her attention, while his mate was to attack her behind and cut her hamstrings. But foronce the pair had made a miscalculation. The mule used her front hoofsvigorously on the foremost wolf, while her hind ones were doing evenmore effective work. The larger wolf soon went limping away with abroken hip, and the one in the rear received a deep cut on the jawwhich proved an effectual discouragement. 

A little further on, an Indian hunter drew near on horseback, but Nakpadid not pause or slacken her pace. On she fled through the long drygrass of the river bottoms, while her babies slept again from sheerexhaustion. Toward sunset, she entered the Sioux camp amid greatexcitement, for some one had spied her afar off, and the boys and thedogs announced her coming. 

"Whoo, whoo! Weeko's Nakpa has come back with the twins! Whoo, whoo!"exclaimed the men. "Tokee! tokee!" cried the women. 

Zeezeewin, a sister to Weeko, who was in the village, came forward andreleased the children, as Nakpa gave a low whinny and stopped. 

"Sing a Brave-Heart song for the Long-Eared One! She has escaped alonewith her charge. She is entitled to wear an eagle's feather! Look atthe arrow in her saddle! and more, she has a knife-wound in her jaw andan arrow-cut on her hind leg. --No, those are the marks of a wolf'steeth! She has passed through many dangers and saved two chief's sons, who will some day make the Crows sorry for this day's work!"

The speaker was an old man, who thus addressed the fast gatheringthrong. 

Zeezeewin now came forward again with an eagle feather and some whitepaint in her hands. The young men rubbed Nakpa down, and the feather, marked with red to indicate her wounds, was fastened to her mane. Shoulders and hips were touched with red paint to show her endurance inrunning. Then the crier, praising her brave deed in heroic verse, ledher around the camp, inside of the circle of teepees. All the peoplestood outside their lodges and listened respectfully, for the Dakotaloves well to honor the faithful and the brave. 

During the next day, riders came in from the ill-fated party, bringingthe sad news of the fight and heavy loss. Late in the afternoon cameWeeko, her face swollen with crying, her beautiful hair cut short inmourning, her garments torn and covered with dust and blood. Herhusband had fallen in the fight, and her twin boys she supposed to havebeen taken captive by the Crows. Singing in a hoarse voice the praisesof her departed warrior, she entered the camp. As she approached hersister's teepee, there stood Nakpa, still wearing her honorabledecorations. At the same moment, Zeezeewin came out to meet her withboth babies in her arms. 

"Mechinkshee! mechinkshee! (my sons, my sons!)" was all that the poormother could say, as she all but fell from the saddle to the ground. The despised Long Ears had not betrayed her trust. 

V

SNANA'S FAWN

The Little Missouri was in her spring fulness, and the hills amongwhich she found her way to the Great Muddy were profusely adorned withcolors, much like those worn by the wild red man upon a holiday!Between the gorgeous buttes and rainbow-tinted ridges there were narrowplains, broken here and there by dry creeks or gulches, and these againwere clothed scantily with poplars and sad-colored bull-berry bushes, while the bare spots were purple with the wild Dakota crocuses. 

Upon the lowest of a series of natural terraces there stood on this Maymorning a young Sioux girl, whose graceful movements were not unlikethose of a doe which chanced to be lurking in a neighboring gulch. Onthe upper plains, not far away, were her young companions, all busilyemployed with the wewoptay, as it is called--the sharp-pointed stickwith which the Sioux women dig wild turnips. They were gayly gossipingtogether, or each humming a love-song as she worked, only Snana stoodsomewhat apart from the rest; in fact, concealed by the crest of theridge. 

It was now full-born day. The sun shone hot upon the bare ground, andthe drops stood upon Snana's forehead as she plied her long pole. Therewas a cool spring in the dry creek bed near by, well hidden by a clumpof choke-cherry bushes, and she turned thither to cool her thirstythroat. In the depths of the ravine her eye caught a familiarfootprint--the track of a doe with the young fawn beside it. Thehunting instinct arose within. 

"It will be a great feat if I can find and take from her the babe. Thelittle tawny skin shall be beautifully dressed by my mother. The legsand the nose shall be embossed with porcupine quills. It will be mywork-bag, " she said to herself. 

As she stole forward on the fresh trail she scanned every nook, everyclump of bushes. There was a sudden rustle from within a grove of wildplum trees, thickly festooned with grape and clematis, and the doemother bounded away as carelessly as if she were never to return. 

Ah, a mother's ruse! Snana entered the thorny enclosure, which wasalmost a rude teepee, and, tucked away in the further-most corner, laysomething with a trout-like, speckled, tawny coat. She bent over it. The fawn was apparently sleeping. Presently its eyes moved a bit, and ashiver passed through its subtle body. 

"Thou shalt not die; thy skin shall not become my work-bag!"unconsciously the maiden spoke. The mother sympathy had taken hold onher mind. She picked the fawn up tenderly, bound its legs, and put iton her back to carry like an Indian babe in the folds of her robe. 

"I cannot leave you alone, Tachinchala. Your mother is not here. Ourhunters will soon return by this road, and your mother has left behindher two plain tracks leading to this thicket, " she murmured. 

The wild creature struggled vigorously for a minute, and then becamequiet. Its graceful head protruded from the elk-skin robe just overSnana's shoulder. She was slowly climbing the slope with her burden, when suddenly like an apparition the doe mother stood before her. Thefawn called loudly when it was first seized, and the mother was not toofar away to hear. Now she called frantically for her child, at the sametime stamping with her delicate forefeet. 

"Yes, sister, you are right; she is yours; but you cannot save herto-day! The hunters will soon be here. Let me keep her for you; I willreturn her to you safely. And hear me, O sister of the woods, that someday I may become the mother of a noble race of warriors and of finewomen, as handsome as you are!"

At this moment the quick eyes of the Indian girl detected somethingstrange in the doe's actions. She glanced in every direction andbehold! a grizzly bear was cautiously approaching the group from aconsiderable distance. 

"Run, run, sister! I shall save your child if I can, " she cried, andflew for the nearest scrub oak on the edge of the bank. Up the tree shescrambled, with the fawn still securely bound to her back. The grizzlycame on with teeth exposed, and the doe-mother in her flight camebetween him and the tree, giving a series of indignant snorts as sheran, and so distracted Mato from his object of attack; but only for afew seconds--then on he came!

"Desist, O brave Mato! It does not become a great medicine-man toattack a helpless woman with a burden upon her back!"

Snana spoke as if the huge brute could understand her, and, indeed, theIndians hold that wild animals understand intuitively when appealed toby human beings in distress. Yet he replied only with a hoarse growl, as rising upon his hind legs he shook the little tree vigorously. 

"Ye, ye, heyupi ye!" Snana called loudly to her companionturnip-diggers. Her cry soon brought all the women into sight upon anear-by ridge, and they immediately gave a general alarm. Mato sawthem, but appeared not at all concerned and was still intent upondislodging the girl, who clung frantically to her perch. 

Presently there appeared upon the little knoll several warriors, mounted and uttering the usual war-whoop, as if they were about toswoop down upon a human enemy. This touched the dignity of Mato, and heimmediately prepared to accept the challenge. Every Indian was alive tothe possibilities of the occasion, for it is well known that Mato, orgrizzly bear, alone among animals is given the rank of a warrior, sothat whoever conquers him may wear an eagle feather. 

"Woo! woo!" the warriors shouted, as they maneuvered to draw him intothe open plain. 

He answered with hoarse growls, threatening a rider who had venturedtoo near. But arrows were many and well-aimed, and in a few minutes thegreat and warlike Mato lay dead at the foot of the tree. 

The men ran forward and counted their _coups_ on him, just as when anenemy is fallen. Then they looked at one another and placed their handsover their mouths as the young girl descended the-tree with a fawnbound upon her back. 

"So that was the bait!" they cried. "And will you not make a feast withthat fawn for us who came to your rescue?"

"The fawn is young and tender, and we have not eaten meat for two days. It will be a generous thing to do, " added her father, who was amongthem. 

"Ye-e-e!" she cried out in distress. "Do not ask it! I have seen thisfawn's mother. I have promised to keep her child safe. See! I havesaved its life, even when my own was in danger. "

"Ho, ho, wakan ye lo! (Yes, yes, 'tis holy or mysterious), " theyexclaimed approvingly. 

It was no small trouble for Snana to keep her trust. As may well besupposed, all the dogs of the teepee village must be watched and keptat a distance. Neither was it easy to feed the little captive; but ingaining its confidence the girl was an adept. The fawn soon followedher everywhere, and called to her when hungry exactly as she had calledto her own mother. 

After several days, when her fright at the encounter with the bear hadsomewhat worn off, Snana took her pet into the woods and back to thevery spot in which she had found it. In the furthest corner of the wildplum grove she laid it down, gently stroked its soft forehead, andsmoothed the leaf-like ears. The little thing closed its eyes. Oncemore the Sioux girl bent over and laid her cheek against the fawn'shead; then reluctantly she moved away, hoping and yet dreading that themother would return. She crouched under a clump of bushes near by, andgave the doe call. It was a reckless thing for her to do, for such acall might bring upon her a mountain lion or ever-watchful silver-tip;but Snana did not think of that. 

In a few minutes she heard the light patter of hoofs, and caught aglimpse of a doe running straight toward the fawn's hiding-place. Whenshe stole near enough to see, the doe and the fawn were examining oneanother carefully, as if fearing some treachery. At last both wereapparently satisfied. The doe caressed her natural child, and thelittle one accepted the milk she offered. 

In the Sioux maiden's mind there was turmoil. A close attachment to thelittle wild creature had already taken root there, contending with thesense of justice that was strong within her. Now womanly sympathy forthe mother was in control, and now a desire to possess and protect herhelpless pet. 

"I can take care of her against all hunters, both animal and human. They are ever ready to seize the helpless fawn for food. Her life willbe often exposed. You cannot save her from disaster. O, Takcha, mysister, let me still keep her for you!" she finally appealed to thepoor doe, who was nervously watching the intruder, and apparentlythinking how she might best escape with the fawn. 

Just at this moment there came a low call from the wood. It was a doecall; but the wild mother and her new friend both knew that it was notthe call of a real doe. 

"It is a Sioux hunter!" whispered the girl. "You must go, my sister! Beoff; I will take your child to safety!"

While she was yet speaking, the doe seemed to realize the danger. Shestopped only an instant to lick fondly the tawny coat of the littleone, then she bounded away. 

As Snana emerged from the bushes with her charge, a young hunter mether face to face, and stared at her curiously. He was not of herfather's camp, but a stranger. 

"Ugh, you have my game. "

"Tosh!" she replied coquettishly. 

It was so often said among the Indians that the doe was wont to put onhuman form to mislead the hunter, that it looked strange to see a womanwith a fawn, and the young man could not forbear to gaze upon Snana. 

"You are not the real mother in maiden's guise? Tell me truly if youare of human blood, " he demanded rudely. 

"I am a Sioux maiden! Do you not know my father?" she replied. 

"Ah, but who is your father? What is his name?" he insisted, nervouslyfingering his arrows. 

"Do not be a coward! Surely you should know a maid of your own race, "she replied reproachfully. 

"Ah, you know the tricks of the doe! What is thy name?"

"Hast thou forgotten the etiquette of thy people, and wouldst compel meto pronounce my own name? I refuse; thou art jesting!" she retortedwith a smile. 

"Thou dost give the tricky answers of a doe. I cannot wait; I must actbefore I lose my natural mind. But already I am yours. Whatever purposeyou may have in thus charming a poor hunter, be merciful, " and, throwing aside his quiver, he sat down. 

The maiden stole a glance at his face and then another. He washandsome. Softly she reëntered the thicket and laid down the littlefawn. 

"Promise me never to hunt here again!" she said earnestly, as she cameforth without her pretty burden, and he exacted another promise inreturn. Thus Snana lost her fawn, and found a lover. 

VI

HAKADAH'S FIRST OFFERING

"Hakadah, coowah!" was the sonorous call that came from a large teepeein the midst of the Indian encampment. In answer to the summons thereemerged from the woods, which were only a few steps away, a boy, accompanied by a splendid black dog. There was little in the appearanceof the little fellow to distinguish him from the other Sioux boys. 

He hastened to the tent from which he had been summoned, carrying inhis hands a bow and arrows gorgeously painted, while the small birdsand squirrels that he had killed with these weapons dangled from hisbelt. 

Within the tent sat two old women, one on each side of the fire. Uncheedah was the boy's grandmother, who had brought up the motherlesschild. Wahchewin was only a caller, but she had been invited to remainand assist in the first personal offering of Hakadah to the "GreatMystery. "

It had been whispered through the teepee village that Uncheedahintended to give a feast in honor of her grandchild's first sacrificialoffering. This was mere speculation, however, for the clear-sighted oldwoman had determined to keep this part of the matter secret until theoffering should be completed, believing that the "Great Mystery" shouldbe met in silence and dignity. 

The boy came rushing into the lodge, followed by his dog Ohitika, whowas wagging his tail promiscuously, as if to say: "Master and I arereally hunters!"

Hakadah breathlessly gave a descriptive narrative of the killing ofeach bird and squirrel as he pulled them off his belt and threw thembefore his grandmother. 

"This blunt-headed arrow, " said he, "actually had eyes this morning. Before the squirrel can dodge around the tree it strikes him in thehead, and, as he falls to the ground, my Ohitika is upon him. "

He knelt upon one knee as he talked, his black eyes shining likeevening stars. 

"Sit down here, " said Uncheedah to the boy; "I have something to say toyou. You see that you are now almost a man. Observe the game you havebrought me! It will not be long before you will leave me, for a warriormust seek opportunities to make him great among his people. 

"You must endeavor to equal your father and grandfather, " she went on. "They were warriors and feast-makers. But it is not the poor hunter whomakes many feasts. Do you not remember the 'Legend of the Feast-Maker, 'who gave forty feasts in twelve moons? And have you forgotten the storyof the warrior who sought the will of the Great Mystery? To-day youwill make your first offering to him. "

The concluding sentence fairly dilated the eyes of the young hunter, for he felt that a great event was about to occur, in which he would bethe principal actor. But Uncheedah resumed her speech. 

"You must give up one of your belongings--whichever is dearest toyou--for this is to be a sacrificial offering. "

This somewhat confused the boy; not that he was selfish, but ratheruncertain as to what would be the most appropriate thing to give. Then, too, he supposed that his grandmother referred to his ornaments andplaythings only. So he volunteered:

"I can give up my best bow and arrows, and all the paints I have, and--and my bear's claws necklace, grandmother!"

"Are these the things dearest to you?" she demanded. 

"Not the bow and arrows, but the paints will be very hard to get, forthere are no white people near; and the necklace--it is not easy to getone like it again. I will also give up my otter-skin head-dress, if youthink that it not enough. "

"But think, my boy, you have not yet mentioned the thing that will be apleasant offering to the Great Mystery. "

The boy looked into the woman's face with a puzzled expression. 

"I have nothing else as good as those things I have named, grandmother, unless it is my spotted pony; and I am sure that the Great Mystery willnot require a little boy to make him so large a gift. Besides, my unclegave three otter-skins and five eagle-feathers for him and I promisedto keep him a long while, if the Blackfeet or the Crows do not stealhim. "

Uncheedah was not fully satisfied with the boy's free offerings. Perhaps it had not occurred to him what she really wanted. ButUncheedah knew where his affection was vested. His faithful dog, hispet and companion--Hakadah was almost inseparable from the lovingbeast. 

She was sure that it would be difficult to obtain his consent tosacrifice the animal, but she ventured upon a final appeal. 

"You must remember, " she said, "that in this offering you will callupon him who looks at you from every creation. In the wind you hear himwhisper to you. He gives his war-whoop in the thunder. He watches youby day with his eye, the sun; at night, he gazes upon your sleepingcountenance through the moon. In short, it is the Mystery of Mysteries, who controls all things, to whom you will make your first offering. Bythis act, you will ask him to grant to you what he has granted to fewmen. I know you wish to be a great warrior and hunter. I am notprepared to see my Hakadah show any cowardice, for the love ofpossessions is a woman's trait and not a brave's. "

During this speech, the boy had been completely aroused to the spiritof manliness, and in his excitement was willing to give up anything hehad--even his pony! But he was unmindful of his friend and companion, Ohitika, the dog! So, scarcely had Uncheedah finished speaking, when healmost shouted:

"Grandmother, I will give up any of my possessions for the offering tothe Great Mystery! You may select what you think will be most pleasingto him. "

There were two silent spectators of this little dialogue. One wasWahchewin, the other was Ohitika. The woman had been invited to stay, although only a neighbor. The dog, by force of habit, had taken up hisusual position by the side of his master when they entered the teepee. Without moving a muscle, save those of his eyes, he had been a veryclose observer of what passed. 

Had the dog but moved once to attract the attention of his littlefriend, he might have been dissuaded from that impetuous exclamation:"Grandmother, I will give up any of my possessions!"

It was hard for Uncheedah to tell the boy that he must part with hisdog, but she was equal to the situation. 

"Hakadah, " she proceeded cautiously, "you are a young brave. I know, though young, your heart is strong and your courage is great. You willbe pleased to give up the dearest thing you have for your firstoffering. You must give up Ohitika. He is brave; and you, too, arebrave. He will not fear death; you will bear his loss bravely. Come, --here are four bundles of paints and a filled pipe, --let us go tothe place!"

When the last words were uttered, Hakadah did not seem to hear them. Hewas simply unable to speak. To a civilized eye, he would have appearedat that moment like a little copper statue. His bright black eyes werefast melting in floods of tears, when he caught his grandmother's eyeand recollected her oft-repeated adage: "Tears for woman and thewar-whoop for man to drown sorrow!"

He swallowed two or three big mouthfuls of heartache and the littlewarrior was master of the situation. 

"Grandmother, my Brave will have to die! Let me tie together two of theprettiest tails of the squirrels that he and I killed this morning, toshow to the Great Mystery what a hunter he has been. Let me paint himmyself. "

This request Uncheedah could not refuse, and she left the pair alonefor a few minutes, while she went to ask Wacoota to execute Ohitika. 

Every Indian boy knows that, when a warrior is about to meet death, hemust sing a death dirge. Hakadah thought of his Ohitika as a person whowould meet his death without a struggle, so he began to sing a dirgefor him, at the same time hugging him tight to himself. As if he were ahuman being, he whispered in his ear:

[Illustration: He began to sing a dirge for him. _Page 140. _]

"Be brave, my Ohitika! I shall remember you the first time I am uponthe war-path in the Ojibway country. "

At last he heard Uncheedah talking with a man outside the teepee, so hequickly took up his paints. Ohitika was a jet-black dog, with a silvertip on the end of his tail and on his nose, beside one white paw and awhite star upon a protuberance between his ears. Hakadah knew that aman who prepares for death usually paints with red and black. Naturehad partially provided Ohitika in this respect, so that only red wasrequired and this Hakadah supplied generously. 

Then he took off a piece of red cloth and tied it around the dog'sneck; to this he fastened two of the squirrels' tails and a wing fromthe oriole they had killed that morning. 

Just then it occurred to him that good warriors always mourn for theirdeparted friends, and the usual mourning was black paint. He loosenedhis black braided locks, ground a dead coal, mixed it with bear's oiland rubbed it on his entire face. 

During this time every hole in the tent was occupied with an eye. Amongthe lookers-on was his grandmother. She was very near relenting. Hadshe not feared the wrath of the Great Mystery, she would have beenhappy to call out to the boy: "Keep your dear dog, my child!"

As it was, Hakadah came out of the teepee with his face looking like aneclipsed moon, leading his beautiful dog, who was even handsomer thanever with the red touches on his specks of white. 

It was now Uncheedah's turn to struggle with the storm and burden inher soul. But the boy was emboldened by the people's admiration of hisbravery, and did not shed a tear. As soon as she was able to speak, theloving grandmother said:

"No, my young brave, not so! You must not mourn for your firstoffering. Wash your face and then we will go. "

The boy obeyed, submitted Ohitika to Wacoota with a smile, and walkedoff with his grandmother and Wahchewin. 

The boy and his grandmother descended the bank, following a tortuousfoot-path until they reached the water's edge. Then they proceeded tothe mouth of an immense cave, some fifty feet above the river, underthe cliff. A little stream of limpid water trickled down from a springwithin the cave. The little watercourse served as a sort of naturalstaircase for the visitors. A cool, pleasant atmosphere exhaled fromthe mouth of the cavern. Really it was a shrine of nature, and it isnot strange that it was so regarded by the tribe. 

A feeling of awe and reverence came to the boy. "It is the home of theGreat Mystery, " he thought to himself; and the impressiveness of hissurroundings made him forget his sorrow. 

Very soon Wahchewin came with some difficulty to the steps. She placedthe body of Ohitika upon the ground in a life-like position and againleft the two alone. 

As soon as she disappeared from view, Uncheedah, with all solemnity andreverence, unfastened the leather strings that held the four smallbundles of paints and one of tobacco, while the filled pipe was laidbeside the dead Ohitika. 

She scattered paints and tobacco all about. Again they stood a fewmoments silently; then she drew a deep breath and began her prayer tothe Great Mystery:

"O, Great Mystery, we hear thy voice in the rushing waters below us! Wehear thy whisper in the great oaks above! Our spirits are refreshedwith thy breath from within this cave. O, hear our prayer! Behold thislittle boy and bless him! Make him a warrior and a hunter as great asthou didst make his father and grandfather. "

And with this prayer the little warrior had completed his firstoffering. 

VII

THE GRAVE OF THE DOG

The full moon was just clear of the high mountain ranges when the gamescout moved slowly homeward, well wrapped in his long buffalo robe, which was securely belted to his strong loins; his quiver tightly tiedto his shoulders so as not to impede his progress. 

As he emerged from the lowlands into the upper regions, he loomed up agigantic figure against the clear, moonlit horizon. His picturesquefoxskin cap with all its trimmings was incrusted with frost from thebreath of his nostrils, and his lagging footfall sounded crisply. Thedistance he had that day covered was enough for any human endurance;yet he was neither faint nor hungry; but his feet were frozen into thepsay, the snow-shoes, so that he could not run faster than an easy slipand slide. 

At last he reached the much-coveted point--the crown of the lastascent; and when he smelled fire and the savory odor of the jerkedbuffalo meat, it well-nigh caused him to waver! But he must not fail tofollow the custom of untold ages, and give the game scout's wolf callbefore entering camp. 

Accordingly he paused upon the highest point of the ridge and uttered acry to which the hungry cry of a real wolf would have seemed but acoyote's yelp in comparison! Then it was that the rest of the buffalohunters knew that their game scout was returning with welcome news; forthe unsuccessful scout enters the camp silently. 

In the meantime, the hunters at the temporary camp were aroused to ahigh pitch of excitement. Some turned their buffalo robes and put themon in such a way as to convert themselves into make-believe bison, andbegan to tread the snow, while others were singing the buffalo song, that their spirits might be charmed and allured within the circle ofthe camp-fires. The scout, too, was singing his buffalo bull song in aguttural, lowing chant as he neared the hunting camp. Within arrow-shothe paused again, while the usual ceremonies were enacted for hisreception. This done, he was seated with the leaders in a chosen place. 

"It was a long run, " he said, "but there were no difficulties. I foundthe first herd directly north of here. The second herd, a great one, isnortheast, near Shell Lake. The snow is deep. The buffalo can onlyfollow their leader in their retreat. "

"Hi, hi, hi!" the hunters exclaimed solemnly in token of gratitude, raising their hands heavenward and then pointing them toward theground. 

"Ho, kola! one more round of the buffalo-pipe, then we shall retire, torise before daybreak for the hunt, " advised one of the leaders. Silently they partook in turn of the long-stemmed pipe, and one by one, with a dignified "Ho!" departed to their teepees. 

The scout betook himself to his little old buffalo teepee, which heused for winter hunting expeditions. His faithful Shunka, who had beenall this time its only occupant, met him at the entrance as dogs aloneknow how to welcome a lifelong friend. As his master entered hestretched himself in his old-time way, from the tip of his tail to thatof his tongue, and finished by curling both ends upward. 

"Ho, mita Shunka, eat this; for you must be hungry!" So saying, thescout laid before his canine friend the last piece of his dried buffalomeat. It was the sweetest meal ever eaten by a dog, judging by his longsmacking of his lips after he had swallowed it!

The hunting party was soon lost in heavy slumber. Not a sound could beheard save the gnawing of the ponies upon the cottonwood bark, whichwas provided for them instead of hay in the winter time. 

When Wapashaw, the game scout, had rolled himself in his warm buffalorobe and was sound asleep, his faithful companion hunter, the greatEsquimaux wolf dog, silently rose and again stretched himself, thenstood quiet for a moment as if meditating. It was clear that he knewwell what he had planned to do, but was considering how he should do itwithout arousing any suspicion of his movements. This is a dog's art, and the night tricks and marauding must always be the joy and secret ofhis life!

Softly he emerged from the lodge and gave a sweeping glance around toassure him that there were none to spy upon him. Suspiciously hesniffed the air, as if to ascertain whether there could be any dangerto his sleeping master while he should be away. 

Up the long ascent he trotted in a northerly direction, yet notfollowing his master's trail. He was large and formidable in strength, combining the features of his wild brothers of the plains with those ofthe dogs who keep company with the red men. His jet-black hair andsharp ears and nose appeared to immense advantage against the spotlessand jewelled snow, until presently his own warm breath had coated himwith heavy frost. 

After a time Shunka struck into his master's trail and followed it allthe way, only taking a short cut here and there when, by dog instinct, he knew that a man must go around such a point to get to hisdestination. He met many travellers during the night, but none haddared to approach him, though some few followed at a distance, as if todiscover his purpose. 

At last he reached Shell Lake, and there beheld a great gathering ofthe herds! They stood in groups, like enormous rocks, no longer black, but white with frost. Every one of them emitted a white steam, quicklyfrozen into a fine snow in the air. 

Shunka sat upon his haunches and gazed. "Wough, this is it!" he said tohimself. He had kept still when the game scout gave the wolf call, though the camp was in an uproar, and from the adjacent hills the wildhunters were equally joyous, because they understood the meaning of theunwonted noise. Yet his curiosity was not fully satisfied, and he hadset out to discover the truth, and it may be to protect or serve hismaster in case of danger. 

At daybreak the great dog meekly entered his master's rude teepee, andfound him already preparing for the prospective hunt. He was fillinghis inside moccasins full of buffalo hair to serve as stockings, overwhich he put on his large buffalo moccasins with the hair inside, andadjusted his warm leggins. He then adjusted his snow-shoes and filledhis quiver full of good arrows. The dog quietly lay down in a warmplace, making himself as small as possible, as if to escapeobservation, and calmly watched his master. 

Soon all the hunters were running in single file upon the trail of thescout, each Indian closely followed by his trusty hunting dog. In lessthan two hours they stood just back of the low ridge which rounded thesouth side of Shell Lake. The narrow strip of land between its twindivisions was literally filled with the bison. In the gulches beyond, between the dark lines of timber, there were also scattered groups; butthe hunters at once saw their advantage over the herd upon thepeninsula. 

"Hechetu, kola! This is well, friends!" exclaimed the first to speak. "These can be forced to cross the slippery ice and the mire around thesprings. This will help us to get more meat. Our people are hungry, andwe must kill many in order to feed them!"

"Ugh, he is always right! Our dogs must help us here. The meat will betheirs as well as ours, " another added. 

"Tosh, kola! The game scout's dog is the greatest Shunka of them all!He has a mind near like that of a man. Let him lead the attack of hisfellows, while we crawl up on the opposite side and surround thebuffalo upon the slippery ice and in the deceitful mire, " spoke up athird. So it was agreed that the game scout and his Shunka should leadthe attack. 

"Woo, woo, woo!" was the hoarse signal from the throat of the gamescout; but his voice was drowned by the howling and barking of thesavage dogs as they made their charge. In a moment all was confusionamong the buffalo. Some started this way, others that, and the greatmass swayed to and fro uncertainly. A few were ready to fight, but thesnow was too deep for a countercharge upon the dogs, save on the icejust in front of them, where the wind had always full sweep. There allwas slippery and shining! In their excitement and confusion the bisonrushed upon this uncertain plain. 

Their weight and the momentum of their rush carried them hopelessly farout, where they were again confused as to which way to go, and manywere stuck in the mire which was concealed by the snow, except here andthere an opening above a spring from which there issued a steamingvapor. The game scout and his valiant dog led on the force of canineswith deafening war-cries, and one could see black heads here and therepopping from behind the embankments. As the herd finally swept towardthe opposite shore, many dead were left behind. Pierced by the arrowsof the hunters, they lay like black mounds upon the glassy plain. 

It was a great hunt! "Once more the camp will be fed, " they thought, "and this good fortune will help us to reach the spring alive!"

A chant of rejoicing rang out from the opposite shore, while the gamescout unsheathed his big knife and began the work which is ever thesequel of the hunt--to dress the game; although the survivors of theslaughter had scarcely disappeared behind the hills. 

All were busily skinning and cutting up the meat into pieces convenientfor carrying, when suddenly a hunter called the attention of those nearhim to an ominous change in the atmosphere. 

"There are signs of a blizzard! We must hurry into the near woodsbefore it reaches us!" he shouted. 

Some heard him; others did not. Those who saw or heard passed on thesignal and hurried toward the wood, where others had already arrangedrude shelters and gathered piles of dry wood for fuel. 

Around the several camp-fires the hunters sat or stood, while slices ofsavory meat were broiled and eaten with a relish by the half-starvedmen. 

But the storm had now fairly enveloped them in whirling whiteness. "Woo, woo!" they called to those who had not yet reached camp. Oneafter another answered and emerged from the blinding pall of snow. Atlast none were missing save the game scout and his Shunka!

The hunters passed the time in eating and telling stories until a latehour, occasionally giving a united shout to guide the lost one shouldhe chance to pass near their camp. 

"Fear not for our scout, friends!" finally exclaimed a leader amongthem. "He is a brave and experienced man. He will find a saferesting-place, and join us when the wind ceases to rage. " So they allwrapped themselves in their robes and lay down to sleep. 

All that night and the following day it was impossible to give succor, and the hunters felt much concern for the absent. Late in the secondnight the great storm subsided. 

"Ho, ho! Iyotanka! Rise up!" So the first hunter to awaken aroused allthe others. 

As after every other storm, it was wonderfully still; so still that onecould hear distinctly the pounding feet of the jack-rabbits coming downover the slopes to the willows for food. All dry vegetation was buriedbeneath the deep snow, and everywhere they saw this white-robedcreature of the prairie coming down to the woods. 

Now the air was full of the wolf and coyote game call, and they wereseen in great numbers upon the ice. 

"See, see! the hungry wolves are dragging the carcasses away! Harken tothe war-cries of the scout's Shunka! Hurry, hurry!" they urged oneanother in chorus. 

Away they ran and out upon the lake; now upon the wind-swept ice, nowupon the crusted snow; running when they could, sliding when they must. There was certainly a great concourse of the wolves, whirling infrantic circles, but continually moving toward the farther end of thelake. They could hear distinctly the hoarse bark of the scout's Shunka, and occasionally the muffled war-whoop of a man, as if it came fromunder the ice. 

As they approached nearer the scene they could hear more distinctly thevoice of their friend, but still as it were from underground. When theyreached the spot to which the wolves had dragged two of the carcassesof the buffalo, Shunka was seen to stand by one of them, but at thatmoment he staggered and fell. The hunters took out their knives andripped up the frozen hide covering the abdominal cavity. It revealed awarm nest of hay and buffalo hair in which the scout lay, wrapped inhis own robe!

He had placed his dog in one of the carcasses and himself in anotherfor protection from the storm; but the dog was wiser than the man, forhe kept his entrance open. The man lapped the hide over and it frozesolidly, shutting him securely in. When the hungry wolves came Shunkapromptly extricated himself and held them off as long as he could;meanwhile, sliding and pulling, the wolves continued to drag over theslippery ice the body of the buffalo in which his master had takenrefuge. The poor, faithful dog, with no care for his own safety, stoodby his imprisoned master until the hunters came up. But it was toolate, for he had received more than one mortal wound. 

As soon as the scout got out, with a face more anxious for another thanfor himself, he exclaimed:

"Where is Shunka, the bravest of his tribe?"

"Ho, kola, it is so, indeed; and here he lies, " replied one sadly. 

His master knelt by his side, gently stroking the face of the dog. 

"Ah, my friend; you go where all spirits live! The Great Mystery has ahome for every living creature. May he permit our meeting there!"

At daybreak the scout carried him up to one of the pretty round hillsoverlooking the lake, and built up around him walls of loose stone. Redpaints were scattered over the snow, in accordance with Indian custom, and the farewell song was sung. 

Since that day the place has been known to the Sioux asShunkahanakapi--the Grave of the Dog. 

THE END

GLOSSARY OF INDIAN WORDS

Be-day-wah´-kan-ton, lake-dwellers. 

Cha-tan´-na, fourth son. 

chin´-to, certainly. 

Che-ton´-skah, white hawk. 

Chank-pay´-yu-hah, carries the club. 

coo´-wah, come here!

ha-nah´-kah-pee, grave. 

he-yu´-pee-yay, come all of you!

hay´-chay-tu, it is well. 

Hah-kay´-dah, the last-born. 

he-nah´-kah-gah, the owl. 

Kah-po´-se-yah, Light Lodges (a band of Sioux). 

Ko´-lah, friend. 

Man-kah´-to, blue earth. 

Mah-to´, bear. 

Mah-to´-sap-ah, black bear. 

Mah-pee´-to-pah, four heavens. 

Me-ne-yah´-tah, beside the water. 

Me-chink´-shee, my son. 

Nak-pah´, ears (of an animal). 

O-o´-pay-han´-skah, bluebird. 

o-hit´-e-kah, brave. 

shun´kah, dog. 

Sna´-na, rattle. 

shunk-to´-kay-chah, wolf. 

She-cho´-kah, robin. 

Shun´-kah-skah, white dog. 

tee´-pee, tent. 

tak-chah´, deer. 

to-kee´, well, well!

Ta-tee´-yo-pah, her door. 

Un-chee´-dah, grand-mother. 

u-tu´-hu, oak. 

wa-kan´, holy, wonderful. 

Wah-coo´-tay, shooter. 

Wah-pay´-ton, dweller among the leaves. 

Wah-chee´-win, dancing woman. 

Wee-ko´, beautiful woman. 

Wa-doo´-tah, scarlet. 

we´-yan-nah, little woman. 

We-no´-nah, first-born girl. 

Wah-be-day´, orphan. 

Zee-zee´-wee, yellow woman.