Pawnee Hero Stories and Folk-Tales
by George Bird Grinnell · English · Gutenberg #36923 · 481,219 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Pawnee Hero Stories and Folk-Tales
Author: George Bird Grinnell
Release date: July 31, 2011 [eBook #36923]
Most recently updated: January 7, 2021
Language: English
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Transcriber's Note
The original text used characters with macron or breve above to
indicate pronunciation. As these characters are not available in this
text encoding, the transcriber has instead used a circumflex in place
of a macron, e.g. û, and a dieresis in place of a breve, e.g. ü. These
should be read as indicated in the introduction to the book.
Illustration captions in {brackets} have been added by the transcriber
for the convenience of the reader.
PAWNEE
HERO STORIES AND FOLK-TALES
WITH NOTES ON
THE ORIGIN, CUSTOMS AND CHARACTER OF
THE PAWNEE PEOPLE
BY
GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
New York
Forest and Stream Publishing Company
1889
Copyright, 1889, by
George Bird Grinnell.
[Illustration: SIGNAL--"WHO ARE YOU?" ANSWER--"PA´-NI."]
TO THE MEMORY OF
MAJOR FRANK NORTH
--_Pa´-ni Le-shar_--
This Record of His People is Inscribed.
NOTE.
Last spring I visited the Pawnee Agency in the Indian Territory. On
the day after my arrival, I rode over to the house of Eagle Chief,
whom, under his warrior name, White Eagle, I had known for many years.
Entering the door, I found myself in the presence of the Chief, who,
after quickly putting his hand over his mouth in his astonishment,
greeted me with a cordial deep-voiced _Lau_. Then we sat down and
filled the pipe and talked. Through all our talk I could see that he
was curious to know the object of my visit. At last he said, "My son I
am glad that you have come to us once more. My mind is big when I look
at you and talk to you. It is good that you are here. Why have you
come again to the Pawnee village? What brings you here at this time?"
I answered, "Father, we have come down here to visit the people and
to talk to them; to ask them about how things used to be in the olden
times, to hear their stories, to get their history, and then to put
all these things down in a book, so that in the years to come, after
the tribe have all become like white people, the old things of the
Pawnees shall not be forgotten."
The Chief meditated for a while and then said, "It is good and it is
time. Already the old things are being lost, and those who knew the
secrets are many of them dead. If we had known how to write, we would
have put all these things down, and they would not have been
forgotten, but we could not write, and these stories were handed down
from one to another. The old men told their grandchildren, and they
told their grandchildren, and so the secrets and the stories and the
doings of long ago have been handed down. It may be that they have
changed as they passed from father to son, and it is well that they
should be put down, so that our children, when they are like the white
people, can know what were their fathers' ways."
Most of the material contained in this little book was collected on
that visit.
CONTENTS.
HERO STORIES.
PAGE
Comanche Chief, the Peace-Maker, 25
Lone Chief, Skür´-ar-a Le-shar, 45
The Prisoners of Court House Rock, 67
Wolves in the Night, 70
A Leader of Soldiers, 74
A Cheyenne Blanket, 76
Little Warrior's Counsel, 79
A Comanche Bundle, 83
FOLK-TALES.
The Dun Horse, 87
A Story of Faith, 98
The Bear Man, 121
The Ghost Wife, 129
Ti-ke-wa-kush, the Man who Called the Buffalo, 132
Pa-hu-ka´-tawa, 142
The Boy who Was Sacrificed, 161
The Snake Brother, 171
O´re-ka-rahr, 182
The Ghost Bride, 191
The Boy who Saw A-ti´-us, 195
How the Deer Lost His Gall, 204
Yellow Fox, 206
NOTES ON THE PAWNEES.
The Pawnees:
I. Relationships, 215
II. Origin and Migrations, 223
III. The Skidi, 231
IV. Name and Emblem, 239
Pawnee Customs:
I. Early Days, 249
II. Every-day Life, 259
III. A Summer Hunt, 270
The Pawnee in War:
I. Enemies and Methods of Warfare, 303
II. Pa´-ni Le-shar and His Scouts, 323
III. War Parties, 335
Religion:
I. Beliefs, 350
II. Ceremonies, 360
III. Medicine and Mystery, 374
Later History:
I. Removal to the Indian Territory, 389
II. Present Condition and Progress, 397
THE PAWNEES AND THEIR STORIES.
Once the Pawnees were a great people. They were very numerous. They
were undisputed masters of a vast territory. They had everything that
heart could wish. Their corn and their buffalo gave them food,
clothing and shelter; they had weapons for war and for the chase. They
roamed over the country without let or hindrance. In peace they were
light-hearted and contented; in war cunning, fierce and successful.
Their name was a terror to their enemies. This was in the past. Now
they are few in number, poor, a prey to disease, a vanishing race.
My acquaintance with the tribe began in 1870. From that time to the
present I have had frequent intercourse with them; have lived in their
villages; and been with them on their buffalo hunts. During the weeks
and months spent in camp and village, I have listened to many stories
of Pawnee heroes and to folk-tales of the miraculous doings of the
olden time. In my intercourse with the tribe, extending over a period
of nearly twenty years, I have been deeply impressed by the high
qualities of the Pawnee character; and the more familiar I have become
with this people, the more strongly have I felt that a permanent
record should be made of the tales which reflect that character.
Unless thus collected now, much of this lore must inevitably be
forgotten.
For the Pawnees are passing away. When I first joined them on their
buffalo hunts from their old home on the Loup Fork in Nebraska, the
tribe numbered three thousand; last March in the Indian Territory I
found but eight hundred. And more rapidly than the dwindling of the
people are their traditions lapsing from memory under the changed
conditions of the tribe's life. The lore, which sprang up as an
indigenous growth of the wide-stretching prairie and the wilderness
where the wild Pawnee warrior hunted free, finds scanty nurture in the
uncongenial soil of fields tilled by Pawnee followers of the plow.
With the new modes of living come new views of life, new motives, new
sympathies--in a word, civilization. To earn a living by toil, to
wrest subsistence from the earth, this is the problem confronting the
Pawnees to-day, the task which is engaging the sinew and purpose of
the tribe. In the transition stage, the memory of the old days, of old
manners and rites and ceremonies and of old heroes, is with the elders
of the race, those ancient braves whose lives bridge the past and the
present. When I visited the Agency last March, it was to write down
from the lips of these old men such material as I could collect. When
they shall die much of the unwritten lore will perish too, for with
them will cease that sympathetic and perfect credence, which alone
gives to folk-lore vitality and lastingness. What is written in this
volume then belongs distinctly to the wild Indian.
The task that I have set for myself is that of a recorder. No attempt
has been made to give a literary color to the hero stories and
folk-tales here written out. I have scrupulously avoided putting into
them anything of my own. The stories are told to the reader as they
were told to me. They are not elaborated. I have tried to show how
Indians think and speak, rather than to make their stories more
entertaining by dressing them up to suit the civilized taste. My
object in giving these narratives in their present shape is to make a
book which shall be true to life, and shall faithfully reflect the
Pawnee character, as the story tellers have themselves painted it. In
a very few cases I have added some words explaining matters so well
understood by those familiar with the Indians as to need no
explanation. If these tales have any ethnological value, it will be
enhanced by their being given in the precise form in which they were
told by those to whom they have been handed down from generation to
generation; but quite apart from this is another point which is
entitled to consideration.
The entire ignorance concerning Indians, which prevails among the
general public, can be dispelled only by letting that public
understand something of the ways of life of the wild Indian, something
of the subjects about which he thinks and talks, as well as of how he
looks at these subjects, and what he has to say about them.
The late Mrs. Jackson's charming story, "Ramona," did much to bring
the more intelligent class of readers in touch with the Indians, and
to awaken sympathy for them by pointing out the unnumbered wrongs
perpetrated on this race by the Government. Mrs. Jackson's book was a
story, a novel; wonderfully well told and full of truth and feeling;
but while it may have been a relation of facts, it did not profess to
treat of actual persons. It is looked upon by many readers as a mere
romance. It is a book about which I was once asked, skeptically, "Did
you ever see any Indians like those?" In the Pawnee stories here set
down there is no romance nor coloring. The Indians themselves are
talking, and whatever the faults and weak points of these tales--and
some of them are sufficiently obvious--they at least give the reader a
true conception of Indians as they have actually lived. They are
stories of Indians by Indians. There is about them nothing of the
white man; and the intelligent person, who is sufficiently interested
in the subject to read this book through, will gain from it a new
insight into Indian character.
The Indian of Cooper--with his bravery, his endurance, his acuteness,
his high qualities of honesty, generosity, courtesy and
hospitality--has been laughed at for half a century. Yet every man who
has mingled much with the Indians in their homes has known individuals
who might have sat for the portraits which Cooper drew of some of his
aboriginal heroes. There are good men among Indians, just as among
the whites. The prevalent notion of the Indian has been formed from
the worst class of this people, the lazy, filthy beggars who haunt the
settlements of the West, who to their own vices have added new ones
picked up from their surroundings, and who are hopelessly degraded.
These are not typical Indians, and it is unjust to judge a whole race
from such degenerate specimens. There is still another notion of the
Indian fondly cherished by many worthy people, whose sympathies have
been wrought upon by the cruelty and injustice with which we have
treated this race. These good people look upon all Indians as simple
children of nature, who would do no wrong if they had not been
contaminated by contact with vicious whites. It is unnecessary to say
that this notion of the Indian is also incorrect.
The Indian is neither a fiend nor a saint. There are good ones and bad
ones. As a rule, perhaps they try to act up to their ideas of what is
right, but the standard of a race of barbarians cannot be the same as
that of a civilized people, and in judging of their character we must
make allowances for this difference. The standard of right and wrong
among civilized people is a growth, the product of the experience of
thousands of years. The Indian races have not been through a like
experience. They have regarded as virtues some things which seem to us
the worst of crimes. The Indian differs from the white man in
education and manner of life, and so, of course, in his modes of
thought. He has not been taught the lesson of self-control, which his
surroundings oblige each civilized man to begin to learn as a child.
He has known until recent times no law save that of strength. He has
been taught that war is the noblest of pursuits--the only one worthy
of man. And that war has consisted in making forays upon his enemies,
taking their possessions, and, if possible, their lives and their
scalps. His warfare consisted in surprises rather than open combat. A
scalp taken was a trophy of victory, and the scalp of a woman was
almost as eagerly sought as that of a brave or of a chief. It was an
evidence of injury inflicted on the enemy. To steal horses from the
enemy was an achievement creditable and also profitable.
We commonly speak of the raids of war parties as horse stealing
expeditions, but this is wholly misleading, because to the civilized
understanding the phrase horse stealing carries with it an idea of
dishonesty. No such meaning attaches to the Indian equivalent of this
phrase. They take horses by stratagem or secretly, by the usual, and
to them legitimate, methods of warfare. To speak of their stealing
horses, using that verb in the sense which we commonly give it, would
be like saying that an army stole the cannon which it captured in an
engagement with the enemy. Captured horses were the legitimate spoils
of war. The wealth of the Indians was in their horses. They had no
fortified places, no ships of war, no cannon, no works of art. Their
only valuable possessions were their horses. These were the only
property that could be carried off. Therefore, when an expedition was
made against a hostile tribe, scalps and horses were naturally its
object. Horses, being their only valuable possessions, constituted
their medium of exchange, so far as they had any. Did a man wish to
purchase an ornament, or an article of dress which took his fancy, he
gave a horse for it. If he bought a wife he paid for her in horses.
The most valuable present that could be made was a good horse; and
horses were often given by the well-to-do to their friends and
relations who had been sick or unfortunate. On the other hand, when,
as was sometimes the case, a conquered tribe was condemned to pay a
war indemnity, they paid it in horses. It is related that when the
Skidi broke their treaty with the other bands, and were afterward
conquered by them, they were obliged to pay such a fine.
This view of Indian warfare being understood, the motive of the hero
stories here given, and of many of the folk-tales, becomes plain.
The Pawnees are essentially a religious people. They worship
_Ti-ra´-wa_, who is in and of everything. Unlike many of the Indian
tribes of the West, they do not adore any material thing. They regard
certain places as sacred, but these are so only because blessed by the
Divine presence. The Pawnee Deity is not personified. He is
intangible, quite as much so as the God of the Christians. The sacred
character of _Ti-ra´-wa_ extends to animal nature. The fishes which
swim in the rivers, the birds of the air and the beasts which roam
over the prairie, have sometimes intelligence, knowledge and power far
beyond those of man. But they are not gods. Their miraculous
attributes are given them by the Ruler, whose servants they are, and
who often makes them the medium of his communications to man. They are
his messengers--his angels--and their powers are always used for
good. Prayers are made to them; sometimes for direct help in time of
need, but more often for intercession. Often in the folk-tales it will
be seen that when the blessing asked for is some small thing, a prayer
is made to the animals (_Nahu´rac_), but if the petitioners are asking
for some great thing, something which is very difficult to grant, then
the prayer is made to "One Above," to "The Ruler," that is, to the
Supreme Being.
Nothing of importance was ever undertaken without a prayer for help,
for success. All the serious undertakings of the year, whose success
would affect the general welfare, were preceded by religious
ceremonies, when all the tribe took part, and prayers were made and
sacrifices offered to _Ti-ra´-wa_; and in all lesser enterprises, the
individuals who were interested humbled themselves and implored the
Divine assistance. A party starting off on the warpath prayed for
success and made a burnt offering. Prayer and sacrifice always marked
the beginning of the feast, and often its end. Success in their
undertakings was acknowledged by grateful offerings to the Ruler. The
victorious warrior sometimes sacrificed the scalp torn from the head
of his enemy, and this was burned with elaborate ceremonies by the
High Priest. He who brought back from a foray many horses, gave one to
the priest as a thank-offering to the Ruler. One of the well-known
Seven Brothers said to me, "It is our aim, after we have been helped,
to give thanks."
The feeling of these Indians toward their God is one of humility and
reverence. They do not love him, but they look to him for help at all
times. The young are exhorted to humble themselves before him, to pray
to him, to look to One Above, to ask help from the Ruler. In the
stories which are included in this book the allusions constantly made
to _Ti-ra´-wa_--the Supreme Power--the prayers offered and the
humility and self-abnegation so often expressed, show faith, profound
religious feelings, and great elevation of thought.
* * * * *
Among tribal names of North American Indians, none is more familiar to
us than Pawnee; yet of no tribe is less known. Frequent allusions to
them occur in the writings of early travelers in the West; but only one
satisfactory attempt has been made to write a connected history of this
family. In the _Magazine of American History_ for 1880 Mr. John B.
Dunbar published a most interesting account of this tribe, but his
sketch is mainly historical, and does not profess to treat exhaustively
of the lives and modes of thought of this people. It is, however, a
history of very great importance and value, and in preparing the
historical matter which is included in this volume, I have not
hesitated to draw on Mr. Dunbar's papers, which must form the basis of
any subsequent account of the Pawnees, and which should be read by all
who are interested in this people.
I owe much of my interest in and knowledge of the Pawnees to my long
intimacy with the late Major Frank North, who from his extended
intercourse and close connection with this people--a connection which
lasted more than thirty years--was unquestionably better informed
about them than any other white man has ever been; and with Capt.
L. H. North, his brother, who was for many years associated with Major
North in command of the Pawnee Scouts.
In gathering the material here presented I have been assisted also by
James R. Murie, a nephew of Comanche Chief; by Ralph J. Weeks, a
half-brother of Lone Chief; by Harry Kuhns, by Eagle Chief and Bear
Chief, Skidis; by Good Chief and Curly Chief, Kit-ke-hahk´-is; by
Secret Pipe Chief and Frank White, Chau-is, and by many others of my
Pawnee friends, to all of whom my acknowledgments are due.
In the pronunciation of the few Pawnee words used in these stories,
the vowel sounds, as nearly as I can give them, are as follows: _a_ as
in father, _e_ as the _a_ in ale, _i_ as _e_ in cede, _û_ long as _oo_
in pool, _ü_ short as in us, _au_ as _ou_ in house. These sounds
depend somewhat on the letters which follow the vowels, and the
spelling does not always conform to the rule laid down. The last two
syllables in the word Pita-hau-erat, for example, are pronounced
_êrät_ or _idot_. The sounds of _d_, _l_, _n_ and _r_ are difficult to
express by English letters; _r_ sometimes has its own sound quite
distinctly, at others more the sound of _d_; _n_ often has a _d_
sound, and _l_ a sound of _n_. It will be noted that throughout this
volume I have used the familiar English word Pawnee instead of the
evidently more correct _Pa´-ni_.
Finally I have refrained from commenting on the stories, though there
is abundant opportunity for comment.
G. B. G.
July, 1889.
_HERO STORIES._
COMANCHE CHIEF.
The Peace-Maker.
I.
Many years ago there lived in the Ski´-di village a young man, about
sixteen years old. His name was _Kut-a´wi-kutz_ (the hawk). At this
time the Pawnees wore their hair in the ancient fashion, cut as the
Osages wear theirs; the whole head was shaved except a roach running
back from the forehead beyond the scalp lock.
A war party went off to the south and he joined them as a servant.
They went a long way and a long way, traveling far, but they got no
horses and came back. Afterward another party started off on the
warpath, and he went with it. They traveled many days, going to the
southwest, and at length they came to a camp, and hid themselves to
wait until it was dark. It was a camp of the Comanches.
When night had come they all went into the camp to steal horses. This
young man went to a lodge near which stood three horses, two spotted
horses and one gray. They were tied near the door of the lodge, and
from this he thought they must be fast, for the Indians usually tie up
their best horses close to the lodge door, where they will be under
their eyes as much as possible. He went to the lodge to cut the ropes,
and just as he was about to do so he thought he heard some one inside.
He stepped up close to the lodge, and looked in through a little
opening between the door and the lodge, and saw a small fire burning,
and on the other side of the fire was sitting a young girl, combing
her long hair. The young man looked around the lodge to see who else
was there, and saw only an old man and an old woman, and the
fire-maker. He cut the ropes of the two spotted horses standing
outside, led the horses out of the camp, and met his companion. To him
he said, "Now, brother, you take these horses and go to the hill where
we were hiding to-day, and wait for me there. I have seen another fine
spotted horse that I want to get; I will go back for it and will meet
you before morning at that place."
He went back, as if to get the spotted horse, but returned to the
lodge where the girl was. He went all around it, and looked at it
carefully. He saw that there were feathers on the lodge, and rows of
animals hoofs hanging down the sides, which rattled in the wind, and
to one of the lodge-poles was tied a buffalo tail, which hung down.
Then he went back to the door and looked in at the girl again. She had
braided her hair and was sitting there by the fire. He stayed there a
long time that night looking at her. Toward morning he went to look
for his companion. When he met him he told him that some one had taken
the spotted horse before he got to it; he could not find it. When the
party all met next morning, they found that they had taken a lot of
horses, and they started north to go home. They reached the Pawnee
village, and every one was glad of their success.
After this, whenever this young man saw anything that was nice or
pretty, such as medals, ear-rings, finger rings for women, beadwork
leggings, bracelets, necklaces, wampum, beads--things that the
Comanches did not have--he would give a pony for it. For one year he
went on like this, gathering together these pretty things. When the
year had gone by he had no horses left; he had given them all away to
get these presents. He packed all these things up in a bundle, and
then spoke one night to his friend, saying, "I intend to go off on the
warpath again, and I would like to have you go with me; we two will go
alone." His friend agreed to go.
II.
Before the time came to start, other young men heard of it, and
several joined them. There were eight of them in all. _Kut-a´wi-kutz_
was the leader. He told his young men that they were going to a
certain place where he knew there were lots of spotted horses to
steal. They started out on foot. After traveling many days, they came
to the place where the camp had been at the time he saw the girl.
There was now no camp there.
They went on further, and at length came to a camp and hid themselves.
When night came the leader told his men to remain where they were
hiding, and he would go into the camp and see if there were any horses
to take. He went through all the camp looking for the lodge in which
he had seen the girl, but he did not find it. Then he went back to
where the young men were hiding, and told them that this was not the
camp they were looking for; that they did not have here the spotted
horses that they wanted. In the camp of the year before there had been
many spotted horses.
The young men did not understand this, and some of them did not like
to leave this camp without taking any horses, but he was the leader
and they did as he said. They left that camp and went on further.
After traveling some days they came to another camp, and hid themselves
near it. When night came on _Kut-a´wi-kutz_ said to his young men, "You
stay here where you are hiding, and I will go into this camp and see if
it is the one we are looking for." He went through the camp but did not
find the lodge he sought. He returned to the hiding place, and told the
party there that this was not the camp they were looking for, that the
spotted horses were not there. They left the camp and went on.
When they had come close to the mountains they saw another camp.
_Kut-a´wi-kutz_ went into this camp alone, and when he had been
through it, he went back to his party and told them that this was the
camp they had been looking for. Then he sent the young men into the
camp to steal horses, and he put on his fine leggings and moccasins
that he had in his bundle, and painted himself and went with them. He
took a horse and his friend took one. They met outside the village. He
told his friend to get on his own horse and lead the other, and with
the rest of the party to go off east from the camp to a certain place,
and there to wait for him. "I have seen," he said, "another fine horse
that I like, and I wish to go back and get it."
His friend looked sorrowfully at him and said, "Why are you all
dressed up like this, and why is your face painted? What are you doing
or what is in your mind? Perhaps you intend to do some great thing
to-night that you do not want me, your friend, to know about. I have
seen for a long time that you are hiding something from me."
_Kut-a´wi-kutz_ caught his friend in his arms and hugged him and
kissed him and said, "You are my friend; who is so near to me as you
are? Go on as I have said, and if it turns out well I will tell you
all. I will catch up with you before very long."
His friend said, "No, I will stay with you. I will not go on. I love
you as a brother, and I will stay with you, and if you are going to do
some great thing I will die with you."
When _Kut-a´wi-kutz_ found that his friend was resolved to remain
with him, he yielded and told him his secret. He said to him, "My
brother, when we were on the warpath a year ago, and I took those two
spotted horses, I heard a little noise in the lodge by which they were
tied. I looked in and I saw there a girl sitting by the fire combing
her hair. She was very pretty. When I took the spotted horses away, I
could not put that girl out of my mind. I remembered her. Brother,
when we went back home that girl was constantly in my mind. I could
not forget her. I came this time on purpose to get her, even if it
shall cost me my life. She is in this camp, and I have found the lodge
where she lives."
His friend said, "My brother, whatever you say shall be done. I stay
with you. You go into the camp. I will take the horses and go to that
high rocky hill east of the camp, and will hide the horses there. When
you are in the village I will be up in one of the trees on the top of
the hill, looking down on the camp. If I hear shooting and see lots of
people running to the lodge I will know that you are killed, and I
will kill myself. I will not go home alone. If I do not see you by
noon, I will kill myself."
_Kut-a´wi-kutz_ said, "It is good. If I am successful I will go up
there after you, and take you down into the camp."
They parted. The friend hid the horses and went up on the hill.
_Kut-a´wi-kutz_ went into the camp.
III.
It was now the middle of the night. When he came to the lodge, he saw
there was a fire in it. He did not go in at once; he wanted the fire
to go out. He stayed around the lodge, and gradually the fire died
down. It was dark. He went into the lodge. He was painted and finely
dressed, and had his bundle with him. He took his moccasins off and
his leggings, and hung them up over the girl's bed; then strings of
beads, then five or six medals, bracelets, ear-bobs, beaded leggings,
everything he had--his shirt. He took his blanket, and spread it over
the bed where the girl was lying, stepped over the bed, and crept
under his own blanket, and lay down by her side.
When he lay down she woke up, and found that there was some one lying
by her, and she spoke to him, but he did not answer. He could not
understand her, for he did not know Comanche. She talked for a long
time, but he did not speak. Then she began to feel of him, and when
she put her hands on his head--_Pi-ta´-da_--Pawnee--an enemy! Then she
raised herself up, took a handful of grass from under the bed, spread
the fire and put the grass on it. The fire blazed up and she saw him.
Then she sprang up and took the top blanket, which was his, off the
bed, and put it about her, and sat by the fire. She called her father
and said, "Father get up; there is a man here."
The old man got up, and got his pipe and began smoking. This old man
was the Head Chief of the Comanches. He called the servant, and told
him to make a fire. The girl got up and went over to where her mother
was lying and called her. The mother got up; and they all sat by the
fire.
The old man smoked for a long time. Every now and then he would look
at the bed to see who it could be that was lying there, and then he
would look at all the things hanging up over the bed--at the medals
and other things. He did not know what they were for, and he wondered.
At length the old man told the servant to go and call the chiefs of
the tribe, and tell them to come to his lodge.
Presently the chiefs came in one by one and sat down. When they had
come there was still one brave who ought to have come that was not
there. His name was Skin Shirt; the father wanted him. He sent for him
three times. He sent word back to the chief to go on with the council,
and that he would agree to whatever they decided. The fourth time he
was sent for he came, and took a seat by the chief, the girl's father.
This brave spoke to _Kut-a´wi-kutz_, and told him to get up, and take
a seat among them. He did so. The girl was sitting on the other side
of the fire. When he got up, he had to take the blanket that was left,
which was the girl's. He put it around him, and sat down among them.
When the chiefs came in, there was among them a Pawnee who had been
captured long ago and adopted by the Comanches, and was now himself a
chief; he talked with _Kut-a´wi-kutz_ and interpreted for him, telling
him everything that was said as each one spoke.
After the young man had seated himself, the chief filled his pipe, and
gave the pipe to his brave to decide what should be done with this
enemy. The brave took the pipe, but he did not wish to decide, so he
did not light it, but passed it on to another chief to decide. He
passed it on to another, and he to another, and so it went until the
pipe came back to the Head Chief. When he got it again, he asked
_Kut-a´wi-kutz_, "Why have you come here this night and lain down in
my lodge, you who are an enemy to my people? And why have you hung up
in the lodge all these strange things which we see here? I do not
understand it, and I wish to know your reasons."
The boy said to him, "A long time ago I came south on the warpath to
steal horses. I traveled until I came to your camp. I saw three horses
tied outside a lodge, two spotted horses and a gray. While I was
cutting one of the ropes, I heard a little noise inside the lodge, and
pushing aside the door I looked in, and saw that girl combing her
hair. I stole the two spotted horses, and took them out of the camp,
and gave them to a friend of mine, and came back to your lodge, and
kept looking at the girl. I stayed there until she went to bed. For a
long year I have been buying presents; beads and many other things,
for I had made up my mind that I would go after this girl. I came down
here to find her. I have been to where you were camped last year, and
to two other camps that I discovered. She was not in these and I left
them, and came on until I found the right camp. This is the fourth
place. Now I am here. I made up my mind to do this thing, and if her
relations do not like it they can do as they please. I would be happy
to die on her account."
When he had spoken the old chief laughed. He said: "Those two spotted
horses that you stole I did not care much about. The gray horse was
the best one of the three, and you left him. I was glad that you did
not take him. He was the best of all." Then for a little while there
was silence in the lodge.
Then the chief, the girl's father, began to talk again; he said, "If I
wanted to decide what should be done with this man, I would decide
right now, but here is my brave, Skin Shirt, I want him to decide. If
I were to decide, it would be against this man, but he has my
daughter's blanket on, and she has his, and I do not want to decide. I
pass the pipe to my brave, and want him to light it."
The brave said, "I want this chief next to me to decide," and he
passed him the pipe, and so it went on around the circle until it came
to the Head Chief again. He was just about to take it and decide the
question, when they heard outside the lodge the noise made by some one
coming, shouting and laughing; then the door was pushed aside and an
old man came in, and as he passed the door he stumbled and fell on
his knees. It was the girl's grandfather. He had been outside the
lodge, listening.
The pipe was passed to the chief, and he gave it again to his brave to
decide. While the brave was sitting there, holding the pipe, the old
grandfather said, "Give me the pipe, if you men cannot decide, let me
do it. In my time we did not do things this way. I never passed the
pipe; I could always decide for myself."
Then Skin Shirt passed him the pipe, and he lit it and smoked. Then he
said, "I do not wish to condemn to death a man who is wearing my
granddaughter's blanket." The interpreter began to tell
_Kut-a´wi-kutz_ that the old man was going to decide in his favor, and
that when he got through speaking he must get up and pass his hands
over him, and thank him for taking pity on him, and so to all the
others. The old man continued, "Now, chiefs, do not think hardly of
what I am going to say, nor be dissatisfied with my decision. I am
old. I have heard in my time that there is a tribe up north that is
raising from the ground something that is long and white, and
something that is round; and that these things are good to eat. Now,
chiefs, before I die, I want to eat of these things, and I want my
granddaughter to go and take her seat by this man, and for them to be
man and wife. Since I was young we have been enemies, but now I want
the two tribes to come together, join hands and be friends." And so it
was decided.
The young man got up and passed his hands over the old man, and over
the brave, and passed around the circle and blessed them all. The
Pawnee, who was interpreter, now told him to get up, and get a medal
and put it on the brave, and then another and put it on the chief, and
so on until all the presents were gone. And he did so, and put on them
the medals, and ear-rings, and strings of beads, and breast-plates of
wampum, until each had something. And these things were new to them,
and they felt proud to be wearing them, and thought how nice they
looked.
IV.
By this time it was daylight, and it had got noised abroad through the
camp that there was a Pawnee at the Head Chief's lodge, and all the
people gathered there. They called out, "Bring him out; we want him
out here." They crowded about the lodge, all the people, the old men
and the women and the young men, so many that at last they pushed the
lodge down. They shouted: "Let us have the Pawnee. Last night they
stole many horses from us." The chiefs and braves got around the
Pawnee, and kept the Comanches off from him, and protected him from
the people. The Cheyennes were camped close by, near the hill
southeast of the Comanches, and they, too, had heard that the
Comanches had a Pawnee in the camp. They came over, and rode about in
the crowd to try and get the Pawnee, and they rode over a Comanche or
two, and knocked them down. So Skin Shirt got his bow and arrows, and
jumped on his horse, and rode out and drove the Cheyennes away back to
their camp again.
The Cheyennes saw that the Comanches did not want the Pawnee killed,
so they sent a message inviting him over to a feast with them,
intending to kill him, but Skin Shirt told them that he was married
into the tribe. While the Cheyennes were parading round the Comanche
camp, they were shooting off their guns in the air, just to make a
noise. Now, the young Pawnee on the hill, who was watching the camp to
see what would happen to his friend, saw the crowd and heard the
shooting, and made up his mind that _Kut-a´wi-kutz_ had been killed.
So he took his knife, and put the handle against a tree and the point
against his breast, and put his arms around the tree and hugged it,
and the knife blade passed through his heart and he fell down and
died.
In the afternoon when all the excitement had quieted down, the
Cheyennes came over again to the Comanche camp, and invited the Pawnee
and his wife to go to their village, and visit with them. Then Skin
Shirt said, "All right, we will go." Three chiefs of the Comanches
went ahead, the Pawnee followed with his wife, and Skin Shirt went
behind. They went to the Cheyenne camp. The Cheyennes received them
and made a great feast for them, and gave the Pawnee many horses. Then
they went back to the Comanche camp. _Kut-a´wi-kutz_ never went up to
the hill until the next morning. Then he went, singing the song he had
told his friend he would sing. He called to him, but there was no
reply. He called again. It was all silent. He looked for his friend,
and at last he found him there dead at the foot of the tree.
V.
_Kut-a´wi-kutz_ then stayed with the Comanches. The Cheyennes came
north and east, and the Comanches went on west, nearer to the
mountains. While the Pawnee was with the Comanches, they had several
wars with the Utes, Lipans and Tonkaways. _Kut-a´wi-kutz_ proved
himself a brave man, and, as the son-in-law of the chief, he soon
gained great influence, and was himself made a chief.
After some years the old man, his wife's grandfather, told the Pawnee
that he thought it was time that he should eat some of those things
that he had long wanted to eat that grew up north; that he was getting
pretty old now. _Kut-a´wi-kutz_ said, "It is time. We will go." So he
had his horses packed, and with his immediate family and the old man,
started north toward the Pawnee country. At this time he was called
_Kut-a´wi-kutz-u si-ti´-da-rit_, which means "See! The Hawk." When
going into battle he would ride straight out to strike his enemy, and
the Comanches who were looking at him would say, "See! The Hawk." So
that became his name.
They traveled a long time until they came to the Pawnee ground. As
they were traveling along, they came to a field where were growing
corn, beans and squashes. The Pawnee said to the old man,
"Grandfather, look at that field. There are the things that you have
desired to eat." He got off his horse and went into the field, and
pulled some corn, some beans and some squashes, and took them to the
old man, and gave them to him. The old man supposed they were to be
eaten just as they were, and he tried to bite the squashes. This made
the Pawnee laugh. When they came to the village, the Pawnees were very
glad to see him who had been lost long ago. He told the people that he
had brought these Indians to eat of the corn and other things; that
they were his kinsfolk. He told them, too, about the young man who had
killed himself. His relations went out into the fields, and gathered
corn and beans and squashes, and cooked them for the Comanches.
They stayed there a long time at the Pawnee village. When they were
getting ready to return, the Pawnees dried their corn, and gave a
great deal of it to the Comanches, packing many horses with it for the
Indians at home. Then the Comanches started south again, and some of
the Pawnee young men, relations of _Kut-a´wi-kutz_, joined him, and
went back with them. After they had returned to the Comanche camp, the
old grandfather died, happy because he had eaten the things he wanted
to eat.
Soon after this, _Kut-a´wi-kutz_ started back to the Pawnee village,
and some young men of the Comanches joined him. Some time after
reaching the village he went south again, accompanied by some young
Pawnees, but leaving most of the Comanches behind. He had arranged
with the chiefs of the Pawnees that they should journey south, meet
the Comanches on the plains and make peace. When he reached the
Comanches, the whole village started north to visit the Pawnees, and
met them on their way south. When they met, the two tribes made
friends, smoked together, ate together, became friends.
After they had camped together for some time, some Comanches stayed in
the Pawnee camp, and some Pawnees in the Comanche camp.
_Kut-a´wi-kutz_ was called by the Pawnees Comanche Chief. He would
have remained with the Comanches, but when he went back with them his
wife fell sick. The Comanche doctors could not help her, and he wanted
to take her north to see the Pawnee doctors, but the Comanches would
not let him. They kept him there, and his wife died. Then he was
angry, for he thought if he had taken her north her life might have
been saved.
So he left the Comanches, and went and lived with the Pawnees, and was
known among them always as Comanche Chief, the Peace-Maker, because he
made peace between the Pawnees and Comanches. He was chief of the
Ski´-di band, and a progressive man of modern times. He sent his
children East to school at Carlisle, Pa.
Comanche Chief died September 9th, 1888.
[Illustration: PAWNEE PIPE.]
LONE CHIEF.
Skür´-ar-a Le-shar.
I.
Lone Chief was the son of the chief of the Kit-ke-hahk´-i band. His
father died when the boy was very young, less than a year old. Until
he was old enough to go to war, his mother had supported him by
farming--raising corn, beans and pumpkins. She taught the boy many
things, and advised him how to live and how to act so that he might be
successful. She used to say to him, "You must trust always in
_Ti-ra´-wa_. He made us, and through him we live. When you grow up,
you must be a man. Be brave, and face whatever danger may meet you. Do
not forget, when you look back to your young days, that I have raised
you, and always supported you. You had no father to do it. Your father
was a chief, but you must not think of that. Because he was a chief,
it does not follow that you will be one. It is not the man who stays
in the lodge that becomes great; it is the man who works, who sweats,
who is always tired from going on the warpath."
Much good advice his mother gave him. She said, "When you get to be a
man, remember that it is his ambition that makes the man. If you go on
the warpath, do not turn around when you have gone part way, but go on
as far as you were going, and then come back. If I should live to see
you become a man, I want you to become a great man. I want you to
think about the hard times we have been through. Take pity on people
who are poor, because we have been poor, and people have taken pity on
us. If I live to see you a man, and to go off on the warpath, I would
not cry if I were to hear that you had been killed in battle. That is
what makes a man: to fight and to be brave. I should be sorry to see
you die from sickness. If you are killed, I would rather have you die
in the open air, so that the birds of the air will eat your flesh, and
the wind will breathe on you and blow over your bones. It is better to
be killed in the open air than to be smothered in the earth. Love your
friend and never desert him. If you see him surrounded by the enemy,
do not run away. Go to him, and if you cannot save him, be killed
together, and let your bones lie side by side. Be killed on a hill;
high up. Your grandfather said it is not manly to be killed in a
hollow. It is not a man who is talking to you, advising you. Heed my
words, even if I am a woman."
The boy listened to these words, and he did not forget them.
II.
In the year 1867 he enlisted in the Pawnee Scouts under Major Frank
North, and served in L. H. North's company. He was always a good
soldier, ready, willing and brave. At a fight near the Cheyenne Pass
in 1867, he counted _coup_ on a woman and a man, Arapahoes who had
stolen some horses at Fort Laramie.
At this time the boy's name was _Wi-ti-ti le-shar´-uspi_, Running
Chief. After he came back from this scout, he went on a war party of
which Left Hand was the leader, and they went to the Osage country. He
was no longer a servant, but a scout, a leading man in the party, one
of those who went ahead as spies. He had good judgment and understood
his duties. When they came to the Osage country, he was selected as
one of the leaders of a small branch party to steal horses. His party
took thirty head of horses. In the Osage country the young men were
not allowed to take all the horses they could. On account of the few
fords where they could cross the streams, they could not take a big
herd, but only what they could ride and lead, and at the same time go
fast. Across one river there was only one rocky ford, and over another
stream with deep banks there was only one rocky ford where they could
cross. Because they did not know this, in former times many Pawnees
had been caught and killed in the Osage country. So now they took but
few horses at a time, because these rivers were very deep and no one
could cross them except at these rock fords. Out of the horses taken
at this time Running Chief obtained one of the best and fastest ever
known among the Pawnees--a cream-colored horse, long famous in the
tribe. For his skillful leadership of this party he was given much
credit.
After returning home--the same year--he led a party to go off on the
warpath to the Cheyennes. He found a camp on the headwaters of the
North Canadian, and his party took seven horses, but these horses
looked thin and rough, and he was not satisfied with them; he was
ashamed to go home with only these. He told his party to take them
home, but that he was going off by himself to get some better ones. He
had with him a friend, with whom he had grown up, and whom he loved.
This young man was like a brother to Running Chief. These two went off
together, and went to the Osage camp, and staid about it for three
nights, and then took five horses, the best in the camp. They took
them back to the village. It was customary for the leading man in a
party to make a sacrifice to _Ti-ra´-wa_. Running Chief did this,
giving one horse to the chief priest. This sacrifice promoted him to
be a warrior.
III.
The next year he led a party again to the Osage country. He took some
horses and brought them home. This same year (1868) a party started
south. He was not the leader, but he went with them. They went to the
Wichita, Comanche and Kiowa villages--they were all camped
together--stole some horses and started back with them. Before they
had gone very far Running Chief stopped and said he was going back.
His friend was with the party, and when he found that Running Chief
had resolved to go back he said, "I will stop here with you."
The two went back toward the village that they had just left, and
climbed a hill that stood near it, and hid themselves there. They
waited, watching, for they had not decided what they would do. The
next day in the afternoon they began to get hungry, and they began to
talk together. Running Chief said to his friend, "My brother, are you
poor in your mind?[1] Do you feel like doing some great
thing--something that is very dangerous?"
[1] Poor in mind; _i. e._, despondent, unhappy, miserable.
His friend answered at once, "Yes, I am poor. I am ready. Why do you
ask me?"
Running Chief thought a little while before he answered, and as he
thought, all the pain and suffering of his life seemed to rise up
before him, so that he could see it. He remembered how he had been a
poor boy, supported by his mother, and all that they two had suffered
together while he was yet a child. He remembered how his sister had
been killed when he was a boy only ten years old, and how he had
mourned for her, when her husband, who was jealous of her, had shot
her through the body with an arrow and killed her. She was the only
sister he had, and he had loved her. He felt that he was poor now,
and that there was no hope of anything better for him, and he did not
want to live any longer. After he had thought of all these things he
said to his friend, "My life is not worth anything to me;" and then he
told him of his bad feelings. Finally he said, "Now you go off and
leave me here alone. I am tired of living, but you go home. You have
relations who would mourn for you. I do not want you to lose your life
on my account."
His friend answered him, "I will not go away from you. We have grown
up together, and I will stick to you. Wherever you go I will go, and
whatever you do I will do."
Then Running Chief meditated for a long time. He had not made up his
mind what to do. He thought to himself, "This, my friend, will stay
with me. I do not want to be the cause of his death." So he
considered. Finally he said to his friend, "If I shall make up my mind
to go to some place where there is great danger, I shall go."
His friend said, "I will go with you."
Running Chief thought again, and at last he said, "On account of my
feelings I have decided to go into the camp of my enemies, and be
eaten by their dogs."
The other man said, "Whatever you have determined on I also will do."
IV.
Then they jumped up out of the hole they were hiding in, and tied up
their waists, and prepared to start. They were not very far from a
trail which connected two villages, along which persons kept passing,
and the Indians of these villages were all about them. When they
jumped up to go toward the trail, they saw four or five persons
passing at a little distance. When they saw these people, Running
Chief called out to them, "_High--eigh_," and made motions for them to
come to him. He wanted to show his strong will, and that on account of
his bad feelings he wished to have his troubles ended right there. He
called to them twice, and each time the Indians stopped and looked at
the Pawnees, and then went on. They did not know who it was that was
calling them; perhaps they thought the Pawnees were two squaws.
The two young men went out to the trail and followed these persons
toward the village. They went over a little hill, and as soon as they
had come to the top and looked over it, they saw the village. On this
side of it, and nearest to them were three lodges. At the foot of the
hill was a river, which they must cross to come to these three lodges.
When they came to the river, the friend asked; "Shall we take off our
moccasins and leggings to cross?" Running Chief replied, "Why should I
take off my moccasins and leggings when I know that my life is just
going over a precipice? Let us go in as we are." So they crossed with
moccasins and leggings on. The river was only half-leg deep.
Just as they reached the further bank, all on a sudden, it came over
Running Chief what they were doing--that they were going to certain
death. All his courage seemed to leave him, and he felt as if he had
no bones in his body. Then for a moment he faltered; but he could not
give up now. He felt that if he was a man he must go forward; he could
not turn back. He stopped for an instant; and his friend looked at
him, and said, "Come, let us hurry on. We are near the lodges." He
stepped forward then, but his feet seemed to be heavy and to drag on
the ground. He walked as if he were asleep.
There was no one about near at hand, and as they went forward Running
Chief prayed with all his mind to _Ti-ra´-wa_ that no one might come
until they had reached the lodge, and had got inside. When they had
got to within about one hundred yards of the lodge, a little boy came
out, and began to play around the door, and when they were about fifty
yards from him he saw them. As soon as he looked at them, he knew that
they did not belong to the camp, and he gave a kind of a scream and
darted into the lodge, but no one came out. The people within paid no
attention to the boy. As they walked toward the lodges Running Chief
seemed not to know where he was, but to be walking in a dream. He
thought of nothing except his longing to get to this lodge.
They went to the largest of the three lodges. Running Chief raised the
door and put his head in, and as he did so, it seemed as if his breath
stopped. He went in and sat down far back in the lodge, opposite the
entrance, and though his breath was stopped, his heart was beating
like a drum. His friend had followed him in, and sat down beside him.
Both had their bows in their hands, strung, and a sheaf of arrows.
When they entered the lodge, the man who was lying down at the back of
the lodge uttered a loud exclamation, "_Woof_," and then seemed struck
dumb. A plate of corn mush had just been handed him, but he did not
take it, and it sat there on the ground by him. One woman was just
raising a buffalo horn spoon of mush to her mouth, but her hand
stopped before reaching it, and she stared at them, holding the mush
before her face. Another woman was ladling some mush into a plate, and
she held the plate in one hand and the ladle above it, and looked at
them without moving. They all seemed turned into stone.
As the two Pawnees sat there, Running Chief's breath suddenly came
back to him. Before it had all been dark about him, as if he had been
asleep; but now the clouds had cleared away, and he could see the road
ahead of him. Now he felt a man, and brave. As he looked around him,
and saw the man lying motionless, and one woman just ready to take a
mouthful, and the other woman with the ladle held over the dish, he
perceived that they could not move, they were so astonished.
At length the Wichita had come to his senses. He drew a long breath,
and sat up, and for a while looked at the two Pawnees. Then he made
some sign to them which they did not understand, but they guessed that
he was trying to ask who they were. Running Chief struck his breast,
and said, "_Pi-ta´-da_" (Pawnee). As soon as the Wichita heard that he
caught his breath, and heaved a long sigh. He did not know what to
think of two Pawnees coming into his lodge. He could not think what it
meant. He drew a long breath. He did not touch his plate of food, but
motioned a woman to take it away. Presently he called to some one in
the neighboring lodge. He was answered, and in a moment a man came in.
He called again, and another entered, and the three looked for a long
time at the two Pawnees. These were sitting motionless, but watching
like two wildcats to see what was going to happen. Each had his bow
and arrows by his side, and his knife inside his robe. At length the
owner of the lodge spoke, and one of the men went out, and after a
little they heard the sound of horses' hoofs coming, and they supposed
some one was riding up. Every now and then Running Chief would touch
his friend's knee with his own, as if to say, "Watch."
The owner of the lodge made a sign and pointed to the east and said
"_Capitan_."[2] At the same time he was dressing himself up, putting
on a pair of officer's trousers and a uniform coat. Meantime the
Pawnees heard the rattle of one saddle, and then of another. The
Wichita chief put on his blanket, and his pistol belt around it, and
then made signs for them to go out. He led the way, and the Pawnees
followed. As they went, Running Chief touched his friend, as if to
say, "Watch. They may shoot us as we go out." But when they looked out
of the lodge, the Wichita was walking toward the horses, so there was
no danger. He mounted a horse, and signed to Running Chief to get up
behind him. Another man mounted the other horse, and the friend got up
behind him.
[2] A Spanish word meaning chief.
As they rode toward the main village, it came into the mind of Running
Chief to kill the man he was riding behind, and to ride away. There
was where he had to fight his hardest battle. He was tempted to kill
this man in front of him, but he was not overpowered by this
temptation. He overcame it. He thought that perhaps he might be
mounted on a poor horse, and even if he did kill this man and his
friend the other, they might be on slow horses and be caught at once.
Every little while he would look at his friend and roll his eyes, as
if to say, "Watch on your side and I will watch on mine."
As he came near to the village, the Wichita warrior called out, and
began to sing a song, and all at once the village was in an uproar.
The men, women and children seemed to start up out of the ground, and
the lodges poured forth their inmates. Running Chief felt that he was
in danger, but he knew that he was not in as much danger as the man
before him. He could take the pistol out of the belt that he had hold
of and kill him, or he could use his own knife. The Wichita knew that
he was in danger. He knew that he was in the power of the enemy.
After the Wichita had called out to the people that they had enemies
with them, he kept on talking, saying, "Keep quiet. Do not do
anything. Wait. Keep away from me and be still. I am in danger." They
would not have listened to him, if it had not been that he was a
leading man, and a brave warrior. The riders came to the largest
lodge, which stood in the middle of the village. Here they stopped.
When Running Chief got off the horse, he held tightly the belt of the
Wichita, who dismounted; and they went together into the lodge of the
Head Chief, and the others followed and went in, and all sat down
opposite the door. All this time there was a hubbub outside. People
were flying from their lodges to that of the Head Chief, and lifting
up the edge of the lodge, and peeping under it at the Pawnees. They
chattered to each other, and called out to those who were coming; all
was noise and confusion.
V.
The under chiefs came in one by one, until all were present. Then one
of them made a speech, saying that it would be best to leave
everything to the Head Chief, and that he should decide what ought to
be done with these enemies. Then it was silent for a time, while the
Chief was making up his mind what should be done; and during this
silence Running Chief felt a touch on his shoulder, and looked behind
him, and there was handed to him under the edge of the lodge a dish of
meat. He took it and began to eat, and his companion also ate with
him. After he had eaten a few mouthfuls, he took his arrows, which he
had held in his hand, and put them in his quiver, and unstrung his bow
and laid it aside, and his friend did the same.
Then the Chief stood up and spoke to those sitting there and said,
"What can I do? They have eaten of my food. I cannot make war on
people who have been eating with me." While he was saying this,
Running Chief was again touched on the shoulder, and some one handed
him a cup of water, and he drank; and the Chief, as he saw this,
added, "and have also drunk of my water." He then turned and called to
a certain man, who could speak Pawnee, and told him to ask these men
if they were on the warpath. He asked them, "Are you on the warpath?"
and they replied, "Yes, we are on the warpath."
Then said he, "What are you here for?"
Running Chief answered, "You have plenty of dogs. I am here that my
body may be eaten by them."
When the Wichitas heard this they all made a sound, _Ah-h-h-h!_ for
they were surprised at his bravery. The Chief asked him, "Do you know
anything about the horses that were missed last night?"
He said, "Yes."
"Where are they?" said the Head Chief.
Running Chief replied, "The party have gone off with them--Pawnees."
"Were you with them?"
"Yes, I was with them, and I stopped behind on purpose to come into
your village."
The Head Chief then turned to the others and talked for a little
while. He said, "See what a brave man this is. He had resolved to die.
But he shall not die, because he has eaten our food and drunk of our
water. Although we are enemies of this man's tribe, yet we are the
same people with them, who have been apart for a long time. I cannot
help it; my heart is touched by his talk and by their bravery. By
their bravery they are safe." And all the Wichitas said "_Waugh_."
Then the Head Chief through the interpreter talked to Running Chief.
He said, "Are you a chief?"
Running Chief replied, "No, I am not a chief; I am like a dog; I am
poor."
The Head Chief said to him, "By your bravery you have saved
yourselves. You shall have the road to your home made white before
you. Let there not be one blood spot on it." Then he turned to those
who were sitting about the lodge and said, "Now, my young men, do
something for them."
A young man named Crazy Wolf stood up and spoke; and when he had
finished, the interpreter said, "That man has given you a black horse,
the best that he has."
Another young man on the other side of the lodge spoke, and the
interpreter said, "He has given you a roan horse, the best that he
has." Then all the Wichitas began to speak at once, and before they
knew it, the Pawnees had ten head of horses, and robes and blankets,
saddles, bridles, shields, spears and moccasins--many beautiful
presents. So they were well provided.
The Head Chief again stood up and talked to the assembly, praising
these Pawnees; and he stepped over to Running Chief and shook hands
with him, and when he did so, Running Chief stood up and put his arms
around the Chief and pressed him to his breast, and the Chief did the
same to him, and when Running Chief had his arms around the Chief, the
Chief trembled, and came near to crying. The Chief embraced the other
Pawnee, and looked him in the face and said, "What brave men you are!"
The friend said, "What my friend stepped, that I stepped; I trod in
his footprints; I had one mind with him."
As the Chief stepped back to his place he spoke through the
interpreter, "Now you have eaten of my food and drunk of my water.
Everything that I have is yours. My women and my children are yours.
You are not a chief, but you are a chief."[3] Then he spoke to the
crowd and they all went away, leaving only the principal men in the
lodge.
[3] You are not a chief, but you have made yourself a chief by your
great qualities.
That afternoon the Pawnees were feasted everywhere, and had to eat
till they were almost dead; and as they went about, all of their
former sadness seemed to be swept away, and Running Chief felt like
crying for joy.
While they were feasting, the man who had given the black horse went
out, and caught it up, and painted it handsomely, and rode into the
village, and put on it a silver bridle, and eagle feathers in its mane
and tail, and when Running Chief was going from one lodge to another
he met him, and jumped off the horse and said, "Brother, ride this."
He gave him also a shield and a spear.
These Pawnees staid two months with the Wichitas, and all their
troubles seemed at an end. At length Running Chief called a council of
the chiefs, and told them that now he wished to make ready to go home
to his village. He thanked them for all that they had done for him,
and said that now he would go. The chiefs said, "It is well. We are
glad that you have been with us and visited us. Take the good news
back to your tribe. Tell them that we are one people, though long
separated. Let the road between our villages be made white. Let it no
more show any spots of blood."
Running Chief thanked them and said, "I will go and take the good news
to my people. I shall show them the presents you have made us, and
tell them how well we have been treated. It may be that some of the
chiefs of my tribe will wish to come down to visit you, as I have
done." The Head Chief said, "Can I rely on your words, that I shall be
visited?" Running Chief replied, "You can rely on them if I have to
come alone to visit you again." The Chief got up and put his arms
about him, and said, "I want to be visited. Let there be no more war
between us. We are brothers; let us always be brothers." Then they
gave him many more presents, and packed his horses, and six braves
offered to go with him through the Cheyenne country. They went through
in the night. Running Chief said afterward, "I could have stolen a lot
of horses from the Cheyennes, but I thought, I will be coming back
through this country and it is better not."
At the Pawnee village these two young men had been mourned by their
relations as lost or dead. It was in the spring (March, 1869) when
they reached home, and there was joy in the tribe when they came in
with the presents. Running Chief was praised, and so was his friend.
Both had been brave and had done great things.
Now Running Chief's name was changed from _Wi-ti-ti le-shar´-uspi_ to
_Skür´-ar-a le-shar_ (Lone Chief).
VI.
The following summer in August, at the close of the summer hunt, three
hundred Pawnees, old men and young, under the leadership of Lone
Chief, visited the Wichitas, who received them well, and gave them
many horses. Lone Chief was not satisfied with the peace that he had
made with the Wichitas. He also visited the Kiowas, and made peace,
and was given by them eight fine horses. He also led his party to the
Comanches, and visited them, and got many presents. In the fall the
Pawnees returned to their village. Many of them fell sick on the way,
and some died.
In the winter of 1869-70 Lone Chief and his friend led a war party
against the Cheyennes. They took six hundred head of horses. The
Cheyennes now tell us that in the seventy-five lodges of that camp
there was not left a hoof. All night and all next day they ran the
herd. Then Lone Chief said, "Let us not run the horses any longer,
they will not come after us; they are afoot." When the party got on
the north side of the Republican, on the table lands, a terrible storm
of snow and wind came upon them, and they were nearly lost. For three
days and three nights they lay in the storm. All were frozen, some
losing toes and fingers. They survived, however, and brought in all
their horses. Again Lone Chief sacrificed to _Ti-ra´-wa_. A second
sacrifice is very unusual and a notable event.
[Illustration: OLD-FASHIONED "T. GRAY" AX.]
THE PRISONERS OF COURT HOUSE ROCK.
Court House Rock is a high, square-shaped bluff, or butte, on the
North Platte River. It is composed of a hard, yellowish clay, which is
but slowly eroded by the weather, though soft enough to be cut readily
with a knife. On all sides except one, this rock or butte is nearly or
quite vertical, and its sides, smoothed and polished by the wind and
the rain, offer no projecting points, to serve as foot or hand holds
for one who might wish to climb up or down. On one side there is a way
by which an active man may reach the summit, where he finds a flat
tableland of moderate extent.
A number of years ago a war party of Skidi, who were camped near Court
House Rock, were surprised by a party of Sioux. There were many of
them, and they drove the Skidi back, and at length these were obliged
to climb the steep side of Court House Rock. The Sioux dared not
follow them up on to the rock, but guarded the only place where it was
possible to come down, and camped all around the rock below to starve
the Skidi out. The Skidi had nothing to eat nor to drink, and suffered
terribly from hunger and still more from thirst. The leader of the
party suffered most of any, for he thought that he would surely lose
all his men. He felt that this was the worst of all. He must not only
die, but must also be disgraced, because under his leadership the
young men of his party had been lost. He used to go off at night,
apart from the others, and pray to _Ti-ra´-wa_ for help; for some way
to save his party.
One night while he was praying, something spoke to him, and said,
"Look hard for a place where you may get down from this rock, and so
save both your men and yourself." He kept on praying that night, and
when day came, he looked all along the edge of the rock for a place
where it might be possible to get down. At last he found near the edge
of the cliff a point of the soft clay rock sticking up above the level
of the rest. The side of the rock below it was straight up and down,
and smooth. At night he took his knife, and began to cut about the
base of this point of rock, and night after night he kept at this
until he had cut away the base of the point, so that it was no larger
around than a man's body. Then he secretly took all the lariats that
the party had, and tied them together, and let them down, and found
that his rope was long enough to reach the ground. He put the rope
around the point, and made a loop in it for his feet, and slowly let
himself down to the ground. He got there safely, and then climbed back
again. The next night he called his men about him, and told them how
it was, and that they might all be saved. Then he ordered the youngest
and least important man of the party to let himself down, and after
him the next youngest, and so on, up to the more important men, and
last of all the leader's turn came. He let himself down, and they all
crept through the Sioux camp and escaped.
They never knew how long the Sioux stayed there watching the rock.
Probably until they thought that the Skidi had all starved to death.
WOLVES IN THE NIGHT.
In the year 1879 Little Warrior, with a Chaui boy and a soldier, was
off scouting on the plains east of the mountains. They saw a long way
off--perhaps twenty miles--some objects that seemed to be moving. It
was one of those hot dry days in summer, when all the air is quivering
and all things are distorted by the mirage. They watched these objects
through their glasses for a long time. They seemed to move and quiver,
and they could not tell what they were, but Little Warrior thought
they were mounted men. They seemed to be traveling in the same
direction with this scouting party. At length they could see that they
were mounted men, and were driving some loose animals.
When night came, the two Pawnees left their horses with the soldier
and started on foot to look for the camp of the strangers, and to find
out who they were. They formed the plan to make themselves look like
coyotes, so that they could go close to the camp. Each took from under
his saddle a white sheet, which, when the time came, they would tie
around their bodies, having their guns inside, held under their arms,
and their pistols in their belts about their waists. It was a bright
moonlight night, the moon being so bright that it made it hard to see
far on the prairie.
The camp was found in a little hollow, and was occupied by seven Ute
Indians. They had a dog with them. The Pawnees could hear them talking
and laughing, as they sat about the big fire they had built. They
could see the horses too.
The men put on their white sheets, and getting down on all fours,
prowled about like wolves, gradually drawing nearer and nearer to the
camp. Two or three times the dog smelt them and barked, but they paid
no attention to it, but trotted hither and thither, smelling the
ground and sometimes sitting up on their haunches like wolves, and
then going on again. After a little while they came so close to the
camp that they could see that the horses were staked out, and that
there were some mules feeding about, hobbled. One of the Utes, who
noticed the wolves prowling near the camp, got his gun and shot at
the Chaui boy, but he did not hit him. The boy loped off and joined
Little Warrior behind a hill, and there the two waited.
Little Warrior said to his companion, "These men have come far to-day.
They are pretty tired. Wait and they will lie down and go to sleep."
Presently the camp quieted down and the Utes slept.
The Pawnees then made themselves wolves again, and went close to the
Ute camp. The horses were staked close to where the men were sleeping,
but the mules had wandered off a little to one side. Six mules were
together, and one was by itself on the other side of the camp. Little
Warrior went around the camp to this one, and cut its hobbles, and
then drove it slowly toward the others. Then they drove the whole
seven quietly away from the camp. If it had not been for the dog, they
could very likely have stolen the horses too, and left the Utes afoot,
and perhaps they might have been able to kill the Utes.
They drove the mules about two miles, and then went on to where they
had left their horses. They found the soldier nearly frightened to
death. He said he did not like to be left by himself in such a lonely
place; he wanted to go to camp. They told him they were going to
return and get those mules. They did so, and secured them, and drove
them in to their own camp, which they reached about six o'clock the
next morning.
It was learned afterward that fourteen mules had been stolen from a
Government train, and a reward of $200 had been offered for their
recovery. These taken by the two Pawnees were seven of the stolen
animals, and each of the men received $50 as his proportion of the
reward.
[Illustration: WHIP.]
A LEADER OF SOLDIERS.
In 1876, when the attack was made by General Mackenzie on the village
of the Cheyenne chief, Dull Knife, the Pawnee Scouts charged down on
the village on the south side of the creek, while on the north side of
the stream, a company of United States cavalry, under Lieut. McKinney,
were making a charge. Before the village was reached, Ralph J. Weeks,
an educated Pawnee, and some others of the scouts crossed the stream
and were riding near the soldiers. As they were crossing the cañon at
the mouth of which the village stood, the enemy began to fire at them
from the ravine. Lieut. McKinney was killed at the first volley, and
immediately afterward his first sergeant fell, leaving the troop
without a commander. The soldiers hesitated, stopped, and then turned
round, and began to retreat.
Ralph rode up behind them, and got off his horse, and called out,
"Hold on boys, don't run. There are only seven Indians there. Come on,
and we will kill them all. Get off your horses and come ahead on foot.
There are only seven of them. We will kill them all."
The men stopped in their retreat, dismounted, and under Ralph's
direction and leadership, went forward, and did kill all the Indians
in the ravine.
[Illustration: KNIFE SCABBARD.]
A CHEYENNE BLANKET.
The Cheyennes, like other Indians, do not speak to each other when
they are away from the camp. If a man goes away from the village, and
sits or stands by himself on the top of a hill, it is a sign that he
wants to be alone; perhaps to meditate; perhaps to pray. No one speaks
to him or goes near him.
Now, there was once a Pawnee boy, who went off on the warpath to the
Cheyenne camp. In some way he had obtained a Cheyenne blanket. This
Pawnee came close to the Cheyenne camp, and hid himself there to wait.
About the middle of the afternoon, he left his hiding place, and
walked to the top of the hill overlooking the village. He had his
Cheyenne blanket wrapped about him and over his head, with only a
little hole for his eyes. He stood there for an hour or two, looking
over the Cheyenne camp.
They were coming in from buffalo hunting, and some were leading in the
pack horses loaded down with meat. A man came along, riding a horse
packed with meat, and leading another pack horse, and a black spotted
horse that was his running horse. These running horses are ridden only
on the chase or on war parties, and are well cared for. After being
used they are taken down to the river and are washed and cleaned with
care. When the boy saw this spotted horse, he thought to himself that
this was the horse that he would take. When the man who was leading it
reached his lodge, he dismounted and handed the ropes to his women,
and went inside.
Then the Pawnee made up his mind what he would do. He started down the
hill into the village, and walked straight to this lodge where the
women were unloading the meat. He walked up to them, reached out his
hand, and took the ropes of the spotted horse and one of the others.
As he did so the women fell back. Probably they thought that this was
some one of the relations of the owner, who was going to take the
running horse down to the river to wash it. The Pawnee could not talk
Cheyenne, but as he turned away he mumbled something--_m-m-m-m_--as if
speaking in a low voice, and then walked down toward the river. As
soon as he had gone down over the bank and was out of sight, he jumped
on the spotted horse and rode into the brush, and pretty soon was away
with two horses, stolen out of the Cheyenne camp in broad daylight.
[Illustration: A WAR SHIELD.]
LITTLE WARRIOR'S COUNSEL.
Most of the Pawnee heroes are so regarded because of victories, daring
deeds, the _coups_ they have counted and the horses they have stolen.
The glory of Comanche Chief and of Lone Chief depends mainly on their
bravery, rather than on the fact that they were peace-makers. Yet
there should be room among these stories for the account of an
educated Pawnee--a brave--who by his wise counsel to an Indian of a
hostile tribe saved many lives, both of Indians and of white men.
Little Warrior was educated at a Western college, but has shown his
bravery on the field of battle, and has sacrificed a scalp to
_Ti-ra´-wa_.
In the year 1879, at the time of the Ute outbreak, after Major
Thornburgh's command had been annihilated, Little Warrior was employed
as a scout for the troops. On the headwaters of the Arkansas River he
was one day scouting in advance of the command, in company with four
white soldiers and four Indian scouts. One day, the party saw far off
on the prairie an Indian, who showed a white flag, and came toward
them. When he had come near to them, the soldiers proposed to kill
him, and report that he was a Ute, one of the Indians that they were
looking for. But Little Warrior said, "No. He has a white flag up, and
it may be that he is carrying a dispatch, or, perhaps, he is a white
man disguised as an Indian."
When the man had come close to them, they saw that he was dressed like
a Comanche; he did not have the bristling fringe of hair over the
forehead that the Utes wear, and his side locks were unbraided. Little
Warrior asked him, by signs, if he was alone, to which he replied in
the same language that he was alone. Then Little Warrior inquired who
he was. The stranger made the sign for Comanche--a friendly tribe.
They took him into the camp, and after a while Little Warrior began to
talk to him in Comanche. He could not understand a word of it.
Then the Pawnee said to him, "My friend, you are a Ute." The stranger
acknowledged that he was.
Then Little Warrior talked to him, and gave him much good advice. He
said, "My friend, you and I have the same skin, and what I tell you
now is for your good. I speak to you as a friend, and what I say to
you now is so that you may save your women and your children. It is of
no use for you to try to fight the white people. I have been among
them, and I know how many they are. They are like the grass. Even if
you were to kill a hundred it would be nothing. It would be like
burning up a few handfuls of prairie grass. There would be just as
many left. If you try to fight them they will hunt you like a ghost.
Wherever you go they will follow after you, and you will get no rest.
The soldiers will be continually on your tracks. Even if you were to
go up on top of a high mountain, where there was nothing but rocks,
and where no one else could come, the soldiers would follow you, and
get around you, and wait, and wait, even for fifty years. They would
have plenty to eat, and they could wait until after you were dead.
There is one white man who is the chief of all this country, and what
he says must be done. It is no use to fight him.
"Now if you are wise you will go out and get all your people, and
bring them in, on to the reservation, and give yourself up. It will be
better for you in the end. I speak to you as a friend, because we are
both the same color, and I hope that you will listen to my words."
The Ute said, "My friend, your words are good, and I thank you for the
friendly advice you have given me. I will follow it and will agree to
go away and bring in my people."
Little Warrior said, "How do you make a promise?"
The Ute said, "By raising the right hand to one above."
Little Warrior said, "That is the custom also among my people."
The Ute raised his hand and made the promise.
After he had been detained two or three weeks, he was allowed to go,
and about a month afterward, he brought in the band of which he was
chief, and surrendered. Through his influence afterward, the whole
tribe came in and gave themselves up. He was grateful to Little
Warrior for what he had done for him, and told him that if he ever
came back into his country he would give him many ponies.
A COMANCHE BUNDLE.
A Pawnee boy went to the Comanche village after horses. At night he
went into the camp, crept to the door of a lodge, and took a horse
that was tied there. It was bright moonlight, and as he was cutting
the rope he saw, hanging before the lodge, a handsome shield and a
spear, which he took. There was also a bundle hanging there. He took
this down, opened it, and found in it a war bonnet, beaded moccasins
and leggings, and a breast-plate of long beads. He dressed himself in
all these fine things, mounted the horse and rode away.
_FOLK-TALES._
THE DUN HORSE.
I.
Many years ago, there lived in the Pawnee tribe an old woman and her
grandson, a boy about sixteen years old. These people had no relations
and were very poor. They were so poor that they were despised by the
rest of the tribe. They had nothing of their own; and always, after
the village started to move the camp from one place to another, these
two would stay behind the rest, to look over the old camp, and pick up
anything that the other Indians had thrown away, as worn out or
useless. In this way they would sometimes get pieces of robes, worn
out moccasins with holes in them, and bits of meat.
Now, it happened one day, after the tribe had moved away from the
camp, that this old woman and her boy were following along the trail
behind the rest, when they came to a miserable old worn out dun horse,
which they supposed had been abandoned by some Indians. He was thin
and exhausted, was blind of one eye, had a bad sore back, and one of
his forelegs was very much swollen. In fact, he was so worthless that
none of the Pawnees had been willing to take the trouble to try to
drive him along with them. But when the old woman and her boy came
along, the boy said, "Come now, we will take this old horse, for we
can make him carry our pack." So the old woman put her pack on the
horse, and drove him along, but he limped and could only go very
slowly.
II.
The tribe moved up on the North Platte, until they came to Court House
Rock. The two poor Indians followed them, and camped with the others.
One day while they were here, the young men who had been sent out to
look for buffalo, came hurrying into camp and told the chiefs that a
large herd of buffalo were near, and that among them was a spotted
calf.
The Head Chief of the Pawnees had a very beautiful daughter, and when
he heard about the spotted calf, he ordered his old crier to go about
through the village, and call out that the man who killed the spotted
calf should have his daughter for his wife. For a spotted robe is
_ti-war´-uks-ti_--big medicine.
The buffalo were feeding about four miles from the village, and the
chiefs decided that the charge should be made from there. In this way,
the man who had the fastest horse would be the most likely to kill the
calf. Then all the warriors and the young men picked out their best
and fastest horses, and made ready to start. Among those who prepared
for the charge was the poor boy on the old dun horse. But when they
saw him, all the rich young braves on their fast horses pointed at
him, and said, "Oh, see; there is the horse that is going to catch the
spotted calf;" and they laughed at him, so that the poor boy was
ashamed, and rode off to one side of the crowd, where he could not
hear their jokes and laughter.
When he had ridden off some little way, the horse stopped, and turned
his head round, and spoke to the boy. He said, "Take me down to the
creek, and plaster me all over with mud. Cover my head and neck and
body and legs." When the boy heard the horse speak, he was afraid; but
he did as he was told. Then the horse said, "Now mount, but do not
ride back to the warriors, who laugh at you because you have such a
poor horse. Stay right here, until the word is given to charge." So
the boy stayed there.
And presently all the fine horses were drawn up in line and pranced
about, and were so eager to go that their riders could hardly hold
them in; and at last the old crier gave the word, "_Loo-ah_"--Go! Then
the Pawnees all leaned forward on their horses and yelled, and away
they went. Suddenly, away off to the right, was seen the old dun
horse. He did not seem to run. He seemed to sail along like a bird. He
passed all the fastest horses, and in a moment he was among the
buffalo. First he picked out the spotted calf, and charging up
alongside of it, _U-ra-rish!_ straight flew the arrow. The calf fell.
The boy drew another arrow, and killed a fat cow that was running by.
Then he dismounted and began to skin the calf, before any of the other
warriors had come up. But when the rider got off the old dun horse,
how changed he was! He pranced about and would hardly stand still near
the dead buffalo. His back was all right again; his legs were well and
fine; and both his eyes were clear and bright.
The boy skinned the calf and the cow that he had killed, and then he
packed all the meat on the horse, and put the spotted robe on top of
the load, and started back to the camp on foot, leading the dun horse.
But even with this heavy load the horse pranced all the time, and was
scared at everything he saw. On the way to camp, one of the rich young
chiefs of the tribe rode up by the boy, and offered him twelve good
horses for the spotted robe, so that he could marry the Head Chief's
beautiful daughter; but the boy laughed at him and would not sell the
robe.
Now, while the boy walked to the camp leading the dun horse, most of
the warriors rode back, and one of those that came first to the
village, went to the old woman, and said to her, "Your grandson has
killed the spotted calf." And the old woman said, "Why do you come to
tell me this? You ought to be ashamed to make fun of my boy, because
he is poor." The warrior said, "What I have told you is true," and
then he rode away. After a little while another brave rode up to the
old woman, and said to her, "Your grandson has killed the spotted
calf." Then the old woman began to cry, she felt so badly because
every one made fun of her boy, because he was poor.
Pretty soon the boy came along, leading the horse up to the lodge
where he and his grandmother lived. It was a little lodge, just big
enough for two, and was made of old pieces of skin that the old woman
had picked up, and was tied together with strings of rawhide and
sinew. It was the meanest and worst lodge in the village. When the old
woman saw her boy leading the dun horse with the load of meat and the
robes on it, she was very much surprised. The boy said to her, "Here,
I have brought you plenty of meat to eat, and here is a robe, that you
may have for yourself. Take the meat off the horse." Then the old
woman laughed, for her heart was glad. But when she went to take the
meat from the horse's back, he snorted and jumped about, and acted
like a wild horse. The old woman looked at him in wonder, and could
hardly believe that it was the same horse. So the boy had to take off
the meat, for the horse would not let the old woman come near him.
III.
That night the horse spoke again to the boy and said, "_Wa-ti-hes
Chah´-ra-rat wa-ta_. To-morrow the Sioux are coming--a large war party.
They will attack the village, and you will have a great battle. Now,
when the Sioux are drawn up in line of battle, and are all ready to
fight, you jump on to me, and ride as hard as you can, right into the
middle of the Sioux, and up to their Head Chief, their greatest
warrior, and count _coup_ on him, and kill him, and then ride back. Do
this four times, and count _coup_ on four of the bravest Sioux, and
kill them, but don't go again. If you go the fifth time, may be you
will be killed, or else you will lose me. _La-ku´-ta-chix_--remember."
So the boy promised.
The next day it happened as the horse had said, and the Sioux came
down and formed a line of battle. Then the boy took his bow and
arrows, and jumped on the dun horse, and charged into the midst of
them. And when the Sioux saw that he was going to strike their Head
Chief, they all shot their arrows at him, and the arrows flew so
thickly across each other that the sky became dark, but none of them
hit the boy. And he counted _coup_ on the Chief, and killed him, and
then rode back. After that he charged again among the Sioux, where
they were gathered thickest, and counted _coup_ on their bravest
warrior, and killed him. And then twice more, until he had gone four
times as the horse had told him.
But the Sioux and the Pawnees kept on fighting, and the boy stood
around and watched the battle. And at last he said to himself, "I have
been four times and have killed four Sioux, and I am all right, I am
not hurt anywhere; why may I not go again?" So he jumped on the dun
horse, and charged again. But when he got among the Sioux, one Sioux
warrior drew an arrow and shot. The arrow struck the dun horse behind
the forelegs and pierced him through. And the horse fell down dead.
But the boy jumped off, and fought his way through the Sioux, and ran
away as fast as he could to the Pawnees. Now, as soon as the horse was
killed, the Sioux said to each other, "This horse was like a man. He
was brave. He was not like a horse." And they took their knives and
hatchets, and hacked the dun horse and gashed his flesh, and cut him
into small pieces.
The Pawnees and Sioux fought all day long, but toward night the Sioux
broke and fled.
IV.
The boy felt very badly that he had lost his horse; and, after the
fight was over, he went out from the village to where it had taken
place, to mourn for his horse. He went to the spot where the horse
lay, and gathered up all the pieces of flesh, which the Sioux had cut
off, and the legs and the hoofs, and put them all together in a pile.
Then he went off to the top of a hill near by, and sat down and drew
his robe over his head, and began to mourn for his horse.
As he sat there, he heard a great wind storm coming up, and it passed
over him with a loud rushing sound, and after the wind came a rain.
The boy looked down from where he sat to the pile of flesh and bones,
which was all that was left of his horse, and he could just see it
through the rain. And the rain passed by, and his heart was very
heavy, and he kept on mourning.
And pretty soon, came another rushing wind, and after it a rain; and
as he looked through the driving rain toward the spot where the pieces
lay, he thought that they seemed to come together and take shape, and
that the pile looked like a horse lying down, but he could not see
well for the thick rain.
After this, came a third storm like the others; and now when he looked
toward the horse he thought he saw its tail move from side to side two
or three times, and that it lifted its head from the ground. The boy
was afraid, and wanted to run away, but he stayed.
And as he waited, there came another storm. And while the rain fell,
looking through the rain, the boy saw the horse raise himself up on
his forelegs and look about. Then the dun horse stood up.
V.
The boy left the place where he had been sitting on the hilltop, and
went down to him. When the boy had come near to him, the horse spoke
and said, "You have seen how it has been this day; and from this you
may know how it will be after this. But _Ti-ra´-wa_ has been good, and
has let me come back to you. After this, do what I tell you; not any
more, not any less." Then the horse said, "Now lead me off, far away
from the camp, behind that big hill, and leave me there to-night, and
in the morning come for me;" and the boy did as he was told.
And when he went for the horse in the morning, he found with him a
beautiful white gelding, much more handsome than any horse in the
tribe. That night the dun horse told the boy to take him again to the
place behind the big hill, and to come for him the next morning; and
when the boy went for him again, he found with him a beautiful black
gelding. And so for ten nights, he left the horse among the hills,
and each morning he found a different colored horse, a bay, a roan, a
gray, a blue, a spotted horse, and all of them finer than any horses
that the Pawnees had ever had in their tribe before.
Now the boy was rich, and he married the beautiful daughter of the
Head Chief, and when he became older, he was made Head Chief himself.
He had many children by his beautiful wife, and one day when his
oldest boy died, he wrapped him in the spotted calf robe and buried
him in it. He always took good care of his old grandmother, and kept
her in his own lodge until she died. The dun horse was never ridden
except at feasts, and when they were going to have a doctors' dance,
but he was always led about with the Chief, wherever he went. The
horse lived in the village for many years, until he became very old.
And at last he died.
A STORY OF FAITH.
Long ago, before they ever had any of these doctors' dances, there
was, in the Kit-ke-hahk´-i tribe, a young boy, small, growing up. He
seemed not to go with the other boys nor to play with them, but would
keep away from them. He would go off by himself, and lie down, and
sometimes they would find him crying, or half crying. He seemed to
have peculiar ways. His father and mother did not try to interfere
with him, but let him alone. Sometimes they would find him with mud or
clay smeared over his face and head. That is the sign of a doctor.
When you see a person putting mud on his face or head, it shows that
he has faith in the earth. From the earth are taken the roots that
they use in medicine.
When the parents saw this, they did not understand it. How should he
know anything about mud being the sign of a doctor? They did not
understand, but they just let him do it.
The boy grew up till he came to have the ways of a young man, but he
never went with any of the other boys. After he had grown up, they saw
that he had something in his mind. Sometimes he would fast for two
days, and sit by himself, smoking and praying to _Ti-ra´-wa_, and not
saying anything to any one. His father was a brave but not a chief,
and had plenty of horses. The son was well dressed and comfortably
off.
When any one in the camp was sick, this young man would take pity on
him, and of his own accord would go and doctor him, and pretty soon
the person would be well again. Through his doing this, the people
began to hear about him, and his name became great. He was humble, and
did not want to be thought well of. He was not proud, but he was
always doing good. At that time, there were many doctors in the tribe,
and they wondered how it was that he could cure so many people, when
he had never been taught by any of them. They could not understand it,
and they began to be jealous of him. He never wanted to be with the
doctors, but liked to stay by himself. He wanted to be alone rather
than with any one.
In that time there were bad doctors, and they began to hear about this
humble man and to be jealous of him. These bad doctors could curse a
man, and he would be cursed, and could poison one. They had great
power and influence, for everybody feared them.
The bands of the Pawnees were not then together, as they are now. As
the people talked about this young man, one of the other bands heard
about him. In this band was a great doctor, and this doctor thought to
himself, "This young man's influence is growing. If I do not do
something, he will soon be ahead of me."
This great doctor went to the village to visit this young man, to see
how he looked, and to find out how he got his knowledge and his power,
for he knew he had never been taught. He wanted to eat with him, and
talk with him, and find out whence his learning came. He reached the
Kit-ke-hahk´-i village. He was welcomed, and the young man treated him
with respect, and asked him to come into the lodge, and sit down with
him. At night they talked together. The great doctor said, "I am glad
to see you. You can come to me for advice sometimes." The young man
thanked him. They smoked together. It is the custom always when an
Indian is visiting another, for the one that is being visited to
present all the smokes; but at this time the great doctor said, "We
will smoke my tobacco." So all night they smoked his tobacco. The next
morning he went away. He did not again eat with the young man. He
said, "I am glad, and I am going." And he went away to his village.
This happened in the winter.
This young man was not married. His father had asked him to marry, but
he would not. He said he had reasons.
About summer time, he felt different from what he had. He was drowsy
and felt badly. He felt heavy. He seemed to be swelling up with some
strange new disease. The great doctor had poisoned him with this
result. How it was no one can tell, but it was so. This was a
disgrace, and he did not know how to get out of it. There was no way.
He would go off and cry, and pray to _Ti-ra´-wa_, and sometimes would
stay for three or four days without anything to eat. He was so
miserable that one time he was going to kill himself. He did not tell
his father or any one about this, but kept it to himself. The tribe
went off on a hunt and left the old village. Before they started, the
man went off on a hill somewhere to meditate and pray, and his father
told him that when he was ready to start he should ride such a horse,
and he left it in the village for him when he should come in.
When he came into the empty village he found the horse tied there, and
he saddled it and started; but instead of going in the direction the
tribe had taken, he went east. His horse was a fine one. He went away
off by himself for some days, and at last he stopped, and got off his
horse, and tied it to a tree. Then he called aloud and said, "_A-ti-us
ta´-kaw-a_ (My Father, in all places), it is through you that I am
living. Perhaps it was through you that this man put me in this
condition. You are the ruler. Nothing is impossible to you. If you see
fit, take this away from me." Then he turned round and said, "Now,
you, all fish of the rivers, and you, all birds of the air, and all
animals that move upon the earth, and you, oh Sun! I present to you
this animal." He said again, "You birds in the air, and you animals
upon the earth, we are related, we are alike in this respect, that
one ruler made us all. You see me, how unhappy I am. If you have any
power, intercede for me."
When he had finished his prayer, he went up to the horse, and stabbed
it with his knife and killed it, and it fell down dead. He turned it
so that its head was toward the east, and raised it on its belly,
doubling its knees under it, and cut the hide down the back, and
skinned it down on both sides, so that the birds of the air and the
animals of the earth might feed on it.
The tribe at this time was camped on the head of the Republican River.
He went on toward the east until he came to the place on the Platte
River called _Pa-huk´_ (hill island). He saw that there were many wild
animals on this point, and he liked it, and thought he would stay
there, and perhaps dream. He stopped there a while, feeling very
badly, and mourning all the time on this point. He was there several
days, and one night it happened that he went to sleep [fainted], for
he was exhausted with much weeping and praying. Something spoke to
him, and said, "What are you doing here?" He woke up, and looked
around, but saw no one. It was only a voice. Another night when he was
asleep a voice asked him, "What are you doing here?" He awoke and
looked about, but saw no one. A third night the same thing happened,
and he was wondering what it meant. Then he answered and said, "Who
ever you are who speaks to me, look at me and you will see that I am
poor in mind.[4] I am a man, and yet I am in a condition that no man
was ever in before. I am here only to suffer and to die. Whoever you
are who speaks to me, take pity on me and help me." He received no
answer.
[4] Poor in mind, _i. e._, despondent, miserable, unhappy.
The fourth night something touched him. He was half awake when he felt
it. Something said, "What are you doing here?" He was lying on his
side, his head toward the east and his feet toward the west. Something
tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up and saw a great big
animal, big black eyes and a whitish body, _Pah´_, big elk. When he
looked at it, the animal said, "Get up and sit down;" and the elk too
sat down. The elk said, "I have heard of you and of your condition,
and I am here to tell you that we all know your trouble. Right here
where you are, under you, is the home of the _Nahu´rac_ (animals). I
know that it is impossible to help you, but I shall let them
know--they already know--that you are here. I can only help you so
far as to take you to the places where these animals are. If this
animal home cannot help you, I will take you to another place; if that
fails, I will take you to another place; if that fails, to another.
Then you will see that I have done my part. If it is impossible for
the animals to do it, we have still one above that we look to." As
soon as he had said this, he vanished like a wind; disappeared all at
once.
While the boy sat there, thinking about what the animal had said to
him, he fell asleep with his mind full of these things. In his sleep
something talked to him. It said, "I know that you feel badly, and
that your mind is poor. I have passed you many times, and I have heard
you crying. I belong here, but I am one of the servants. I have
informed my leaders, those who command me, about you, and that you are
so poor in your mind, and they have said to me, 'If you take pity on
him, do as you please, because you are our servant.'"
At this time he woke up, and saw sitting by him a little bird.[5] He
talked to it. He said, "Oh, my brother, I feel pleased that you
understand my poor mind. Now take pity on me and help me." The bird
said to him, "You must not talk in this way to me. I am only a
servant. To-morrow night I will come this way, and will show you what
to do. To-morrow night I will come this way, and whatever you see me
do, you do the same thing." Then he disappeared. The man then felt a
little easier in his mind, and more as if there were some hope for
him.
[5] This is a small bird, blue above, white below, with red legs.
It is swift-flying, and sometimes dives down into the water. It is
the messenger bird of the _Nahu´rac_. See also story of the Boy who
was Sacrificed.
The next night the bird came, and was flying about near him after
dark, waiting for the time. When the time came, the bird flew close to
him, and said, "Come. Let us go to the edge of the cut bank." When
they had come to the edge of the bank above the water in the river,
the bird said, "Now, my friend, you are poor. What I do, you do. When
I dive down off this bank, you follow me." The man replied to him,
"Yes, I am poor. Whatever you tell me to do, I will do." So when the
bird dived down off the cut bank, the man threw off everything, and
cared nothing for what he did except to follow the bird. He leaped
down after it, and as he sprang, it seemed to him that he felt like a
bird, and could sail this way and that. He did not feel as if he were
falling, and were going to be hurt, but as if he were flying, and
could control his movements. Just as he reached the water in his fall,
it seemed to him that he was standing in the entrance way of a lodge,
and could look through into it and see the fire burning in the middle.
While he was standing there, the bird flew in ahead of him, and he
heard it say, "Here he is." He stepped toward the entrance, and just
as he came to it the _Nahu´rac_ all made their different noises, for
they are not used to the smell of human beings. The bears growled, and
the panthers and wild cats and wolves and rattlesnakes and other
animals all made their sounds. As he went in, there was a bear
standing on one side, and a great snake on the other, and it was very
difficult for the man to go in. He hesitated a little to enter that
narrow passage, but something behind him seemed to push him ahead,
although the bear stood ready to seize him, and the snake was rattling
and standing up as if about to strike. If he had not had the courage
to pass them he would have been lost, but he looked neither to the
right nor to the left, but walked straight ahead past them. As soon as
he had passed them, they both sank back and were quiet. Then all the
_Nahu´rac_ made another kind of a noise, as if welcoming him. The
bear began to lie down; and the snake stretched itself out again. As
he went in he just stood there and looked around. He saw there all
kinds of animals. The head doctor was a white beaver, very large,
there was another a garfish, another an otter, and the fourth was a
sandhill crane.
The man sat down, and he looked very pitiful. Then for a while
everything was silent. Then the servant said to the four head doctors,
"I have brought this man here. I have taken pity on him, and I want
you to take pity on him." Then it was more silent than ever. The man
looked about him, and saw all the animals, and saw them roll their
eyes around at him.
Presently the servant got up, and stood right in the midst. The head
doctors sat at the back of the lodge opposite the door on the other
side of the fire. The bird said, "My rulers, you know me. I am your
servant, and I am always obedient to your commands. No matter what you
tell me to do, I do it. No matter how long the journeys you send me
on, I go. Many nights I have lost sleep because of carrying out your
commands. I have seen this man many times, and I am weary of his
crying as I fly back and forth. Now, I want you to take pity on this
man, because I pity him. Look on this poor-minded man and pity him."
Then the bird went to the young man, and took from him his pipe, which
was filled, and carried it round and stood before the beaver, the head
doctor, and held out the pipe to him to take. The white beaver did not
stretch out his hand for it, and the bird stood there for a long time.
At last the bird began to cry, and the tears began to run down its
face, and it cried hard; and at last the white beaver stretched out
his hand, and then drew it back again, and hesitated; and the bird
kept on crying, and at length the head doctor reached out his hand and
took the pipe. Just as soon as he took the pipe, all the animals made
a kind of a hissing sound, as much as to say, _Loo´ah_--Good. They
were pleased. Then the white beaver, holding the pipe, said, "I cannot
help but reach out for this pipe, for I take pity on my servant. But
it is impossible for me to promise that I will do this thing, but I
will do what I can. I will leave it to this other _Nahu´rac_ to say
what shall be done;" and he passed the pipe to the other _Nahu´rac_
who sat next to him. This animal reached for the pipe, and took it. He
made a speech, and said, "My friends, I am poor, I am poor. I have
not such power as that;" and he passed the pipe to another; and he
said, "I have not the power;" and he passed it to another; and so it
went around the circle. The pipe had passed around, and none of the
_Nahu´rac_ had the power. None of them seemed to understand how to
help the man. Then the white beaver said, "My friend, you see that no
one of us have the power to help you. There is another lodge of
_Nahu´rac_ at _Pa´howa_. You must go there and ask them." Then the
_Nahu´rac_ made medicine, and the young man went to sleep, and when he
awoke at daylight, he found himself on the point where he had lain
down to sleep the night before.
He was discouraged and wept all day long. At night the elk came to him
and said, "Go to sleep; I will take you over to _Pa´howa_." The man
slept and the elk took him on its back and carried him while asleep,
and the next morning he found himself on that point of _Pa´howa_.
That night the messenger bird came to him and said, "Now, my friend,
follow me, and what you see me do, that do yourself. When I dive down
into _Pa´howa_, you follow me." The bird dived down into the spring,
and the young man jumped after him, and again found himself standing
at the door of a lodge, and the same things took place as before. Here
the same animals were the head doctors. The chief head doctor talked
to the boy and said, "My friend, I am sorry you have come to me in the
condition you are in. My friend, this is something impossible. If it
were anything else it might be possible for us to cure your trouble.
Nothing like it was ever known before."
When he had said this he turned to the _Nahu´rac_ and said, "Now you
shall be the leaders. If there are any of you who understand things
like this; if any of you can take the lead in things like this, why do
it. It is beyond my power. Say what shall be done, any of you. My mind
would be big if any of you could take pity on this poor man."
Another one of the _Nahu´rac_ stood up and spoke, "My brother [to the
white beaver], and my brother [to the young man], do not feel hard at
me. This is beyond my power. I cannot do anything to help him." So it
went around the circle, every one saying that it was impossible. After
it had gone round, the head doctor again stood up and said, "Now, my
friend, you can see that it is impossible to cure you of this trouble,
but there is another lodge of the _Nahu´rac_ on the west side of the
Loup River. You go there." Then they put him to sleep, and when he
awoke next morning, he was on top of the ground near _Pa´howa_.
That night the elk took him while he was asleep to the place on the
Loup. The next night he was sitting on the ground there, and the bird
came to him, and he followed the bird down over the bank and into the
_Nahu´rac_ lodge. Here the head doctors were the same animals, and
they made speeches as had been done at the other places, and, as
before, it was left to the assembly, and all agreed that it was beyond
their power. Then the white beaver directed him to go to an island in
the Platte, near the Lone Tree, where there was another lodge of the
_Nahu´rac_. The elk took him to this island. Under the center of this
island was the lodge. The messenger bird was with him and went into
the lodge and asked the _Nahu´rac_ to help him. The white beaver made
a speech, and said, "My friend, I have heard the condition that you
are in. Of all these lodges that you have visited, that lodge at
_Pa-huk´_ is the head. I want you to go back there, and tell the
leaders there that they are the rulers, and that whatever they shall
do will be right, and will be agreed to by the other lodges. They
must help you if they can. If they cannot do it, no one can."
When the elk took him back to _Pa-huk´_, the bird again conducted him
into the lodge. He had left his pipe here. When he entered the lodge
all the animals made a hissing sound--_No´a_--they were glad to see
him again. The man stood in the middle of the lodge and spoke. He
said, "Now you animals all, you are the leaders. You see how poor my
mind is. I am tired of the long journeys you have sent me on. I want
you to take pity on me."
The white beaver stood up and took the pipe and said, "Oh, my brother,
I have done this to try these other lodges of _Nahu´rac_, to see if
any of them were equal to me. That was the reason that I sent you
around to all these other lodges, to see if any of them would be
willing to undertake to rid you of your burden. But I see that they
all still acknowledge that I am the leader. Now I have here an animal
that I think will undertake to help you and to rid you of your
trouble." Saying this he stepped out to the right, and walked past
some of the _Nahu´rac_ until he came to a certain animal--a ground
dog--and held out the pipe to it. There were twelve of these animals,
all alike--small, with round faces and black whiskers--sitting on
their haunches. He held out the pipe to the head one of these twelve.
When the white beaver reached out the pipe to this animal he did not
take it. He hesitated a long time, and held his head down. He did not
want to take the pipe. He looked around the lodge, and at the man, and
drew in his breath. At last he reached out his paws and took the pipe,
and as he did so, all the _Nahu´rac_ made a noise, the biggest kind of
a noise. They were glad.
Then the head ground dog got up and said, "Now, doctors, I have
accepted this pipe on account of our servant, who is so faithful, and
who many a night has lost sleep on account of our commands. I have
accepted it for his sake. It is impossible to do this thing. If it had
been earlier, I could perhaps have done it. Even now I will try, and
if I fail now, we can do nothing for him."
After they had smoked, they told the man to go and sit down opposite
the entrance to the lodge, between the head doctors and the fire.
These twelve animals stood up and walked back and forth on the
opposite side of the fire from him, facing him. After a while they
told him to stand up. The head ground dog now asked the other
_Nahu´rac_ to help him, by singing, and they all sang; and the ground
dogs danced, keeping time to the singing, and moved their hands up and
down, and made their jaws go as if eating, but did not open their
mouths.
After a while they told him to lie down with his head toward the
doctors and his feet toward the entrance. After he had lain down, they
began to move and went round the lodge toward him, and the head ground
dog jumped over the man's belly, and as he jumped over him he was seen
to have a big piece of flesh in his mouth, and was eating it. Another
ground dog followed him, and another, and each one ran until he came
to the man, and as each one jumped over him, it had a piece of flesh
in its mouth, eating it. So they kept going until they had eaten all
the swelling. The young man was unconscious all this time, for he
afterward said he knew nothing of what had happened.
The head ground dog spoke to the animals, and said, "Now, _Nahu´rac_,
you have seen what I can do. This is the power that I have. That is
the reason I am afraid to be out on the prairie, because when I get
hungry I would kill men and would eat them. My appetite would
overpower me, and I do not want to do these things, I want to be
friendly. This is the reason that I do not travel around on top of
the ground. I stay hid all the time."
The man was still unconscious, and the head ground dog said, "Now,
_Nahu´rac_, I do not understand how to restore this man. I leave that
to you." Then the ground dogs went back to their places and sat down.
Then the head doctor, the beaver, spoke to the bears. He said, "Now
this man belongs to you. Let me see what you can do." The head bear
got up and said, "Very well, I will come. I will let you see what I
can do." Then the bears stood up and began to sing. The head bear
would jump on top of the man, and act as if he were going to tear him
to pieces, and the others would take hold of him, and shake him
around, and at last his blood began to flow and the man began to
breathe, but he was still unconscious. After a while he moved and came
to life, and felt himself just as he had been many months before. He
found that his trouble was gone and that he was cured.
The head bear still stood by him and spoke to the _Nahu´rac_. He said,
"Now, _Nahu´rac_, this is what I can do. I do not care how dangerously
wounded I may be, I know how to cure myself. If they leave any breath
at all in me, I know how to cure myself." Then the bears went to
their place and sat down.
The man got up and spoke to the _Nahu´rac_, thanking them for what
they had done for him. He stayed there several nights, watching the
doings of the _Nahu´rac_. They taught him all their ways, all the
animal secrets. The head doctor said to him, "Now, I am going to send
you back to your home, but I will ask a favor of you, in return for
what I have done for you."
The man answered him, "It will be so, whatever you say."
The doctor said, "Through you let my animals that move in the river be
fed. Now you can see who we are. I move in the water. I have no
breath, but I exist. We every one of us shall die except _Ti-ra´-wa_.
He made us, just as he made you. He made you to live in the air. We
live where there is no air. You see the difference. I know where is
that great water that surrounds us [the ocean]. I know that the heaven
[sky] is the house of _Ti-ra´-wa_, and we live inside of it. You must
imitate us. Do as we do. You must place your dependence on us, but
still, if anything comes up that is very difficult, you must put your
dependence on _Ti-ra´-wa_. Ask help from the ruler. He made us. He
made every thing. There are different ways to different creatures.
What you do I do not do, and what I do you do not do. We are
different. When you imitate us you must always blow a smoke to each
one of these four chief doctors, once to each; but to _Ti-ra´-wa_ you
must blow four smokes. And always blow four to the night, to the east,
because something may tell you in your sleep a thing which will
happen. This smoke represents the air filled with the smoke of hazy
days. That smoke is pleasant to _Ti-ra´-wa_. He made it himself. Now
go home, and after you have been there for a time, go and pay a visit
to the doctor who put you in this condition."
The young man went home to his village, and got there in the night. He
had long been mourned as dead, and his father was now poor in mind on
account of him. He went into his father's lodge, and touched him, and
said, "Wake up, I am here."
His father could not believe it. He had thought him dead a long time.
He said, "Is it you, or is it a ghost?"
The young man answered, "It is I, just the same as ever. Get up, and
go and tell my uncles and all my relations that I am here. I want you
to give me something; a blue bead, and some Indian tobacco, and some
buffalo meat, and a pipe."
The father went about and told his relations that his son had come
back, and they were very glad, and came into the lodge, bringing the
presents, and gave them to the boy. He took them, and went down to the
river, and threw them in, and they were carried down to the _Nahu´rac_
lodge at _Pa-huk´_.
A few days after this the boy got on his horse, and rode away to visit
the doctor who had brought his trouble on him. When he reached the
village, the people said to the doctor, "A man is coming to visit
you," and the doctor was troubled, for he knew what he had done to the
boy. But he thought that he knew so much that no one could get the
better of him. When the boy came to the lodge, he got off his horse,
went in and was welcomed. After they had eaten, the boy said to him,
"When you visited me we smoked your tobacco; to-day we will smoke
mine."
They did so, for the doctor thought that no one could overcome him.
They smoked until daylight, and while they were smoking, the boy kept
moving his jaws as if eating, but did not open his mouth. At daylight
the boy said he must be going. He went, and when he got down to the
river, he blew strongly upon the ice, and immediately the water in the
river was full of blood. It was the blood of the doctor. It seems that
the ground dogs had taught the young man how to do their things.
When the people found the doctor he was dead in his lodge, and he was
all hollow. All his blood and the inside of him had gone into the
river, and had gone down to feed the animals. So the boy kept his
promise to the _Nahu´rac_ and had revenge on the doctor.
The boy was the greatest doctor in the Kit-ke-hahk´-i band, and was
the first who taught them all the doctors' ceremonies that they have.
He taught them all the wonderful things that the doctors can do, and
many other things.
[Illustration: OLD-FASHIONED KNIFE.]
THE BEAR MAN.
There was once a young boy, who, when he was playing with his fellows,
used often to imitate the ways of a bear, and to pretend that he was
one. The boys did not know much about bears. They only knew that there
were such animals.
Now, it had happened that before this boy was born his mother had been
left alone at home, for his father had gone on the warpath toward the
enemy, and this was about five or six months before the babe would be
born. As the man was going on the warpath, he came upon a little bear
cub, very small, whose mother had gone away; and he caught it. He did
not want to kill it because it was so young and helpless. It seemed to
him like a little child. It looked up to him, and cried after him,
because it knew no better; and he hated to kill it or to leave it
there. After he had thought about this for a while, he put a string
around its neck and tied some medicine smoking stuff, Indian tobacco,
to it, and said, "_Pi-rau´_--child, you are a _Nahu´rac_; _Ti-ra´-wa_
made you, and takes care of you. He will look after you, but I put
these things about your neck to show that I have good feelings toward
you. I hope that when my child is born, the _Nahu´rac_ will take care
of him, and see that he grows up a good man, and I hope that
_Ti-ra´-wa_ will take care of you and of mine." He looked at the
little bear for quite a long time, and talked to it, and then he went
on his way.
When he returned to the village from his warpath, he told his wife
about the little bear, and how he had looked at it and talked to it.
When his child was born it had all the ways of a bear. So it is among
the Pawnees. A woman, before her child is born, must not look hard at
any animal, for the child may be like it. There was a woman in the
Kit-ke-hahk´-i band, who caught a rabbit, and, because it was gentle
and soft, she took it up in her hands and held it before her face and
petted it, and when her child was born it had a split nose, like a
rabbit. This man is still alive.
This boy, who was like a bear, as he grew up, had still more the ways
of a bear. Often he would go off by himself, and try to pray to the
bear, because he felt like a bear. He used to say, in a joking way, to
the other young men, that he could make himself a bear.
After he had come to be a man, he started out once on the warpath with
a party of about thirty-five others. He was the leader of the party.
They went away up on the Running Water, and before they had come to
any village, they were discovered by Sioux. The enemy pursued them,
and surrounded them, and fought with them. The Pawnees were
overpowered, their enemies were so many, and all were killed.
The country where this took place is rocky, and much cedar grows
there. Many bears lived there. The battle was fought in the morning;
and the Pawnees were all killed in a hollow. Right after the fight, in
the afternoon, two bears came traveling along by this place. When they
came to the spot where the Pawnees had been killed, they found one of
the bodies, and the she bear recognized it as that of the boy who was
like a bear. She called to the he bear, and said, "Here is the man
that was very good to us. He often sacrificed smokes to us, and every
time he ate he used always to take a piece of food and give it to us,
saying, 'Here is something for you to eat. Eat this.' Here is the one
that always imitated us, and sung about us, and talked about us. Can
you do anything for him?" The he bear said, "I fear I cannot do it. I
have not the power, but I will try. I can do anything if the sun is
shining. I seem to have more power when the sun is shining on me."
That day it was cloudy and cold and snowing. Every now and then the
clouds would pass, and the sun come out for a little while, and then
the clouds would cover it up again.
The man was all cut up, pretty nearly hacked in small pieces, for he
was the bravest of all. The two bears gathered up the pieces of the
man, and put them together, and then the he bear lay down and took the
man on his breast, and the she bear lay on top of it to warm the body.
They worked over it with their medicine, and every now and then the he
bear would cry out, and say, "_A-ti´-us_--Father, help me. I wish the
sun was shining." After a while the dead body grew warm, and then
began to breathe a little. It was still all cut up, but it began to
have life. Pretty soon the man began to move, and to come to life, and
then he became conscious and had life.
When he came to himself and opened his eyes he was in the presence of
two bears. The he bear spoke to him, and said, "It is not through me
that you are living. It was the she bear who asked for help for you,
and had you brought back to life. Now, you are not yet whole and well.
You must come away with us, and live with us for a time, until all
your wounds are healed." The bears took him away with them. But the
man was very weak, and every now and then, as they were going along,
he would faint and fall down; but still they would help him up and
support him; and they took him along with them, until they came to a
cave in the rocks among the cedars, which was their home. When he
entered the cave, he found there their young ones that they had left
behind when they started out.
The man was all cut up and gashed. He had also been scalped, and had
no hair on his head. He lived with the bears until he was quite healed
of his wounds, and also had come to understand all their ways. The two
old bears taught him everything that they knew. The he bear said to
him, "None of all the beings and animals that roam over the country
are as great and as wise as the bears. No animal is equal to us. When
we get hungry, we go out and kill something and eat it. I did not
make the wisdom that I have. I am an animal, and I look to one above.
He made me, and he made me to be great. I am made to live here and to
be great, but still there will be an end to my days, just as with all
of us that _Ti-ra´-wa_ has created upon this earth. I am going to make
you a great man; but you must not deceive yourself. You must not think
that I am great, or can do great things of myself. You must always
look up above for the giver of all power. You shall be great in war
and great in wealth.
"Now you are well, and I shall take you back to your home, and after
this I want you to imitate us. This shall be a part of your greatness.
I shall look after you. I shall give to you a part of myself. If I am
killed, you shall be killed. If I grow old, you shall be old.
"I want you to look at one of the trees that _Ti-ra´-wa_ made in this
earth, and place your dependence on it. _Ti-ra´-wa_ made this tree
(pointing to a cedar). It never gets old. It is always green and
young. Take notice of this tree, and always have it with you; and when
you are in the lodge and it thunders and lightens,[6] throw some of it
on the fire and let the smoke rise. Hold that fast."
[6] A cedar is never struck by lightning.
The he bear took the skin of a bear, and made a cap for him, to hide
his naked skull. His wounds were now all healed, and he was well and
strong. The man's people had nearly forgotten him, it had been so long
ago, and they had supposed that the whole party had been killed.
Soon after this the he bear said, "Now we will take that journey."
They started, and went to the village, and waited near it till it was
night. Then the bear said to him, "Go into the village, and tell your
father that you are here. Then get for me a piece of buffalo meat, and
a blue bead, and some Indian tobacco, and some sweet smelling
clay."[7]
[7] A green clay, which they roast, and which then turns dark red,
and has a sweet smell.
The man went into the village, and his father was very much surprised,
and very glad to see him again. He got the presents, and brought them
to the bear, and gave them to him, and the bear talked to him.
When they were about to part, the bear came up to him, and put his
arms about him, and hugged him, and put his mouth against the man's
mouth, and said, "As the fur that I am in has touched you it will make
you great, and this will be a blessing to you." His paws were around
the man's shoulders, and he drew them down his arms, until they came
to his hands, and he held them, and said, "As my hands have touched
your hands, they are made great, not to fear anything. I have rubbed
my hands down over you, so that you shall be as tough as I am. Because
my mouth has touched your mouth you shall be made wise." Then he left
him, and went away.
So this man was the greatest of all warriors, and was brave. He was
like a bear. He originated the bear dance which still exists among the
tribe of Pawnees. He came to be an old man, and at last died of old
age. I suspect the old bear died at the same time.
[Illustration: A RATTLE.]
THE GHOST WIFE.
One time there were living together a man and his wife. They had a
young child. The woman died. The man was very sad, and mourned for his
wife.
One night he took the child in his arms, and went out from the village
to the place where his wife was buried, and stood over the grave, and
mourned for his wife. The little child was very helpless, and cried
all the time. The man's heart was sick with grief and loneliness. Late
in the night he fell asleep, fainting and worn out with sorrow. After
a while he awoke, and when he looked up, there was a form standing by
him. The form standing there was the one who had died. She spoke to
her husband, and said, "You are very unhappy here. There is a place to
go where we would not be unhappy. Where I have been nothing bad
happens to one. Here, you never know what evil will come to you. You
and the child had better come to me."
The man did not want to die. He said to her, "No; it will be better if
you can come back to us. We love you. If you were with us we would be
unhappy no longer."
For a long time they discussed this, to decide which one should go to
the other. At length the man by his persuasions overcame her, and the
woman agreed to come back. She said to the man, "If I am to come back
you must do exactly as I tell you for four nights. For four days the
curtain must remain let down before my sleeping place; it must not be
raised; no one must look behind it."
The man did as he had been told, and after four days had passed, the
curtain was lifted, and the woman came out from behind it. Then they
all saw her, first her relations, and afterward the whole tribe. Her
husband and her child were very glad, and they lived happily together.
A long time after this, the man took another wife. The first wife was
always pleasant and good-natured, but the new one was bad-tempered,
and after some time she grew jealous of the first woman, and
quarreled with her. At length, one day the last married became angry
with the other, and called her bad names, and finally said to her,
"You ought not to be here. You are nothing but a ghost, anyway."
That night when the man went to bed, he lay down, as was his custom,
by the side of his first wife. During the night he awoke, and found
that his wife had disappeared. She was seen no more. The next night
after this happened, the man and the child both died in sleep. The
wife had called them to her. They had gone to that place where there
is a living.
This convinced everybody that there is a hereafter.
TI-KE-WA-KUSH.
The Man who Called the Buffalo.
This happened in the olden time before we had met the white people.
Then the different bands lived in separate villages. The lodges were
made of dirt. The Kit-ke-hahk´-i band went off on a winter hunt,
roaming over the country, as they used to do, after buffalo. At this
time they did not find the buffalo near. They scouted in all
directions, but could discover no signs of them. It was a hard time of
starvation. The children cried and the women cried; they had nothing
at all to eat.
There was a person who looked at the children crying for something to
eat, and it touched his heart. They were very poor, and he felt sorry
for them. He said to the Head Chief, "Tell the chiefs and other head
men to do what I tell them. My heart is sick on account of the
suffering of the people. It may be that I can help them. Let a new
lodge be set up outside the village for us to meet in. I will see if I
can do anything to relieve the tribe." The Chief said that it was well
to do this, and he gave orders for it.
While they were preparing to build this lodge they would miss this man
in the night. He would disappear like a wind, and go off a long way,
and just as daylight came, he would be there again. Sometimes, while
sitting in his own lodge during the day, he would reach behind him,
and bring out a small piece of buffalo meat, fat and lean, and would
give it to some one, saying, "When you have had enough, save what is
left, and give it to some one else." When he would give this small
piece of meat to any one, the person would think, "This is not enough
to satisfy my hunger;" but after eating until he was full, there was
always enough left to give to some other person.
In those days it was the custom for the Head Chief of the tribe, once
in a while, to mount his horse, and ride about through the village,
talking to the people, and giving them good advice, and telling them
that they ought to do what was right by each other. At this time the
Chief spoke to the people, and explained that this man was going to
try to benefit the tribe. So the people made him many fine presents,
otter skins and eagle feathers, and when they gave him these things
each one said, "I give you this. It is for yourself. Try to help us."
He thanked them for these presents, and when they were all gathered
together he said, "Now you chiefs and head men of the tribe, and you
people, you have done well to give me these things. I shall give them
to that person who gives me that power, and who has taken pity on me.
I shall let you starve yet four days. Then help will come."
During these four days, every day and night he disappeared, but would
come back the same night. He would say to the people that he had been
far off, where it would take a person three or four days to go, but he
was always back the same night. When he got back on the fourth night,
he told the people that the buffalo were near, that the next morning
they would be but a little way off. He went up on the hill near the
camp, and sacrificed some eagle feathers, and some blue beads, and
some Indian tobacco, and then returned to the camp. Then he said to
the people, "When that object comes to that place of sacrifice, do
not interfere with it; do not turn it back. Let it go by. Just watch
and see."
The next morning at daylight, all the people came out of their lodges
to watch this hill, and the place where he had sacrificed. While they
were looking they saw a great buffalo bull come up over the hill to
the place. He stood there for a short time and looked about, and then
he walked on down the hill, and went galloping off past the village.
Then this man spoke to the people, and said, "There. That is what I
meant. That is the leader of the buffalo; where he went the whole herd
will follow."
He sent his servant to the chiefs to tell them to choose four boys,
and let them go to the top of the hill where the bull had come over,
and to look beyond it. The boys were sent, and ran to the top of the
hill, and when they looked over beyond it they stopped, and then
turned, and came back, running. They went to the chiefs' lodge, and
said to the chiefs sitting there, "Beyond that place of sacrifice
there is coming a whole herd of buffalo; many, many, crowding and
pushing each other."
Then, as it used to be in the old times, as soon as the young men had
told the Chief that the buffalo were coming, the Chief rode about the
village, and told every one to get ready to chase them. He said to
them besides, "Do not leave anything on the killing ground. Bring into
the camp not only the meat and hides, but the heads and legs and all
parts. Bring the best portions in first, and take them over to the new
lodge, so that we may have a feast there." For so the man had
directed.
Presently the buffalo came over the hill, and the people were ready,
and they made a surround, and killed all that they could, and brought
them home. Each man brought in his ribs and his young buffalo, and
left them there at that lodge. The other parts they brought into the
village, as he had directed. After they had brought in this meat, they
went to the lodge, and staid there four days and four nights, and had
a great feast, roasting these ribs. The man told them that they would
make four surrounds like this, and to get all the meat that they
could, "But," he said, "in surrounding these buffalo you must see that
all the meat is saved. _Ti-ra´-wa_ does not like the people to waste
the buffalo, and for that reason I advise you to make good use of all
you kill." During the four nights they feasted this man used to
disappear each night.
On the night of the fourth day he said to the people, "To-morrow the
buffalo will come again, and you will make another surround. Be
careful not to kill a yellow calf--a little one--that you will see
with the herd, nor its mother." This was in winter, and yet the calf
was the same color as a young calf born in the spring. They made the
surround, and let the yellow calf and its mother go.
A good many men in the tribe saw that this man was great, and that he
had done great things for the tribe, and they made him many presents,
the best horses that they had. He thanked them, but he did not want to
accept the presents. The tribe believed that he had done this
wonderful thing--had brought them buffalo--and all the people wanted
to do just what he told them to.
In the first two surrounds they killed many buffalo, and made much
dried meat. All their sacks were full, and the dried meat was piled up
out of doors. After the second surround, they feasted as before.
After four days, as they were going out to surround the buffalo the
third time, the wind changed, and before the people got near them, the
buffalo smelt them, and stampeded. While they were galloping away, the
man ran up on to the top of the hill, to the place of sacrifice,
carrying a pole, on which was tied the skin of a kit fox; and when he
saw the buffalo running, and that the people could not catch them, he
waved his pole, and called out _Ska-a-a-a!_ and the buffalo turned
right about, and charged back right through the people, and they
killed many of them. He wished to show the people that he had the
power over the buffalo.
After the third surround they had a great deal of meat, and he called
the chiefs together and said, "Now, my chiefs, are you satisfied?"
They said, "Yes, we are satisfied, and we are thankful to you for
taking pity on us and helping us. It is through your power that the
tribe has been saved from starving to death." He said, "You are to
make one more surround, and that will be the end. I want you to get
all you can. Kill as many as possible, for this will be the last of
the buffalo this winter. Those presents that you have made to me, and
that I did not wish to take, I give them back to you." Some of the
people would not take back the presents, but insisted that he should
keep them, and at last he said he would do so.
The fourth surround was made, and the people killed many buffalo, and
saved the meat. The night after this last surround, he disappeared and
drove the buffalo back. The next morning he told the people to look
about, and tell him if they saw anything. They did so, but they could
not see any buffalo.
The next day they moved camp, and went east toward their home. They
had so much dried meat that they could not take it all at once, but
had to come back and make two trips for it. When they moved below,
going east, they had no fresh meat, only dried meat; but sometimes
when this man would come in from his journeys, he would bring a piece
of meat--a little piece--and he would divide it up among the people,
and they would put it into the kettles and boil it, and everybody
would eat, but they could not eat it all up. There would always be
some left over. This man was so wonderful that he could change even
the buffalo chips that you see on the prairie into meat. He would
cover them up with his robe, and when he would take it off again, you
would see there pounded buffalo meat and tallow (pemmican),
_tup-o-har´-ash_.
The man was not married; he was a young man, and by this time the
people thought that he was one of the greatest men in the tribe, and
they wanted him to marry. They went to one of the chiefs and told him
that they wanted him to be this man's father-in-law, for they wanted
him to raise children, thinking that they might do something to
benefit the tribe. They did not want that race to die out. The old
people say that it would have been good if he had had children, but he
had none. If he had, perhaps they would have had the same power as
their father.
That person called the buffalo twice, and twice saved the tribe from a
famine. The second time the suffering was great, and they held a
council to ask him to help the tribe. They filled up the pipe and held
it out to him, asking him to take pity on the tribe. He took the pipe,
and lighted it, and smoked. He did it in the same way as the first
time, and they made four surrounds, and got much meat.
When this man died, all the people mourned for him a long time. The
Chief would ride around the village and call out, "Now I am poor in
mind on account of the death of this man, because he took pity on us
and saved the tribe. Now he is gone and there is no one left like
him."
This is a true and sacred story that belongs to the Kit-ke-hahk´-i
band. It happened once long ago, and has been handed down from father
to son in this band. The Skidi had a man who once called the buffalo,
causing them to return when stampeded, as was done in this story.
* * * * *
Note.--Big Knife, a Skidi, who died only recently, said that the man
was alive in his time. _Kuru´ks-u le-shar_ (Bear Chief), a Skidi, says
that he knew the man. His name was Carrying Mother.
[Illustration: BABY ON BOARD.]
PA-HU-KA´-TAWA.
About the end of the winter, before the grass began to grow in the
spring, a company of three brothers and two other men went out from
the village to trap beaver. When they had been gone about ten days,
and had got up above the Forks of the Loup River, they camped on the
South Fork, and in the morning sent one man ahead to see if he could
find any beaver sign, and could look out a good trapping ground.
When he had gone a little distance from the camp, he saw some Sioux,
and at the same moment they saw him. He did not run back to the camp;
he was too anxious to save himself; but ran across to a little creek,
and hid in the brush, not trying to let his brothers know that the
enemy were near. The Sioux followed him and found him, and chased him
about, and shot at him all day, until near sundown, when they killed
him.
The four other men had stopped in camp, but were not so far off but
that they could hear the shouts and yells, and they ran off from the
camp, and hid themselves and waited. When the other man did not come
back, they knew that he had been killed.
The next morning, the four men talked together. One said, "We had
better go up and see if he is killed." Another said, "Yes, let us go
there. It may be that we can bury him." So they went up where he had
been, going very carefully, and looking over all the hills as they
went, so as to see any enemies if they were about. They found him. He
was dead, shot full of arrows, scalped, his whole head skinned, his
arms and legs unjointed, his head cut off; he was all cut to pieces.
So they thought that there was not enough of him left to bury, and
besides, those killed in battle are often left unburied. When they
found how it was, they started back to the village, and when they came
close to it, one of the men called out, "_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ is killed!"
He called that out so that the people might know, and might begin to
mourn.
When they came into the village, the relations of this man felt very
badly because he was killed. It was coming on toward the time when
they begin to clear up their patches, to plant the corn, and to hoe,
and his father and mother mourned, and said, "Now we have no one to
help us hoe. We are old, and he helped us; but now he is gone." So
they mourned for him.
They did not visit the place where he had been killed for some time.
It was now spring, and they were planting, and hoeing the corn, and
when they got through their work, the whole tribe started out on the
summer hunt to get buffalo, as they used to do. They started up the
Loup, and when they had traveled along a number of days, they came
near the place where the man had been killed. When they got there, the
men who had been with him said, "This is the place where
_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ was killed," and his father and mother and all his
relations went over to the place where he had lain, to gather his
bones together and then to bury them. When they got to the place, they
could find no bones at all, but the arrows were there, sticking
straight up in the ground; all the arrows that had been shot into the
body. They wondered that they had not fallen down, for they thought
that the wolves might have dragged the body, but when they looked
everywhere about for the bones, they could find no sign of them
anywhere. It seemed strange to them that the arrows should be there
standing up in the ground, and they wondered what had become of the
bones. At length they gave up looking for them, and went back to the
camp. When they could not find the bones, they went on and hunted
buffalo, and killed plenty, and made dried meat. After two months they
started back to the village, going down the Platte River. His mother
had cried so much for _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_, that she had become blind.
One pleasant afternoon they were camped on the Platte. The evening was
warm and soft and still. As the sun went down toward the earth, long
shining rays seemed to come down from it to the ground. All through
the air was a light smoke, and in the west the sky was red. Just as
the sun was setting, the people all heard a voice calling from the
other side of the river. They listened; and the voice said,
"_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ is coming back to you." Then all the Indians jumped
up, and ran across the river to meet him, for they thought perhaps he
was coming back. When they had got to the other side, they looked
about, but could see no one. Then they heard a voice from behind
them, on the other side of the camp, which said, "He is coming from
here." They all turned round and ran back to the other side of the
camp; but no one was there; and in a little while they heard the voice
again, on the other side of the river, saying, "He is coming." Then
they knew it was only a voice and not a person. They stopped running
about, and that night they talked about the voice. The next day they
went on down the river, and at length got back to the main village.
There they stayed six months, and by this time their dried meat was
all eaten, and it was toward spring.
The mother of _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ had her bed near the door of the lodge
on the left hand side, the last bed next to the door. One night, at
midnight, he came into the lodge, and touched his mother and said,
"Mother! mother!" His mother used to dream of him almost every night,
and she thought she was dreaming now. She said, "Oh, my son, do not do
this. You are deceiving me again." He stopped; but presently he
touched her again, and pushed her shoulder, and she awoke.
He said to her, "Mother, I am here," and she reached out and felt him.
She said, "Are you really my son?"
He answered, "Yes, I am your son."
Then she put her arms around him, and hugged him, and said to him,
"Oh, my son, my son, you have come back to me." She cried, she was so
glad.
Then they talked together. He gave her a piece of meat--a piece of
fresh buffalo meat--though they had had no fresh meat in the village
for six months. He said to his mother, "I am really alive, though I
was killed. The _Nahu´rac_ (animals) took pity on me, and have made me
alive again. And now I am going off; but do not cry about me any
more." Then he went away.
The next morning, when his mother awoke, she found by her side the
piece of fresh meat, and she began to cook it on the coals. The people
wondered where she got the fresh meat, and asked her about it, but she
would not tell them where she got it, for her son had told her to say
nothing. They asked her again where she got it, and she told them she
found it in her bed.
After a long time her son came again in the night, and went into the
lodge, and spoke to his mother, saying, "Mother, I am here again." She
awoke, and rejoiced that he had come back. He said to her, "My
mother, I know that you are poor. You are blind on account of me,
because you have cried so much. Now, my mother, there is standing by
the side of your daughter's bed, water in a wooden bowl. After I have
left you to-night, go over there, and put your face down deep into the
water, and open your eyes in the water, and then you will see." Before
he left her he gave her some _ka´wis_.[8]
[8] Chopped buffalo meat tied up in the small intestine.
After he had gone, she did as he had told her. She got up, and feeling
her way along with her hands, crept into the place where her daughter
slept. There she felt the wooden bowl with water in it, and she put
her face deep down into the water, and opened her eyes in it, and when
she took her face out of the water, and opened her eyes again, she
could see. Then she was glad. Everybody wondered how the mother's eyes
had been cured, but she told no one, except only her oldest son.
After a long time _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ came down again to see his mother.
He said to her, "Mother, I am going up to see my oldest brother." He
went to see his brother in the night. His brother was expecting him,
for his mother had warned him. _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ said, "Now, my
brother, I think you have heard that I come all the time to see our
mother. I wish that you would put up your lodge outside the camp, so
that I can come and see you often. I want to talk to you, and tell you
my thoughts and all my troubles. I am a spirit." His brother answered
him that he would do as he had asked, and the first night after the
lodge had been set up outside the camp, _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ came down,
and said to his brother, "To-morrow night I want you to select the two
bravest men in the tribe, and let them go about through the camp, and
call all the chiefs and all the bravest warriors in the tribe, and let
them gather at your home. Do not build any fire in the lodge. Let it
all be dark, for I am coming down in the night to see them."
When the next night came, the chiefs and the braves gathered at the
lodge just about dark. They made no fire, but sat there waiting for
_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ to come down. After a while he came down to the
lodge, and came in where they were sitting. When they were all silent,
he came in, and every step he made it seemed that sparks of fire were
flying out from him. He went and stood before his brother, and said to
him, "I am in everything; in the grass, the water, the trees. I am a
part of all these things. I know every thought of yours, and if you
only whispered, I would hear it. I know everything, and about
everything, even about the ocean which is so far off, and where the
water is salt.
"There are two dances that I like, in which there are songs sung about
me." Then he sang these songs and told them how to dance these
dances.[9] He said, "Dance these dances and sing about me, calling me
by name."
[9] These dances afterward were practiced in two of the secret
societies.
Then he said, "Brother, I want you to know that there is a tribe of
your enemies getting ready to go on the warpath against you. I will
let you know when they start, and all they do. Every move they make I
will tell you of. They are coming from far up the Missouri River."
Two or three nights later _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ appeared to his brother,
and said, "They are coming. To-morrow night they will be here spying
round the camp. Be ready for them. You must ask me to take pity on
you, telling me what you want to do, and I will make you strong, so
that you can succeed. If you want to strike two or three, ask me. If
you want to kill two or three, tell me. You must call me grandfather."
The next night they danced and asked him to take pity on them. One
young man prayed, saying, "Let me strike nine, and at the tenth let me
be wounded, but let me not die." A second young man prayed, saying, "I
want to strike five and capture the biggest man in the party." Another
man asked him, "Let me strike two, and then let me be killed." To each
one who asked a favor of him, he said, "Let it be so." They did not
see him, for there was no fire in the lodge. It was dark.
He said to them, "Be ready. To-morrow morning is the time when the
enemy will attack you. I will send a fog from the north as a warning.
They will come down toward the village, and you must go out on the
plain in front of the village, and have a skirmish with them. Then
draw off, and look toward the point of bluff which runs down into the
plain on the east end of the battle field. Watch that point and you
will see me. I will appear to you there. And this shall be a sign to
you that it is I whom you see. When I come up over that point and turn
around, facing to the north, the wind will change and will come from
the south. And when the wind blows from the south, you make a charge
on them."
So it was. The next morning the enemy made an attack on them, and
came down toward the village. It was the very day he had said. The
warriors went out on the plain to meet them. They were wondering in
what shape _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ would appear to them, how he would look.
On that morning, before the Sioux appeared, a white fog came down from
the north. Then the Sioux made the attack, and the people began to
look for _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_. And while they were looking toward the
bluff, a great white wolf came up over the point, and stood looking
first one way and then another, and then it turned around and faced
the north. And immediately the wind changed and blew from the south.
When the wolf appeared, some of the braves doubted whether it was
_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_, but when it turned round, and the wind changed, then
they knew that it was he.
Then they made the charge, and each one of those who had asked a favor
received it. In every case what _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ had promised came
true. The man who had prayed that he might strike nine and at the
tenth be wounded, struck nine and was wounded at the tenth, but he did
not die; the one who asked to strike five, and to capture the biggest
man in the party, did so. He caught the prisoner, and overcame him,
and put a rope around his neck, and led him into the village. And when
he got him to the village the women beat the captive with sticks and
clubs, and threw dirt at him, and had lots of fun with him. The young
man who had asked it, killed two, and then was himself killed. All
that _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ had promised came to pass.
The people killed many of the Sioux, and drove them far, chasing and
killing them all day long. Then they came back to the village,
bringing with them the scalps and the weapons that they had taken, the
bows and the spears, the shields and the war bonnets. They danced in
the village, and sang and rejoiced. Every one was glad because the
people had won a great victory.
The next night after the day of the battle, _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ came down
to his brother's lodge, and told him that he wanted to speak to him.
His brother awoke all his wives, and sent them out of the lodge,
telling them not to come back until he called them. Then
_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ said to his brother, "Now, my brother, you people
have seen whether what I say to you is true or not. You have seen what
has happened, you can judge. Now, brother, I want you to feel of me
all over; nobody else but you to feel of me, my brother." His brother
passed his hands all over his breast and arms and body and legs.
_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ said, "Now put your hands on top of my head, and feel
there." He did so, and felt something soft. _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ said, "Do
you know what that is? That is the down feathers."
Then he told the story of his being killed. He said, "That time after
I got killed, all kinds of _Nahu´rac_ took pity on me. The flies and
bugs, the fishes and birds, the deer and the wolves, all the animals
took pity on me, and helped me to come to life again. They looked all
over for my flesh and my bones, and brought them all together. One
part of me, the top part of my skull, they could not find. The bugs
crept through the ground looking for it, the fishes swam through the
water and sought it, the flies buzzed about over the sand, and the
deer and wolves hunted for it on the prairie, but they could not find
this piece anywhere. Nor could they find my brains. Perhaps, when I
was killed, the crows eat them out. When they had gathered the pieces
all together, they laid each piece in its own place, so that they had
the form of a man, and in place of the top of the skull and the brains
they put the down feathers. After they had put all the pieces
together, they stood around me, and prayed, and passed their paws over
me, and danced and sang, and at last I breathed a little. Then they
prayed again, and passed their paws over me, and at length I breathed
regularly. Then I was not dead any more; I was alive again. Not as a
person was I alive, but as a spirit.
"I am in every thing; in the wind, in the rain, in the grass. I go
over the whole world. I am the wind, and I go everywhere all over the
world. There is no one above me but _Ti-ra´-wa_. He is the only one I
am under. He is the ruler of all. Whenever any human being on this
earth, man, woman or child, says anything about me, I hear it surely.
You must tell all this to every one, and say to them that if they are
sick or unfortunate, let them pray to me, and I will heal or help
them.
"Now you know that I am living, but I am a spirit; and whenever you
people have a fight with the Sioux, if you pray to me, and call me by
name, and ask to be brave, and to be helped, I will hear you. If you
wish to be brave, or if you wish not to be hurt in battle, even though
the enemy be right upon you, and just striking or shooting at you, I
will protect you. I shall live forever, as long as this world exists.
So long as I come to you, I want you people to conquer the Sioux all
you can, on account of what they did to me when they killed me and cut
me in pieces. So long as the Sioux come down to attack you, I want you
to conquer them every time.
"Now, brother, when I come down to see you, you must not get tired of
me. I want to come down often to see you, and talk to you, to tell you
what is going to happen, and to warn you whenever the Sioux are coming
down to attack the Skidi. I go about everywhere, to the camps of the
different bands of Sioux, and I know what the chiefs are saying in
council; when they are talking of sending out war parties against you.
If I come down to you often, do not get tired of seeing me."
He knew himself that his brother would some time refuse to listen to
him, but his brother did not know it, and he said, "I will never get
tired of you."
Some time after this, the Sioux came down again to attack the Skidi
village. Two days before they came, _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ came down to his
brother and warned him, saying, "A big war party of Sioux will be here
day after to-morrow to fight with you. But I am going to attend to
them. On the morning of the second day from this, tell all the people
to be ready, and to have their horses tied up close to the lodges,
where they can get at them. Then, if you look up in the sky, you will
see thick black clouds, as if you were going to have a great rain.
When you begin fighting, do not be afraid of the enemy. Do not be
afraid of them; go right up to them; they will not be able to shoot,
their bowstrings will be wet, and the sinews will stretch and slip off
the ends of the bows. They will not be able to hurt you."
On the morning that he had said, the Sioux came down, and the people
went out to meet them. The sky above was black with clouds. When they
began fighting, a heavy rain commenced to fall, but it did not rain
everywhere, but only just where the Sioux were. The bowstrings of the
Sioux got wet, so that they could not use them, for the sinews
stretched, so that when they bent their bows the strings slipped off
the ends of the bows, and there was no force to their arrows. The
Skidi overcame the Sioux and drove them, and the Sioux ran far. The
rain followed the Sioux, and rained over them, but nowhere else, and
the Sioux fled, and the Skidi won a great victory.
Soon after this, _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ came down and visited his brother,
and said to him, "My brother, whenever you have a feast or a council
of old men, you must smoke to me and say, 'Father, we want you to help
us.' Then I will hear you. At the same time you must pray to
_Ti-ra´-wa_. There is one above us who is the ruler of all. I do not
wish to be talked about commonly or by common men, but that whenever
you have a feast you should call in the young men and tell them about
me and let them hear." He did not want his name used irreverently, nor
wish that the story of what he had suffered and done should be told
commonly or for mere amusement. It is sacred and should be told only
at solemn times.
Some time after this talk with his brother, he came down again to see
him. Another man was living in his brother's lodge, and on this night
his brother was not there, he was sleeping somewhere else.
_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ asked this man where his brother was. He answered,
"He is not here to-night, he is sleeping somewhere else."
_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ said, "Go over and tell him that I am here, and that
I want to see him." The man went and gave the message to the brother,
who said, "I do not want to go. Tell him I am asleep." The man went
back and told _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ that his brother could not come. He
said, "He is asleep." _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ sent him back again, to get the
brother. The man went, and said to the brother, "He wants to see you
very much." The brother said, "Tell him I can't come; I want to sleep
to-night." The man returned and said, "He does not want to come, he is
sleeping." He was sent back for the brother the third time, to tell
the brother he must come, he was wanted. He sent word back that he
could not, he was too sleepy. Then _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ said, "Very well.
Go back and tell him to sleep now, to sleep all he wants. I told him
before that he would get tired of me at last. Let him sleep all he
wants, I will come to him no more. I can go to some other tribe. This
is the last time I will come. Tell him to sleep. I will trouble him no
more. I am going off, but tell the people not to forget me; to talk of
me sometimes, and to pray to me, and I will help them and care for the
tribe."
So _Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ went away to the Rees, and the people knew him no
more; after that he never came down to see them. When the people
learned this, they felt very badly, and were angry at his brother who
would not see him. There was living not long ago, among the Rees, an
old woman, who, when she was a girl, had seen and talked to
_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_.
* * * * *
Note.--This is a Skidi story. The Rees have a story of what
_Pa-hu-ka´-tawa_ did after he had come to them. The Lower Village
tribes have a story of a hero of this same name, which is quite
different from that of the Skidi.
[Illustration: LONE CHIEF--SKIDI.]
THE BOY WHO WAS SACRIFICED.
There was a time, far back, when some people thought that it was good
to sacrifice to _Ti-ra´-wa_ whatever they had that was most precious
to them. The sacrifice of the animal, the burnt offering, has always
been made by all the Pawnees; that is one of the things handed down
from the ruler. It is very old. The Skidi have always performed the
sacrifice of the captive. Each one of these is sacred and solemn, but
it is not like giving up something that belongs to you, and that you
love. It is a sacrifice, but it does not cost much.
Many years ago, in the Skidi village on the Loup, there lived a man,
who believed that if he sacrificed his son to _Ti-ra´-wa_, it would be
a blessing to him. He thought that if he did this thing, perhaps
_Ti-ra´-wa_ would speak to him face to face, and that he could talk to
him just as two people would talk to one another, and that in this
way he would learn many things that other people did not understand.
His child was a nice boy about ten years old, strong, growing up well,
and the man loved him. It made him feel badly to think of killing him.
He meditated long about this, but the more he thought about it, the
more he believed that this sacrifice would please _Ti-ra´-wa_. There
were many things that he wanted to understand, and to do; and he
thought if he gave up his son, these good things would come to him. So
he resolved to make the sacrifice.
One morning he started out from the village, and took the boy with
him. They went over to the Platte. When they got to the river, as they
were walking along, the man took his knife from its sheath, and caught
the boy by the shoulder, and stabbed him quickly, and cut him open.
When the boy was dead, he threw the body into the river, and then went
back to the village. When he got there, he went into his lodge and sat
down. After a time he said to his wife, "Where is the boy?" The woman
said, "He went out with you, when you went over to see the horses."
The man answered, "No; I went out to where the horses are feeding, and
looked at them, but he did not go with me."
The man went out, and looked for the boy all through the village, but
he could not find him. At night when the boy did not come home, they
began to get frightened, and for two days they hunted for the boy, and
at last they got the old crier to call out for him from the top of the
lodge, and ask if any one had seen him, but none of the people knew
what had become of the boy. Now the mother was mourning, and the
father pretended to feel very badly. They could not find the boy; and
soon after this the tribe started on the summer hunt, and the father
and mother went with them. The village made a good hunt, killing
plenty of buffalo, and made much dried meat.
After the boy had been thrown into the river, he floated down with the
current, sometimes turning over and over in the swift water, and
sometimes grounding for a little while on a sand bar, and then being
floated off again, and being carried further down. At length he came
near to the place where the whirlpool is, under the bluff at
_Pa-hük´_, where is the lodge of the _Nahu´rac_. There were two
buzzards sitting on the bluff, just above this place, and as they sat
there, one of them stretched out his neck and looked up the river, and
after he had looked, he said to the other, "I see a body." Then both
the buzzards flew down to where the boy was floating in the water, and
got down under him, and raised him on their backs, and lifted him up
out of the water, and flew up to the bluff, carrying the boy on their
backs, and placed him on the ground on top of the bluff over the big
cave, which is the home of the _Nahu´rac_. In this lodge were all
kinds of animals, and all kinds of birds. There were bears, and
mountain lions, and buffalo, and elk, and beaver, and otter, and deer;
all kinds of animals, great and small, and all kinds of birds.
There is a little bird, smaller than a pigeon. Its back is blue, and
its breast white, and its head is spotted. It flies swiftly over the
water, and when it sees a fish, it dives down into the water to catch
it. This bird is a servant or a messenger for the _Nahu´rac_. Such a
bird came flying by just as the buzzards put the body on the ground,
and he stopped and looked at it. When he saw how it was--for he knew
all that had happened--he flew down into the lodge and told the
_Nahu´rac_ about the boy. The bird said, "There is a boy up here on
the hill. He is dead, and he is poor, and I want to have him brought
to life again." Then he told the _Nahu´rac_ all the things that had
happened. When the messenger bird had done speaking, the _Nahu´rac_
earnestly counselled together for a long time to decide what should be
done, and each one made a speech, giving his opinion about the matter,
but they could not make up their minds what ought to be done.
The little bird was coaxing the _Nahu´rac_, and saying, "Come, now, we
want to save his life." But the _Nahu´rac_ could not decide. At last
the chief of the _Nahu´rac_ said, "No, messenger, we cannot decide
this here. You will have to go to the other council lodges, and see
what they say about it." The bird said, "I am going," and flew swiftly
out of the lodge and up the river, till he came to the _Nahu´rac_
lodge near the Lone Tree. When he got there, he told them all about
the boy, and said that the council at _Pa-hük´_ could not decide what
should be done. The _Nahu´rac_ here talked, and at last they said, "We
cannot decide. The council at _Pa-hük´_ must decide." Then the bird
went to the lodge on the Loup, and the _Nahu´rac_ there said that they
could not decide Then he went to _Kitz-a-witz-ük_, and to _Pa-hûr´_;
and at each place the _Nahu´rac_ considered and talked about it, and
then said, "We cannot decide what shall be done. The council at
_Pa-hük´_ must decide for themselves."
At last, after he had visited all the council lodges of the
_Nahu´rac_, the bird flew swiftly back to the lodge at _Pa-hük´_, and
told them there what the animals at the other lodges had said. In the
council of the _Nahu´rac_ at _Pa-hük´_, there were four chiefs, who
sat there as judges to determine such matters as this, after they had
all been talked over, and to decide what should be done. When the
messenger bird came back, and told the _Nahu´rac_ what the other
councils had said, these judges considered for a time, and then spoke
together, and at length the chief of the judges said to the bird,
"Now, messenger, we have concluded that we will not decide this
question ourselves. You decide it, and say what shall be done."
The messenger was not long in deciding. He did not hesitate. He said,
"I want this boy brought back to life." Then all the _Nahu´rac_ stood
up, and went to where the boy lay, and stood around him and prayed,
and at last the boy breathed once, and then after a little while he
breathed again, and at last he came to life and sat up. He looked
about and saw all these animals standing around him, and he wondered.
He said to himself, "Why, my father stabbed me, and killed me, and now
here I am among this great crowd of animals. What does this mean?" He
was surprised.
The _Nahu´rac_ all went back into the lodge, and took the boy with
them. When all were seated in the lodge, the four judges talked to
each other, and the chief one stood up, and said, "Now, my people, we
have brought this boy back to life, but he is poor, and we must do
something for him. Let us teach him all we know, and make him one of
us." Then the _Nahu´rac_ all made a noise. They were glad. Then they
began to sing and they danced. They taught the boy all their secrets,
and all their ways. They taught him how to cut a man open and cure him
again, and how to shoot an arrow through a man and then cure him, and
how to cut a man's tongue out and then to put it back, and how to make
well a broken leg, and many other things. After they had done all
these things, they said to the boy, "Now we have brought you back to
life, and have taught you all these things, so that you are one of us.
Now you must stop with us one season. Your people have gone off on the
summer hunt. You must stay with us until the autumn. Then you can go
back to your people." So the boy stayed with the _Nahu´rac_ in their
lodge.
At length the Skidi had returned from the hunt with plenty of dried
meat. Soon after this, the _Nahu´rac_ said one day to the boy, "Your
people have got back from the hunt. Now you can go back to the
village. Go back and get a lot of nice dried meat, and bring it back
to us here, and we will have a feast."
The boy went home to the village. He got there in the night, and went
to his father's lodge, and went in. There was a little fire burning in
the lodge. It was nearly out, and gave only a little light, but he
knew the place where his mother slept. He went up to her, and put out
his hand and touched her, and pushed her a little. She awoke, and sat
up and looked at him, and he said, "I've come back." When she saw him,
and heard him speak, she was very much surprised, and her heart was
glad to see her boy again. She called to his father, and he woke up.
When he saw the boy he was afraid, for he thought it was a ghost. The
boy told them nothing of what had happened, or where he had been. He
just said, "I have come back again."
In the morning all the people were surprised to hear that he had come
back, and to see him, and they stood around looking at him, and asking
him questions, but he said nothing. The next day the people still
questioned him, and at last the boy said, "I have been all summer with
friends, with people who have been good to me. I should like to take
them a present of some nice dried meat, so that we can have a feast."
The people said that this was good. They picked out four strong
horses, and loaded them with dried meat, the nicest pieces. The boy's
father gave some of it, and all the other people brought pieces and
put them on the horses, until they had big loads. They sent two young
men with the boy, to help him load and drive the horses, and they
started to go to the _Nahu´rac_ lodge at _Pa-hük´_.
When they had come pretty near the place, the boy sent the young men
back to the village, and he went on alone, driving the pack-horses
before him. When he reached the home of the _Nahu´rac_, he unloaded
the horses, and turned them loose, and then went into the lodge. When
he went in, and when the _Nahu´rac_ saw him, they all made a hissing
noise. They were glad to see him. The boy brought into the lodge all
the dried meat, and they had a great feast. After the feast they had a
doctors' dance, and the boy was made a doctor, and again was taught
all that the _Nahu´rac_ knew. After that he could do many wonderful
things. He could sometimes go to a man that had been dead for a day,
and then bring him back to life.
No one ever knew what the father had done, for the boy never told any
one. He knew that he could never have learned all these wonderful
things unless his father had sacrificed him.
[Illustration: FLESHERS.]
THE SNAKE BROTHER.
One time, long ago, a big party of Pawnees went on the warpath down to
the south. They could find no enemies anywhere, and they went a long
way south. In this party were two brothers, poor boys, and one day as
they were traveling along, apart from the others, in a piece of woods
where it was very thick, they got lost. When they found that they were
lost, they tried to go back to the camp, but they could not find the
others, and at last gave up looking for them and started to go back
north to their home. They had no food with them, and were looking
about for something to kill, so that they might eat. As they were
going along, they came upon a dead buffalo that had been killed some
time, and there was nothing of it left but the bones, so they took
some of the marrow bones, and carried them along with them, until they
made a camp.
Not far beyond here they stopped to rest. There was a tree growing
near where they stopped, and as they looked up into it, they saw a
squirrel run up the tree. One of the brothers caught up his bow and
arrows, and the other said, "Oh, kill him, kill him, quick." The boy
shot and killed it, and they skinned it, and roasted it over the fire.
While they were cooking it the elder brother said, "I wonder if it is
good to eat the marrow and the squirrel together." The younger said,
"No, it is not good to do so. This is not real meat."[10] The elder
thought the two kinds of food would be good together, and they
disputed about this for some time. The elder brother kept coaxing the
younger to eat the squirrel and the marrow together, but the younger
said, "Oh, brother, I do not like to do this. To me it does not seem
good. But if you wish to do it, why don't you?" The elder said, "I
think I will do so;" and he did so, taking a bite of squirrel, and
then a bite of marrow. He said, "It is nice, you had better take
some." But the younger brother would not. He ate only the marrow.
After they had eaten they did not go on further, but slept there.
[10] Like buffalo meat, or elk or deer.
About the middle of the night, the elder brother felt a noise in his
feet, and he sat up and felt of his legs and feet, and he found that
his feet were stuck together, and were beginning to get round, like a
snake, and had a rattle on the end of them, and that his legs were
round and like the tail of a great big rattlesnake. He reached over,
and put his hands on his brother, and shook him, and said to him, "Get
up. There is something the matter with me." The younger brother woke
up, and felt of his brother, and found how it was; as if he was
changing into a snake, beginning at his feet. When he saw this he felt
very badly. Then the older brother began to talk to the younger, and
to give him good advice, for he felt very sad.
He said, "Now I am going to die, and leave my young brother here alone
on this prairie. He is so young, he will not be able to find his way
home, and he must die, too. Surely this has happened because I ate the
marrow and the squirrel together." While he was talking, the change
had moved up to his waist.
After a little while he got more hopeful, and he said, "Now, brother,
I know that you will get home safely. I will protect you. I know that
I am going to be a snake, and I shall stay right here. You see that
hole," and he pointed to a hole in the bank. "When I have changed
into a snake, take me in your arms, and carry me over to that hole. I
am going to stay there forever. That will be my home, for that is the
house of the snakes. When you go back home, you must tell our father
and mother how it was, and whenever you want to go on the warpath,
take a big party and come down this way, and come right here, to this
very place, and you will see me, for I shall be here. Now, brother,
when you go back home, some time after you have reached home, I want
you to come back all alone; come right here. You know what I told you;
do not be afraid of me. I believe this was to happen to me, and I
could not help it. After you have once come all alone, then the second
time you may bring some others with you, but the first time come
alone." So he talked to his brother, and as he spoke the change kept
going on. While it was moving up his body, until it got to his head,
he was still like a man in his mind, but all his body was like a great
big snake. Then he spoke to his brother, and said, "Now, brother,
cover up my head with the robe, and after a little while take it off
again." The younger brother, did as he was told, and when, after a
while, he took the robe off, there he saw an immense snake's head as
broad as his two hands. The elder brother had completely changed into
a snake.
The young man took the snake in his arms, and carried him over to the
hole, and put him on the ground by it. He felt very sad to go away and
leave his brother here. Before he started, he spoke good words to the
snake, and said, "Now, brother, I am going home, and I ask you to take
pity on me, and to protect me. I do not know the country I am going
through, and you must take care of me. Do not forget the promises you
have made me." After he had spoken he did not wait to see the snake go
into the hole, but started on his journey, and went off toward his
home.
When he reached the village, he told all these things to his father
and his mother. He said to all his relations, "Do not mourn for him.
He is alive and he is well. The only trouble is, that he is in the
shape of a snake." After he had been home ten days, he told his mother
to make for him five pairs of moccasins, that he was going on the
warpath for himself. His mother did so, and he stuffed them full of
parched corn, and took a little sack of pounded buffalo meat on his
back, and started back to see his brother.
It took him seven days fast traveling to get to where he left the
snake. When he had come near the place, he saw there the hole where he
had left his brother. He went up close to the hole and began to speak.
He said, "Brother, I am here. I have come on the warpath, and I am
here to see you. You told me to come, and to come alone. I have done
what you bade me, and am here. Now, brother, remember to keep your
promises. I want to see you this afternoon."
He stood there a little while, and then there began in the hole a
rattling and a rustling and scraping noise, and presently dust began
to roll out, and then out of the hole came this great big snake, which
was his brother. First came out this great snake, and after him many
other large ones came out, and crept all about, but the great snake,
his brother, lay just outside the hole. The boy went up to the big
snake and took it in his arms, and hugged it, and spoke to it, and the
snake put out its tongue, as if it were kissing him. Then the boy put
it down on the ground, and all the other snakes came back, and went in
the hole, and after them all, last, the big snake went in the hole.
Then the boy left this place, and went on a little further, and about
sunset he came to a little creek, and here he lay down and slept. In
the night he dreamed of his brother, who spoke to him and said, "Now,
brother, I am glad that you have come down to see me, as I told you
to. And now I say to you, be brave. Have courage. To-morrow morning
when you awake, dress yourself up as if you were going to fight. Paint
your face, put feathers in your head, make yourself ready to fight."
The next morning the boy woke up, and as the snake had told him in the
dream, so he did. He painted his face and tied feathers in his head,
and dressed himself up for the fight. Then he started on. Pretty soon
he came to a little hill, and as he looked over it, he saw people
coming toward him; people and many horses. He thought they were Sioux,
and when he saw them, he went back a little, to find a place where he
could hide. He went back to the little creek where he had slept, and
there he sat down in the brush. When he had hidden himself in the
brush, he waited; and the people came straight toward where he had
hidden himself, and camped just below where he was. After a little
while he raised himself up and looked at them, and saw only two
persons, and presently he saw that one of them was a woman. He
watched for a long time, looking about to see if there were any more,
but he could see only these two. Then he considered what he should do.
While he was thinking, it came to him what the snake brother had said
to him in the night, and then he knew what to do.
He crept slowly along through the brush toward their camp, and when he
got close to them, about twenty yards distant, he raised up his head
and looked. He saw the woman cooking, and there were hanging on a
little tree the man's bow and arrows and shield and spear, but the man
he could not see. He was lying down asleep somewhere near by. The boy
waited and watched. He was excited, and his heart was pounding against
his ribs. After a little while, the woman left the fire and walked
away toward the horses. Perhaps her husband had said to her, "The
horses are going off, you had better go and turn them back." When she
went toward the horses, the boy was going to run up to the man and
kill him, but before doing so he changed his mind; for he thought, "If
I kill him, perhaps the woman will get on a horse, and ride away,
driving the other horses with her." So he waited until the woman had
come back. When she had returned to the fire, he ran up toward her,
and she heard him coming, and ran to wake her husband; but just as she
got to him, the boy was by her side. He shot two arrows into the man
and killed him and counted _coup_ on him, and captured the woman. He
took the whole scalp of his enemy's head.
Then he took the woman and went down to where the horses were, and
they got on two of them, and rode back to where his brother, the
snake, lived, driving the horses before them. Just before they got to
the hole, the boy took his lariat and caught a nice spotted horse and
a mule, and tied them up to the tree, and called up the woman, and
tied her up against the tree as tight as he could tie her. When he had
done this, he went up to the hole and began to talk. He said, "Oh, my
brother, I see now that what you have promised me comes true. I did
what you told me. Now here are these two animals and the woman; I give
them to you for being good to me. They are yours. I am glad for what
you have done for me this day." When he had finished saying this he
spoke again, saying, "Now, brother, I want to see you once more. I am
going off, and I want to see you before I go." After a little while he
heard again the rattling sound in the hole, and saw the dust coming
out of it, and then his brother came out of the hole, and then
afterward the smaller snakes; and these all went down to the tree and
climbed up into it. The tree was thick with them. Then the boy did as
he had done before. He went close to the hole, and took his brother up
in his arms and hugged him, and the great snake thrust out his tongue,
as if kissing him. Then the boy spoke again and said, "Now, brother, I
am going away, and I give you these two animals and this woman to
keep. They are yours." Then he started for his home, and after a long
time he arrived at the village.
After a time, he determined to start off again on the warpath, and
this time he took a party with him. He had told the whole tribe what
had happened, and how his brother had protected and helped him; and he
said to those warriors who were going with him, "Let each one of you
take a present with you for my brother; some beads or eagle feathers
or some tobacco as an offering, so that he may help you." They started
south to go to the place where his brother lived. When they got there,
the young man said to the others, "Now you must, each one of you, give
something to my brother. Call him by his kin name, and ask him to help
you, and to make you successful; and leave the things before the
hole." They did as he said, and when they had made their presents,
they went by. They saw nothing, for the brother did not call out the
great snake.
Two or three days after they had passed the place, they found a camp
of Sioux, and took a lot of horses and killed some of the enemy. Then
they went back, and when they came to the snake's home, they took a
horse and led it up near the hole and killed it, and gave it to him,
and left the scalps at the mouth of the hole as presents to him. When
they reached the village, there was great joy and a good time. They
had all kinds of dances, for they were glad that the war party had
killed some Sioux.
After that another war party started out, and the brother said to
them, "Go straight to my brother, and make him a present, and ask him
to give you good luck, and you will be successful." And it happened as
he had said.
The brother was always fortunate in war. He became a chief and was
very rich, having many horses. Ever after that time, when he took the
lead of a war party, all the poor men would come and say, "I want to
go with you." They knew that his brother was a snake, and would give
him good luck.
O´RE-KA-RAHR.
A long time ago, as the tribe were on their summer hunt, a man and his
wife got to quarreling. They had a child, a boy about ten months old.
It was while they were traveling along, going from one camp to
another, that they began to quarrel. At length the wife became very
angry, and threw the baby to the man, saying, "You take that baby. It
belongs to you, for it is a man child. I am not going to nurse it for
you any longer." Then she went away.
The man took the child and carried it along with him. He felt very
badly, both on his own account and on account of his child. He was so
unhappy that he almost wanted to kill himself. He was so poor-minded
because it was a disgrace that he, being a man, should be obliged to
take care of his child until it was grown up, and he had no female
relatives to whom he could turn it over to be reared. So he was very
unhappy, and determined to leave the tribe and wander off alone, far
from his people.
He did so. He carried the child on his back, as a woman does. When it
cried for its mother's milk, he had none to give it. He could only cry
with it. He hated to kill the child, or to leave it behind to die on
the prairie. He wandered off to the south. He traveled on for a time,
until he came near to where the buffalo were. By this time, the child
had changed from a very fat baby to a very thin one, because it had
not been nursed. When he got to the buffalo, he killed a cow, and took
its udder, and while it was fresh he let the child suck it, until it
became sour. Then he killed another cow, and did the same thing. In
every way he did the best he could to nourish the child. Sometimes he
would get a slice of meat, and half cook it, and let the child suck
the juice. The child began to improve, and to get a little stronger.
In this way he supported it for quite a long time, and it did pretty
well, and at last it got used to this food, and became strong and
well. By this time he had gone a long way.
At length he found that the child could sit up alone. Then he began
to give it all sorts of playthings, so that it could amuse itself.
First he made for it a little bow and some arrows, and taught it how
to use them. He made other things for the child to play with, and at
last it got to be contented playing alone. Then the father would leave
the child for a few minutes, and go off a little way, perhaps to the
top of a hill near by, to look off over the country, but he would look
back at the child every few steps to see that it was all right. When
he would come back he would find the child safe, playing, well
contented. After a while he got so that he would leave it for about an
hour, and when he came back, find it safe and contented, playing. By
this time the child had begun to walk. Finally the father went off
once for half a day, and when he came back, he found the child playing
about safe. It did not seem to mind much about the father being
absent. About this time he killed a buffalo cow, and made some dried
meat, and put it in a certain place, and told the child when it was
hungry to go there and get a a piece.
He now went off and was gone a whole day, and when he came back at
night the child was safe. Finally he made his preparations and went
off to stay over night, and be gone two days. He did so, and when he
came back, the boy was asleep. A second time he went away and was
absent for two days, going quite a long distance. When he came back he
found that the child was painted with white clay. The father thought
this was strange. He said to himself, "Something must have come and
talked to my child, and is taking care of him while I am gone."
When he came back the third time after a two days' journey, he found
that the child had about his neck a string of _pa´hut_.[11] The fourth
long journey he took lasted three days, and when he returned, he found
his boy still wearing this same string of beads, and with a feather
tied in his head. Now his father knew that something was looking after
his child while he was away, and when he went off, he would pray for
the child. He would say, "_No´-a_, whatever it is that is taking pity
on my child, also take pity on me."
[11] Wild currants strung like beads.
The child had now grown so large that it could talk with him, and one
day it said, "Father, you go away, and you be gone for four days; I
will be all right here. When you come back you will find me safe."
The man went. He started to go way down south, to be gone for four
days. After he had been gone two days and two nights, he saw a signal
smoke and went toward it. As he raised up his head and peeped over a
hill before crossing it, he saw, far off, a lot of people and horses
coming toward the river which lay between him and them. He lay on the
hill a long time, watching to see where they would camp. When they had
made camp, he went into a ravine, and crept down close to the camp,
until he could see that it was just one lodge, and that about it were
a whole herd of horses. He waited until evening, and then went over to
the lodge. It was after dark when he went. The lodge was all
surrounded by horses; everywhere nothing but horses, there were so
many. He crept close to the lodge, and looked in through an opening by
the door, and saw lying down opposite the door a great big man, and on
either side a woman; only three persons in all. As he looked at these
persons, he thought he recognized one of the women. He kept looking at
her, and at last he remembered who she was, and that she had been
captured long ago from the Pawnees. Her people were still living. The
man was a Comanche.
While the Pawnee was watching, the man inside the lodge asked for
something, and the captive woman stood up to go out of the lodge, and
the Pawnee stepped to one side, out of sight. The woman came out into
the darkness, and went out among the horses. The Pawnee stepped up
behind her very softly, and put his hand on her shoulder, and said to
her in Pawnee, "Friend, do you belong to my tribe?" The woman started
to scream, but he put his hand on her mouth, and said to her, "Be
quiet. Keep still. Do not call out." She answered him, "Yes, I belong
to your tribe." Then she said in a very low voice that shook, for she
was afraid, "Do you belong to my tribe?" The man said, "Yes." Then he
asked her, "Who is that other woman that I see in the lodge?" She
answered him, "She also belongs to our tribe, and is a prisoner." Then
the man said, "You just wait and keep still. I am going to kill that
man." The woman said, "That is good. That is good. This man is the
biggest man of all the Comanches. He has come first to this place, and
all the rest of the Comanches are coming here to meet him. I am glad
that my people are living, and that I am going back to see them once
more. Do not fail to kill him. I will tell the other woman to be
ready, that our friend is here, and we will wait and watch."
When the woman went into the lodge, she whispered to the other woman,
and said, "Be ready. A friend who belongs to our tribe is here. Take
your hatchet, and be prepared to help to kill our husband."
The two women waited, and the Pawnee made ready to shoot the Comanche
with his bow and arrow. The woman had said to him, "Push aside the
door a little and be ready." He made a little bit of an opening by the
door, just big enough to let an arrow pass through, and when the time
came he let it go. _U´-ra-rîsh!_ the arrow flew straight, and pierced
the Comanche through the heart. So he died, and the Pawnee counted
_coup_ on him and took his scalp.
The women felt so glad to meet a friend that they put their arms
around the man and patted him. They were going back home to see their
relations. They asked him, "How many of you are here?" He answered, "I
am alone." They were surprised.
They took down the
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