Read Ebook: Old Indian trails by McClintock Walter

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Ebook has 1090 lines and 76280 words, and 22 pages

Like true children of nature, my companions acted as they felt. Sometimes they talked; and sometimes there was silence for a while. In the distance an owl hooted. It came nearer and nearer, until its call sounded from the top of a tree near by.

"Listen!" said Nitana. "He calls his own name--ears-far-apart, ears-far-apart, ears-far-apart . One can tell the different members of an owl family by their voices--the deep call of the father, the higher one of the mother and the thin ones of the children."

After another silence the owl hooted again. My Indian sister shuddered: "Perhaps it is a ghost," said she. "Some owls are the unhappy spirits of people long dead."

"A medicine man told me," said Little Creek, "that people who have died and are unhappy in the spirit world, take the form of owls and come back to their old haunts. They travel only at night and dread the sunlight, because their deeds in this world were evil."

Again the owl hooted, this time from another tree. "Kyai!" exclaimed Strikes-on-Both-Sides, "there it is again. Just before my sister died, she saw an owl looking at the door of her tepee. She was so frightened, she told a medicine man; he said to use black paint on her face; if the owl came back, the paint would ward off the evil. But it was no use; my sister died in a few days."

This ghostly talk by the fire, under the nocturnal spell of the forest, made the women afraid. To allay their fears, Little Creek said: "An owl never harms any one in a crowd, if he has a relative there." So he left the circle of firelight, and going to the edge of the woods shouted to the owl, "You are my relative."

Then the owl flew away, and I asked Little Creek: "What is the spirit world like?" He said:

"We call it the Sand Hills, a white alkali country--far east on the plains. It is surrounded by quicksands that the living may not enter. The ghost people chase ghost buffalo and antelope. They have wild berries and other things such as we like to eat. Old Person once died for a day and a night, but his spirit returned to his body. He told the watchers he had been to the Sand Hills, but was not allowed to enter; his time to die had not yet come. His body was wet with sweat when his spirit came back; they drove him from the Sand Hills."

Nitana said: "Ghosts like to stay near forests and rivers. People who sleep alone in a thick forest are sometimes bothered by ghosts pulling off their blankets in the night and hitting them with sticks. But a person may never see the ghost. If it bothers him too much, he can offer his pipe with tobacco and pray: 'Ghost, pity me! I am poor and alone. Take this pipe and smoke. I pray go away and leave me in peace.' If the ghost will not leave, but keeps on bothering the person, it sometimes bestows upon him the power to doctor people."

"Ghosts of dead medicine men are the worst. They are known as 'the haunting spirits.' It is they who use the ghost shots, and kill people who go outside the tepee at night. This fate often happens to sick people; they are shot at by ghosts; and when they go back to bed, they die in their sleep. Sometimes a person who goes outside at night, comes back breathing heavily, as if he were smothering. He tells his people that he saw something; and then they know that he was shot at by a ghost. But he can be cured by a medicine man who has power over ghost shots. This medicine man finds out the spot where he cannot breathe; and then he doctors him; he draws out the shot--he may suck it out with his mouth.

"Sometimes sick people see ghosts. Ghosts keep bothering them, coming again and again; the ghosts wait for them until they die, and then take them away. There are ghosts which scare horses at night, so that their riders fall off. Then they make a whistling sound and laugh."

After a silence Katoy?sa said: "Tell a story about a ghost."

"Take care, the owl may hear you," answered Nitana. And then she continued: "There was a camp of two tepees in a lonely place, far off on the prairie. In one of them lived a couple without children, and in the other a man with his wife and daughter. No other people were near. One day the father sent his girl to the other tepee. On the way she saw a person seated on the ground. She supposed it was their neighbor and went towards him. He kept his blanket wrapped closely about him and she could not see his face. When he did not move, she threw a stone to attract his attention. Still he did not move or look up, so she went her way to the other lodge. There she found their neighbor and his wife. She told them about the stranger and they went forth to look. But the mysterious person had disappeared. There was no place to hide; the prairie was level with no trees. The girl was so frightened she ran back and told her parents. Throughout the rest of that day they watched, but nobody appeared.

"That same night, when both families were seated around the lodge-fire, an owl lighted on one of the poles over their heads and began to cry: 'Oo-oo-oo-oo.' Then they knew the ghost had come back to trouble them. They begged it to go away and leave them in peace. But it stayed on the lodge-pole and kept crying: 'Oo-oo-oo-oo.' The girl said: 'I know he is angry, because I threw a stone at him.' So they filled a pipe with tobacco and offered it to the ghost. If he smoked he would do them no harm. But the ghost paid no attention to them. He was still angry, and kept on with his solemn crying. Then the father gave the pipe to his daughter. She held the pipe up and prayed: 'Ghost, smoke. I pray you go away and leave us in peace.' It paid no attention, but kept on crying. So they held the girl up into the smoke-hole of the tepee, where she was near the ghost. Again she offered the pipe. The ghost gave a loud cry and the girl fell over dead."

Then Little Creek told this ghost story about another owl:

"There was a man named Cross Bull who lived over north among the Blood Indians. He went alone to war. He had bad luck and started home empty-handed. One evening, after many days of hard traveling, he came to a river valley and went into camp in a grove of cotton wood trees. He had no food; he was tired and hungry. So he built a fire close to a log and lay down to sleep. In the night he was wakened by something coming through the underbrush. He had his back towards it. He dared not turn his head to look. He thought it might be a ghost. He heard it go into a tree, so he lay very still; he did not even move. Finally he raised his head and looked. In the forks of a big tree sat a ghost. A long white robe covered its bones. Whenever it swung its legs, the bones rattled. Cross Bull began to pray. He begged it to go away, saying: 'I am tired and want to rest.'

"But the ghost paid no attention. It stared at him from hollow eyes; it whistled and rattled its bones. Cross Bull prayed again:

"'O ghost, be kind. Go away and leave me alone. I am poor and have bad luck. I am tired and want to rest.'

"Four times Cross Bull made this prayer. But the ghost paid no attention; it kept on whistling and swinging its legs. Then Cross Bull got angry. He took his bow and arrow and shot at the ghost. He saw an owl fly from the tree, and heard it cry in a quavering voice: 'You hurt me so badly, you hurt me so badly.'

"Cross Bull was so frightened he ran away in the dark. The ghost kept following; for whenever he stopped he heard it crying the same thing, over and over in a quavering voice: 'You hurt me so badly, you hurt me so badly.'

"Cross Bull left the valley. He did not stop running until he was far out on the plains. Then it was daylight and the ghost left him. But he kept on running until he reached the Blood camp. Next night Cross Bull died. And that is the end of my story-telling."

Then I climbed the mountain side in the bright moonlight, to look out over the forests and the great plains stretching eastward. On the other side of the valley were mountains, with shining glaciers and snowfields. The aurora formed an arch of light across the north sky; streamers mounting to the zenith in yellow and yellowish red, and sometimes greenish white. They swayed backward and forward, now strong, now faint, until they faded and a luminous veil covered the sky, through which a bright star shone. There was no wind; and everywhere an impressive stillness, broken only by the river in the valley, and the solemn notes of the owl, "a haunting spirit."

A FRONTIER DANCE

Two cowboys came to the ranch of the scout with a herd of cattle; one a half-breed, the other a white man, sinewy, tall and straight. He was a typical cowboy who had lived a life of adventure and hardship, rugged and bronzed by the sun. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, leather chaps, and high-heeled boots; a knotted scarlet handkerchief round his neck, and a cartridge belt with a six-shooter hanging from his hips. His fearless gray eyes looked straight out at me, and he moved and spoke with an easy, careless air of confidence. He had a smiling face and talked in a high squeaky voice that sometimes broke.

Yellow Bird told me, with mingled awe and admiration, that he was a famous bandit named "Slim." The United States Government had a reward on him dead or alive. Single-handed he held up a Montana stage, and an express train on the Northern Pacific Railway. Now he was trying to get a herd of stolen cattle across the border-line into Canada; they were "mavericks," or unbranded cattle, taken out of many herds.

Because of his adventurous life, Slim carried several bullets in his body. His right arm was so crippled that he could not lift his hand to his mouth. But, in spite of his wounds, he could still rope cattle and break wild horses; and was a dead shot with both hands.

I saw him break a vicious bronco to the saddle. He went into our high round horse corral, with smooth and easy gait, jangling spurs, and dragging his lariat which he coiled as he went. He lost no time and his movements were quiet and catlike. He did not seem to lift his arm or move; suddenly his noose shot out its full length and settled gracefully over the neck of the bronco. It bawled with rage and fear; threw down its head and sprang high into the air. It walked about on its hind legs, striking with forefeet and threw itself over backwards. But Slim finally mastered and tied it to the snubbing post. When he had finished his job, he could ride it without bucking, and led it about with a rope.

From the first I took a liking to this brave and hardy bandit, with smiling face and winning way and nerves of steel. He had a pleasant and easy-going disposition, with a broad and genial tolerance. He did not look down upon people with a different code, or hold it against me because my actions were within the law. To him there was nothing out of the way in robbing stages and trains and driving stolen cattle. He did not speak of these things, nor did he boast of them; to him they needed no apology. He was simple-hearted and generous--a type that would quietly face death without flinching, be faithful to friends and chivalrous towards women. But he would pursue an enemy with bitter and vindictive hatred.

Like all cowboys Slim loved excitement--especially a dance. That night there was going to be a party down the river at the Lone Wolf Ranch; and Slim asked me to go along.

Before dark we saddled our horses and rode together. I did not ask about his life; it was not customary in that country. But he told me of adventures in former days with wild animals and hostile Indians; and all the time he spoke his steel-gray eyes looked straight into mine. He talked simply and with a careless drawl, not seeming to feel there was anything unusual or exciting in his tales. But for me they had a strange charm--the way he told them, with a high squeaky voice, dry humor, picturesque cowboy language, and good-natured oaths.

With his partner he once roped a big grizzly, which charged from a thicket and chased them into the open. They were mounted on agile cow-horses that ran like the wind; but a fall would have meant death. Slim threw his lariat round the neck of the bear and his partner roped her hind feet. The grizzly bellowed with rage and foamed at the mouth. She tried to charge and floundered on the ropes; she reared and struck wildly with all fours; but in their grasp she was helpless. With ropes snubbed to their pommels and horses pulling in different directions they together stretched her out; and after a while turned her loose.

The dance at the Lone Wolf Ranch was given by the sisters Katoy?sa and N?nake, and was free to all; every one in that region, both Indian and white, was welcome. People came long distances in wagons or on horseback--entire families--mothers with young babies. A log-shack close to the cabin was used by the women, and there they left their babies and young children to sleep on the floor.

The ranch cabin was lighted by lamps and candles; all three rooms, including the kitchen, were used for dancing. The front door opened upon the main room, a long apartment with low ceiling and walls of hewn logs, chinked and plastered, all beautifully whitewashed and clean. The windows and doors were decorated with green branches and pine boughs, with the Lone Wolf brand made out of juniper on the log walls, also the heads and horns of deer, elk, and mountain sheep. The guests were squaw men with Indian wives, cowboys, and half-breeds. But no men of the older generation of Indians came; it was not their kind of a dance.

The solitary musician was a half-breed who played on a wheezy accordion. He had only one tune, a sort of lively jig. But he played it over and over throughout the night, sometimes slow, sometimes fast.

Slim, Yellow Bird and I took partners and joined in a square dance. At first there was little life or spirit; the dancers were stiff and self-conscious, until Slim took hold. He was a good mixer and a natural master of ceremonies. He was looked up to because of his brawn and genial disposition. He was the life of the party. He went from one room to another, shouting directions to the dancers; he was the caller-off and was witty and funny; he wakened up the half-breed musician and made every dancer "toe the mark."

Around the walls were bashful cowboys who had not the courage to ask a woman to dance, and breeds of all sorts and mixtures. It was hard to distinguish between Indians and whites. Among the spectators were elderly squaws in bright-colored Indian clothes, grandmothers looking after babies and children, while their daughters danced and had a good time.

At midnight I helped Katoy?sa feed the hungry people. We had sweet cake--an unusual luxury--cold beef and bread. The people wanted nourishing food. They always had a craving for meat, especially beef; it took the place of buffalo meat and they felt abused if they did not get it.

We made tea in a great washboiler that nearly covered the stove. The people ate in relays; and we washed dishes in between. I helped N?mo, a young Indian woman who had charge of the dishes; she was a great talker and good natured.

After supper even the bashful cowboys limbered up; although some slipped out of sight, because they had not the courage to dance. But never have I seen a crowd of dancers with more dash and enthusiasm.

After midnight only those who were experts in the square dance took the floor. Some had odd steps, like jigs, which they used at every chance. The dancers had no time to rest or sit down; and in their joy they stamped so hard the cabin was filled with dust.

In the early hours of the morning, old women and children lay asleep on the floors. And outside in the shack, they lay so close, there was no room to step, or turn over without waking the others.

At the height of the dance some women got excited and I heard exclamations of fear. They said they had seen a wild face look in at a window. They thought it was the Mad Indian--the murderer who came at night and killed people in the light. So they covered all the windows with blankets and shawls; and for a while no one was willing to open the door, or go out into the night. Perhaps somebody did look in. At the time I paid but little attention; Indian women are superstitious and have vivid imaginations. Besides, I thought the wild tales I heard of a "Mad Indian" might be a myth. But he was no myth. He turned out to be a real Indian, an outcast who had committed murder and was on the warpath--a menace to everybody in that country both Indian and white, seeking to kill as many people as he could before he himself had to die. Later I heard his story from one of the Indian Mounted Police who had captured him alive.

HUNTING ROCKY MOUNTAIN GOATS

When the ducks and geese were flying south, Mad Wolf said the time had come to cut our winter firewood. So Little Creek, his son-in-law, and I went together to the mountains. We started soon after sunrise, with four powerful broncos harnessed to a timber wagon. Little Creek was a reckless and fearless driver. He stood on the axle between the front wheels and balanced himself skillfully, while I followed riding Kutenai, my saddle horse.

The wild broncos, frightened by the rattling wagon, galloped across the broad plateau. But it was an open table-land with an upgrade towards the Rockies, and Little Creek let them run freely. We passed through the foothills into a valley; and came finally to the edge of a forest of pine and spruce on the mountains. There we camped and pitched our lodge.

In the timber we selected only dead trees, standing and already seasoned for firewood. We cut them into logs and put them in piles, to haul later on the wagon. At midday we rested from our work, on a thick carpet of green moss by a small brook; we ate our midday meal and were refreshed by the fragrance of pine and balsam.

I watched a golden eagle soaring near the summit of a snowy peak; and a flock of white swans with long necks outstretched, winging their way across the deep blue of the autumn sky, the sunlight shining on their wings and breasts. Many flocks of ducks whirred close to the tree tops, in their level and rapid flight; and from far away came the honking of migrating geese.

"Geese are wise and can foretell the weather," said Little Creek. "Now they fly high; and it is a sign of a hard winter. Other birds and animals have also given warning. The curlew is not singing; many song birds gathered early into flocks; prairie larks have disappeared; the skins of otter, mink, and beaver are heavier than usual; and the jack rabbits are already turning white."

Next morning I stopped work in the forest to go on a hunt for mountain goats. I took my saddle horse and followed a stream through a canyon, into a basin with precipitous walls. There I left Kutenai and started to climb the mountain on foot. I came to an exquisite alpine meadow above timber-line, with a carpet of ferns and green grass. Little mountain chipmunks were gathering seeds from alpine plants, scampering and chattering in the warm sunlight. Then a hoary marmot gave a piercing whistle from his rock tower on a cliff, where he lay watching for enemies. Other marmots in their feeding grounds along the mountain side took up the cry and ran for shelter to near-by cliffs and boulders.

That day was strangely warm for the northern Rockies. Although late in the autumn, the sky was clear and the wind blew softly from the south. I ate my lunch of dried meat and bread beside a mountain torrent that had its source in an icy cavern and snowdrifts. It crossed the meadow and rushed tempestuously down a sheer and winding chasm to an unbroken cliff, where it leaped forth and fell into the valley a mass of spray, carrying chunks of ice which crashed upon the rocks far below.

Then I lay behind some gnarled and stunted firs to watch for game. The surrounding country with its crags and towering precipices was an ideal home for big horn and white goats. From my exposed place on the shoulder of the mountain, I had a far-stretching view--a wide panorama of unnamed peaks all towering into the blue, of valleys, emerald lakes, green forests, and white snowfields.

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