CHAPTER III
THE COMING OF THE GREAT SPIRIT
With the years White Weasel spindled up into a youth whose legs quitenaturally fitted around the barrel of a horse. He no longer had to climbup the fore leg of a camp-pony, but could spring on to those that ran inhis father's herd and maintain his position there.
Having observed this, one night his foster-father said to him: "You areold enough, my son, to be trusted with my ponies out in the hills. Youmust begin to study the ponies, or you will never be able to take orhold any of your own. Not to have horses is not to hunt buffalo or go tothe enemy, and not to have a wife. Go, then, when the morning comes,with your brother, and watch my herd. See that they feed safely; seethat by evening they come to the lodges. You are old enough now to wearthe loin-cloth; you must begin to be a man. You will never find yourshadow-self here among the noisy lodges; it will only come to you out inthe quiet of the hills. The Bad Spirits always have their arms out toclutch you when you are asleep in the night; as you ride in the shadows;when you ford the waters,--they come in the wind, the rain, the snow;they point the bullet and the battle-axe to your breast, and they willwarn the Sioux when you are coming after their ponies. But out in thehills the Sak-a-war-te[1] will send some bird or some little wolf to youas his friend; in some way he will talk to you and give a sign that willprotect you from the Bad Gods. Do not eat food or drink water; pray tohim, and he will come to you; if he does not, you will be lost. You willnever see the Spiritland when your body lies flat on the ground and yourshadow has gone."
[1] Great Spirit of the Crows.
After saying this, his father's pipe died out, the mother put no moredry sticks on the fire, the shapes along the lodge walls died away inthe gloom, and left the youth awake with a new existence playing throughhis brain. He was to begin to be a man. Already he had done in play,about the camp, the things which the warriors did among the thunderingbuffalo herds; he had imitated the fierce nervous effort to take theenemy's life in battle and the wolfish quest after ponies. He had begunto take notice of the great difference between himself and the girlsabout the camp; he had a meaning which they did not; his lot was in thefield.
Before the sun rose he was one of the many noisy boys who ran aboutamong the horses, trailing his lariat to throw over some pony which heknew. By a fortunate jerk he curled it about one's neck, the shycreature crouching under its embracing fold, knowing full well theawful strangle which followed opposition. With ears forward, the animalwatched the naked youth, as he slowly approached him along the tautrope, saying softly; "Eh-ah-h-h--um-m-m-um-m-m--eh-h-h-h-h." Tying therope on the horse's jaw, with a soft spring he fixed himself on itsback, tucking his loin-cloth under him. Now he moved to the outskirts ofthe thronging horses, crying softly to them as he and his brotherseparated their father's stock from that of the neighbor herds. He haddone this before, but he had never been responsible for the outcome.
The faint rose of the morning cut the trotting herd into dull shadowyforms against the gray grass, and said as plain as any words could toWhite Weasel: "I, the sun, will make the grass yellow as a new brasskettle from the traders. I will make the hot air dance along the plains,and I will chase every cloud out of the sky. See me come," said the sunto White Weasel.
"Come," thought the boy in reply, "I am a man." For all Indians talkintimately with all things in nature; everything has life; everythinghas to do with their own lives personally; and all nature can speak aswell as any Crow.
Zigzagging behind the herd, they left the smell of smoke, carrion, andother nameless evils of men behind them, until the bark of wolf-dogsdulled, and was lost to their ears.
Daylight found the two boys sitting quietly, as they sped along besidethe herd of many-colored ponies. To look at the white boy, with hisvermilioned skin, and long, braided hair, one would expect to hear thecraunch and grind of a procession of the war-cars of ancient Gaul comingover the nearest hill. He would have been the true part of any suchsight.
"Brother," spoke his companion, "we must never shut our eyes. TheCut-Arms are everywhere; they come out of the sky, they come out of theground to take our horses. You must watch the birds floating in the air;they will speak to you about the bad Indians, when you learn their talk;you must watch the wolves and the buffalo, and, above all, the antelope.These any one can understand. We must not let the ponies go near thebroken land or the trees. The ponies themselves are fools, yet, if youwill watch them, you will see them turn slowly away from an enemy, andoften looking back, pointing with their ears. It may be only a bearwhich they go away from; for the ponies are fools--they are afraid ofeverything. The grass has been eaten off here by these buffalo, and theponies wander. I will ride to the high hill, while you, brother, bringthe herd slowly. Watch me, brother; I may give the sign of danger."Saying which, the older boy loped gracefully on ahead.
All day the herd grazed, or stood drooping, as the sun made its slow arcover the sky, while the boys sat on the ground in the shadows cast bytheir mounts, their eyes ceaselessly wandering. Many were the mysteriesof horse-herding expounded by the one to the other. That the whiteAbsaroke was hungry, it was explained, made no difference. Absarokeswere often hungry out in the hills. The Dakotah were worse than thehunger, and to lose the ponies meant hunger in their father's lodge.This shadow-day herding was like good dreams; wait until the hail beaton the ponies' backs, and made them run before it; wait until thewarriors fought about the camp, defending it; then it was hard work tohold them quietly. Even when the snow blew all ways at the same time,the Cut-Throats might come. White Weasel found a world of half-suspectedthings all coming to him at once, and gradually a realizing sense stoleover him that the ponies and the eating and the land were very seriousthings, all put here for use and trouble to the Absaroke.
As the days wore on, the birds and the wild animals talked to the boy,and he understood. When they plainly hovered, or ran wildly, he helpedto gather up the ponies and start them toward the lodges. If the mountedscouts came scurrying along the land, with the white dust in a longtrail behind them, he headed for the cottonwoods with the herd,galloping. At times the number of the ponies in his charge changed, ashis father won or lost at the game of "hand"; but after the dried-meatmoon his father had brought home many new ponies from the camps of theCut-Arms toward the Morning.
His father had often spoken praise of him beside the lodge-fire, and itmade him feel good. He was beginning to be a man, and he was proud ofit; he would be a warrior some day, and he would see that nothinghurtful happened to his father's horses.
It was now the month of the cold moon.[2] The skies were leaden attimes; the snow-laden winds swept down from the mountains, and in themorning Weasel's skin was blue and bloodless under his buffalo-robe whenhe started out for the hills, where the wind had swept the snow off fromthe weeds and grass. Never mind, the sun of the yellow grass had notcooked the ambition out of him, and he would fight off the arrows of thecold.
[2] December.
His brother, being older, had at last succumbed to his thirst for glory.He had gone with some other boys to try his fortune on other people'shorses. Weasel was left alone with the herd. His father often helped himto take the ponies out to good grazing, and then left him. The Absarokehad been sore pressed by the Indians out on the plains, and had retiredto the Chew-cara-ash-Nitishic[3] country, where the salt-weed grew. Herethey could be pushed no farther. Aided by the circling wall of mountain,their own courage, and their fat horses, they could maintain themselves.Their scouts lay far out, and the camp felt as much security as a wildpeople can ever feel.
[3] Big Horn Basin.
One day, as usual, Weasel had taken his ponies far away to fresh feed,that near the camps having been eaten off. The day was bright, butheavy, dense clouds drifted around the surrounding mountain-tops, andlater they crawled slowly down their sides. Weasel noticed this as hesat shivering in his buffalo-robe; also he noticed far away other horseherds moving slowly toward the Arsha-Nitishic, along whose waters laythe camp of
his people. He began to gather his ponies and rode circlingabout. They acted wildly--strung out and began to run. Glancing about,Weasel saw many big gray wolves loping along in unison with his charges.
It was not strange that wolves were in the vicinity of Indians. Thewolves, the ravens, and the Indians were brothers in blood, and allfollowed the buffalo herds together. A lame or loose pony or a crippledIndian often went the way of the wolves, and many wolves' hides passedover the trader's counter. Thus they always got along together, with theraven last at the feast.
As Weasel turned his nervous eye about him, he knew that he had neverseen so many wolves before. He had seen dozens and dozens, but not somany as these. They were coming in nearer to the horses--they werelosing their fear. The horses were running--heads up, and blowing withloud snorts. Weasel's pony needed no whip; his dorsal action was swiftand terrific.
The wolves did not seem to pay particular attention to him--they ratherminded the herd. They gathered in great numbers at the head of thedrove. Weasel could have veered off and out of the chase. He thought ofthis, but his blue eyes opened bravely and he rode along. A young colt,having lost its mother, ran out of the line of horses, utteringwhinnies. Instantly a dozen gray forms covered its body, which sank witha shriek, as Weasel flashed by.
The leading ponies stopped suddenly and ran circling, turning theirtails to the wolves, kicking and squealing viciously. The following onesclosed up into the compact mass of horses, and Weasel rode, last of all,into the midst of them. What had been a line of rushing horses twoarrow-flights long before, was now a closely packed mass of animalswhich could have been covered by a lariat. In the middle of the bunchsat Weasel, with his legs drawn up to avoid the crushing horses. It wasall very strange; it had happened so quickly that he could notcomprehend. He had never been told about this. Were they really wolves,or spirits sent by the Bad Gods to destroy the boy and his horses?
"IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BUNCH SAT WEASEL."]
All his waking hours had been spent with the ponies; he knew no otherworld; he had scarcely had any other thoughts. He was with them now, butinstead of his protecting them they were protecting him. With theirtails turned toward the circling mass of devil-animals, they struck andlashed when attacked. Nothing was heard but the snap of teeth, the stampof hooves, the shrill squealing of horses, with an occasional thudfollowed by a yelp. The departing sun stole for a moment through afriendly rift in the clouds, encrimsoning the cold snow, and thendeparted, leaving the gray tragedy to the spirits of the night.
The smoke eddied from the top of the lodges; a bright spark showed fromtime to time as some one lifted an entrance flap; the ponies huddled inthe dense bush; the dogs came out and barked at the wilderness of neverending plain. All was warmth and light, friendship, and safety,--eventhe baying wolf-dogs were only defying the shades and distances outbeyond for their own amusement; it was perfunctory.
"Why does not my son come in with the ponies?" asked the foster-fatherof his squaw, but she could only answer, "Why?"
Wrapping his robe about him, he walked to the edge of the camp and stoodlong squinting across the dusky land. He saw nothing to encourage him.Possibly the ponies had come in, but why not the boy?
Oh! that was possible! That had happened! A long walk failed to locatethe horses. Then he spoke to a chief, and soon all was excitement.
"The little white Crow and his horses have not come in," was repeated inevery lodge.
"The Sioux! The Sioux!" spoke the echo.
It was too dark for a search. "The Sioux" was the answer to everyquestion, and no one hunted the Sioux by night. They might even now beon the outskirts. Swiftly the scouts made their way to the outposts. Thewarriors loaded their guns, and the women put out the fires. Every doghowled with all the energy of his emotional nature. There was no sleepfor the Absaroke camp. It was seldom that an enemy got by the far-ridingwatchers of the Crow camps, but there was always a fear. It hadhappened.
Ba-cher-hish-a sobbed and wailed all night in her lodge, while thefoster-father walked outside, speculating endlessly with his friends.Long before day he was mounted, and with a small party far on the way tothe herd-grounds which he had chosen the day before.
As the plain began to unfold itself to their straining eyes, their quickears ran ahead of them. A snarling, a horse-squealing, a curious medleyof sounds, bore on them. Being old men, they knew. "It is the wolves,"said they, almost in a chorus. Forward with a rush, a shrill yelling,and firing, swept the little party. The sun strove mightily to get overthe mountains to help them. They now saw the solid mass of horses, withthe wolves scurrying away on all sides. A faint answering human whoopcame from the body of the beleaguered horse band. As the rescuers rodeup, the ponies spread out from each other. Relieved from the pressure ofthe slimy fangs, the poor animals knew that men were better than wolves.Some of them were torn and bloody about the flanks; a few lay still onthe snow with their tendons cut; but best of all which the Indians sawwas little White Weasel sitting in the midst of the group. He allowedhis robe to fall from his tight clutch. The men pushed their horses inamong the disintegrating bunch. They saw that the boy's lips werewithout color, that his arms hung nerveless, but that his brave, deepeyes were open, and that they showed no emotion. He had passed the timeof fear, and he had passed the time for hope, long hours ago.
They lifted him from his horse, and laid him on the ground, covered withmany robes, while willing hands kneaded his marbled flesh. A fire wasbuilt beside him, and the old men marvelled and talked. It was the timewhen the gray wolves changed their hunting-grounds. Many had seen itbefore. When they sought the lower country, many grasses ago, to getaway from the snow, one had known them to eat a Crow who happened intheir way; this when he was a boy.
The wolves did not always act like this--not every snow. Sudden badstorms in the mountains had driven them out. The horse herds must bewell looked after for a time, until the flood of wolves had passed downthe valley.
The tired ponies stood about on the plain with their heads down. They,too, had become exhausted by the all-night fight. The sun came back,warm and clear, to see a more cheerful scene than it had left. LittleWeasel spoke weakly to his father: "The Great Spirit came to me in thenight, father,--the cold wind whispered to me that White Weasel mustalways carry a hoof of the white stallion in his medicine-bag. 'It isthe thing that will protect you,' said the wind. The white stallion liesover there--cut down behind. Kill him, and give me one of his rearhooves, father."
Accordingly, the noble beast, the leader of the horses in battle, wasrelieved of what was, at best, useless suffering,--sacrificed to thegods of men, whom he dreaded less than the wolves,--and hiswolf-smashing hoof did useful things for many years afterward.
John Ermine of the Yellowstone Page 7