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                             INDIAN SKETCHES,

                                  TAKEN

                           DURING AN EXPEDITION

                                  TO THE

                              PAWNEE TRIBES.




                                    BY

                           JOHN T. IRVING, JR.




                             IN TWO VOLUMES.

                                 VOL. II.

                             _PHILADELPHIA_:
                        CAREY, LEA AND BLANCHARD.
                                  1835.

         Entered, June 15th, 1835, according to Act of Congress,
            by JOHN T. IRVING, JR., in the office of the Clerk
                  of the Southern District of New York.




ERRATA.


    Page  74, line  1, for _Tappaye_ read _Tappage_.
     ”   108,  ”    3, for _chief_ read _chief’s_.
     ”   124,  ”   20, for _Loovah_ read _Looah_.
     ”   136,  ”   10, for _their surfaces_ read _the surface_.
     ”   185,  ”   15, for _they_ read _we_.
     ”   196,  ”    7, for _charnel_ read _charnel house_.




                           INDIAN SKETCHES.


       *       *       *       *       *


                               CHAPTER I.

        _Preparations for Reception.—Reception by Grand Pawnees._


During the evening previous to our arrival, several half-breeds, who had
been sent out by the Commissioner to gain information of the probable
reception which awaited us, came dropping in, all bearing promises of a
friendly welcome, from the Pawnee chiefs. At sunrise the next morning,
the tents were struck, and placed in the heavy baggage wagons; and a more
than usual bustle and note of preparation was heard in the camp. The
soldiers seated themselves upon the grass, to examine and prepare their
arms; and the Otoe Indians, were busily engaged in ornamenting themselves
for the meeting. Some had spread their blankets upon the prairie, and
were anxiously employed in tracing various figures in vermilion, upon
their woolly surfaces. Some, eagerly bending over the small pools of
still water left in the dry bed of the river, were painting their faces
with vermilion, manifesting as much interest and anxiety in the choice of
their ornaments, as a young belle preparing for her first ball. Paint was
placed on and rubbed off. Faces were striped first in one direction, then
in another; and the advice of those who were sitting round, was asked
and given, with all the gravity befitting so important an operation. In
the meantime, two or three finished their toilets, and seated themselves
at a short distance to serve as models for the rest. Several who had
acquired some reputation for skill in this art, were busily engaged in
painting up the less gifted of their companions. Whilst this was going
on in one quarter, in another, five or six Indians, who either had no
paint, or cared not about the opinion of those they intended to visit,
lay stretched at full length in the grass. Here they kept up an incessant
drumming upon their breasts with their fists, in exact time to a chant,
which they were letting out at the top of their lungs, and which always
wound up with a loud yell, by way of chorus.

But there must be an end of all things, and in due time there was an end
of the preparations. The tents were packed; the Indians were painted and
striped to resemble any thing but men; the soldiers had adjusted their
arms; the horses were saddled; the oxen were secured before the heavy
baggage wagons, and the party commenced slowly moving towards the village.

It was a fine sunny morning; the clumps of trees which clustered on the
low banks of the river, and the numberless islands which dotted its
broad, shallow waters, were alive with woodpeckers of every size and
hue. In every direction, they darted among the tall dead trees which
overhung the muddy stream, making the trunks resound with the incessant
hammering of their small but powerful beaks. Large flocks of gaily plumed
parroquets, whirled screaming past us, with a surprising velocity.

At ten o’clock the party had travelled several miles across the prairie,
and our vicinity to the village was becoming more perceptible. Mounted
Indians, sent out to watch for our approach, were seen here and there
flying across the hills in the direction of the village, to give notice
of the arrival to their chiefs. At a distance we could perceive several
bands of Indians in pursuit of large droves of their wild and fiery
horses, which they were urging at a headlong speed in the direction of
the town. In another quarter, on the top of a ridge of small hills,
groups of five or six were standing, intently watching the motions of the
party, which, from the jaded state of the oxen, were necessarily slow.
The soldiers who had been lazily lounging across the prairie, were now
called in, and formed in a compact body round the baggage wagons. An hour
more brought us in sight of the village.

Upon our near approach, we could perceive that the hills surrounding
it were black with masses of mounted warriors. Though they swarmed
upon their tops, to the number of several thousands, yet they stood
motionless and in silence, watching the approach of the mission. At
length a single horseman detached himself from the mass, and came
galloping down the hill and over the prairie to meet us. As he approached
there was a wild, free air about him, and he governed his gigantic black
horse with the greatest ease. I could not but think that if the rest
of these warriors were of the same mould, any resistance of our band,
however desperate, would avail but little against an attack of these
proud rulers of the prairie.

Upon reaching the party, he sprang from his horse, and shook hands with
Mr. E——. He then gave directions through the interpreter, that the band
should be drawn up in as small a compass as possible, to avoid all
contact with his warriors. After spending some time in completing his
arrangements, he galloped back, and gave the signal to the rest. In an
instant the hills were deserted, and the whole mass of warriors were
rushing towards us, across the broad bosom of the prairie. It was a
moment of intense and fearful expectation. On they came; each mad horse,
with erect mane and blazing eye, urged forward by the bloody spur of an
Indian master. They had reached within two hundred yards of the party,
but still the speed of their horses was unchecked, and the powerful
tramp of their hoofs rang like thunder upon the sod of the prairie. At
a signal, however, from the chief, the band separated to the right and
left, and commenced circling round us, in one dark, dense flood. Their
whoops and yells, and the furious and menacing manner in which they
brandished their bows and tomahawks, would have led a person unacquainted
with their habits, to have looked upon this reception as any thing but
friendly. There is something in the fierce, shrill scream of a band
of Indian warriors, which rings through the brain, and sends the blood
curdling back to the heart. Their ornaments, though wild, were many of
them beautiful. The closely shaved heads of some were adorned with the
plumage of different birds. Others wore an ornament of deer’s hair, bound
up in a form resembling the crest of an ancient helmet, and a plume
of the bald eagle floated from the long scalp-locks of the principal
warriors.

Some few wore necklaces of the claws of the grisly bear, hanging down
upon their breasts. The bodies of some were wrapped in buffalo robes,
or the skin of the white wolf; but the most of them wore no covering,
save a thick coat of paint. This they had profusely smeared over their
bodies and arms, and many had even bestowed it upon the heads and limbs
of their horses. After dashing round us for some time, the chief waved
his hand, and the turmoil ceased. The warriors sprang from their horses,
and seating themselves round in a large circle, waited for the arrival
of the chief of the Grand Pawnees. In a few moments he advanced to meet
Mr. E——, accompanied by the different chiefs of Tappaye Pawnee, Pawnee
Republican, and Pawnee Loup villages. He was a tall, powerful Indian.
A fillet of the skin of the grisly bear, ornamented with feathers, was
bound round his head. Over his shoulder was thrown a large mantle of
white wolf-skin, also adorned with feathers. His legs were cased in black
leggings of dressed buffalo hide, worked with beads, and fringed with
long locks of human hair. These were taken from scalps won in his various
war expeditions, and hung down over his knees, trailing upon the ground
as he walked. He first advanced and welcomed Mr. E——, and afterwards the
rest. The chiefs of the three different villages were then introduced,
and repeated the words of welcome uttered by the first.

This ceremony was scarcely finished, when a movement was observed among
the crowd, and a powerful roan horse, mounted by an armed Indian, bounded
forward to the middle of the circle, where the rider sprang from his
back. He was a stranger among the tribe, and spoke not their language—a
Kioway[A] Indian, from the borders of Mexico—a member of those wild
tribes, who like the Arabs rove the immense plains of the west, and carry
destruction to all who are not strong enough to resist them. After
pausing and looking around him for a moment, with a glance that seemed
to challenge opposition from the assembled warriors, he walked up to Mr.
E——. He was slight and beautifully formed; but there was a fire in his
eye; a swell of the nostril; and a proud curve of the lip, which showed a
spirit that brooked no opposition; shunned no danger; and could only be
quenched by the chill of the grave. His long black hair, which trailed
behind him on the ground, was plaited together, and ornamented with about
twenty plates of massive silver. A band of silver was fastened round his
throat, and several large medals of the same metal hung upon his breast.
Upon his arms were several bands of silver, and rings of the same upon
his fingers. His leggings, though more finely wrought, like those of the
chiefs, were fringed with scalps. A scalp consisting of the entire upper
part of a human head, hung from the bit of his fiery horse. Upon coming
up he offered his hand to Mr. E——, and in succession to the rest; and
after pausing and gazing upon us for a short time, with some curiosity,
he sprang upon his horse, and riding through the circle, was lost behind
the more distant crowd of warriors.

[A] We afterwards learned that this Indian had become enamoured of a
young girl of his own tribe, the wife of another; but her husband having
gone upon some expedition, she had taken advantage of his absence to
leave her nation with her lover; and together they had fled to the Pawnee
village, which they reached a week previous to our arrival.

For a short time after the introduction of the various chiefs, the mass
of grim beings hemmed us in, sitting upon the ground like so many dark
forms of statuary, without voice or motion. Several at length arose, and
coming towards Mr. E——, and Major D——, (the United States agent for the
Pawnee Indians,) extended the stem of their pipes to the lips of each,
then, instantly retiring, resumed their station in the crowd. By this
action, we afterwards learned, that each pledged himself to present a
horse to the person to whom he extended his pipe. In the meanwhile, two
old men, who had no horses to lose by the free indulgence of liberal
feelings, rose up, and by loud and vehement harangues, endeavoured to
pique the liberality of the rest. They boasted of the number they would
bestow, _if they but had them_, and recounted as examples the acts of
generosity which they had performed in their youth. As that youth ran
far back, beyond the memory of the oldest inhabitant, there was little
probability of their being contradicted.

After they had finished, the Wild Horse, (I do not recollect his Indian
name) the principal warrior of the nation, stood up and harangued the
assembled multitude. He launched out in a long panegyric upon the whites,
which was delivered with a warmth of expression no doubt greatly
increased by the sight of the wagons laden with presents. This warrior
was one of the most singular as well as ferocious of the tribe; and
many were the tales of his war expeditions, afterwards related to us by
the trappers, as we lay stretched around our night-fires. His height
could have been but little short of seven feet, and every limb was in
proportion. Unlike the rest of his tribe, his hair remained unshaven,
and hung in long tangled locks, which reached nearly to his waist, and
were profusely smeared with red ochre. His low, retreating forehead was
almost buried in wrinkles; and his eyes, deep set in his head, glowed
like living coals. His nose was large and prominent; and the size of an
enormous mouth was not at all diminished by two streaks of vermilion,
which he had drawn from each corner, to his ears. He wore neither
covering nor ornament, unless the profusion of black clay and red ochre
which covered his body, deserved that name. He stood out in his naked
proportions a giant among those who surrounded him; and the wild energy
of his gesticulation as he delivered his harangue, showed the prodigious
strength hidden in his form, and which only required an occasion to bring
it into action. From his youth upward he had been the leading warrior in
the nation, and his deeds had spread a terror of his name through all the
hostile tribes. Though no chief, his influence in the village was equal
to theirs, rendering him as much an object of jealousy to them as of
dread to their enemies.

When he had finished his address, the chief rose and spoke to his men.
After this the circle opened, and forming into two lines, one on each
side, the warriors prepared to escort us into their village.




                               CHAPTER II.

    _Journey to the Grand Pawnee Village.—Old Indian Female.—Chief’s
                  Lodge.—Indian Feasts.—Kioway Female._


As soon as we emerged from the crowd that had surrounded us, we perceived
the plain between us and the village swarming with the rest of its
inhabitants. It appeared as if every man, woman, and child had looked
upon the day of our arrival, as one of jubilee. The boys had thrown aside
their bows and arrows, the females had abandoned their drudgery, and the
old men had ceased their songs of former victories, to paint themselves
up for the festival. The reception was over, and all the requisite awe of
their nation had been impressed upon us. They now threw aside the stern,
unbending character of the Indian warrior, and pressed round us with all
the kind hospitality of hosts, in receiving their most welcome guests.

Small bands of young men amused themselves by dashing around the party,
at the full speed of their horses, and attempting to oust each other from
their saddles by the violent collision of their animals. Occasionally a
few would start off in a race across the plain, whooping and screaming,
and clattering their arms in the ears of their steeds, to excite them
even beyond the mad rate at which they were careering.

Others of the young men hung round the party, making their remarks on its
different members, and occasionally exciting loud peals of laughter from
their comrades. These however were frequently cut short by a stern word
from one of the chiefs.

The whole road from the plain to the village, was lined with women and
children. They had not dared to approach during the formalities of our
reception, but now eagerly pressed forward to gaze upon so unwonted a
sight as that of a white stranger entering freely into their village.
Besides this they were all anxious to gratify that curiosity which is
peculiarly strong in the bosom of an Indian—especially a female.

They were nearly all mounted upon little stiff-maned drudge horses of the
village, sometimes singly, but generally in clusters of two or three.

In particular, one withered, gray-headed old squaw, with a family of
four children under her charge, attracted our attention. She was mounted
upon a little wall-eyed, cream-coloured pony, with a roach mane and a
bob-tail. There was a lurking devil looking out of his half-closed eye,
the very antipodes of his rider, who sat upon his back like the picture
of Patience. Her charge she had arranged, as well as could be expected
from a person in her situation. One little fellow, whose eyes gleamed
like sparks of fire, from beneath the long tangled hair, which nearly
covered his face, was striding almost upon the neck of the horse, armed
with a heavy Indian whip. One little one was dozing in her arms, another
was clinging tightly to her back. The face of a fourth, like the head of
a caterpillar, just ready to emerge from a cocoon, was peering from the
mouth of a leather bag, fastened between her shoulders.

But though the woman thus scrupulously divided the burden with her steed,
he seemed far from satisfied with his situation, and at last determined
to rid himself of his encumbrance.

Tossing his head in the air, he commenced waltzing, and capering round
upon his hind feet, to the great discomfiture of the squaw. In great
tribulation she reached out both hands, and clung with might and main to
the high pommel of the Indian pack-saddle, while two of the children,
left to their own guidance, clung like monkeys round her body.

The horse, finding that the first experiment had not succeeded to his
satisfaction, altered his plan of action. He planted his fore feet firmly
upon the sod, and flourished his heels as high in the air as his head
was the moment before. Still his rider continued to cling to the saddle,
making use of every expression of Indian objurgation and soothing, in a
vain appeal to the sensibilities of the restive animal. There was one,
however, evidently delighted with his capers; this was the naked little
elf perched upon his neck, who evidently aided and abetted the mutiny by
a sudden switch of his whip—occasionally casting back his sly, laughing
black eye upon the chattering old lady and her screaming brood.

At last the animal finding that no physical force of his could free
his back from the burden, came to the conclusion that the less time he
spent in accomplishing his journey the shorter would be his ordeal. So
he started off at a full gallop for the village, and we caught our last
glimpse of him as he dashed between the lodges, urged on by the lash of
his imp-like little rider.

When the party had once commenced its march, it was not long before they
reached the point of destination; for though the Indians crowded forward
to satisfy their curiosity, they remained at such a distance as to
offer no obstacle to our progress. This rule of etiquette was, however,
occasionally transgressed by troops of untrimmed, goblin-looking little
urchins who hung upon the heels of the party. They crowded around the
baggage wagons, and gazed with a mixture of terror and wild delight upon
the oxen, who, with lolling tongues and reeling steps, were, almost inch
by inch, winning their way to the village.

Several times when a circle of little curious faces, anxious to see, but
ready to run, had formed around the team, a sharp, shrill scream from
some more mischievous of the gang, would in an instant disperse all their
rallied courage, and send them scampering at full speed over the prairie.

Another grand object of attraction was _the Black Bear_, who trudged in
front, surrounded by a rabble crowd of women and children. From the first
moment of our arrival he had been an object of intense curiosity, and
had been gazed at with a mixture of fear and astonishment by the whole
nation. But there is an old saying that “too much familiarity breeds
contempt;” and in this case it was verified. By degrees, the circle
which formed around him at a respectful distance, became more and more
compressed. It was in vain that he attempted to rid himself of their
company; they swarmed around him like ants. If he quickened his pace,
they did the same; if he lingered, they were equally slow; and if he
turned upon them, they scattered in every direction. But after a while,
even this wore off, and they finally hemmed him in, so that it was almost
impossible to move for the crowd. When they had thus closed upon him,
the lurking spirit of mischief began to show itself. They tugged at his
coat tail, they pulled his pantaloons, and they jostled him until the
perspiration, the effect of fear and exertion, poured in streams down his
face. At length one toothless, gray-headed old crone, attracted by the
glistening appearance of his black leather cap, made a violent snatch,
and seized hold of it. A hot scramble ensued for the prize, which, after
much derangement to the wardrobe of the negro, was obtained by the
rightful owner. He had no sooner regained his property, than he opened
his shirt, and placed it next his bosom. He then buttoned his coat over
it up to the chin, evincing his respect to the nation by performing the
rest of his journey _uncovered_.

We found that the Pawnee village had been rebuilt since it was burnt by
the Delawares. It is situate in the open prairie, at the foot of a long
range of hills, and within about fifty yards of the Platte. The river at
this place is about two miles broad, and very shallow, being constantly
forded by the squaws, who visit the different islands, and obtain from
them the only fuel and building materials, to be found in this part of
the country.

The lodges are numerous, and stand close together, without the least
regard to regularity. They are built in the same way as those in the Otoe
village.

On account of the scarcity of wood, several families congregate together
in the same lodge. The male portion pass the whole day, lounging and
sleeping around, or gorging themselves from the large kettle filled with
buffalo flesh, which is perpetually over the fire.

As we entered the village, the tops of the lodges were completely covered
with women and children, and the area in front of the chief’s dwelling
was equally crowded. When we reached the front, the chief, who had ridden
in advance of the party, stepped from the dark passage which formed the
entrance to his abode, to meet us. He was completely enveloped in a
robe of white wolf skin, upon which was painted a hieroglyphic account
of his warlike achievements. Upon the approach of Mr. E——, he advanced
towards him, and taking the robe from his shoulders, presented it to
him, requesting him (through the interpreter) to keep it for his sake.
He then ushered the party into his dwelling, and pointed out the place
allotted for the reception of the contents of the wagons. After this he
called together a number of Indians, and gave them directions to assist
in unloading. He stood at the door, watching their movements, to prevent
any attempt at purloining—a crime too common among the lower classes of
an Indian village.

Nearly half an hour elapsed in this way, during which time the lodge
was becoming more and more crowded. One dusky form after another glided
with a noiseless step over the threshold, moving across to the darkest
corners of the lodge. Here they seated themselves upon the ground, and
shrouded their shaggy robes around them, so as completely to screen the
lower part of their faces. As they fixed their unwavering gaze upon us
from the dark parts of the building their eyes seemed to shine out like
glowing balls of phosphorus.

Not a word was spoken—no undertoned conversation was carried on—all was
silence, save the hurried footsteps of those who were busied according to
the directions of the chief. No jests were uttered, for we were now under
the roof of their leader, and any word spoken in derogation of his guests
would have called down instant punishment.

Upon our entrance into the lodge, a large kettle had been filled with
buffalo flesh and hard corn, and placed over the fire. When we were
fairly settled in our abode, and the bustle of unloading had in a
measure passed away, the wife of the chief (by-the-by he had five of
them) poured the whole of its contents into a large wooden bowl. She then
armed each of us with a black dipper made of buffalo horn, and made signs
for us to commence.

We did not wait for a second invitation, but immediately, with both
fingers and dippers, attacked the mountain of food before us. We had not
eaten since daylight; it was now late in the day; and the appetites of
the party, never particularly delicate, having increased in proportion to
the length of their fast, the devastation was enormous. But every excess
brings with it its own punishment; and our case was not an exception to
the general rule. Scarce had we finished, when a little Indian boy, half
covered with a tattered buffalo skin, forced his way into the lodge,
elbowing in among the warriors with all that transient air of consequence
worn by _little_ characters when charged with some mission of importance.
He came to the side of the chief, who was sitting near us, with his legs
doubled under him, after the Turkish fashion, and whispered in his ear.
The chief rose, and announced that the Long Hair, the second warrior
of the village, had prepared a feast in honour of our arrival, and was
waiting for us to come and partake. There was some demurring as to the
acceptance of this invitation. The Interpreter, however, informed us
that there was no resource, as eating your way into the good will of
the savages, is necessary to the success of an Indian treaty. It was
useless to plead that we had already eaten sufficient, for that is a
thing incredible to an Indian, who always carries with him an appetite
proportioned to the quantity to be eaten, and the opportunity of doing
so. Let the latter come as often as it may, it invariably finds him
prepared.

After some consultation, seeing no remedy, we left the lodge, and
followed our little guide through the intricacies of the village, to
the dwelling of the Long Hair. When we entered he was sitting upon the
ground, and motioned us to a seat upon some dirty cushions of undressed
hides. He was a stern, gloomy looking man, with an anxious, wrinkled
brow, a mouth like iron, and an eye like fire. He evidently made efforts
to be sociable; but it was not in his nature; and during the whole feast,
the stern, unbending character of the Indian warrior, was continually
peering out from beneath the show of hospitality. He urged us to eat,
and he even attempted to smile; but it more resembled the angry snarl of
a wild-cat, than the evidence of any pleasurable emotion. In short, we
liked him not, and hurried through our feast as soon as possible. When
we had finished, and while a number of the party were smoking, in turn,
from a large red stone pipe, which he passed round, the Doctor rose and
slowly sauntered round the lodge. He at length observed a small bundle of
bones, and skin, which hung from a pole crossing the centre of the lodge.
Curious to know what it might contain, he reached out his hand to take
hold of it. From the moment that he had left his seat, the brow of the
chief had darkened, but he said nothing; contenting himself by narrowly
watching the motions of his guest;—but no sooner had he touched the
bundle, than the effect upon the frame of the Indian was like an electric
shock. He half started from his seat; the veins on his forehead swelled
like whipcord; and his eyes shot fire.—With clenched fists and extended
arms, he shrieked out something between a yell and an imprecation. The
secret was soon explained by the frightened Interpreter. The bundle
that had attracted the curiosity of the Doctor, was the medicine bag[B]
of the lodge. To disturb this is one of the greatest outrages that can
be inflicted upon the superstitious feelings of an Indian. At another
time, the Doctor might have paid dearly for his rashness. As it was, at
the earnest solicitations of the Interpreter, he resumed his seat, and
the anger of the chief passed away. Shortly after this, another courier
arrived to invite us to a third feast; and taking our leave, we followed
him. This feast was exactly the same as the former. Before we had
finished, invitation after invitation came pouring in upon us, until we
had visited about ten or fifteen lodges. One after another, the different
members of the party then gave out, and returned to the abode of the
chief.

[B] Every lodge in an Indian village contains what is called its Medicine
Bag, which is hung up in the most conspicuous place, and regarded with
the greatest veneration, not only by the inhabitants of that individual
lodge, but by the whole tribe. Little is known of their contents, as
they are seldom opened, and always with the greatest formalities. On
these occasions, all possible care is taken to exclude strangers, whose
presence or interference is regarded as a certain source of future
misfortune.

Upon our return, Mr. E—— assembled the different warriors, and after some
consultation, the following day was appointed for holding a council, to
agree upon the terms of the treaty.

When this was settled, the chief turned and spoke a few words to the
heralds.[C] They immediately started through the village, proclaiming
the time appointed for the council.

[C] These heralds are self-elected, and are composed of the oldest men in
the village, who run through the town to spread the orders of the chief.
When no such service is required, they amuse themselves by stalking round
the village, yelling out advice to the young men, with voices which may
be heard at the distance of a mile, but which, as far as I was able to
judge, was but little attended to.

While Mr. E—— was thus engaged, the rest of the party drew round the
fire, to discuss the different events of the day. The bear-skin, forming
the inner door of the lodge, was slowly raised, and a female stepped
timidly in, and moved rapidly, and evidently with a desire to escape
observation, into the darkest part of the lodge. Her whole appearance
bespoke her a stranger. She was beautiful; and though a timid being,
moved with the step of a queen. She was the wife of the Kioway Indian,
and her dress was of a richness corresponding with his. A bright band of
silver was fastened round her neck; a small jacket of scarlet cloth,
the spoil of some pillaged caravan, edged with silver lace and beads,
was secured round her waist and breast, with scarlet ribands, and a long
garment of blue cloth enveloped the rest of her form. Like her husband,
she wore medals of silver upon her breast, and bracelets of the same upon
her wrists. Her mocassins, also, were more finely ornamented than those
of the Pawnee women, who were seated around.

From the moment of her entrance, she became the object of attraction
to all eyes. Observing this, she withdrew into one of the berths, and
dropping in front of her a screen of grass matting, remained there for
the rest of the day.




                              CHAPTER III.

                  _Grand Pawnee Village.—The Council._


The second day after our arrival was appointed for holding the council.
It was a fine frosty morning. The sun rose like a huge ball of crimson
over the low hills; pouring a flood of lurid light upon the dancing
waters of the Platte, and gemming with a thousand tints, the frost beads
that glittered upon the tall withering grass of the prairie.

A number of us left the lodge early in the morning, and strolled towards
the banks of the Platte. A few gaunt, sinewy wolf-dogs were prowling
about the silent village, in search of food. The savages had not yet left
their lairs, except one or two solitary individuals, muffled in their
robes, who at sight of us, hurried to their abodes to give information
that the strangers were stirring. Occasionally, as we passed the dark
funnel-like mouth of the dwellings, the half of a face would be seen,
cautiously looking out, and after staring at us for an instant, would
vanish into the interior to call out the rest of the inhabitants.

We had not proceeded far, before about a dozen half-starved Indian
wolf-dogs collected at our heels. Here they followed, raising their
nostrils, baring their long white fangs, and uttering deep growls. Their
green flashing eyes; their long bristling hair; and their tails stiffly
extended as they slowly stalked after us, convinced us that they waited
only for the slightest appearance of fear on our part, to commence an
attack. It also plainly showed that however welcome our appearance might
be to the Indians, there were some members of the village who did not
participate in the general feeling of joy.

In spite, however, of this show of ill will, we continued our walk until
we reached the Platte. Here we seated ourselves upon the trunk of a tree
lying prostrate on the bank of the river.

In the meantime, the Indians had received intelligence of our movements,
and began to edge towards the stream. The children came running openly
and in droves. The old men and warriors carelessly sauntered along
towards the water, and came down upon us as if by accident. Others more
modest, crouched down in the long grass, creeping stealthily forward,
until every stump concealed a painted form, and every bush was alive with
curious faces.

Nearest to us was a tall, thin Indian, clad in an old, worn-out
buffalo-robe.

There was a “gallows-bird” look about him,—no doubt some prodigal son,
disinherited by a crusty old curmudgeon father. He was standing with his
back half towards us, and his face turned away, apparently gazing up
the river; the very attitude to “give the lie” to his eyes, which were
convulsively straining towards us, from the corner of their sockets, and
scanning our every movement with an intense and eager curiosity.

At length one of the party wishing to inquire about our horses, beckoned
him forward. This was a signal for all the rest. They came trooping
up from every quarter, under the pretence of giving information; and
upon every sign made by us, about twenty tongues gabbled unintelligible
answers. After spending about half an hour upon the banks, and finding
that nothing was to be gained in the way of information, we turned off
in the direction of the village.

It was now humming with life. The warriors were collected in small knots
of five or six, and, by their vehement gestures, were apparently engaged
in earnest conversation. The children were rolling and tumbling in the
dirt; the squaws were busily engaged. Some were bringing from their
lodges large leather sacks of shelled corn; others were spreading it out
to dry, upon the leather of their buffalo-skin tents, which had been
stretched out upon the ground. Others were cleansing from it the decayed
kernels and packing it up in small sacks of a whitish undressed leather,
resembling parchment. These were then deposited in cache-holes[D] for a
winter’s store.

[D] The _Cache_, is a large hole dug in the ground like a cistern. It is
narrow at the top (about four feet in diameter) but wider as it descends,
until its form somewhat resembles that of a jug. It will contain about an
hundred bushels of corn.

Upon leaving their villages, the Indians deposit the corn which is to
serve for their winter’s store in granaries of this description, and
cover the apertures with earth, so that it is impossible, for a person
unacquainted with their exact position, to discover the entrance. The
name _Cache_ is given by the French traders who derive it from the word
_cacher_ (to conceal.)

At a distance from the village, a band of females were slowly wending
along the top of one of the low prairie ridges, to their daily labour in
the small plantations of corn. These are scattered in every direction
round the village, wherever a spot of rich, black soil, gives promise of
a bountiful harvest. Some of them are as much as eight miles distant from
the town.

There is a fearful uncertainty hanging round the lives of these females.
At the rising of the sun they depart to their toil, often never to
return. They are constantly exposed to the attacks of lurking foes, who
steal down upon their villages, to cut off stragglers. They come and
disappear with equal silence and celerity. Their presence is unknown,
until the long absence of a friend, or a mutilated body, found sometimes
after the lapse of several days, conveys to their friends a thrilling
token, that the hand of the destroyer has been busied among them, and the
hour of vengeance has passed.

As we proceeded, we were again waited upon by a committee of the dogs of
the town. They formed in a train behind us, with the same expression of
ill feeling that had been manifested by their predecessors. But this last
display of rancour was of short duration; for a stout, tattered Indian,
who looked as if his last ablution had been performed during his infancy,
rushed out from one of the lodges, and with a few vigorous applications
of his foot changed the aspect of affairs. In an instant the glistening
eyes of the curs sunk from fury to meekness; the hair which bristled
boldly up was sleeked quietly down to their backs; the tails which had
stood out as erect as bars of iron, were tucked snugly away between their
legs, and the snarls were converted into yells. In short, the canine
committee were unmercifully beaten, and fled yelping and howling in every
direction.

Our attention was now called to the long, lean, wiery old heralds, who
were stalking through the town, calling forth the warriors, and exhorting
them to prepare for the council. Occasionally they stopped to gossip with
some gray-headed crony, who stood blinking like an owl at the entrance of
his dwelling. At other times they paused to bestow a little wholesome
advice upon some wild urchin, guilty of some breach of decorum towards
their guests.

Upon reaching the lodge of the chief, we found that active preparations
had been made for holding the council. The goods and presents which had
been received hastily into the building, were now piled up carefully.
The lodge had been swept clean; a large cheery fire was crackling in the
centre. The rabble crowd of loungers and hangers-on had been routed;
and besides the family of the chief, we were the only occupants of the
spacious building.

At mid-day the chiefs and braves began to assemble. They were full
dressed; many of the young warriors had spent the whole morning in
preparation, and now presented themselves, fully ornamented for the
meeting.

As the hour for the opening of the council grew nearer, the tall,
muffled warriors poured in, in one continuous stream. They moved quietly
to the places allotted them, and seating themselves in silence round the
chief, according to their rank. There was no wrangling, or bustle for
precedence; each knew his station, and if perchance one of them occupied
the place of some more distinguished warrior, upon his appearance he
immediately rose and resigned them his seat.

The crowd continued flowing in until the lodge was filled almost to
suffocation. As they came in, they seated themselves, until five or six
circles were formed, one beyond the other, the last ranging against the
wall of the building. In the ring nearest the chiefs, sat the principal
braves, or those warriors whose deeds of blood entitled them to a high
rank in the councils of the nation. The more distant circles were filled
by such young men of the village as were admitted to its councils. The
passage leading to the open air, was completely blocked up with a tight
wedged mass of women and children, who dared venture no nearer to the
deliberations of the tribe.

In the course of half an hour, nearly all the principal warriors had
assembled. The chief then filled a large stone pipe and lighting it,
drew a few puffs, inhaling the smoke into his lungs, and blowing it out
in long blasts through his nostrils. He then passed it to the whites,
who, each having inhaled a few whiffs in their turn, handed it to their
neighbours. These again passed it on, until it had made the circuit of
the whole assembly. While this was going on our attention was attracted
by a violent commotion in the passage. In a moment afterwards the naked
head and shoulders of the Wild Horse towered above the crowd. He forced
his way through them, and burst naked into the building. Here he seated
himself in the inner ring, leaning his back against one of the pillars
which supported the roof. The chief scowled grimly at the disturbance
caused by his entrance. The Wild Horse, however, was a giant, whose wrath
was not to be courted, and the matter passed off in silence. After a
short time Mr. E—— rose and addressed the council, stating the views of
the United States, and at the same time, the conditions of the treaty.

During the whole of the address, every sound was hushed into a deep
and thrilling silence. Not a form stirred; but all sat with their eyes
steadily fixed upon his countenance. There was not even a long-drawn
breath to break in upon the voice of the speaker; though now and then,
some proposal, which met with peculiar approbation, would elicit a
loud grunt of approval, from the deep, sonorous chests of the whole
assemblage.

When Mr. E—— had finished his address, the chief of the Grand Pawnees
rose and folded his heavy buffalo-robe round his body. His right arm and
breast were left bare. The other hand and lower part of his body, were
completely hid by the dark folds of his shaggy mantle. For a few moments
he stood facing Mr. E—— in silence; then stepping forward, his chest
seemed to swell out,—he threw back his head, and raised his arm, with one
of the fingers slightly extended, as if to command attention. He then
paused and gazed with a hawk eye upon the iron faces of his warriors. The
pause and glance were momentary; and without moving the position of his
arm, he commenced his harangue. It was short, energetic, and abounding
with all the high-wrought figures of Indian oratory. As he proceeded
he grew more and more animated; his chest rose and fell; his finely
modulated voice, which at first had stolen like music over the stillness,
grew louder and louder, until its deep, fierce tones rang like thunder
through the building. He threw his robe from his shoulders, leaving bare
his almost convulsed frame. He fixed his eagle eye upon us; he extended
his bare arms towards us, he waved them over our heads, with a wild
fury of gesticulation. Had it not been for his words of friendship, our
fancies would have led us to imagine him some demon, pouring out the most
fearful threats of vengeance. For about ten minutes his voice rolled
through the lodge. Suddenly he fell from his loud, energetic language to
the silvery, guttural tones natural to him, and in a short time finished
his harangue.

After him, his son, the second chief of the tribe, rose and commenced
an address. While he was proceeding, a noise of voices arose at the
extreme part of the lodge, near the passage. At first they were low and
smothered; but at last they broke out into loud and angry altercation.
The Wild Horse was crouching at the foot of one of the pillars, with
his hands interlocked with each other, his arms encompassing his legs,
and his body nearly hid by the long matted hair which hung over it. He
was roused by the disturbance; but at first contented himself by an
occasional sharp word addressed to the crowd. This silenced it for a few
moments; but at last the brawling voices broke out into open clamour. The
savage started to his feet, stalked among them, shook his brawny arms
over their heads, and thundered a few stern words in their ears. This had
the effect of magic in soothing the angry passions of the disputants. The
voices sank into silence, and the noise was hushed. For a few moments he
maintained his menacing attitude over them; and then resuming his station
at the foot of the pillar, the chief proceeded in his harangue.

When he concluded, several chiefs rose and addressed the party, welcoming
them to their homes, with the kindest expressions of hospitality. At the
same time they expressed their entire acquiescence in the terms of the
treaty. After them several of the braves and warriors rose, and spoke to
the same effect. When they had concluded, the following day was appointed
for signing the treaty. The pipe was again passed round, and the council
breaking up, the warriors left the lodge.

During the whole of the deliberation, which lasted about six hours, the
interior of the building was excessively hot. The instant it was cleared,
we strolled out into the open prairie. A large crowd was gathered at
a distance. We went towards it, and found it assembled to witness the
slaughter of one of our oxen—the destined victim for the ratification of
the treaty. The hunter who was to enact the part of butcher, had loaded
his rifle, and now moved forward. The crowd spread off on each side,
leaving the animal exposed to view. The beast, then for the first time
seemed to have a suspicion of the fate that awaited him, raised his head,
and gazed steadily at his butcher. The hunter took a few steps—the gun
was to his cheek—the trigger clicked—we heard the bullet strike—the ox
reared his heavy frame, and fell forward on the ground; but the ball had
merely fractured the skull without being fatal. By degrees the animal
raised himself from the ground upon his haunches. His head hung heavily
forward, and a thin streak of blood trickled down from the bullet hole
in his forehead. Still he feebly supported his form upon his fore feet.
His huge body rocked to and fro in the last extremity of anguish, and
deep bellowings burst from his heaving lungs, resembling the tortured
cries of a human sufferer. A second time the hunter advanced and fired;
the ball was fatal; it crushed through the bone of the skull, and the
beast fell forward with a deep groan. The crowd, raising a loud cry of
exultation and delight, closed round him. The exhibition was sickening;
we turned away and left the Indian butchers to their work.




                               CHAPTER IV.

      _Receiving Horses.—Departure from Grand Pawnees.—Crossing the
                       Platte.—The Iotan’s Wife._


The morning at length arrived upon which we were to take our leave of
the Grand Pawnees, and shape our course for the village of the Pawnee
Republicans. It is situated upon the Loup fork of the Platte river, about
twenty miles distant.

The couriers appointed to carry the tidings of our approach to the
nation, had left the village the night before. We were now drawn out in
the area in front of the lodge, awaiting the movements of the soldiers
who were scattered around, some driving in, and others searching for,
the horses, on the small islands of the Platte.

The chief of the Pawnee Republican village, after lingering with us till
the last moment, started forward across the river. In the dim distance we
could perceive his flake-white horse skimming like a bird over the crests
of the hills. Now he disappeared in their deep, undulating hollows, now
he again flashed for an instant on the eye as he passed over the brow of
some more distant ridge. He was pushing forward to reach his village, and
marshal his warriors.

In about half an hour, the soldiers returned, driving in the horses, and
commenced saddling them for the march.

In the meantime, those Indians who had promised horses on the first day
of our meeting, brought them up. A young Indian first came forward, and
led up a bright, jet-black mare—after him followed another, holding
in his hand a long buffalo tug, or halter, which restrained the wild
motions of a two years’ old colt. His colour was snowy white, here and
there broken with spots of brown. He had been caught wild from the
prairies but a few weeks before. He was a slave, but he had never been
mounted—his back had never bent to a burden. They led him up in his own
native wildness—his tail stood out—his ears were pricked up—his eyes
starting—his nostrils expanded—and every hair of his long mane seemed
almost erect with an undefinable feeling of terror. At one moment he
dashed swiftly around at the full stretch of the long tug which secured
him—then pausing, and shaking his long mane over his head, he fixed the
gaze of his almost bursting eyes upon his captor. Then raising his head,
and casting a long, lingering, and almost despairing gaze upon the hills
of the prairie, which till then had been his home, he made a desperate
leap forward, dragging to the ground the Indian who held the end of his
halter. Others, however, rushed to his assistance, and held him in. The
crowd then attempted to close round him, but he reared upon his hind
legs, and kept them at bay, with rapid and powerful blows of his fore
feet. At length a young Indian who was standing near, threw off his robe
and crept cautiously towards the animal from behind. With a sudden leap
he bounded upon his back, and seized the tug, which was secured in his
mouth. Before this, the efforts of the animal had been violent; but when
he felt the burden upon his back—when he felt the curbing hand of his
rider—he sent up a shrill and almost frantic scream—he bounded in the
air like a wild-cat—he reared, he plunged, but in vain; his rider was a
master hand, and retained his seat as unmoved as if he had constituted
part of the animal itself. He curbed him in—he lashed him with his heavy
whip, until he crouched like a dog upon the prairie. His spirit was
crushed; and the last spark of freedom was extinguished. Shortly after,
one of the hunters came up and tied a pack upon his back. He made no
resistance, and they led him off with the rest, to finish his days in
drudgery and toil.

In the meantime the other Indians led up their horses. It was evident
that many of them had made their promises in the excitement of the
moment. They were now fulfilling them as matters of conscience, not
of inclination; and their horses were valuable in proportion. One was
lame, another blind; one had large patches of skin galled upon his back,
and the ears of another were cropped close to his head. In fine it was
evident that they had selected the very worst of their animals for
the fulfilment of their promises. Our _stud_ was a collection of the
maimed, the halt, and the blind. One after another they came lingering
up, until one Indian alone lagged behind. The chief inquired for him,
and was told that he had gone out to search for his animal. Ten minutes
elapsed. At last there was a movement in the crowd, and a sly-looking,
old white-headed Indian made his way through it. In his hand he held the
end of a long buffalo tug: the other was secured to his horse. Such a
horse! he was blind of both eyes; his tail had been cut off short to his
rump; his ribs stood out in bold relief; and his very joints creaked, as
he walked stiffly after his leader. As for his age there was no mode of
telling it, as his teeth had long since dropped out; but it must have
been incalculable.

There was a smothered giggling among the women, and a downright squall
of laughter among the children, as the horse stalked forwards towards its
future owner. The old Indian moved towards Mr. E——, and without raising
his head placed the end of the halter in the hand of one of the soldiers.
There was a deal of mischief in his look, and I could hear a smothered
chuckle rattling beneath the folds of his robe, as he drew it up over his
face, and disappeared among the crowd.

We now mounted and started at a rapid pace for the banks of the river.
The heavy lumbering wagons followed more slowly, and a train of about
half the village brought up the rear.

Upon reaching the banks we found that the Otoes were already on their way
through the river. Some were wading up to their arm-pits; others, had
missed the ford, and were swept down the stream, holding their blankets
high over their heads to keep them dry, as they struggled across the
rushing current. Others, mounted on horses which they had trafficked for
with the Pawnees, were dashing and spattering through the shallow parts
of the river, or clinging to the manes of their steeds, as they ploughed
their way through the deep current.

The river at this place was nearly two miles broad, here and there
interspersed with small islands. The depth was ever varying; in some
places it was but a few inches, in others it must have been from ten to
twenty feet. At one moment, the water scarce reached the fetlocks of your
horse—the next step sent him floundering up to the holsters.

After reaching the banks of the river, a short consultation was held. The
heavy baggage wagons were then sent forward, with two Indians to guide
them over the ford. After them followed the dearborn wagons. One was
driven by an old soldier, who kept steadily in the wake of the teams. Two
mules drew the other. They were driven by our half-French, half-devil
Joe, who was seated upon the dash-board of the wagon, swearing in broken
English, sometimes at the animals, and at others, at the slow pace of
the oxen which dragged the wagons in front. For some time, he followed
steadily in their train; but at length his patience became exhausted, and
he determined to drive forward at all hazards. He plied his whip upon the
flanks of the mules. At the first application they stopped short—at the
second they kicked up—but at the third they commenced moving forward—for
they had learnt by long experience, that the patience and perseverance of
their driver in the application of the lash, were sufficient to overcome
even their own almost inexhaustible fund of obstinacy, and ill nature.
Half a dozen steps brought the water up to the bottom of the wagon. The
mules doubted, but the driver whipped on. Another half a dozen steps, and
the water gushed over the sides into the wagon—still the lash was busy.
The next moment the beasts were swimming, with only the tips of their
noses and ears, visible above the surface. The wagon had disappeared
beneath the water, and the head of the driver, shaded by a broad-brimmed
hat, went skimming along the surface, pouring out a steady stream of
French and English oaths, jumbled into one common mass. Occasionally an
arm was flourished above the water, inflicting a little chastisement upon
the nose and ears of the animals, which caused them to dip under the
water, with a prodigious increase of snorting, but not much acceleration
of speed. At length, however, the deep water was passed, and after
drifting about a hundred yards down the river, the wagon gradually rose
above the surface, and travelled slowly up the opposite bank.

The rest of the party then commenced their march in Indian file across
the ford, keeping in a line with a tall Indian, who led the way. Most of
the party followed the guide; but some of our horses were restive, and
missing the ford, drifted us a short distance down the stream, where we
reached a small island, and scrambling up its bank, galloped across to
the opposite side.

Here we found a wife of the Iotan chief, standing on the edge of the
water. She had accompanied him from his village. She was young, tall, and
finely formed; her face, next to that of the wife of the Kioway Indian,
was the most beautiful we had met with. Her hair was parted across her
forehead, and hung down upon her shoulders. A small jacket of blue
cloth, was fastened round her shoulders and breast, and a mantle of the
same, was wrapped around her body. They had been presented to her by
the commissioner, but a few days before. She was standing upon a small
sand-bar, and the water was gurgling around her feet; a short distance
in front of her, a deep channel was rushing with a powerful current.
She looked at the water, and then at her dress, with an expression of
almost childish sorrow, for, to swim the river would ruin her finery. The
Indians had all reached the opposite bank, and were waiting for the rest
to come up, so that no assistance could be expected from them.

Just then the hunters dashed by her, into the deep channel, but did not
even notice her. I was the last of the party, and she knew it; for though
we could not speak the same language, there was an imploring expression
in her large dark eye as she fixed it upon me, that told every thing.
Still I hesitated: I thought of pushing on; there was a powerful struggle
between selfishness and a desire to assist her; she saw it, and speaking
a few words in her own silvery tongue, she at the same time pointed to
her new dress.

There was something so sorrowful in the tone and gesture, that I could
not resist it. I took my rifle in my left hand, and reaching out my
right, she seized it; she placed her foot on mine, and, with a sudden
bound, was upon the back of my horse, stooping behind me, with her arms
round my neck. The horse had so long been accustomed to have his own way
in every thing, that he grew very indignant at this new imposition—but
a lunge of the spurs subdued his wrath, and he bounded forward into the
rushing river. He was a powerful animal, and took to the water like a
sea-fowl. The river rushed and roared around us, and we could feel the
strong nervous quivering of his limbs, as he bore up against it. But
occasionally as he went snorting along, he cast back spiteful glances
at his riders. I expected mischief, and it came to pass. We felt his
hoofs touch the bottom—three leaps—he was up the bank—his heels flew in
the air—the arms of the squaw were jerked violently from my neck, and
I saw her describing a somerset through the air; she landed upon her
feet and received no injury. The Indians raised a shout of laughter, and
the horse, satisfied with being relieved from his extra burden, jogged
quietly on towards the Republican village.




                               CHAPTER V.

           _Journey to the Republican Village, and Reception._


In about half an hour, our whole troop were safely landed on the bank of
the Platte, opposite the town of the Grand Pawnees. In the faint distance
we could perceive the inhabitants, still standing upon the tops of the
lodges, and watching our movements. A few who had lingered in our train,
and crossed the river with us, now prepared to return. After sunning
themselves for a short time on the dry grass, to take off the chill they
had received in swimming across the cold current, they again plunged into
the river. Their dark heads and bodies, were seen scattered over its
whole breadth; until shut out from our view by one of the hills of the
prairie.

The distance between the Grand Pawnee, and the Pawnee Republican Village,
is about twenty miles. The last is situated upon what is called the
Loup Fork of the Platte river, and is about the same in size, as that
of the Grand Pawnees. The different portions of the tribe who live upon
this river, were formerly united. In the course of time, however, as
their numbers increased, the difficulty of obtaining timber for fuel and
building, also increased, until at last they divided into four distinct
bands, each under a separate chief. The first seated itself upon the
Republican Fork of the Platte, and is known by the name of the Grand
Pawnee tribe. The other three located themselves upon the Loup Fork of
the same river, and are distinguished by the names of the Republican
Pawnees, the Tappaye Pawnees, and the Pawnee Loups. They are altogether
distinct from the Pawnee Picks, and speak not the same tongue. During
our stay among the Grand Pawnees, we found a Pawnee Pick residing among
them, but his language was unintelligible to the whole nation, with the
exception of one Indian, who had resided among his people.

Our journey now lay across the prairie. An advance guard of about twenty
Pawnees took the lead, conducting a number of loaded mules. Sometimes
they were only ten or fifteen rods ahead, and then would push forward
until we nearly lost sight of them. Behind us straggled our little band
of Otoes; all on foot, except the wife of the Iotan chief. She had
contrived by her winning arts, to soften the flinty nature of the old
iron-sided soldier who drove one of the wagons, so as to get a seat upon
a pile of bear-skins, composing our bedding. Here she exerted herself,
to maintain her hold in the good will of the veteran Jehu, by narrating
to him by gestures, an account of her passage over the Platte.

The soldier listened to her patiently, and occasionally condescended to
smile, when by her gesticulation, the story appeared to warrant it the
most. At length one of his comrades rode up and asked:

“What are you and the wife of Iotan laughing at, Mack?”

“Curse me if I know,” retorted the other. “The squaw keeps up such a
_bloody_ cackling, I suppose there must be some joke, and so I laughed.”

After travelling a few hours over the prairie, we passed a single tree.
It stood like a solitary sentinel, to guard the waters of a small
spring, which gushed out at its foot; the source of the only brook,
which had crossed our path, during the whole route. The tree was an aged
one; short, and sturdy. If aught might be judged from its gnarled and
fantastically twisted limbs, it had maintained its station for centuries,
contending against the fierce storms and tornados, which had swept the
prairie. We felt a kind of companionship with this “veteran of the
storms;” and as if by common consent, the party, both Indians and whites,
came to a halt, to rest under its branches, and drink of the water which
gurgled along at its roots.

In a quarter of an hour we again pushed forward. After an hour more of
laborious travel, through long waving grass, we descried large droves
of horses, with uplifted heads and erect manes, gazing at us from the
different eminences. We perceived also the flying forms of mounted
Indians, in the distance, and groups of others clad in flowing robes, and
standing like statues upon the heights. This showed us that the town was
not distant, and that its warriors were on the watch for our coming.
Intervening hills, however, still shut it out from our sight. As we
proceeded, the groups disappeared one after another, and as we mounted
the eminences where they had stood, we could perceive them, dashing
forward, until they sank behind the brow of a high ridge, which still hid
the town.

In half an hour, we ascended this ridge, and halted upon its top. A large
plain, of about two miles in extent, lay at its foot. It was bounded by
the waters of the Loup Fork, glittering through the verdant foliage which
fringed its borders. On the opposite side of the river, was a high bluff,
on which was situated the dingy lodges of the Republican village.

The plain in front of us, was alive with Indians. We had come upon them
before they were prepared for our reception. Large troops were scouring
the plain, apparently without an object. Single Indians were galloping
in different directions; some up the banks of the river, and others
towards the village. The tall form of the chief, mounted on his white
horse, was seen dashing to and fro among the bands, giving his orders,
and assigning to all their several stations. In a few moments, a torrent
of warriors poured down the steep bank, which led from the village. They
plunged into the river, forced a foaming path through its water, broke
their way through the thicket on its brink, and bounded over the plain,
to the spot where the chief awaited their coming. A second confusion
now seemed to take place, and all the different squads of horsemen
congregated together, as if awaiting directions. This continued for a
short time. The chief then detached himself from the crowd and galloped
a few yards in front, and calling out a single warrior sent him towards
us. The whole scene at our feet, was like the distant perspective of a
panorama. The approaching warrior seemed at first to crawl along at a
snail’s pace. But when he drew nearer, we could hear the heavy tramp of
his horse’s hoofs, and see that his speed was furious.

He plied the lash, and kept at full stretch, until within a few paces
of us. Then by a powerful effort, the horse was drawn almost erect in
the air, and stopped in his mad career, as suddenly as if converted into
stone. His rider sprang from him, and advanced to the Interpreter. He
bore a request from the chief, that the party would descend into the
plain, where his warriors could receive them in better style.

The request was obeyed, and in about twenty minutes, upon receiving a
second message from the chief, we drew up to await the coming of his
warriors.

The leader, who still maintained his stand in front of the mass, then
waved his arm. At this motion the band separated. A large body remained
stationary, while an equal number galloped several hundred yards, to the
right and left of the main division, and halted with their horses heading
towards the party.

For a short time the chief stood watching the actions of both. It was not
until he saw that every man was at his post, and every form as unmoved
as stone, that he gave the signal. Then raising his arm, he wheeled his
horse round, and sent up a long quavering whoop. Before it died away, a
thousand throats had echoed back its ringing tones, and a thousand voices
lent their aid in raising a cry, which almost shook the prairie. Although
accustomed to its sound, and although we knew, that there was not a hand
in that band, but would be extended towards us in friendship, yet its
wild fierceness fairly caused us to shiver. At the same time the impulse
was given to the horses. At first their movements were regular, but
before a hundred yards had been passed, each man sent up his shrillest
cry, urged his steed forward to the utmost stretch of his speed, and the
whole band came dashing forward in wild confusion. At the distance of
about a hundred yards in front of us, the three divisions met, but for a
moment; then separating, the torrent whirled in a circle round us at the
same mad gait. Through the whole mass, we could perceive the powerful
form of the chief. He was urging his steed round in the innermost circle;
and above the loud din of whoops and yells, we could hear the tones of
his trumpet voice, cheering his warriors onward in their wild course.

After this had continued for a short time, he made another signal,
and one after another the whole band checked their horses, and became
motionless. Then dismounting, a great number of them loosed the tugs
from their beasts, and cast them loose to career at will over the
prairie. The chiefs, however, and the principal men of the nation, still
remained on horseback to escort the party into the village.

When the band had seated themselves around, the same ceremony of
presenting horses was repeated, which had taken place at the arrival of
the party at the village of the Grand Pawnees.

About the same number were given as on the preceding occasion. As before,
the old men who had nothing to offer, made up for it in speeches,
exhorting others to munificence. They possessed in a high degree that
generosity which is indulged at the expense of one’s neighbours, and
gains great applause from the world.

When this ceremony was finished, the circle opened, and our troop again
mounting, prepared for their journey to the village.




                               CHAPTER VI.

    _Indian Mischief.—Crossing the Loup Fork of the Platte.—Entrance
                       in the Republican Village._


No sooner had the chief signified by his movements his intention that
the party should set out, than the dark ring round us was broken, and
the whole mass of Indians flooded the prairie—pouring in the direction
of their village. It was a scene of vast confusion. The horses which had
been cast loose by their owners, careered wildly around the crowd. The
mounted horsemen dashed about with a mad fury almost equal to that of the
masterless beasts. If any thing could give to an inexperienced person an
idea of a field of battle, where man and horse are alike urged on by a
reckless disregard of life, it is a scene like this.

There was a striking contrast between the conduct of the older and more
influential chiefs, and that of the younger warriors. The first rode
gravely by the side of the party. There was something stern, and even
savage, in the fixed repose of their painted faces.

Every forehead was wrinkled with the thousand lines that seam an Indian
brow; and, but for the tell-tale eyes which glittered in their deep-sunk
sockets with a startling brilliancy, you would not have known that
boiling blood, and hearts which could nourish passions like fire, were
beating in the bosoms of those iron warriors.

These were the chiefs and older men of the tribe; the young men rode at a
distance. There was nothing to restrain _them_; they took no part in the
councils. Their chiefs had ordered them to receive the party as friends,
and they had obeyed their orders. They knew that a treaty of peace was to
be made with the whites. They knew that in future the axe and scalping
knife were to lie idle, and that war was to be at an end. But they did
_not_ know, that they were thus removing the only barrier which insured
their own safety, and were forming the first link of the chain, which
always has ended, and always will end in fetters to the free spirit of
the Indian.

During the whole way from the plain to the bank of the river, the party
kept compactly together. At length, however, one of the soldiers, mounted
upon a powerful horse, gradually edged away, until he was about fifty
yards distant from the main body. It was done without thought, and
probably for the sake of gaining space that his horse might move more
freely. He had reached some distance, and gained a point, beyond the
observation of the chief. Here the spirit of waggery and mischief, which
flourishes with rich growth in the bosom of a young Indian, began to
display itself in the various pranks which they attempted to play upon
him. Frequently they would flit their horses across his path, and in
passing, dashed their heavy robes across the eyes of the animal causing
him to rear, and plunge. This was a source of great annoyance to the
rider, who was not the best horseman in the world, and had been mounted
that day more for the sake of show, than for any desire which he had
for the station. He did well enough as long as his steed travelled at
a walk. He was most sorely puzzled when his speed was accelerated, and
completely driven to his wit’s end, when the horse grew restive under the
annoyances of the Indians. _They_, however, always took especial care to
be quick in their movements, and keep beyond the reach of his brawny arm;
for there was something in the grave, worried features, and giant form
of the veteran, which spoke a man not to be trifled with. For some time
this continued, and he bore it with exemplary patience. At last a little,
old wiery Indian, half covered with a buffalo robe, which from long use
retained but little of its woolly covering, determined to come in for
his share of the sport. He was mounted upon a little horse, of as lean
and sinewy a make as himself, with an eye as fiery as a coal. He had no
hair upon his tail, but at the successful accomplishment of any of his
mischievous feats, he wagged the naked stump with an expression of keen
satisfaction and relish.

At first the old fellow contented himself by whirling his beast round and
round the powerful horse, which bore the veteran; and so near as almost
to touch him at every circuit. The soldier did not appear to relish this,
but still took no active measure in the defensive. Finding that this was
borne with patience, the old fellow grew bolder. In making one of his
circuits, he ran his steed violently against the flank of the horse which
bore the soldier, casting the rider from his precarious seat, almost
on the neck of his beast, and causing a furious discharge of the heels
of the aggrieved animal. At last the old Indian came to still closer
quarters, and galloped full tilt against the horse, while a loud laugh
was raised among the young Indians. The soldier recovered his seat, but
began to lose his temper, and when the old man repeated his manœuvre
he became downright angry. The most of the Indians saw that there was
mischief in his eye, and drew off. The old man, however, was too much
delighted with the success of his pranks to think of stopping. In the
meantime the soldier made preparation to retaliate. The horse upon which
he was mounted was of a very large size. He had relished as little as
his rider, the rigs that his tormentors had run upon him. The soldier
knew this, and acted accordingly. As the Indian came again at full sweep,
to run aboard of him, he suddenly drew in the powerful curb bridle, with
a strong jerk, and at the same time buried his spurs in the flanks of his
horse. The animal planted his fore feet into the sod, and his heels were
discharged from behind as if thrown from a catapult. They came in contact
with the ribs of his opponent’s horse, at the moment that he was about to
close with him. The nag was driven to the distance of several yards, and
the rider hurled from his back, and sent rolling in the grass.

Though the Indians had relished the pranks played by their comrade,
their enjoyment of the retaliation was greater; and they hooted, and
jeered him, not so much for his breach of hospitality as for his want of
success. To get rid of them, he plied the lash upon his little steed,
and together they went scampering to the village. The soldier in the
meantime, taking advantage of the diversion in his favour, returned to
the party.

A short time only elapsed, before we were at the brink of the river. Here
the chief led the way across the shoalest fording place. The rest of
the Indians, however, regardless of the depth, plunged in, and in a few
moments, its whole surface was black with them.

It was a scene of great hubbub and confusion. Some were mounted upon
powerful, and sinewy horses, which sped through the water like sea-birds.
Others floundered, half drowning through the deep channel, frightening
the more timid by their snorting and splashing. Some of the Indians
threw themselves from their steeds, and boldly stemmed the current, half
swimming, and half wading; while the relieved horses, scattering in every
direction, ploughed their way through the bubbling stream, and made for
the nearest land. The baggage wagons toiled slowly along in the rear,
keeping closely upon the trail of the chief.

After some time the whole party reached the opposite shore, at the foot
of the high bluff, upon which stood the Republican village. The bank
was steep, and almost precipitous. There was a pause of some length,
before the arduous task of dragging the heavy vehicles up the hill, was
imposed upon the jaded oxen. At length, however, a string of twelve were
fastened before a single wagon, and united their strength to draw it
up. The Indians stood by, with looks of wondering curiosity; but when
they saw the lash inflicted, and the nervous efforts of the beasts, they
shrank back with a feeling of fear, lest they should turn upon their
persecutors. Even the older warriors showed signs of dread, and the
children scampered in undisguised terror up the steep pathway. They
paused, however, upon the top of the bluff, where they deemed that they
might gaze in safety, upon the movements of their guests. After a sound
drubbing, and much swearing on the part of the drivers, the jaded animals
forced the wagons up the hill, and slowly proceeded through the village.




                              CHAPTER VII.

                      _Indian Females and Feasts._


Many of the inhabitants of this town had been present at our arrival at
the Grand Pawnee village, and to them the novelty of our appearance was
over. To the rest, however, more particularly the women and children, all
was new, and our day of entering into the town, was one of jubilee. We
found the pathway lined with women and children, and the spaces between
the lodges, crowded with them. Here and there were knots of wild-looking
boys, with their bows and arrows tucked under their arms, staring with
open mouths, upon the travelling lodges as they termed our heavy wagons.
Groups too of females—the married women with troops of children—some on
their backs and others at their heels, crowded round. Young and beautiful
girls, also, wild as deer, were gazing at us with deep curiosity, but
maintained a timid distance.

The most dauntless of the crowd, were two or three old crones, squalid
and dirty in the extreme, and who, if aught might be judged from their
looks, were the oldest women that ever lived. Every thing was withered
about them, but their tongues, which still flourished with the vigour
of former years. They were like racers: they had run against time, and
gained the heat. Each of these beldames singled out her victim, from
among the members of our party, and exerted herself to the utmost to
render his situation agreeable, by dinning his ears with her garrulity.

Another worthy of this class, had been entrusted with the care of about
a dozen children of all ages and sexes. These she had ranged upon the
dome-like top of one of the lodges to see the spectacle, as we passed
by. She stood in front of her elfish brood, keeping at bay by the violent
exertions of both tongue and talons, the crowd, who, in their anxiety to
obtain a view, were attempting to invade her sanctuary.

The persons who had placed their little goblin young ones in her charge,
understood well her nature. Her tongue knew no rest. At one moment it
was busy in bestowing a shower of wholesome advice, upon some refractory
little urchin, whose curiosity would not permit him to sit easy; and at
another it was waging a wordy war with the passers by. She fluttered,
and ruffled round her bevy, with all the peevish irritability of an old
wet-nurse hen, placed in charge of a family of graceless young ducks, who
need all her advice and attention, to keep them from danger.

After winding our way through the town, we at length came to the lodge
of Blue Coat,[E] the chief of this village. He had nothing of the stern
coldness of the leader of the Grand Pawnees. He attended personally and
assiduously to our comfort—assisting even in unloading, and bringing
in our baggage. When this was finished, he seated himself and opened a
conversation, through the interpreter. There was an intelligence in his
remarks, and an ease in his manners, which almost made his guests forget
they were conversing with a wild, untutored savage.

[E] The name of Blue Coat, is given to the chief of the Republican
Pawnees on account of his wearing a blue camblet coat. He is proud of the
title and prefers it to his Indian one. He is much more refined in his
manners and ideas than the rest of his nation, and is considered by the
traders, and his own people, the very _beau ideal_ of an Indian warrior.

It was not long before the lodge became crowded. The old warriors,
moved with a hushed step, across the building, and listened, to our
conversation. Occasionally, some distinguished brave stalked in. There
was a great difference between his manners, and those of the less noted
warriors. The latter, stole quietly into the lodge, taking their stations
in some remote and retired nook, as if they entertained a doubt of their
privilege of entry. But as to the former, the bold and lofty carriage;
the swelling chest; the uplifted head; the slightly expanded nostril; the
keen searching eye, which flashed daringly around, showed him to be one
who owned no ruler, and who knew that none in that assembly, would dare
dispute his will. He would take his seat in the most conspicuous part of
the lodge, and gaze calmly, and silently upon the strangers.

It was not long before messengers came from different lodges, inviting
us to feasts, which had been prepared in honour of our arrival. We had
learned by this time, that there was no escape from the invitations of an
Indian host, so we followed the guide, who led us to the dwelling of the
second chief.

We found him seated upon a small leather mat. He was a fat, oily fellow,
with a jolly, good-natured face. Still its expression was tempered by
that gravity, which, from long habit, has become almost natural to the
race, and proverbial among the whites.

Around him were lounging about a dozen Indians. Some, reclining with
their backs against the pillars supporting the roof, with their eyes half
closed, were smoking their stone pipes. Some were lying half asleep upon
the clay floor, with their feet within a few inches of the fire; and
others were keeping up a sleepy song.

At a short distance from the fire, half a dozen squaws were pounding
corn, in large mortars,[F] and chattering vociferously at the same time.
In the farther part of the building, about a dozen naked children, with
faces almost hid by their bushy, tangled hair, were rolling and wrestling
upon the floor, occasionally causing the lodge to echo to their childish
glee. In the back ground, we could perceive some half a dozen shaggy,
thievish-looking wolf-dogs, skulking among the hides and bundles, in
search of food, and gliding about with the air of dogs, who knew that
they had no business there.

[F] The mortar is in universal use among the uncivilized tribes,
answering the purpose of a mill. The hollow is formed, by kindling a fire
upon the top of a block of wood, into which it gradually sinks itself,
until it forms a sort of bowl. The cavity is then cleansed from the
coal-black, and is fit for use.

These mortars are generally a foot in diameter, and about eight inches
deep. Corn is pulverised in them, by using a billet of wood as a pestle.

Upon our entering, the lounging Indians roused themselves from the floor;
the smokers woke from their reveries, and the dogs slunk out of sight.
The women and children, however, went on as before, the former pounding
and chattering, and the latter frolicking over the floor. When we had
seated ourselves, a large bowl of boiled buffalo flesh was placed before
us, and signs made for us to fall to. The chief himself acted as master
of ceremonies. He thrust his hands into the bowl, and turned over and
over the heap of smoking meat, selecting the best morsels, and welcoming
us with warmest expressions of friendship. Several times, appearing to
be annoyed by the noise and clamour of his wives, he turned round, and
let out a volley of angry words, which, however, they treated with no
attention. There is but little doubt that he was a hen-pecked husband,
for with all his jovial appearance, there was a cowering look about his
eye, when he met the vinegar glance of one or two of his oldest wives.

Before we had finished with him, half a dozen different messengers had
assembled in the lodge, waiting for us to follow them to the abode of
some of the other chiefs. It is customary for the guest, when he is
unable to dispose of the whole provision placed before him, to send
what is left to his own quarters. The duty of carrying it, is generally
entrusted to one of the junior members of the family, who when departing
upon his errand, receives a particular caution from the squaws to be
careful and bring back the bowl.

It was near sunset when we finished our visits. We had gone from lodge
to lodge, followed by a crowd of men, women, and children, until we
had visited nearly half the dwellings in the village. Our receptions
were different, according to the dispositions of our hosts. Some were
stern and solemn in their demeanour, and others as sociable, and even
lively as the whites. In some of the lodges, the females were of an acid
temper, and to these our presence was not as agreeable as we could have
wished. They made no hesitation in speaking their minds to the half-breed
interpreter, who in turn, with iron gravity, translated the whole to us,
without abating an epithet, or softening a single peppery expression.

When we emerged, we found a small crowd collected in front, which drew
back as we appeared. Curious as they were, there was nothing troublesome
or forward in their mode of gratifying their curiosity. The children
followed at a distance. The older Indians would mark the route which we
must take, and then hurrying on, would seat themselves in some situation,
where the whole party must pass in review before them. There was none of
the prying, meddling spirit which is shown among the whites.

We had scarcely reached the lodge of the chief, and were congratulating
ourselves that the eating part of the business was terminated, when
the heavy bear-skin which hung over the mouth, was flapped back, and a
boy came across to the place where the Interpreter was sitting. This
immediately caused us to suspect that another feast was on foot, and we
were making for the door, when we were arrested by the Interpreter, who
was too much of an Indian not to relish these eating parties. He shouted
out, that three of us had been invited to attend at the lodge of one of
the older warriors, who had prepared something which he thought would be
more acceptable than buffalo flesh and corn. Although but little inclined
to attempt any thing in the way of eating, still we determined to
accompany him, for we were curious to see what new article of food, could
be raked up in the village, where every soul seemed to live on buffalo
flesh and corn.

Following our guide, therefore, after a dark walk we reached the place of
invitation.

The interior of the lodge was illumined by the light of a bright fire,
burning cheerily in the centre. In front of it was seated the warrior
who had invited us. He was an old man with a bottle nose, and a most
ponderous corporation; and when seated behind it with his feet doubled
under him after the Turkish fashion, he looked like a large sphere.

Upon our entrance, after sundry puffs and heaves, he rose to his feet,
and welcomed us, pointing out seats upon several mats which had been
placed for us, at his side. He then told his squaw, whose leanness was
in proportion to his rotundity, to place before us the article to be
disposed of. We watched her narrowly as she moved to a large kettle
hanging over the fire. There was something in it of a reddish-yellow
colour. What could it be? We had never fallen upon any article of
that description before. The squaw seized upon a long, sharp-pointed
stick, and commenced spearing into the pot; but at every attempt the
active occupant contrived to dodge from her weapon, in spite of her
efforts. However, it is an old adage, that “perseverance conquers all
difficulties,” and at length she struck the object of her search, and
drew out, impaled upon the point of her weapon, a large boiled _pumpkin_.
This she immediately commenced dividing in strips.

While the ceremony of spearing had been going on, we watched with some
curiosity, to see what all this trouble was to produce; but when the
pumpkin made its appearance, the expression of countenances was most
ruefully changed. I looked round towards my companions. Their eyes were
fixed with silent agony upon the preparing feast. There was no retreat—it
must be eaten; and we were the persons who were doomed to do it. I had
hoped to derive a little comfort from them. I had hoped too, that they
might relish a sodden and water-soaked pumpkin; and that under cover of
their appetites, I might escape unobserved. The expression, however, of
their faces forbade the idea, and I determined to perform my share of the
mastication, in a manner creditable to a civilized man.

We fell to desperately, therefore, under the vigilant eye of our fat
host, who was continually plying us with fresh pieces, according to the
laws of Indian hospitality, and to refuse which would be regarded as a
slight. How we managed to get through that vegetable feast, I can hardly
say; it was one of the severest trials of the whole of our campaign; yet
we did get through with it, and emerged from the lodge in safety.

When we returned to the abode of the chief we found it crowded. Groups
were squatting in every direction, wrapped in their robes, indulging
in a low, muttered conversation. This was occasionally broken by a
deep, emphatic exclamation, which always bursts with a convulsive sound
from the chest of an Indian, when engaged in a debate of some interest.
But upon our return the conversation gradually flagged, and their sole
occupation was to sit, with their eyes fastened upon us, as we were
collected round the fire.




                              CHAPTER VIII.

                 _The Doctor’s Adventure.—Indian Dirge._


When we had at first collected together in the chief lodge, we found that
one of the party, Dr. M——, was not present. There were many conjectures
as to his absence, but after a while he made his appearance. He was
considerably out of breath, and related to us an adventure which he
had just met with, or rather which he had forced himself into. He had
remained in the lodge after we left it, to attend at our last feast.
Having nothing in particular to employ him, he slapped his white
beaver, which turned up all around, upon the top of his head, girded
his deer-skin hunting shirt closely around him, and thrusting his hand
into his breeches-pocket, set out upon a voyage of discovery. He had not
travelled far before his attention was attracted by a low chanting song,
proceeding from one of the lodges which stood a little apart from the
others, and near the edge of the bluff, overlooking the river.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he walked towards it, entered the low,
funnel shaped mouth, and peeped over the bear-skin which hung before the
inner entrance, opening immediately into the lodge.

A large fire was burning cheerfully in the centre. Over it hung a kettle
which was kept constantly stirred by an old Indian, dressed in a buffalo
robe, whitened with chalk, and ornamented with hieroglyphic symbols. As
he stirred he hummed a low chant, occasionally raising his voice until
he caused it to sound loudly through the whole building, and then again
sinking it, until it reached the ear of the listener, in low and almost
inaudible murmurs. There was something wild, and rather forbidding in
the features of this individual.

A few steps from the fire, lay two forms, completely covered by a heavy
buffalo robe; and bending over these stood another Indian, dressed
similar to the first. He too, was humming a low song, at intervals
dancing to a slow measure round the robe.

The doctor suspected that these were Medecin-Men,[G] and that they were
performing some of the miraculous cures, which they boast of in the
village, and which give them a reputation for superior sanctity among
the credulous Indians, who believe them to hold communion with the Great
Spirit. Their ability to perform these cures, arises frequently, from
their superior knowledge, of the hidden medicinal virtues of different
herbs. By jumbling with their healing art, an unintelligible species of
mystic mummery, and by pretending to hold a direct intercourse with the
Deity, the cure of their patients is attributed more to his immediate
interference, than to any virtue of the medicines which they have
received.

[G] Every tribe of Indians has its Medecin-Men. They are a kind of priest
or prophet. Their influence, however, is very variable, and depends upon
the popularity which they may have acquired with the nation. As long as
they confine their prophecies to those events, which they know will be
agreeable, so long are they regarded with high veneration; but as soon
as they commence predictions of evil—or attempt to reveal unpalatable
truths, their influence wanes, themselves are shunned, and their
predictions scorned.

They are also skilled in the virtues of herbs, and act as physicians
in healing the sick. From this they have derived the name of Medecin,
(signifying in French, physician.)

After humming round them, the Medecin raised the edge of the robe,
exposing the naked heads and shoulders of two old, shrivelled squaws.
The person at the fire, then reached to the other a large dipper, filled
with part of the contents of the kettle, which was greedily swallowed by
the squaws. The robe was then thrown over them, and again the Medecin
commenced his hum and dance.

Now the Doctor was a curious man, and although he saw every thing that
was going on in the inside of the lodge, as distinctly as if he had
been there himself, still he was determined to see more. For a moment
he paused to reflect, whether it would be prudent to intrude upon these
mystic ceremonies, and risk incurring the anger of such influential
persons, as he knew these Medecin-men to be. But prudence was a quality
with which he was not much troubled; so without more hesitation he kicked
up the bear-skin, and stepped boldly into the lodge, in front of the two
priests.

For a moment they gazed at him, as if they doubted their senses. Their
eyes flashed fire, and raising their voices, they made the lodge ring
with their yells. At this unusual sound, the two old women raised the
robe, peeped from under it, and seeing the white man, added their voices
to the chorus.

After gazing for a moment, the Doctor attempted to approach the fire,
but the Indians warned him back, ordering him with menacing gestures, to
leave the lodge. These he pretended to misunderstand, at the same time
attempting to enter into a parley with them, in order to gain as much
time as possible for observation. Still they placed themselves before
him, sternly ordering him to depart. He attempted to explain to them that
he was a Medecin-Man in his own country, and wished to be acquainted with
their secrets, and that in return he would communicate his. But it was
useless; either they did not understand him, or they did not value his
information, for they persisted in their ordering him to quit the lodge.
The Doctor then determining, at all events, to obtain a look into the
kettle, darted round them, and made for the fire.

There was now something of menace in their faces; and one of them rushing
to the side of the lodge, seized a large club, resting against one of the
pillars. The Doctor took to flight, and stopped not, until he arrived,
most villanously out of wind, at the chief’s lodge, where he narrated his
adventure.

After this I strolled out with one of my companions. It was so late that
there were few of the Indians stirring. Here and there, we encountered
individuals sitting upon the high bank, gazing upon the gliding waters of
the Platte. It seemed as if they were engaged in a species of devotion,
for they did not heed our approach, but sat humming a low, a very low
muttered song. We passed them, and continued our course along the high
bluff, looking down upon the Platte, which was dimly seen, reflecting the
stars that twinkled upon its restless water. The prairie insects were
piping their evening calls, and the creaking of the thousand creatures,
who were hid in its long matted herbage, told that they were conscious
their hour of song and revelry had come. Occasionally we heard the
long howl of a wolf, softened by the distance, and now and then some
serenading owl, would raise his voice from the dark fringe of trees,
which drooped over the opposite bank of the river, and send forth a long
quavering whoop.

We strolled along the bank for half a mile, glad to be free from the
well-meant though tedious attentions of our hosts. At length, however,
we turned for the purpose of retracing our steps, when our attention
was attracted by a low, mournful cry, from the midst of a number of
small mounds, at a short distance, the burial ground of the village. We
approached the spot so cautiously, as not to disturb the person who was
stationed there. Upon the top of one of the graves, a large mound covered
with grass, was lying an Indian girl. Her buffalo robe had escaped from
her shoulders, and her long dishevelled black hair, was mingled with
the grass of the prairie. Her bosom was resting upon the sod, and her
arms extended, as if embracing the form of the being who was mouldering
beneath.

Believing that she was some female belonging to the tribe, singing a
dirge over the grave of some departed friend, we listened attentively to
her song. At one moment, it would rise in the air with a plaintive sound,
as if she was dwelling with mournful tenderness, upon the virtues of the
deceased. At times, she would seem to speak of the feelings of his heart;
at others, the note would seem to be one of war, of battle; and then her
song would burst from her, with the startling energy of a person, who was
in the midst of the scene itself, and was acting over the feats of the
silent dead. At these moments, she raised her head, and her whole frame
seemed swelling with the inspiration of her theme; but in the very midst
of this energetic burst of enthusiasm, the chord of some more mournful
recollection would be touched, and the song would sink from its high,
and ardent tone, to a note of wo, so despairing, that it appeared as if
the sluices of her heart were opened, and the deep-hidden stream of her
affection, was flowing out in the mournful melody.

After a short time she rose from the ground, and wrapping her robe
round her, walked slowly towards the village. It was not until she
was completely lost to our sight, that we left our sheltering place,
and followed in the direction which she had taken. We had heard the
Indian dirge sung before by different females, of the tribe, but as
we considered them mere pieces of formality, we had passed by, without
heeding them. But in this lonely being, there was an air of deep
desolation, as she lay upon the grave, and a hopeless, despairing tone,
in her low, melodious voice, that laid bare the recesses of a withered
heart.

We were so much interested in her, that we had accurately noted her
appearance, and now hurried towards our lodge, with the intention of
finding out her history from our interpreter—a matter of no great
difficulty, as the history of every individual of the village is known
to all. We found the half-breed interpreter sitting in front of the
fire, wrapped in his blanket-coat, with his elbow resting upon his knee,
and his hand supporting his chin. There was an air of iron gravity and
even sternness in his deep-marked features that denoted a man not prone
to yield to womanish emotion. We walked up to him, and by means of a
Frenchman, (for he spoke no English) inquired the history of the girl—at
the same time narrating the scene in the prairie.

If it had been in the nature of his face to wear a more scornful
expression than it usually did, the smile of contempt which passed over
his weather-beaten features, as we related our story, would have added to
it. For a moment, he seemed surprised—then added, that she was a squaw,
who resided in the adjoining lodge, and but a short time before, he had
heard her say to her mother, that as she had nothing else to do, she
believed she would go and take a _bawl_ over her dead brother’s grave. He
had been killed five years before.

Here was a waste of sympathy. We were vexed that we had suffered our
feelings to be enlisted in the mock misery of this girl, who was merely
performing a customary mummery. There was an expression of enjoyment in
the keen eye of the half-breed, as he watched the disappointed expression
of our faces. A grim smile played over his reddish-brown face, and I
believe if he had ever been guilty of such an action, he would have
indulged in a loud explosion of merriment.

At that moment, the broad voice of our black cook, announced that the
supper was ready. Discarding both the girl, and her griefs, from our
minds, we seated ourselves upon the floor, preparatory to commencing the
almost hopeless task, of masticating a supper of dried buffalo’s flesh,
which had been boiled for only two hours.

When we had finished, it was late in the evening—the Indians had ceased
moving through the lodge, and wrapping themselves in their shaggy robes,
had composed their forms upon the clay floor, for slumber.

The servants now busied themselves in spreading out our bear-skins. This
completed, each retired to his couch, and in a short time a dead silence
reigned throughout the building.




                               CHAPTER IX.

              _An Old Warrior.—Indian Dogs.—A Night Scene._


About midnight I awoke; it was intensely cold, so I rose up and picked
my way over prostrated forms to the fire. An old Indian was seated by
it; his hair was snowy white, and hung in long locks upon his shoulders.
There were several scars traced upon his face, and even by that faint
light, the marks of deep wounds were visible upon his breast. His robe
had fallen from his shoulders, leaving bare the withered wreck, of
what must once have been an Herculean frame. I did not know him, nor
could he have ranked among their chiefs. His cheek was resting in the
palm of his hand; his eyes were intently fixed upon the burning brands
which flickered up a dying, broken blaze. In his right hand he held
a small piece of wood, with which he raked together the coals, though
seemingly unconscious of what he was doing. In front of him lay an
uncouth-looking tomahawk, made of wood, and across it his otter-skin
pouch, and stone pipe: the symbols of war and peace thrown together, in
a manner which seemed to denote that to their owner, the day of strife
was past. His look was fixed upon the brands, but his mind, busied in
its own wanderings, took no note of the things before his eyes. Could
he be meditating upon the probable results of the coming of the white
men among them? Could he be sitting there buried in his own musings, and
prophet-like, looking through the dim vista of futurity? Could he see his
own chivalric race, gradually withering at the approach of the whites,
and the descendants of those, whose hearts now beat as free as the
eagle’s, crawling over the earth, a stigma to their name, and a curse to
themselves? I could not prevent these thoughts from stealing over me, as
I sat opposite to him, gazing upon his face, so noble and dignified, even
in its ruin. Upon my first approach, he had not observed me, but after a
short time, he raised his head, and perceiving me, reached out his hand,
while a friendly smile played over his face. Then pointing to his scars,
he endeavoured by signs to narrate to me an account of the different war
expeditions, in which these had been received. Each wound had a tale of
its own, and each scar told of a different battle. After spending some
time in telling his story, he lighted his pipe, and first drawing a few
puffs he passed it to me with the usual word of politeness, (Loovah.)[H]
I puffed for a few moments, and returned it to him, he then inhaled a
few draughts of the smoke, and again reached it to me, and I, after again
smoking, reached it to him. This operation of smoking and passing it to
each other, continued until the pipe was empty; then knocking the ashes
from its bowl, he raised himself upon his feet, and taking up his pouch
and tomahawk, drew his buffalo robe over his head, and left the lodge.
Upon being deserted by my companion, I looked around upon the muffled
forms, thickly strewed over the clay floor, with that strange feeling of
loneliness, which is experienced by a person, the only being awake, among
a hundred sleeping forms, and which is peculiarly strong in a place where
every individual is a stranger, perhaps an enemy. The lodge was about
sixty feet in diameter, and seen by the flickering, uncertain light of
the fire, it had a wild appearance. The stern, silent countenances of the
sleeping warriors, as they reclined with their backs resting against the
pillars which supported the lodge, reminded me of the eastern tale, in
which a whole city of living beings, were converted into statues. Their
features were at rest, they were not now the mirrors which reflected the
passions of their hearts. Even those passions were slumbering, but still,
their heavy lines were left, with an enduring mark upon their brows. If
those stone-like faces wore so savage a character, when nature had thrown
her own calm over them, how truly fearful must they have been in the day
of battle, when every frenzied feeling was at its height, and every demon
passion was ruling with relentless sway. As to those who were lying upon
the floor, their sleep was death like—it seemed dreamless.

[H] This is a word more frequently used than any other in the language.
As far as I was able to learn, it had no particular meaning, but
signified—almost any thing.—In fact it comprises about half of the
language.

The gaunt Indian dogs were prowling stealthily through the building.
They knew that their hour of freedom had come, and with every leaping
blaze of the embers, I could see them scattered throughout the lodge.
There must have been nearly fifty of them in full motion, yet there
was not a sound to be heard. They wound their way through the sleeping
Indians, with the cautious and practised step of veteran burglars—too
well acquainted with the wakeful habits of their masters, not to be
silent in their doings; and too much in the habit of stealing, to be
able to resist the temptation to plunder. Occasionally they paused, and
cast a doubting look upon me, as I sat watching their movements. They
however came to the conclusion that I was a stranger, and from my short
stay, was not aware that it was the custom of every Indian, to bestow a
bountiful share of wholesome kicks, upon every dog that came in his path,
as a punishment for the thefts which he had already committed, and as
payment in advance for his future transgressions. While I was watching
their movements I was startled by a loud whine, which seemed to proceed
from the roof of the lodge. At that sound there was a general scamper
towards the mouth of the lodge, for they were certain, that the cry would
awaken the savages, and that flight was their only safety. I had turned
at the moment of the noise, to ascertain the cause of it. At the top of
the lodge, and about ten feet from the ground, was a large dog, suspended
by his teeth to a flitch of bacon, which had been hung up to the rafters
to keep it in safety. Upon coming into the lodge, the animal had espied
this, and mounting upon a high pile formed by our baggage, had sprung out
at it, as it hung. He had been successful in his leap, and had buried his
teeth in the meat. But this accomplished, he could do nothing more—he was
dangling full ten feet from the ground; his only supporters were his
jaws, which were fastened into the end of the bacon. He dared not let
loose his hold, and he was equally certain he could not maintain it. In
this predicament, he raised his voice, in a long, low, plaintive howl.
Scarce had the sound escaped him, before a dozen clubs were clattering
against his ribs, and as many clamorous voices raised in the hue and cry
against him. With a loud yell, relaxing his jaws, he landed upon the head
of an old Indian, who was dozing beneath, in defiance of the howls of the
dog, and the clamour of his foes. The animal did not pause, but gaining
his feet, scampered across the building, and made his escape amidst a
shower of missiles of all descriptions.




                               CHAPTER X.

      _Leaving Republican Village.—Prairie between that and Tappage
     Village.—Reception by Tappages.—Departure.—White Cranes.—Black
      Chief of the Loups.—Reception.—Chief’s Lodge.—Soldier Chief’s
                                 Feast._


The next morning about ten o’clock, we set off for the village of the
Tappage Pawnees, situated upon the Loup fork of the Platte, about
eleven miles farther up the river. As we left the town, a crowd of men,
women and children followed us, in the hope of obtaining presents. The
chief too, escorted us out. He was a princely man. His head was shorn,
excepting the scalp-lock; his face was free from paint; a long string
of wampum, the only ornament he ever wore, hung from his neck; a blue
blanket covered one shoulder, leaving bare his high, prominent chest,
and the sinewy arm which curbed the restless movement of his fretted
horse. He had been used to the saddle from childhood, and now governed
his impatient animal, with the calm controul of a practised rider.

There is nothing upon which the Indians pride themselves, more than their
horsemanship. Almost living in the saddle, they are as much at ease, when
mounted, as when sitting upon the floor of their own lodge. Many a time,
I have seen two or three village urchins, beset some unfortunate horse,
while quietly dozing and ruminating, upon the prairie. After sundry
coaxings and efforts, they would succeed in mounting upon his back, and
then without saddle or bridle, and with a whoop and yell, that terrified
the startled steed into a full gallop, they would scamper madly along,
clinging to his mane, and to each other, with a tenacity which would
have astonished any one but an Indian.

After accompanying us about a mile, the chief returned, followed by
a number of his warriors. The rest joined our band, and travelled in
company, for the purpose of witnessing our reception by their rival
village. Our pace was slow, being regulated by that of the oxen, who
toiled painfully along in the rear.

The prairie was beginning to show the effects of the autumn frost, and
the grass wore a blighted, withered look. The sun shone red and lurid
through the hazy atmosphere, denoting what at this season of the year,
is called among the whites, Indian summer. Not a breeze rustled the dry
grass, or rippled the swift, glassy waters of the Platte. Every thing
was quiet, except the loud voice of the teamster, expostulating with
his oxen; or an occasional crack, from the whip of Joseph, as he urged
forward his mules.

Now and then, we came upon large droves of horses, belonging to the
Republican village. They were roving along the banks of the Platte, in
bands of several hundred, prancing, and capering as wildly, as if they
were still free, upon their own prairies. Upon our approach, they raised
their heads, and gazed fearlessly upon us. Two or three of the largest,
then left the herd, and slowly approached. For a moment they remained
motionless, then with a loud snort, flinging their heels in the air, they
dashed back to the drove, which sped off, with a sound like thunder.
Occasionally too, we would pass a small hillock, upon which an Indian
stood motionless, watching our movements. There is a classic air about
them, when seen at a distance, with their robes flowing in graceful
drapery round them, their forms drawn fully up, and their outstretched
arms supported by their long spears. As these scouts thus gazed, so
calm and motionless, I almost imagined they regarded us with the despair
of persons, who knew that their fall was near, but that resistance was
hopeless.

While we were yet several miles distant from the village, we observed
mounted Indians, driving before them large droves of horses, to be ready
for service in the wild ceremony of our reception.

The town of the Tappage Pawnees is situated upon a broad plain
overlooking the Platte. It is the smallest of all the Pawnee villages,
and contains about a thousand inhabitants. The most of them were now
poured out upon the prairie, where we could distinguish them in the
distance, drawn up in a motionless body, waiting for the signal to dash
forward to meet us.

When we approached sufficiently near, it was given. Once more, we beheld
them coming surge-like upon us, and changing their course at the very
moment when our ruin seemed inevitable. Again the dizzying evolutions
of the troop passed before us. The wild neighing of the horses, mingled
in confusion—with the thunder of their hoofs—with the yells and whoops
of the Indians, and the clashing sound of their bows and tomahawks. When
this was concluded, the ceremony of presenting horses was performed. Half
an hour brought us to the town, where as before we found every being on
the look out for our coming, and every preparation made, to receive us
in a manner worthy of the nation. There is a sameness in Indian customs
and habits, which render description tedious. Suffice it to say, that
we were received by the chief and his people with all the kindness and
hospitality which their means afforded.

About ten o’clock on the next morning we mounted our horses and clattered
through the village on our route for the town of the Pawnee Loups,
situated about five miles farther up the river. This is the wildest of
the four villages, owing perhaps to the savage nature of its chief.

We rode in a straggling string along the low, irregular prairie. The Otoe
Indians skirted along the bank of the river. Those of the soldiers, who
were not engaged with the teams, reconnoitered the different pools of
water, in hopes of coming unawares upon some pensive duck, who might be
dozing upon their surfaces. Here and there we observed a broken patch of
corn, at the bottom of some ravine, where the washed earth was of so soft
a texture as to require but little trouble in cultivation. Occasionally
too, we passed a clump of dwarf trees, closely grouped together over the
brink of a spring, or run of water. Otherwise the prairie was bare of
forest, and covered only with long withered grass.

When we had ridden about half the distance, a number of Otoes came
scampering up, to tell us that there were about a dozen white cranes,
standing upon a sand-bar in the Platte. This incident, trivial as it
may seem, created quite an excitement among the troop. Half a dozen
loaded rifles were handed from the wagons, and as many soldiers started
off followed by a troop of Indians, with their arrows ready fitted to
their bows, in case the firearms of the whites should fail. But all this
preparation was useless, for when they arrived within about three hundred
yards of the bank, one of the birds, who, like an old man, on a cold day,
was standing with his head closely snugged up against his breast, and
gazing in moralizing mood upon the swift water, suddenly shot out a neck,
three feet long, and turned a quick and steady eye upon the approaching
hunters. He gazed a moment, then taking a step, and slowly raising his
wings until their tips nearly met over his back, he rose from the earth,
as if by mere volition, uttering a shrill cry which brought after
him, his startled comrades. As they rose, a shower of bullets whistled
after them, without disturbing their flight. They slowly mounted in air
floating like a snowflake over the silver Platte. For a few moments they
lingered over its shining bosom, as if loth to leave their resting place;
but after wheeling in several widely extended circles, they soared to an
immense height, and then took a steady course to the eastward and were
lost to the sight.

It was not long before we reached a high bluff in the prairie, from
whence we descried the village of the Pawnee Loups, about half a mile
distant, but we saw no signs of preparation to receive us. A single
Indian alone appeared, galloping at full speed over the prairies. His
horse was of a dark cream colour, fierce, and powerful. To his bit was
attached a scalp, consisting of the whole upper part of a human head, the
hair of which must have been full two feet in length, nearly reaching
the ground. The horseman proved to be the Black Chief of the Loups. When
he had come within a few yards of us, he sprang from his horse, and
reached out the bridle to one of our soldiers to hold.

His face was far more swarthy than that of any Indian we had ever seen;
but it was not more dark than the nature of the man. He was perfectly
naked, with the exception of a pair of leggings of dressed buffalo hide,
worn apparently for the sake of displaying a profusion of scalp-locks,
with which they were heavily fringed. His frame was not large, but
muscular and finely formed. His high chest looked as hard as rock, and
the tread of his mocassined foot, was as firm as iron. His whole figure
was one, which for fine proportion, and strength, might have served a
sculptor, but his scowling face marred the beauty of his person. Yet he
had his virtues. He was true to his word, and faithful to his friends;
but upon his enemies he let loose every evil passion. The old and the
young; the defenceless mother, and the harmless child, alike fell beneath
his war-club.

He advanced towards us, and grasped our hands with a grip which would
have done credit to a vice; then turning round, he awaited the coming of
his warriors, who had now assembled in the prairie.

Minute after minute passed, but still there were no signs of approach.
The brow of the Black Chief grew troubled, and his eye darkened, at the
delay. Still the minutes passed on, and the band remained motionless.
The eye of the chief was nearly hid beneath his scowling brow, and he
gnawed at his under lip, with a species of savage calmness. After a
moment he called one of the Pawnees, who had accompanied us from the last
village, and sent him forward with some instructions to his warriors.
The Indian bounded towards the band, but before he had gone more than
one quarter of the distance, a loud yell burst from them, and with a
heavy, resistless motion, they bore down upon us. The Indian who had
started, fled back to the party. At the moment that the cry sounded
from the Pawnee Loups, the chief raised his head, and sent up a long,
shrill scream in answer; then springing on his horse, he sat motionless,
watching with a keen eye, their every movement. They had approached
within a hundred yards of the party, when he again raised his voice in a
loud whoop, and waving his arm, they separated and rushed to right and
left, round us.

But few horses were presented by this village, as a party of Sioux
Indians had stolen down upon them but a few weeks before, and swept off
nearly one-third of the horses belonging to the town. The chief gave as
an excuse, that he had gambled away nearly all that he possessed.[I]
This was in fact the truth; for we afterwards learned that the horse
which bore him, was the only one left, of a large number that he owned
but a short time before.

[I] One of the principal games of the Pawnees, and the one on which the
most gambling is carried on, is played by means of a small ring and a
long javelin. This ring is about four inches in diameter; and the object
of the player, is to hurl his javelin through the ring, while it is sent
rolling over the ground, with great speed, by one of his companions in
the game. The javelin is filled with barbs nearly the whole length, so
that when it has once passed partly through the ring, it cannot slide
back. This is done to ascertain how far it went before it struck the
edges of the ring, and the farther the cast the more it counts in favour
of the one who hurled it. It is practised by the children, young men,
and chiefs. The first gamble for single arrows—the second for a bow and
quiver—and the last for horses.

Upon reaching the village we found, as usual, crowds of women and
children, curious to see us, though they did not press round us as in
the other villages. This was owing to the presence of the chief, who
rode by our side, and who, in fierce tones, ordered the crowd of gazers
to a distance. A concourse had assembled, too, around the entrance of
his lodge; but upon our approach, they drew back, and permitted us to
pass freely. In the inside we found a few of the principal warriors, who
alone had been admitted; the women and the rabble had been prohibited
from entering, and they dared not disobey orders. There was a feast, as
usual, but we ate little, as we knew what was to follow. Scarce had we
finished, before a little urchin was in attendance, to conduct us to the
lodge of the Soldier Chief, the second brave in the village. We found
him seated at a little distance from the fire, awaiting our arrival. As
we entered, he rose, and presented to Mr. E—— a large buffalo robe, upon
which was painted a hieroglyphic account of his warlike deeds. After
this he seated himself, and commenced describing the different fights,
and explaining the meaning of the various symbols.

He was a tall, thin man, with a sharp muscular face, and a deep-sunk eye,
which glittered in its socket like that of a basilisk. There was no spare
flesh about his frame, but all was brawn, and sinew. His look was that of
a person formed for the endurance of great, and continued toil, and his
hardened face showed that he had weathered exposures of all descriptions.

He apologised to the commissioner for not having come out with the rest
of the tribe to welcome him—being at bitter enmity with the chief, and
refusing on all occasions to act in concert with him.

A large bowl of boiled corn was then placed before us, and each of
us furnished by the Soldier’s wife with a small dipper of buffalo
horn. Having partaken of the mess as sparingly as the laws of Indian
politeness would permit, we took our leave. After we had left the lodge,
the Indian agent who accompanied us related the following account of a
murder which had occurred but a few months previous, and which was the
origin of the bitter feud between the Soldier and the Black Chief.




                               CHAPTER XI.

                          _The Shian Captive._


During the month of May previous, business had called Major Dougherty to
the Otoe Agency, on the Missouri. One morning, while there, a wearied
messenger made his appearance. He had been sent by a half-breed from the
Pawnee village, with intelligence that the Loups had taken a Shian woman
prisoner, and intended to burn her at the stake, in the course of a few
days.[J]

[J] The Pawnee Loups are the only Pawnee tribe that yet retain this
custom. They offer their victim to the Great Star, (the planet Venus.)
The prisoner is, if possible, kept in ignorance of his intended fate,
until led out to die. The sacrifices are generally offered in the spring
of the year, to insure a bountiful harvest.

The Agent determined if possible to save her. Having made a few hurried
preparations, he set off with five companions. A journey of three days
brought them to the village. The news of their visit and the object of it
had preceded them, and they experienced an ungracious reception. No hand
was extended in friendship; no voice uttered the words of welcome.

As the little band passed through the village, the tops of the lodges
were crowded with women and children, and an immense concourse was drawn
up in front of the dwelling of the chief. They forced their way through
the fierce and sullen mob, and cleared a passage to the entrance.

Here stood the chief. _His_ welcome, and _his_ alone was cordial. He
ushered the Agent into his dwelling, nor did he turn a deaf ear to his
request, that the Shian female might be spared. He told him, however,
that _he_ had no power to free her, and that all he could do would be to
assemble a council of the nation, and lay the matter before _them_; that
he would use his influence; and that if they could be prevailed upon, the
captive should be saved. He accordingly despatched messengers in every
direction, to call a council of the chiefs and braves of the nation, and
they assembled that very night. They took their seats around the lodge in
silence, with faces which gave but little hope of a merciful result to
their deliberations. In the centre sat the Agent and his companions; and
near them the Shian captive. She had been led in passively, and made no
appeal, for she had no hope. It seemed as if every sense and feeling had
been paralyzed, by the horror of her approaching fate.

The Agent rose and stated his object to the meeting. He was a firm man;
he had spent much of his life among the savages; but it needed all his
resolution, and all his knowledge of the Indian character, to effect
the desired object. As he spoke there was no friendly look returned; no
sound of approbation uttered. They listened with a calm, cold air, and he
finished his address, conscious that he had gained no point, nor enlisted
the friendly feeling of a single breast, in the whole of the dark circles
which surrounded him.

When he ended, the chief, who during the whole time had been seated
quietly at the foot of a pillar, rose. He was in favour of releasing the
captive, and of sending her off with the whites. He spoke with the wild
energy, and vehement gesticulation customary among the Indians. During
his speech there was a silence—a portentous silence in the lodge. But
when he had finished, a hundred throats yelled out cries of anger, and
a hundred eyes gleamed fiercely upon him. It was not, however, in his
nature to yield. Incensed at the opposition to his will, he raised his
voice, until it even drowned the noise of the whole assembly, and swore
by the Great Spirit, that she should be delivered to the whites; and he
dared any man of the whole assembly, to offer her the slightest injury.

All quailed before the master spirit, and bowed to the superior energy
of his nature. One after another they left the lodge, until the chief,
the captive, and the whites were its sole occupants. In a few moments
the chief went out also. In an hour he returned, followed by two armed
warriors, whom he stationed in the opposite part of the lodge, placing
the squaw between them. Upon being asked the reason of this precaution,
he mentioned that the Soldier Chief, instigated by one of the Medecin-men
of the village, had created some disturbance, which caused him to fear
for the life of the captive, and that these men were placed to protect
her. He evaded all farther inquiries, and shortly after left the lodge.

The whites stretched themselves upon their bear-skins, but scarcely
closed their eyes that night. The guards kept watch on each side of
the captive; motionless, but sleepless. On the following morning, the
horses were saddled in front of the lodge, and the party having armed
themselves, prepared to mount. The chief led out the captive, and forcing
back the angry crowd, he placed her upon a horse, between two of the
whites; at the same time cautioning them to lose no time in leaving
the village. They accordingly attempted to push forward; but the crowd
hemmed them in so closely, that it was with difficulty they prevented
their horses from trampling them down. This throng continued to press
round them, until they reached the lodge of the Soldier Chief. As they
passed it, a bow twanged from within, and an arrow whizzing through the
air, was buried up to the feather in the side of the Shian captive. With
a loud scream, she tossed her arms in the air, and fell forward upon
the neck of the horse. At the same moment, a loud roar rose from the
multitude; and two Indians seizing the bridle, jerked the horse onwards.
The crowd opened to let them pass; but before the whites could follow,
it had again closed. At that moment, the Agent heard a loud whoop behind
him, and turning, beheld the Black Chief, and the Soldier, grappled in a
desperate conflict, while the followers of each, stood by, watching the
result. They were both unarmed, and the issue was to depend upon their
bodily strength alone. They were well matched, but the Black Chief had
the advantage, for he had a deadly gripe upon the throat of his opponent.

The Agent knew, however, that whichever might be victorious, the conflict
would terminate fatally to himself. He therefore sprang from his horse,
and succeeded with the aid of several chiefs, in dragging them apart,
and put an end to the contest. He then turned to look for the captive.
She had been borne off by the crowd, who were rushing over the prairie
with deafening yells.

Still determined if possible to save her, he sprang upon his horse and
galloped after them. But he was too late. They had torn the wretched
being to pieces, smeared themselves with her gore, and were whirling her
head and quivering limbs in the air.

From that time, there had been a settled hatred, between the Black Chief
and the Soldier. They spoke not; they entered not the lodges of each
other, and acted no more in concert than if they had been two leaders of
separate villages.




                              CHAPTER XII.

           _Exploit of the Black Chief.—Alarm in the Village._


We were sitting late one evening, in the lodge of the chief, around the
fire. There were about thirty Indians present, some were lying upon the
floor, and others sitting huddled up, wrapped in their robes, with their
unbending gaze fixed upon our faces. The servants were spreading our
bear-skins and blankets, preparatory to our retiring for the night. While
thus situated, the interpreter, after dwelling upon the desperate nature
of our host, related to us the following anecdote, illustrative of his
character.

About a year previous to this, the Black Chief had by some means or other
fallen into disgrace with his people. They shunned him, and refused to
admit him to their councils, until by some heroic action, he should wipe
off the stain upon his name. He knew that there was no resource; that
the blood of an enemy alone, would retrieve his fame. He determined,
therefore, to shed it, in a manner which even the most desperate of his
own tribe, would not have dreamed of, and which would strike a salutary
terror of his name, into the hearts of his hostile neighbours.

Early one morning, taking his bow and quiver, he left his lodge, and
started on foot for the Crow village, about two hundred miles distant. He
set out upon his journey, without attendants, and singing his death-song.
His tribe watched until he was out of sight; they knew not where he was
going; he might return soon, in a day, in a month, and perhaps never.
They knew his desperate character; they knew that his errand was one
of blood; and they doubted not, that if he returned, he would bring
home trophies, sufficient to place him once more, at the head of their
councils.

On the evening of the fourth day, he reached the Crow village; but waited
at a short distance, concealed in a prairie, until it was completely
dark. He then entered the village, and passed through its very centre.
Several of the inhabitants were stirring, but the darkness was so great
that they did not regard him particularly, and he passed on, undetected.
At length he came to a lodge, a little apart from the rest, with a horse
standing at the door, tied by a halter of buffalo hair. Peering over the
bear-skin, which hung before the inner entrance, he beheld two Indians
reclining in front of a fire. A few feet from them, a squaw was pounding
corn, in a large wooden mortar; and at a little distance, was a child
sleeping on the floor. The backs of all were turned towards the warrior,
and he hesitated not a moment how to act. Drawing forth his knife with
his left hand, and grasping his tomahawk in his right, he dashed into the
building. With two blows, he clove the skulls of the men; he sheathed
his knife in the heart of the woman, and dashed out the brains of the
child. Having scalped his victims he mounted the horse at the door, and
started off. He had gone but a few paces, before he observed an Indian
making for the lodge. He felt a strong hankering after his scalp also;
but there were several other Indians at hand, and he feared detection.
Resisting therefore the powerful temptation, he turned away and galloped
for the prairie. Scarcely had he got clear of the village, when it rang
with yells and screams; and in a few moments, he heard the clattering of
hoofs, and the sound of voices in hot pursuit. In a night chase, however,
the pursued has always the advantage; he has but to dash forward, while
his foes, must either stop to keep his trace, or follow at random. So
it was with the Black Chief; and long before morning his horse had borne
him, far beyond the sound of pursuit.

He reached his village in safety; related his tale, and displayed his
scalps. They hesitated not a moment, to believe him, for in recounting
his exploits, an Indian never lies. He was received with honour; and once
more resumed his seat in the councils of his nation.

This is a picture of Indian warfare—to steal like an assassin upon
an unarmed enemy, and butcher him without the slightest chance of
resistance. Blood is what he seeks—no matter whether from the veins
of man or woman—infancy or age. A scalp is his trophy; and is alike
glorious, whether silvered with age, or torn from the reeking head of a
youthful warrior. With the savage, a hankering for blood, is ambition—a
relentless fury in shedding it, renown.

During the whole time of the narration, the chief, unconscious that he
was the subject of discourse, sat gazing upon the fire. His face was as
calm and quiet as if no evil passion had ever harboured in his bosom—as
if his hand had never been stained with blood, or his ears rung to the
wild scream of the dying.

The tale was scarcely finished, when we were startled by a loud outcry in
the village. The next moment, the bear-skin was flung violently back; an
armed Indian rushed into the lodge—shouted out a few words at the top of
his lungs, and as quickly disappeared. Every savage sprang to his feet,
and rushed to the door, and in an instant the lodge was deserted.

In a few moments the chief returned. Never had I seen such a change. His
face which had lately been as unruffled as that of a sleeping infant,
was hideously distorted. His eyes gleamed like fire, and his teeth were
clenched with rage. One of the squaws spoke to him, but he heeded her
not—snatching down from a shelf his bow and arrows, and catching up his
heavy war-club, he again rushed out.

The tumult grew louder. The interpreter came in and informed us, that a
party of Sioux Indians had stolen into the town—opened one of the large
wicker pens, and carried off about fifty Pawnee horses. They had nearly
effected their retreat, when they were discovered by a young Indian, who
gave the alarm, and the whole village was now in arms.

On sallying forth, we found every thing in a state of uproar. Whoops
and yells, mingled with the cries of women, sounded in every direction.
Horsemen were clattering through the town; band after band dashed by
yelling the war-whoop. The voices of the leaders were heard above all,
giving orders and cheering their followers to the pursuit. At length they
disappeared in the darkness, and the sounds of their voices died away as
they galloped over the prairie.

In about an hour they returned, and the chief made his appearance, gloomy
and morose. He had taken no scalps; he had seen no enemies; no horses had
been stolen; and the whole tumult had been caused by a young Pawnee, who
observing one of his own tribe busily engaged in collecting his horses at
an unusual hour of the night, mistook him for an enemy and gave the alarm.

Nothing farther occurred to disturb us, and retiring to our couches, we
slept soundly until morning.




                              CHAPTER XIII.

         _Departure from Grand Pawnees.—Delegation.—Death Song._


Two days had elapsed, and we had again returned to the Grand Pawnee
village. We now prepared for our return to the white settlements. Nearly
two months had elapsed since the prairie had become our home, and its
wild sons our fellows. We had lived in the land of the savage; we had
seen, in his real character, the man of nature. We had seen him in his
moments of joy, and pain; in his moments of pride and humility; in his
paroxysms of excitement, when urged on by his impetuous nature; and in
his hours of relaxation, when a calm was upon his burning bosom, and
his passions were asleep. We had seen him, in his home, in the midst
of his family, where the gushes of his heart were unrestrained; when
the feelings of the husband, and father, and all the kind impulses of
nature had burst the iron fetters of habit, and resumed their empire. The
illusions thrown around him by the exaggerated reports of travellers,
and the fictions of poets, had been removed; and we had beheld him, as
he really was; an untutored, generous, yet savage man. He had lost much
of the romance with which imagination had clothed him. His faults, his
vices, his crimes, now stood out in glaring colours, and threw into the
shade, many of his higher qualities. Still with all his imperfections, we
had learned to admire his chivalrous nature; and to look upon him while
uncontaminated by communion with the whites, as among the noblest works
of his Maker.

The sun rose cheerily on the morning of our departure. A crowd had
assembled in front of the chief’s lodge, to take a last look at the band
of pilgrims, who had ventured among them.

Many of the most distinguished warriors stood proudly drawn up, with
their robes muffled round their folded arms, and their heads thrown back.
They watched us silently, and with countenances as fixed as marble. The
females were in groups; some in the area in front of the chief’s abode;
and others on the dome-like tops of the lodges. The voice of childish
glee was ringing among the crowd; and their merry games were going
forward. Occasionally they would pause to watch the process of harnessing
the horses before the wagons; and the next instant would resume their
gambols.

A delegation of Pawnees, four from each village, had been selected
to accompany us to the garrison, in order if possible, to concert a
general peace, among various tribes. This delegation was joined by many
volunteers, until at length, nearly eighty were prepared to accompany us,
to the terra incognita of the white man.

A smile of kindness illumined the grim face of our savage host, as he
bade us farewell. The horses were saddled; the oxen were yoked, and had
commenced moving onward. We were preparing to mount, when our attention
was attracted by a low, and not inharmonious cry, which rose from the
distant part of the village. It came nearer and nearer, sinking into a
long wailing moan, in which many voices were united. At length a train of
Indians emerged from behind one of the lodges. They were dressed in white
buffalo robes.[K] They approached us slowly, still wailing out their
mournful chant; and we recognized them for our party of delegates, and
their fellow travellers.

[K] The white buffalo robe is so called, merely from one of its sides
being whitened with chalk, in dressing it. The wool is of the same colour
as that of all others, (a dark brown.)

They were in fact singing their death-song, as is customary with all the
Indian tribes, before setting out, upon any perilous expedition. It is
merely a recounting of their different exploits in battle, and winds up,
by taking leave of their friends and fellow townsmen. Although it is sung
with an air of vast resignation, by all; and although you would think,
that after it, the songster, would go to the grave, “like a lamb to the
slaughter;” yet from all that I could ever learn, there are no people
that have a greater antipathy to dying, than the savages, or take more
trouble to keep out of harm’s way.

The melancholy dirge swelled loudly as the long train moved past us; but
it gradually became fainter, and fainter, as they wound their way among
the distant lodges, and disappeared.

In a few moments, we were galloping over the prairie, to overtake some of
the party who had preceded us. A train of Indians followed us, and the
tops of the lodges were crowded.

After travelling a mile, we at last crossed the top of a ridge, and lost
sight of the town.




                              CHAPTER XIV.

                           _Storm.—Dog Feast._


A heavy storm of mingled snow and rain set in, on the day after our
departure from the Pawnee village.

If there is any thing truly comfortless, it is a camp upon a rainy day.
Every thing combined to add to its gloomy character. The fly of the tent,
which might have afforded us protection, had been torn to tatters; and
the roof of our canvas house, settled down into a bag. Through this a
steady stream of water distilled, upon the centre of a board, which we
had honoured with the appellation of a breakfast table. The blankets
were rolled up, and piled in the middle of the tent, covered by a large
bear-skin. This was nearly saturated with the drizzling moisture. A large
pile of green logs, heaped up in front of the tent, refused to burn, but
yielded a bountiful supply of smoke, which the wind occasionally wafted
in clouds into our canvas habitation.

The thorough drenching which they had received, seemed to have soaked all
pride and dignity, out of our Indian companions. They crouched like wet
poultry round the fire, shutting their eyes, and holding their breath,
determined to receive some of its warmth, in defiance of the clouds of
smoke which it threw into their faces. Here and there, were small groups
squatting out in the prairie; each man was huddled up into a knot, with
the rain pouring in streams down his shaggy robe, and dripping off into
the grass. The paint was drenched from his face, and his whole demeanour
so utterly changed, that it was almost impossible to recognize the proud,
haughty warrior, in the dripping, bedraggled being, then crouching in the
grass, beneath the pelting storm. Once or twice, some poor, half-drowned
fellow, with a desperate attempt at jovialty, struck up a song, with a
come-let’s-be-jolly kind of an air, which was intended to set the weather
and fortune at defiance; but it was a failure. At the commencement one or
two voices struck in with valorous spirit, but finding that they were not
supported, they gradually sunk into silence, leaving the person who had
commenced the strain, to finish it as well as he might.

Drip—drip—drip—pattered the rain into a tin bucket, placed in the tent
to receive it. At length a large puddle which had collected in the rear,
overflowed its banks, and stole in a small rivulet through the centre of
the tent. A smothered oath from one of the party, who was seated in the
very track of the water, announced its intrusion. Several of the soldiers
were then sent out, with pails and shovels, and in a short time succeeded
in draining a part of the pond, and digging a different outlet for its
waters.

Just then the yelping of a cur was heard at a little distance, in a clump
of bushes, which the Wild Horse had chosen for his residence.

“So! the dog too is a sufferer on account of the inclemency of the
weather. No doubt the Wild Horse is completely drenched, and in a
terrible fume.”

Another hour passed, but still the rain continued. Just then the entrance
of the tent was darkened, and the Wild Horse entered. He held in his hand
a large wooden bowl, filled with boiled flesh, which he placed smoking
before us. We were informed that it was dog flesh, and invited to try it.
The soldiers had also received a share, but without being told what it
was. “What is it,” said one, taking up a small morsel, and holding it to
his nose, “is it venison?”

“It tastes odd,” said another, biting in two a large piece. Several of
them then commenced an attack upon the contents of their bowl.

“I don’t exactly _know_ what animal this belongs to,” said one of them,
who was eating heartily; “and to tell the truth, I don’t altogether like
the _strangeish_ taste, there is about it.”

“Poh! what should it be,” repeated another, “but venison? and mighty
tender too. I wish there was more of it; fresh meat don’t come every day
upon these prairies, for the deer are getting powerful shy.”

Just then the canvas opening of the tent was pulled back, and the iron
face of the interpreter was thrust in to say, that the Wild Horse wished
to know, if the commissioner was pleased with the _dog’s_ flesh. The
soldiers overheard it, and in an instant the dish was hurled from the
fire, and the gourmands made for the water, writhing and twisting their
faces, as if they had been stricken by St. Vitus. The Wild Horse gazed
upon them with amazement, mingled with anger; but when the interpreter
explained the cause of the tumult, his displeasure vanished, and a grim
smile lighted up his hard, weather-beaten face. Then turning to his wife,
(for he was attended by his better half) he called for a fresh supply
of the viand, and collecting round him a group of the vagabond-looking
beings, who were nestling in the grass, they soon left little else but
clean bones in the bowl.

We lay for a whole day upon the banks of the Platte river, but towards
sunset a bright blue streak appeared in the west, and the dark misty
clouds began to drive off towards the south. The sun at length showed
itself upon the distant hills, and before it had completely sunk in the
west, the sky was as pure and cloudless as in one of the happy days
of June. This was hailed with joy by the whole band, both Indians and
whites, and preparations were made for an early start on the following
morning.




                               CHAPTER XV.

    _Deer Hunt.—Encampment.—Indian Night Fires.—Lost Horses.—Doctor’s
                                 Mule._


On the third morning after leaving the village, I started out to hunt on
foot in company with three Indians: two Otoes, who had borrowed rifles
from the soldiers, and a Pawnee. The party, and the train of accompanying
delegates, were journeying in a long line, over the prairie, at some
miles distance. We had hunted for several hours, up and down the deep
ravines, which intersected the prairie. My two companions had become
separated from me; but a sturdy Pawnee lingered with me, and trudged
lustily along at my heels, with the hope of coming in for a share of any
game that I should kill during the day. We travelled up one ravine, and
down another, but nothing was to be found.

“Ugh!” burst from the lips of the Pawnee. I looked round; he was
crouching flat to the ground, and made signs to me to get my rifle in
readiness. Vague suspicions of danger flashed across my mind; we had
heard that there was a band of Sioux Indians lurking round our party.
Could we have come unawares upon them? These ideas flashed momentarily
upon me, but they as quickly subsided, and cocking my gun, I stole
cautiously towards him. He was crouching in some bushes, near the
jagged top of a small ridge, which looked down into a deep ravine. As I
approached him, he shrank still closer into his hiding place, and made
signs to me to pass to the top of the ridge. I crept up slowly, and
peered above its level; at the instant, I caught sight of an Indian,
as he squatted quickly behind a bush. My fears seemed realized. We had
fallen into the snare! I looked back towards the Pawnee; he was still
maintaining his position, and keenly watching my movements. As he caught
my eye he urged me by his gestures to fire: I hesitated. At that instant
the dark form in front of me, rose slowly up from behind the bush; and I
recognised the stern, proud features of one of my Otoe companions. The
next moment, I caught sight of a large buck lying lazily beneath the
shade of a bush. The mystery was explained in an instant. The Pawnee had
seen the animal; and it was the deer, and not the Indian, whom he wished
to be shot. As I rose to fire the Otoe again crouched behind the bush;
the bullet missed, and the beast leaping up, sprang towards the spot
where his foe lay hid. He had scarcely taken three leaps, before a shot
whistled from a clump of bushes, at some distance, and in a different
quarter. The deer changed his course, and springing forward, made for the
opposite side of the ravine. He dashed through the bushes, and bounded
like lightning up the ragged steep. At that moment the Otoe, who had
first secreted himself, had a fair view of him; he must have been about
a hundred yards distant, and was dashing furiously up the craggy hill.
The Indian fired, and the deer fell on one knee, but regained his feet.
In front of him, was a steep bank, covered with shrubbery. He made a
desperate effort to gain it, but failed; and rolled headlong down, until
he splashed in the brook at the bottom. A loud whoop burst from the three
Indians, and the two youngest sprang forward to the spot; while the
third, who was a cautious old fellow, stopped to reload his rifle.

When they arrived at the place where the buck had fallen, they found that
he was not dead, neither was his wound mortal; one of his fore legs was
shivered by the bullet, but he had gained his feet, and now stood at
bay. His head was bent to the ground, and he dashed his antlers furiously
in every direction; his eyes flared with a wild, menacing expression;
and the white foam slavered from his mouth. The Indians made several
attempts to thrust their knives into him, but were as often balked by his
fiercely-brandished antlers. They hovered around him like wolves; now
threatening him in one quarter; now in another; but his horns ever met
them. They then both attacked him at once, and succeeded in inflicting
a slight wound. It served only to increase his fury; he leaped towards
them, with a ferocity that caused them in turn to take to flight. Just
then, the Indian who had remained behind to load his rifle, came up. The
buck faced towards him and again brandished his antlers; but a bullet
hurled him to the ground, and the next moment a tomahawk was buried
between his eyes. A sharp convulsive shudder passed over his frame, he
made a desperate effort to gain his feet, but in vain, a second shudder
concluded his mortal struggle, and falling over upon his side, he expired.

An Indian is a quick butcher, and not more than ten minutes had elapsed,
before the animal was skinned, and cut up. Each of us took a quarter upon
our backs and set off for the encampment; which we reached about an hour
after night fall.

The party had encamped in a small isolated grove. It was completely
clear of underwood, except here and there a tall bush; and there was not
another tree in sight. A spring gushed out at the foot of a hill at a
short distance, and flowed in a pure but scanty stream through the grove.

When we came in we found that the Indians had divided into squads, and
that every ten or a dozen had kindled their own night fires. All the
arrangements, preparatory to remaining quiet, were not yet completed.
The soldiers were felling dead trees, for fuel. Joseph was busily
employed, in hobbling and swearing at his mules; while Mordecai with the
air of a connoiseur, stood by, assisting him with his advice.

Some of the Pawnees, and Otoes, were scattered through the grove in
search of fuel. Some breaking dead limbs from off the trees, and others
collecting what was already strewed upon the ground. Two or three were
erecting shantees to keep off the dews of the night. And several young
Otoes were employed in weaving a shed of boughs, to shelter the wife of
the Iotan, who had been unwell for several days past; and whose disease
always grew worse towards evening, when she would have been obliged to
assist in the labour, if she had been in good health.

In the course of an hour, the Indians completed their arrangements, and
kindled a string of fires along the dry bed of a stream. As I had never
seen them when encamped, except upon the Platte, where all vivacity had
been soaked out of them. I strolled among the different groups. They were
all in high glee. I came to the fire, occupied by the Wild Horse’s family
and a few of his dependants. The old warrior was in the keen enjoyment
of some witticism just uttered by a little shrivelled fellow, a hanger
on, who was evidently trying to make himself agreeable; that he might be
invited to partake of a racoon that was cooking over the fire, under the
superintendence of the squaw of his host. The Wild Horse made room for me
by his side, so I seated myself, nor was I permitted to leave until I had
partaken of his viands. From his fire I went to that of the Long Hair,
who was huddled up, with his whole soul apparently engaged, in roasting
a small piece of venison, upon the point of a green stick. He looked up
for a moment, and then turned his attention to the roasting meat. I soon
left him and strolled off to the fire of the Otoes. Here I found the
Doctor very cosily seated between the Iotan, and his wife, prescribing
for _her_, and taking care of _himself_, by occasionally cutting a rib
from a large piece of venison standing in front of the fire, impaled upon
a stake of green wood.

Early the next morning the tents were struck, when Mordecai made his
appearance with a very lugubrious face, informing us that two horses
had disappeared, and that the mule belonging to the Doctor was also
missing. The Doctor was in a fever. He ran down to the place where the
animals pastured; he examined the bushes, and beat through all the
long grass; but his mule, Kitty Keero, was not to be found. He then
seated himself upon the stump of a tree, and thrusting his hands in his
breeches-pockets, shouted the name of his mule at the top of his lungs;
but no Kitty Keero answered him. At last the Interpreter pointed to a
savage-looking Pawnee, leaning against a tree, with his hair matted and
twisted in every direction, and a few long elf locks reaching down to
his naked waist. He advised the Commissioner to send him in search of
the horses; as he was a first rate fellow to track a hoof. A blanket was
accordingly promised the Indian in case of success, and after hovering
around the grove for a short time, in search of the hoof mark, he hit
upon it, and started off like a hound.

In an hour he returned, bringing with him the vagrant animals. Kitty
Keero gave utterance to a long apologetic bray, as she entered the grove.
This was well received by her master, who was so much overjoyed at once
more seeing her, that two or three reproachful repetitions of her name,
were all the chidings she received.

The wagons then drove out of the grove, followed by the Indians; the
rear being brought up by the horsemen. In front of them rode the Doctor
mounted upon Kitty; and as they jogged slowly along, I could not help
thinking, that they would have formed no inapt illustration of Sancho
Panza and his beloved Dapple.




                              CHAPTER XVI.

   _Elk Chase.—Wandering from Party.—Herd of Elk.—Night Camp.—Hill of
          Bones.—Racoon.—Indian.—Return to Party.—Wild Horse._


On the morning of the fifth day of our journey, an Otoe Indian, who was
on the look-out, came running to us with the intelligence of a large
_gang_ of elk. All was excitement. The soldiers snatched their yagers;
the Otoes their rifles; the Pawnees strung their bows, drew their arrows
from their quivers, and all hurried after the Indian guide, over the
prairie which had been burnt before us. In ten minutes they reached the
top of a hill, looking down into a deep ravine, about three hundred
yards distant. It was thronged with elk. Some were gamboling about; some
resting amid the high luxuriant grass, which here had escaped the fire.
Others browzing upon the foliage of the vines, which hung in long and
graceful festoons from the dwarf bushes; and some were slaking their
thirst at a limpid brook. But even in these, their moments of greatest
security, their instinctive vigilance was not at rest. For while most
of the herd were frolicking, several, who from their enormous size, and
the unwieldly length of their antlers, appeared to be the oldest in the
gang, had stationed themselves as sentinels, on jutting rocks in the
elevated banks, which commanded an extensive view. There they stood on
the look-out, their heads high in the air, their nostrils expanded to
catch the tainted breeze.

Scarcely had our band paused on the top of the hill, before the eyes
of the watchful sentinels were turned upon them, and a loud snort gave
the signal for a general flight. The bushes and shrubs, snapped and
crashed beneath their rush, as they rolled together in a heavy mass.
Their branching antlers tore through the wild vines; and the whole
herd dashed across the ravine and thundered up the opposite steep.
Large stones and fragments of rock, gave way beneath the tread of the
leaders, and fell bounding among the hindmost. Those in front broke off
large masses of sandy soil from the edge of the banks, and losing their
footing, were whirled back among their companions. Notwithstanding the
confusion, however, half a minute had not elapsed, before the whole herd
had surmounted the steep, and were flying over the prairie, with the
swiftness of a whirlwind.

“No elk meat to-day,” said Rash, (one of the soldiers,) leaning on the
end of his yager, and watching the herd as they swept behind a distant
skirt of trees.

“Ugh!” ejaculated an Otoe, in answer.

“Ugh!” ejaculated half a dozen Pawnees, unstringing their bows, and
turning off towards the camp.

“Ugh! nin-gah om-pah,” (no elk) said Hah-che-kah-sug-hah, shouldering his
rifle and preparing to continue his journey.

I had been in the habit of hunting in company with this Indian, and when
he started forward, instead of returning to the camp with the rest, I
followed him. The deer were abundant in this section of the country, and
our object was game. We commenced a keen search in the hollows, but for a
long time were unsuccessful. At last the guttural “ugh!” from the Indian,
informed me that he saw something: and the next moment he pointed out a
large buck, reclining in a distant hollow. He immediately made for it,
while I seated myself in the grass, to watch his success. After stealing
along several hollows, and keeping among the tall grass, he at last came
upon the animal and fired. The buck started up, staggered a few paces,
then scoured away over the top of the hill. The Indian, after pausing to
reload, followed, and also disappeared. I waited in hopes of hearing the
_whoop!_ which usually followed a successful shot; but all was silent; so
I sauntered slowly along, expecting him to return. Nearly half an hour
had elapsed, when I caught sight of him, standing upon the top of a high
peak, at several miles’ distance. Supposing that he had been led off by
game, I no longer delayed for him, but struck forward, selecting a route
for myself. I had been in the habit of leaving the party at sunrise,
previously ascertaining the direction which they intended to take; then
coming upon their trail during the day, by following it I had always
reached the camp by nightfall. From never failing in this, I had grown
self-confident, and this morning, I had not even inquired their intended
course.

I travelled for many hours; following the hollows, and beating the
tall grass, in hopes of starting a deer; but with the exception of a
few grouse, I met with nothing. I had continued thus unsuccessful till
afternoon, and was sauntering along a high ridge, looking round to see if
I could perceive any trace of the party, when suddenly turning my head,
I caught sight of a number of objects, stringing slowly along the top
of a ridge. At first I was surprised; for I mistook them for a train of
pack-horses; but the next moment undeceived me, and I discovered that I
had come unaware, upon a herd of elk. There were about a dozen of them.
They were as quick-sighted as myself; for at the very moment that my eye
rested upon them, they also detected me. They halted and snuffed the
air; but I was too far off to taint it. So they turned away, and slowly
loitered on. I immediately made for a thicket of brushwood, and beneath
this shelter, rushed swiftly towards them. I had not gone far, however,
when, upon rounding a small point of bushes, I came directly upon another
herd. There must have been more than a hundred in it. Many were lying
upon the ground; some were gamboling and frisking; two or three were
butting each other with their horns; and several wary old fellows were
stationed round as sentinels. I was within a hundred yards of them, so I
fired at a full-grown buck. The bullet struck one of his fore legs, and
he fell. In an instant the whole herd were on their feet, and huddling
together like frightened sheep, they fled over the hills.

I sprang from my hiding place, and drawing my knife, ran towards the
wounded animal; but before I could reach him, he gained his feet, and
hobbled off, at a rate which kept me at the full stretch of my speed. I
then stopped to reload my rifle, and followed expecting every moment to
see him drop. He led me a long chase, over hill and dale, and across
runs of water; until I gave out; and seating myself, saw him hobble out
of sight.

It was now time to look out for the party; a thing which I had totally
forgotten, in the heat of the chase; nor had I taken any note of the
course I was pursuing; so that when my race was ended, I was completely
bewildered. I was within a short distance of a well-wooded stream, and I
suspected that the party would encamp, somewhere upon its banks. I knew
too, that they must be to the westward of me, so I followed the course of
the river.

I travelled till sunset, examining every ridge in the prairie; every bend
in the thicket; but there was no human being to be seen, nor a trail, or
foot print, on the burnt sod, except the hoof marks, where the herd of
elk had passed. I then clambered to the top of a high-peaked hill, which
overlooked the prairie for miles; but all was deserted. I determined,
then to encamp for the night, in the neighbouring piece of wood, and in
the morning to renew my search. At the same time, resolving like most
persons who are in trouble, that if I got safely out of this scrape, I
would take better care when next I hunted alone. I went down into the
woods and built a fire. The night was cold, and bleak. There was no grass
to make a bed; the wolves howled incessantly; and to judge from their
snarling, and yelping at the foot of a tree, a little distance off, I
imagined, that they had pursued some animal, which had taken refuge in
its branches. The night passed away drearily, and with a joyous feeling,
I once more saw the east streaked with the light of dawn.

Before the day had fairly broken, I left the grove, and pursued my course
to the westward, until I again came to a ridge in the prairie. This I
ascended and looked in every direction; but could see nothing. I raised
my voice and gave an Indian hunting whoop, which might have been heard
for a mile. The woods echoed it; but there was no other answer. I wished
to discharge my rifle, in hopes that it might reach the ears of the
party; but I had only a single charge of powder, left in my horn; and
if I should be obliged to journey to the settlements alone, I thought
that this would be too precious to be wasted. So in silence, and with
drooping spirits, I continued my journey along the line of timber. The
sun rose, and gradually ascended in the heavens. A vague doubt began to
steal across my mind; that I had, perhaps, crossed the trail, in the
obscurity of the morning twilight; for I was now much farther to the
west, than I thought it possible, the party could have gone. About a
mile in front of me a long arm of timber jutted out into the prairie. I
made for it, determining if I did not then come upon their trail, that
I would retrace my steps and carefully examine that portion which I
had crossed before daybreak. I reached the timber; but saw no track. I
again whooped; but as before, the echoing forests alone answered me; and
with a sensation of utter loneliness, I turned round and retraced my
steps. It was near mid-day when I reached my last encamping place. I had
carefully noted every mark upon the black sod; I saw my own foot-prints,
where I had struck out into the prairie in the morning; but nothing
else. I then kept on for an hour longer, but my mind was constantly
vascillating—whether to follow my own foot-prints until they guided me to
the camping ground where I had left the party on the day previous, or to
keep on to the eastward until I should reach the Missouri; or once more
to return over the ground which I had just passed.

I remember well the spot where I paused to settle my purpose. It was
a high swell, which commanded a view over miles of prairie, and even
overlooked the top of the lofty trees in the thicket. It was strewed with
bones. For several hundred yards, the whole hill was literally covered
with them. It looked like some deserted charnel; and I recollect even
in the midst of my perplexity, taking up one and examining it—wondering
whether it belonged to man or beast. The place might have been the scene
of a battle; for the bones were so small that they could scarcely be
those of animals. There were no skulls, either of man or brutes, to solve
the mystery; and even the bones were covered with a greenish mould, from
many years’ exposure.

After some consideration, I resolved to retrace my steps, and accordingly
turned down the hill, and once more proceeded on my journey. I now was
growing hungry, and for once felt the miseries of a keen appetite. In
the midst of these cogitations, I caught sight of the head of a racoon,
who was reconnoitering me from behind the stump of a tree; I shot him,
and skinned him; and kindling a fire, cooked part of him on the spot.
The cinders from my fire, caught in a small patch of dry grass, which
had escaped the general burning of the prairie; and in a moment it was
in a blaze—filling the air with a cloud of black smoke. When I finished
my meal, I slung the residue of my prize upon my back, and struck out
into the prairie. I had scarcely done so before I caught sight of an
Indian, standing upon the top of a ridge at some distance. In a moment
after he perceived me, and waved his blanket over his head, to attract my
attention. I raised the Otoe hunting-whoop, and his shout, faint, from
the distance, answered me. I then started for the hill, and the Indian,
seating himself, waited till I came up. He was one of the Otoes who
accompanied us. His Indian name I do not recollect; but when translated
it signified, “_the man that drags his heels_.” It was given him on
account of a shuffling gait, which it was said that he possessed, but
which I could never discover.

We started together, and about a mile beyond the arm of timber where I
had turned back in the morning, we came upon the trail of the party.

Night closed in upon us, long before we reached their camping ground. I
was nearly exhausted; the light racoon, which I carried upon my back,
seemed to grow almost as heavy as a deer. My thirst grew intense; I
stopped to drink at every pool; and kept constantly breaking off the tops
of the rosin weed, and chewing its pitchy sap to keep my mouth moist.
Still the Indian kept on with unwearied steps, sometimes pausing to
listen as a cry sounded through the night air, or turning to point out
the light of a prairie on fire at a distance. He did not slacken his
pace, until with a deep ugh! he pointed out to me the night-fires of our
party, glimmering in a thick grove, on the borders of a brawling stream.

A loud shout, followed by a genuine Indian yell, burst from the lips of
the doctor, when he first caught sight of me. This was followed by a
hearty shake of the hand, and warm congratulations from the commissioner,
and the whole party.

I was afterwards informed, that the Indian who discovered me, had crossed
my track on the day previous; and, upon being told that I had not made my
appearance, he had been induced by the promise of a blanket to set out in
search of me.

I had not been long seated before our fire, when the Wild Horse, dressed
in a pair of white corduroy pantaloons, with the rest of his body
naked, came stalking up to shake hands with me. His object evidently
was to display this new article of dress; which had been presented to
him by the doctor. Although highly delighted, he walked in them, as if
in fetters; for though the doctor had a rotundity of abdomen, which
completely out-measured that of the Indian, yet the other far exceeded
him in the size and length of his lower extremities; and the garment sat
so tight to his legs, that at a little distance he had the appearance
of having been white-washed. He kept about us during the whole evening.
I imagine, however, that in this short space of time he grew completely
tired of his new garb, for the next morning, I saw his son scampering
through the bushes, dressed in the same pair of breeches—though they
were as much too large for him, as they were too small for his father.
He, too, soon wearied of them; and after having once or twice tripped up
his own heels in wearing them, he abandoned them to the wife of the Wild
Horse, who, I believe, from that period “wore the breeches.”




                              CHAPTER XVII.

                           _The False Alarm._


The sun was glowing with a mellow warmth, upon the prairie; when our
train, slowly ascended one of the black, undulating swells, which
traverse the whole face of the country. At our feet, lay a great prairie,
intersected by a waving thread of timber, which extended for many miles,
and was now tinted with the bright and variegated hues of autumn.

The Pawnees stood for a moment upon the top, casting their eyes about
them. A shriek rang through the air; so wild, and shrill, that it caused
even the most stern to start convulsively, and clutch their bows, while
the deep guttural “Ugh” burst from every chest, as they turned towards
the Indian, who sent up the cry.

He was standing a little in advance of the party; his slender but
muscular frame, bent slightly forward; his form resting firmly upon
one foot, while the ball of the other alone touched the ground, as if
he had been arrested, in the act of stepping forward. His nostrils
were expanded; his teeth slightly bared; his eyes intently fixed in
the direction indicated by the extended forefinger of his outstretched
arm. The eyes of the whole dusky troop were instantly turned in that
direction. They gazed for an instant, and then the prairie sounded with
their shrill, appalling yells.

At the foot of the hills, at the distance of about five hundred yards, a
small band of Indians were emerging from a wood; their white blankets and
glittering gun-barrels, contrasting strongly with the dusky forms, and
savage weapons, of our Pawnee companions. For a short space, there was
silence, and then arose the second wild shout of the Pawnees, while the
hated name of “Konza! Konza! Konza!” burst in a howl from every lip.

The little band in the glen, sent up an answering shout, which though it
sounded less loudly, on account of the smallness of their numbers, and
the distance which intervened, was still replete with defiance. As they
raised their yell, they snatched their rifles from their shoulders, and
prepared for the encounter.

Just then a loud whoop was heard, and Wild Horse came rushing up the
hill-side which we had just ascended. His long hair streamed in the wind.
In his hand, he grasped his bow, and about a dozen arrows. He had heard
the answering cry of the Konza, and had snuffed a fight in the wind, with
the keen relish of a veteran warrior. His small black eye glittered with
joy, as he looked down upon the handful, who had dared to send up a note
of defiance. He uttered a wild, exulting laugh, and shaking his war-club
with a fierce motion, towards the distant foes, he raised a war-whoop,
and waved his men onward.

And now the loud voice of the Iotan chief rose amid the din, calling away
his band of Otoes, and summoning them to the top of a neighbouring hill.
He was at peace with the Konzas, and had nothing to do in the present
strife; it was all the same to him which gained the day; so he coolly
drew off his men, and waited to see the result. On an eminence at a
short distance, stood the Apollo-like form, and snarling, tiger face of
the Long Hair. His robe was thrown over his left arm, while his right,
grasping his bow, waved his warriors fiercely forward.

For a very short space, the cloud of Indians hung upon the hill, and
then, with one wild cry they swept down upon the devoted band. There
was no order of battle; each rushed forward goaded by his own impulses.
They raised no farther shout; every feeling seemed now absorbed in
the deep, burning thirst for blood. Their adversaries displayed equal
alacrity. A loud, fierce shout had answered the war-cry of the Pawnees;
then all was silent; they leaped forward, prepared to give cold lead in
answer to the feathered shafts of their ruder foes. As they advanced they
separated, and extended their front, to prevent their being outflanked.
They had now reached within about two hundred yards of each other, when a
hesitation was visible in the Pawnee band. They moved slower and slower.
One or two stopped, and gazed steadily at their approaching enemies: then
they collected in groups, and seemed to consult. Even the Wild Horse, a
savage who had revelled in blood from his infancy, dropped his uplifted
war-club, and pausing, leaned upon his bow. The Long Hair drew up his
haughty form, and, swinging upon his back his quiver, which had before
hung in front, folded his arms, and appeared to wait passively for the
approach of the opposite band.

A grim smile of scorn had curled the lip of the old Iotan chief, when he
first beheld the hesitation in the Pawnee ranks. For, like the chiefs
of most of the neighbouring tribes, though he feared the immense hordes
which belonged to that nation, yet he most heartily despised every
individual of the four villages. There was an apparent acknowledgment of
inferiority in this numerous band, thus hesitating to attack the handful,
who challenged them to the conflict, which pleased the veteran chief;
for in war, his own nation and the Konza, had always been looked upon as
equals.

In a moment, however, a like hesitation was observed in the ranks of the
foe. They drew up and shouldered their rifles, and then moved frankly
forward to meet the Pawnee warriors.

The old chief was perplexed. He held his hand anxiously over his eyes,
to penetrate the mystery. Suddenly a new light seemed to flash over his
countenance. Waving his hand in the air, he shouted the name of his own
tribe, and rushed down the hill, followed by his band. It was a party of
Otoes, instead of Konzas, and the recognition which had fortunately taken
place, had prevented the effusion of blood, which otherwise would have
followed.

The parties now drew off, keeping coldly aloof, and eyeing each other
with those proud and haughty glances, which are apt to pass between rival
people even when friendly.

The Iotan conversed a short time with a tall, thin Indian, who appeared
to have command of the hunting party, and, after leaving with him, a
worn-out horse which he had brought from the Pawnee village, resumed his
journey, in which he was followed by the whites, and the long train of
disappointed Pawnees.

For a short time, the Otoes watched the movements of the party, then
turning off, they crossed the prairie, and disappeared in a piece of
forest.




                             CHAPTER XVIII.

               _Elk Chase.—Indian Sagacity.—Indian Camp._


On the following day we were traversing a valley between two black
prairie hills, when the crack of a rifle sounded from a distant hollow,
and was followed by a loud shout. The Indians stopped short, and
listened, but the shout was not repeated. At length a young Pawnee,
impatient, sprang upon a horse and galloped over a hill, beyond which
the shout had arisen. As he disappeared over its top, a second shout
was heard. After the lapse of a few moments a loud whoop rose from the
same quarter, and suddenly a powerful buck elk, with branching antlers,
and enormous tynes, dashed with mad leaps to the summit of the hill.
He stopped short at the sight of our band and glared wildly around.
He was wounded in the shoulder, and the Pawnee was in hot pursuit.
Casting a quick glance round at his foe, and throwing back his head, he
bounded along the ridge. The wound in his shoulder, lessened his speed.
The Pawnee plied his lash. The heavy hoofs of his horse, struck with a
jarring sound upon the burnt prairie; and a whirl of black ashes was
raised in a light cloud around him. His long hair streamed in the air,
and his dark, heavy robe, fluttered from his shoulders, as he dashed
forward. A great interest in the result was evinced. The Pawnees were
anxious that their hunter should acquit himself well, in the presence of
a foreign tribe, who watched his movements with a jealous eye. The Otoes
lost their usual cold character, in the earnest interest, excited by the
headlong chase; and the Indian hunter who had wounded the elk, stood upon
the top of the hill, leaning upon the muzzle of his rifle, and watching
the success of his ally.

The elk reached the end of the ridge, and sprang down its sloping
declivity. The Pawnee horseman followed. In a moment after the elk was
seen bounding up an opposite ridge, and leaping along its verge. His
pursuer pressed on, about fifty yards in the rear. Here the chase was
again in full sight, and continued so for a few moments. The elk was
growing weaker and weaker. He came to the end of a ridge which was
cragged and almost perpendicular. He paused for a moment on the brink;
looked down the steep; cast a glance behind; then gathering his feet
he made a desperate bound down the rugged bank, and in a moment’s time
dashed up to the top of a succeeding ridge. Almost at the same time,
the Pawnee was at the end of the hill; he looked for a moment down the
steep—he half urged forward his foaming horse, then reining him in,
turned away, and commenced his return towards the party. As he was
leaving the summit of the eminence, he looked around for the animal which
had escaped him, but he had disappeared in a clump of shrubbery. Seeing
the pursuit was ended, the Pawnees folded their robes around them, the
Otoes shouldered their guns, and the whole party resumed its journey.

In company with _Hah-che-kah-sug-hah_ I soon after left the party and
commenced a hunt over the prairie. We were overtaken by a young Otoe
called “the Buffalo Chief.” He was armed with a rifle; and was a keen and
generally a successful hunter. Several Pawnees also came loitering up,
for they always hang in the wake of the hunters, in hopes of obtaining a
portion of what is killed.

We directed our course towards a lofty skirt of forest, fringed with
brushwood. Here we thought that we might hunt successfully; but the
night closed in, and still we were empty handed. So we were obliged to
set out in search of the spot, which we supposed would be the site of
our night encampment. The Indians moved forward with a swift, unwearied
step. They seemed to glide along. Their blankets fluttered in the slight
current produced by the rapidity of their motions, and I was obliged to
hurry swiftly on, lest I should lose sight of them. An hour passed; they
still pushed forward; they spoke not a word; not a sign of intelligence
passed between them; they moved on rapidly through the dark, as if they
guided their course by instinct.

“Ugh!” ejaculated Hah-che-kah-sug-hah, stopping short, and looking
earnestly at some object upon the black sod.

“Ugh! ugh! ugh!” burst from the chests of several of the Pawnees, as they
gathered round the suspicious object, and bent down, to examine it more
closely. I came up to them, but could see nothing. The Indian pointed to
the ground, and after much difficulty, I descried the faint impression
of a moccassin upon the ashes of the burnt grass, though it would have
escaped any, save the keen and ever-observing eye of an Indian.

A few words passed between two of the Otoes; then turning off they
followed steadily upon the unknown track. They appeared to trace it
without difficulty, though to me it was totally invisible.

In about ten minutes, there was another burst from the Indians, and a
broad gray line, traced across the black prairie, and visible even in
the darkness, announced that we had at length come upon the trail of our
party. Here the Indians turned off in the direction indicated by the
line, and passing down a deep hollow, we ascended a hill. From its summit
we perceived at a short distance, a dusky uncertain outline of timber, in
a hollow; and the blazes of fires glimmering, and flickering among the
trees, assured us that we had at last reached the resting place of the
party. The camp lay nestled in a large grove of trees. Within a few yards
of it, the Nemahaw river brawled over a stony bottom, with wild, and not
unpleasing murmurings.

The Indians had distributed themselves about the open woodland, in
groups of five or six. Each group had its own night-fire, and a rough
shed of boughs, to protect it from the dew. In the centre of the grove,
and strongly reflecting the light of the fire, stood the canvas tents
of the whites, and reposing before a pile of blazing logs, were the
uncouth forms of the soldiers; their appearance at present being little
less wild, than that of the Indians. At one end of the heavy logs, was
stretched the demi-savage, half-breed interpreter, reposing after the
labours of the day, and gazing sleepily upon the fire, which blazed
high amid the gathered timber. One or two Otoes were mingled with the
whites; but the rest of the trusty band with the old Iotan, as master of
ceremonies, were collected round a large fire, which burnt brightly at a
few yards’ distance. The graceful form of the Iotan’s wife, was reclining
upon a pile of dried grass, beneath a canopy of green boughs, which had
been formed for her, by the young men of the Otoe party. Notwithstanding
the assurances of the doctor, that she was recovering, she persisted in
her resolution of remaining an invalid; for as long as she travelled
in this character, the soft heart of the soldier who drove the wagon,
prevented his refusing her a seat in the vehicle; and the fiery-tempered
old Iotan still insisted, that the young Indians should perform her share
of the drudgery.

There was something wildly noble, about this little band of Otoes.
They were adorned with all the coxcombry of Indians, before they have
degenerated from savage men, to civilized beasts. There was a frank,
gallant bearing about them; a native chivalry, which caused us almost
unconsciously to place more confidence in them, than in their fierce,
untamed associates. Behind them, resting against the trees, were their
borrowed rifles, glittering beneath the blaze of the fire. Around us in
every direction, were the rough wicker sheds of the Pawnees, their fires
gleaming with an uncertain, lurid light, among the tall, straight trunks
of the overhanging grove.

The Indians in their shaggy robes, were flitting to and fro like troubled
spirits; now hid in the gloom of the night, and now their dark eyes
glittering, and their painted faces glaring, as they moved in the light
of some blazing pile. Some had wrapped their robes closely round them,
and sat buried in a gloomy reverie, with their scowling eyes fixed upon
the burning logs, taking no part in the conversation of their comrades,
nor any note of what was going on around them.

At length one of the young warriors struck up a wild song, which made the
woods re-echo. Another joined it, and another, until the whole of the
group round that fire, were engrossed in the theme. A single voice from
a distant pile then struck in, another followed. Another fire then added
its voice, and gradually it spread from one group to another, until every
throat in the whole Pawnee troop, had united in it. It sung of war, and
well did the gestures, and wildly energetic tones of the singers, express
the meaning of the words. In parts, the blended voices swelled on the
night air, with a mournfully melodious sound; but when the howl, with
which they ended every verse, burst from the throats of the whole band,
it was thrilling and fearful. The Otoes caught the wild enthusiasm of
the moment, and they too added their voices to the savage concert, until
it almost seemed to rend the black canopy above us.

The song was kept up till after midnight; for long after we had retired
to our tents, it frequently awoke us from our slumbers, or mingled in the
phantasmagoria of our dreams.




                              CHAPTER XIX.

       _Separation from Party.—Burning Prairie.—Wolves.—Journey._


It was scarcely sunrise, before the dark grove echoed with preparations
for our departure. The voice of our mongrel French boy, Joe, was heard,
hailing the mules, which had strayed for pasturage, some distance down
the bottom. The soldiers loaded the pack-horses; the Pawnees collected
together their scanty stock of cooking utensils, and packed them upon the
back of a lean, bony nag, whose evil destiny had made him drudge-horse to
the Indian host; and the old Iotan saw his wife snugly tucked away in one
of the dearborn wagons, and stationed himself as guide, at the border of
the forest, waiting for the movements of the band.

It was a cold, blustering day, with a clear and cloudless sky. The wind
swept in sudden gusts through the creaking trees, and the dead prairie
grass waved and rustled as the gale brushed over it.

In a short time the party wound out of the grove, and struck across the
prairie, in the direction taken by the Iotan. He had been a bold marauder
in his youth, and had traversed every woody nook, and every prairie
swell which lay in this quarter. When standing upon some high bluff, he
would call his young warriors round him, and point out the different
scenes of his exploits. “There,” said he, pointing to some clustering
forest, “there have I scalped the Osages, and there,” pointing in another
direction, “have I stolen horses from the same nation. There is not a
grove which has not echoed the screams of my enemies, or borne witness to
my plunderings. There is not a bottom in which I have not encamped, nor
a swell which I have not crossed, either in hunting, or when bound upon
some war expedition.” He loved in his old age to dwell upon the deeds of
his youth, and when narrating them, his faded features would light up,
and his eye would flash, “for then,” said he, “my arm was heavy and my
limbs were strong.” Yet it seemed to me they could not have been much
heavier, or stronger, unless they had been iron itself. Such was the
Indian who acted as guide, and led the way in front of our party; nor
could I see that age had impaired his vigour; for in traversing hills and
ravines, forests and streams, I never knew his step to flag or falter, or
his frame to show any symptoms of fatigue.

After following him for a short time, I turned off, in company with a
strapping soldier named McClanahan, to search for wild turkeys, which
are abundant in the forests skirting the Nemahaw. We traversed several
glades, opening in a thick growth of timber; but although we saw many,
we were for a long time unable to get a shot at them.

In beating up the forest we separated, and I soon lost sight of my
companion; though for nearly an hour I occasionally heard the report
of his rifle, sometimes near, and sometimes far off. Gradually each
discharge appeared to be more distant, and at length they ceased
altogether. I kept on after the turkeys without killing any. Sometimes
I succeeded in _winging_ one, and then followed a hot scrambling chase
through bushes, briars, and underwood, which invariably terminated in the
escape of the bird.

Several hours had passed in this way. I had strayed many miles through
the bottom, when the height of the sun warned me that it was near
mid-day, and time to think of rejoining my companions.

Leaving the woods I took to the prairie, and sought the trail of the
party, and for several hours pursued my course, examining every hill
and hollow, in hopes of finding it; but no trail could I see. As the day
waned, I increased my speed; but still without success. The prairie was
deserted. The long grass waved before the blast but not a living thing
met my eye. I then feared that I might have crossed the trace without
noticing it; but the more I thought of it, the more impossible did it
seem, that the heavy track of so numerous a body of men, should have
escaped my eye. I ascended a ridge which commanded a wide prospect. A
wilderness of grass was before me, with small rolling hills extending in
every direction; but there was no appearance of my companions; nothing to
be seen, but the sky and the prairie. It was time to seek a resting place
for the night. I looked round for some tree, but not one was in sight.
Dead grass, wild weeds, and withered stalks, were the only covering of
the hills. I was like a mariner alone in the midst of an ocean. I knew
not which way to turn. If I travelled to the west I might be approaching
my companions, or I might be going from them; and then too, I would be
journeying away from the settlements. So I at length determined to take
an easterly course, until I reached the Missouri, which I intended should
be my guide to the abodes of the whites.

With a quick pace I pressed forward, anxious to find a sheltering place
for the night. It was the end of October; the wind was chilling, and I
was clad in a dress of drilling, such as is used only for summer wear.
Just as the sun was sinking, I caught sight of a line of forest, at many
miles’ distance. This acted like a spur upon a jaded horse. With fresh
spirits I bounded down the sides of the prairie swells, and forced my
way through the tall, clogging grass. But at last the sun set, and as
the twilight darkened, objects grew indistinct, and the forest which
could not have been more than two miles off, was gradually lost in the
obscurity. In front of me was a large hill; I ascended it, to wait on
its summit until the moon rose; for I feared to lose my course in the
darkness.

A feeling of very desolation came over me, as I sat there, with nothing
but the dreary waste around me, and the blue, cold sky twinkling with
stars, above. The wind had increased to a gale, and swept howling along,
occasionally bearing with it the yell of some prowling wolf. For hours
I sat shivering, with my eyes fixed upon the eastern horizon, watching
eagerly for the moon; and never had I greeted her appearance, with such
heartfelt pleasure, as when she emerged to view.

I resumed my journey, and after toiling for an hour, through a wide
bottom of tall weeds and matted grass, I reached the grove—erected a
small shed of boughs after the manner of the Indians, and lying down was
soon asleep, before a huge fire, which I built against the trunk of a
fallen tree.

I was awakened by the increasing violence of the gale. At times it sank
into low wailings, and then would swell again, howling and whistling
through the trees. After sitting by the fire for a short time, I again
threw myself upon my pallet of dried grass, but could not sleep. There
was something dismal and thrilling in the sound of the wind. At times,
wild voices seemed shrieking through the woodland. It was in vain that I
closed my eyes; a kind of superstitious feeling came over me, and though
I saw nothing, my ears drank in every sound. I gazed around in every
direction, and sat with my hand on my gun-trigger, for my feelings were
so wrought up, that I momentarily expected to see an armed Indian start
from behind each bush. At last I rose up, and sat by the fire. Suddenly,
a swift gust swept through the grove, and whirled off sparks and cinders
in every direction. In an instant, fifty little fires, shot their forked
tongues in the air, and seemed to flicker with a momentary struggle for
existence. There was scarcely time to note their birth, before they were
creeping up in a tall, tapering blaze and leaping lightly along the tops
of the scattering clumps of dry grass. In another moment they leaped
forward into the prairie, and a waving line of brilliant flame, quivered
high up in the dark atmosphere.

Another gust came rushing along the ravine. It was announced by a
distant moan; as it came nearer a cloud of dry leaves filled the air;
the slender shrubs and saplings bent like weeds—dry branches snapped
and crackled. The lofty forest trees writhed, and creaked, and groaned.
The next instant the furious blast reached the flaming prairie. Myriads
and myriads of bright embers were flung wildly up in the air: flakes
of blazing grass, whirled like meteors through the sky. The flame
spread into a vast sheet, that swept over the prairie, bending forward,
illumining the black waste which it had passed, and shedding a red light
far down the deep vistas of the forest; though all beyond the blaze was
of a pitchy blackness. The roaring flames, drowned even the howling of
the wind. At each succeeding blast, they threw long pyramidal streams
upwards in the black sky, then flared horizontally, and seemed to bound
forward, lighting at each bound, a new conflagration. Leap succeeded
leap; the flames rushed onward with a race-horse speed. The noise sounded
like the roar of a stormy ocean, and the wild, tumultuous billows of
flame, were tossed about like a sea of fire. Directly in their course,
and some distance out in the prairie, stood a large grove of oaks—the
dry leaves still clinging to the branches. There was a red glare thrown
upon them, from the blazing flood. A moment passed, and a black smoke
oozed from the nearest tree—the blaze roared among their branches, and
shot up for a hundred feet in the air—waving as if in triumph. The effect
was transient. In a moment had the fire swept through a grove covering
several acres. It sank again into the prairie, leaving the limbs of
every tree scathed and scorched to an inky blackness; and shining with
a bright crimson light, between their branches. In this way the light
conflagration swept over the landscape: every hill seemed to burn its
own funeral pyre, and the scorching heat licked up every blade in the
hollows. A dark cloud of gray smoke, filled with burning embers, spread
over the course of the flames, occasionally forming not ungraceful
columns, which were almost instantly shattered by the wind, and driven in
a thousand different directions.

For several hours the blaze continued to rage, and the whole horizon
became girdled with a belt of living fire. As the circle extended, the
flames appeared smaller and smaller: until they looked like a slight
golden thread drawn around the hills. They then must have been nearly
ten miles distant. At length the blaze disappeared, although the purple
light, that for hours illumined the night sky, told that the element was
extending into other regions of the prairies.

It was sunrise when I rose from my resting place and resumed my
journey. What a change! All was waste. The sun had set upon a prairie
still clothed in its natural garb of herbage. It rose upon a scene of
desolation. Not a single weed—not a blade of grass, was left. The tall
grove, which at sunset was covered with withered foliage, now spread
a labyrinth of scorched and naked branches—the very type of ruin. A
thin covering of gray ashes was sprinkled upon the ground beneath, and
several large, dead trees, whose dried branches had caught and nourished
the flame, were still blazing or sending up long spires of smoke. In
every direction, barrenness marked the track of the flames. It had even
worked its course against the blast, hugging to the roots of the tall
grass.

The wind was still raging; cinders and ashes were drifting, and whirling
about, in almost suffocating clouds, sometimes rendering it impossible to
see for more than one or two hundred yards.

In surveying the dreary landscape, I caught sight of a gaunt, gray
prairie wolf, stealing with a thief-like step down one of the hollows, as
if his spirit was cowed by the scene. He was the only living thing to be
seen. He saw his fellow-wanderer, but he did not fly. The very desolation
around, appeared to have brought him a link nearer to man, for he had
lost his terrors of him. He paused as he reached the foot of the hill.
Here he uttered a low, querulous howl, which was answered from the woods,
and three others emerged from the timber, and joined him.

They stood for a few moments gazing at me, and then commenced slowly
to approach. I knew that there was not a more cowardly beast upon the
prairie, than the wolf; but a chill shot over me, as I saw them advance.
It seemed as if they regarded me, as the cause of the desolation, that
had swept over their homes; and I felt guilty and lonely.

But even amid this want of companionship, I had no relish for that of
wolves: so I raised my rifle, and sent a bullet among them. A loud howl
answered its report; and the limping step of one of them, as the gang
fled for the woods, convinced me, that my messenger had performed its
errand.

I now gave up the hopeless task of searching for my fellow travellers;
and as the Iotan had mentioned, that they were but a few days’ journey
from the settlements, I shouldered my rifle, and taking an easterly
course, by aid of the sun, started forward, trusting to make my way to
the abodes of white men. It was weary wandering. Hill succeeded hill, and
one valley swept off into another. The faint tracery of distant trees,
disappeared as I journeyed onward, and soon there was nothing to be seen
but the cold, unspecked blue of the sky, and the boundless black of the
ravaged prairie.




                               CHAPTER XX.

       _A Hunted Deer.—Deserted Encampment.—Distant Indians.—Night
                     Camp.—Owls.—Burning Sycamore._


For hours I continued my course, pausing upon the summit of every hill,
in a faint, but vain hope of seeing my comrades. At last, at a distance,
I saw a deer scouring over the top of a ridge, and making directly
towards me. I crouched upon the burnt sod, cocked my rifle, and waited
for him. I wondered at his speed, for there was no hunter in sight; but
it was soon explained. As he descended into a hollow, three wolves came
following at full speed, over the hill. The deer soon rose out of the
bend, and kept on towards me. Almost without breathing, I watched him. I
had eaten nothing since the morning of the preceding day, and there was
something of ferocity in my feelings, as I gazed at him. I gathered my
feet under me, and slowly raised my rifle. The animal still approached. I
should have waited; but a burning feverishness rendered me impatient, and
while he was at least a hundred and fifty yards distant, I rose and took
aim. He stopped short, and gazed steadily at me, with his head raised
high in the air, and presenting only his front. I pulled the trigger; the
bullet might have grazed him, but did him no injury. He did not wait for
a second shot, but darted like an arrow across the prairie. I watched him
until he faded from my sight, and then re-loaded my rifle.

This incident, which for an instant had diverted the current of my
thoughts, now served only to render them more heavy. At the sound of
my rifle, the wolves in pursuit, had scampered off as hastily in one
direction, as the deer had done in the other; and I felt a kind of
selfish satisfaction in knowing, that if I had not been able to obtain a
meal from his ribs, this gang of vagabonds was equally disappointed.

Once more I proceeded on my journey, directing my course by the sun. I
had hunted much on foot, and my limbs had become hardened by toil; so
that I could journey long without sinking, though not without feeling
fatigue. It was about an hour after mid-day when I again came in sight of
a forest. There was a golden mark upon the prairie. The blackness stopped
abruptly, and pointed out the spot where the fire, from some cause or
other, had ceased its course in this direction. A lowering column of
smoke, however, hanging like a sullen pall, in another quarter, showed
that the element was still at work.

Within half an hour, I reached the wood, and striking an Indian trail,
entered it. It was a grove of tall, and beautiful hickories; and in the
centre were the remains of an Indian hunting-camp. It had been occupied
for some time, as the frames of the wigwams were more strong and durable
in their structure, than those usually erected for transient purposes.
They could have been abandoned but lately; for the bark was still green
on the boughs composing them, and there were the recent foot-prints of
horses. The dead pea-vines were trampled down by hoofs: and there was one
rock, jutting out in the small stream meandering through the grove, which
was covered with racoon fur, and here and there sprinkled with drops of
blood. I sat down upon the rock, watched the waters, and thought of the
former occupants of the grove. Had I been a day sooner, I might have met
them; but then they might have been enemies. So I began to think that
things were better as they were; for even the most friendly tribes, are
apt to lose their good will towards he whites, when a single one falls
into their power. Desolate as I was, I could not but be sensible of the
beauty of the grove. I could see far down deep vistas, gilded here and
there by the sunbeams. The wind had gradually died away. The stream
glided murmuring over a rocky bottom, and here and there glittered like
silver in the beams of the sun. The wild cry of the blue-jay was heard,
hailing some noisy comrade in a distant tree-top. As I sat looking upon
the water, I heard a slight noise in the stream, above me, and caught
sight of a number of wood-ducks, borne on by the current. They are a
beautiful bird. Now they glided beneath the shade of some plant that
drooped over the water’s edge; now they whirled easily round, as some
changeful current caught them in its lilliputian whirlpool. They chased
each other sportively across the water, sometimes scouring up the stream,
then again relinquishing themselves to its course. They were small game,
but I was famished, and had my rifle in readiness. I waited until I got
two of them in a range, and then fired. My bullet struck off the head of
the first, and considerably confused the ideas of the second; but after
splashing about, bottom upwards, and trying several other novel modes of
navigation, he recovered himself, and flew after his companions.

Having secured my prize, I crossed the brook, and struck into a winding
pathway, which led up the steep bank opposite.

I had scarcely left the grove, when upon looking round, I caught sight
of a train of figures moving along the top of a ridge, far away to the
westward. There were six in it, and they must have been many miles
distant. So faint was their outline, and so small did they appear in the
vast space that lay open in that direction, that they reminded me of the
dim, spectre-like forms of a phantasmagoria. At first I felt a start
of joy, for I thought that they might be my companions: but a second
reflection convinced me that I was mistaken, for the train was moving
along to the northwest—the very reverse of the route to the settlements.
Then too the idea flashed across me, that they must be Indians—perhaps
hostile ones. Although so distant that there was scarcely a probability
of their seeing me, I returned to the grove, where I watched their
gliding forms, until they at last sunk behind one of the ridges, and
then I pursued my course. In front of me again, was a prairie which
had escaped the flame, and was covered with herbage. But though it was
pleasing to the eye, I soon began to wish for the black waste; for
the tangled grass impeded my steps, and rendered my journey extremely
toilsome. I had not accomplished many miles before the sun began to sink
in the west. I then determined to travel no farther that night, but
take up my quarters in a small clump of trees, which clustered like
an island upon the borders of a brook. I collected a pile of dry wood;
kindled a fire; made a spit of a green twig, on which I impaled my duck,
and stuck it upright in the ground in front of the fire; then stretching
myself upon a bed of dry grass, I watched the roasting of my supper with
a hungry eye. When I had made a meal with the relish of a half-famished
man, I turned upon my bed and fell asleep. After a time I awoke; added
fresh fuel to the fire, and stretched myself upon my pallet, again to
sleep.

It was a bright and beautiful night; the moon was shining amidst myriads
of stars, veiled now and then by a light, fleecy cloud, from which she
seemed to emerge with increased splendour. I lay gazing at her as she
moved along like a queen surrounded by her maids of honour.

“Whoop! whoop! whoo!” sounded a loud voice near me.

I started to my feet: for I thought that I had heard a human cry; perhaps
one of my party, and with a loud hail I answered the sound.

“Whoop! whoo! whoo!” again repeated the voice. A gigantic sycamore reared
its naked and scathed trunk in the moonlight. At the extremity of a
single dry limb, which stretched out from nearly the top of the tree, was
seated an owl of the largest species.

He repeated the cry which had started me. “Whoop! whoo! whoo!”

“Whoop! whoo! whoo!” responded another from a different quarter, and a
dusky bird flitted by, and perched on the long limb beside his companion.
I again stretched myself upon my couch and watched them, as they sat
between me and the moon. There was a confused jabbering carried on
between them: they probably had charge of the grove, and were puzzled,
at the intrusion of a stranger. After debating for some time, they
concluded to take a nearer view of the intruder, and descended to a lower
branch. Here they carried on the debate; apparently wondering who I was,
and what I wanted. They rubbed their huge heads together with an air of
vast perplexity: they rocked and fluttered on their perch. Occasionally
one of them threw his head on one side, and cast a very inquisitive look
down upon me; and then a fresh jabbering went on. After about fifteen
minutes spent in this way, the two dignitaries giving a farewell “whoop!
whoop! whoo!” flapped off and disappeared.

Again I turned and fixed my gaze upon the moon. There was a feeling of
fellowship connected with it. I knew that other eyes were resting upon
her pale orb, and I knew that while she was shining upon my solitary
couch, she was at the same time pouring her mellow light, upon the
abodes of my friends, far away and unconscious of my situation.

Chilled by the night air, I turned away and looked into the fire—forming
palaces, groves, and arcades, amid its glowing embers, until gradually my
eyes closed, and I slept.

When I awoke the sun was shining, and I resumed my solitary journey.
I continued on foot from sunrise till sunset, without seeing a living
thing, unless, perhaps, a distant deer; and halted for the night, in a
forest of thick timber. I found a large, dead sycamore standing upright,
with a complete chamber formed in its trunk by decay. I kindled a fire in
front of it, and filled the empty trunk with dried grass, and pea-vines
for a couch. I was wearied and slept soundly, until near midnight, when I
was awakened by the intense heat. The fire had by some means communicated
to a pile of fuel, which I had collected to sustain it during the night.
This was in a furious blaze, causing the old tree to smoke with the heat.
The hollow trunk was no place for me, unless I chose to be roasted. I
pulled my cap from my head, and wrapped it round my powder-horn—seized my
rifle, and sprang through the fire. The next instant, the flame leaped
upon my bed of dried vines, and the whole interior of the dead tree,
was in a blaze, that lasted for an instant and then expired. As it was
no longer possible to return to it, I seated myself upon a stump, and
remained half shivering, half dozing, until morning.




                              CHAPTER XXI.

     _Wild Turkey.—Squirrel.—Parroquets.—Trail.—Konza Indian.—Night
       Camp.—Deserted House.—Konza Agency.—Reaching Leavenworth._


Before the sun had risen, I was on my way, directing my course by the
purple streak in the east, which announced his approach. This was the
morning of the fourth day since I had parted from my companions. I had
made but one meal, and the cravings of hunger were becoming excessive. I
looked round, when I reached the edge of the prairie, but saw nothing;
I looked through the bottom of forest, but no game was visible. I
stretched out my leg, looked at the leather legging which covered it,
and considered whether it was easy of digestion. I felt it; it _was_
rather tough; so I determined to keep on, and wait till night, before I
proceeded to extremities.

Just then, I caught sight of a turkey, leading a troop to take an airing
in the prairie. I whizzed a bullet after him; his wing dropped and
dragged, and I commenced a hot pursuit. But though I had injured his
wing, I had not damaged his legs, and after following him for nearly
fifteen minutes, I threw myself down completely exhausted. The rest of
the _gang_, taking advantage of the diversion created in their favour,
had disappeared among the trees. I gave up all hopes of again finding
them, and wandered slowly along the edge of the woods. As I was winding
my way through the trees, I heard a loud _click_ above me, and observed
a large red squirrel springing from one limb to another, of a bur-oak.
As he caught sight of me, he darted round the trunk and peered out, with
about an inch of his head, to take an observation. I was hungry, and
this cowardly manœuvre made me angry. I determined, that _have_ that
squirrel I _would_, if I spent the whole day in shooting at him. I rested
my rifle against the trunk of a tree, and after a long aim, fired; the
bullet dashed the head of the little animal to pieces, and whirled him
some twenty feet off in the air.

I had lost my knife on the day previous, but with the assistance of a
nail which I found in my pouch, I skinned my prize, and impaling him upon
the point of a spit made of a dry stick, stuck it in the ground before
the fire to roast. While the process of cooking was going forward, a
flock of screaming parroquets came whirling through the trees; but upon
catching sight of me, they determined to stop and see what I was about.
They accordingly alighted upon a dead tree directly above me, casting
side-looks down upon my roast, and from the joyous chattering that they
kept up, no doubt were congratulating each other, upon having called,
just in time to be invited to breakfast. But I had a meal in store for
them, of a very different description; for after hovering round under the
tree, for some time, I contrived to get three of them in a range, and
fired. My bullet missed, and the flock whirled off, though I could hear
their voices raised in a clamorous outcry, at my want of civility, long
after they had disappeared among the trees.

I despatched my breakfast with a ravenous appetite, and taking with me
the skin of the animal, to serve as a future meal in case of extremity, I
continued my course until it was afternoon. However, I was now becoming
perplexed. I thought to have reached the settlements before this. Still
I saw no signs of human habitation, and I began to yield to the idea,
which, strange as it may seem, invariably fastens itself upon persons,
when wandering, bewildered through these regions. I thought _that the
sun had got turned and was setting in the east_. For some time this idea
was strong; but I remembered the almost parting words of an old hunter,
who accompanied our party. “Look ye,” said he, “you straggle so much from
the party, that some day or other you will not be able to find it again.
Then, all you have to do, is to keep straight away for the east. It will
be sure to bring you right in the end. But remember one thing—never get
bothered. When the sun rises, strike to the east, and don’t _do_, as many
have done when puzzled; don’t think that the sun rises or sets wrong:
for if you do, you will go to the d——l.” I was becoming bewildered, and
I remembered this advice, just at the time when it was most needful.
So I turned my back towards what I had been positive was the east, and
travelled in the direction, which I was equally positive was the west.

I had continued along the prairie for some hours, when suddenly I struck
into a wide trail. There were four paths running along side by side, all
evidently much travelled, and bearing prints of recent hoofs. While I
was examining them narrowly, I caught the trace of a wagon wheel. New
strength seemed to course through my limbs at this discovery, and I
bounded along the path, as swiftly as if I had just started, upon a fresh
and joyous journey. I continued in the trail for several hours. On my
right, was a tall, dense bottom of timber; and here and there, through
the branches, I could perceive the waters of a mighty river. I instantly
supposed this to be the Missouri; that I had struck the trail which led
to Leavenworth, and that by continuing in this direction, I would be able
to reach it before nightfall. I walked swiftly forward for some time;
but still I could see nothing that I recognized. If it was the road to
Leavenworth I had passed it before, and ought to recall the landmarks:
but here all was new. As I was looking around I caught sight of a black
speck moving over the distant path, which I had already passed. It came
nearer and nearer. I could discern that it was a horseman. It might be
one of the officers from the garrison, and I slackened my pace for him to
come up; but as he came nearer I discovered that he was an Indian. I was
then certain that I must be on the banks of the Konzas; that I had struck
too far to the south, and had reached it before its junction with the
Missouri. I had been longing feverishly for the sight of a human being;
yet no sooner did I behold one, than my first movement was to await his
approach, with my finger upon my trigger. When he drew near, he held up
the palm of his hand, in token of friendship, and galloped directly up to
me. He was a fine-looking man of the Konza tribe, apparently not above
thirty—wrapped in a blue blanket, armed with a rifle, and mounted upon a
black pony. He alighted; struck fire, and lit his pipe, for a smoke. From
that moment we were friends. I learned from him, that the river near,
was the Konzas, and that it would be daylight before I could reach the
nearest abode of a white man. As soon as our truce was settled, my Indian
friend mounted, and left me to follow on foot as well as I was able. I
was wearied and hungry, and this want of civility did not increase the
mildness of my disposition. I trudged after him; while he occasionally
thumped his little nag into a trot, casting a look behind, to see whether
I could contrive to keep up with him. This vexed me, and I began to cast
around, for the means of paying the fellow for his ill breeding. He
at last checked his horse—reached out his rifle with the lock broken,
and wished me to mend it. He then handed me a horn, without a grain of
powder in it, and wished me to fill it. I took the gun, and blew into
the muzzle; the air passed freely through the touch-hole. “Ha!” thought
I, “it is not charged; so Mr. Indian I have you on the hip.” I quietly
reached it to him, and he, seeing that I was not disposed to put it in
order, took it and said nothing more about the matter.

We proceeded in silence until we reached the edge of a narrow stream,
about two feet in depth, which ran across the route. Here the Indian
paused, by which means I came up with him, and signified my wish to mount
his horse to cross the water. He demurred at first, but I persisted; I
had a loaded rifle; his was empty: so I gave myself airs, and “spoke
as one having authority.” At last, though with evident reluctance, he
acceded to my request, and in another moment I was behind him on the
horse, and upon the opposite side of the brook. I had been mounted only
for a few moments; but I found the transition far from disagreeable.
I was wearied with walking, and there was something highly pleasing in
travelling upon other legs than my own. I therefore quietly retained my
seat; and though my companion halted the horse, for the purpose of my
dismounting, I was so satisfied with my situation, that I pretended not
to understand his meaning, and listened to his words, and viewed his
gestures with an appearance of the greatest stolidity. At length, he
determined to endeavour to shake me off. For this purpose he wriggled
and twisted in his seat. I, however, clung still more closely to him;
and the only one that appeared annoyed by the action, was the horse, who
expressed his displeasure by kicking up.

The Indian finding this unsuccessful, increased the speed of his nag to a
gallop—but in vain; I was as securely fixed behind, as the Old Man of the
Sea, to the shoulders of Sinbad. At length he gave up, and checking his
horse sprang off. As he did this I slid forward into his seat. I felt
some twinges respecting my ungrateful conduct, but my weariness overcame
them.

My next object was to gain something to eat; for notwithstanding the
squirrel, I felt a vacuum within, that required filling. I observed
that my fellow traveller carried a bundle of dried venison, slung from
his shoulder. I accordingly signified to him that I had eaten nothing
for two days—at the same time pointing to the venison: but the fellow
was obstinate; he shook his head, and afterwards whenever I started the
subject, he looked in a different direction. Finding that fair means were
of no avail, I determined to try what foul could do. As I was mounted, I
resolved that he should think I intended to scamper off with his horse:
so I thumped my rifle against his ribs, and scoured along the trail at
full gallop.

The moment I started, the Indian followed, with a speed that almost
equalled that of the pony; but unfortunately for himself, his wind
was soon exhausted. He then began to think of a compromise, and at
last with much reluctance, loosed a piece of the deer’s flesh, and
held it up towards me, at the same time signifying by his gestures,
that if I would stop, he would give me a portion. This was all that
I desired; and pulling in the horse, I received the venison, and
dismounted—relinquishing the nag to his owner. He, however, thinking
the treaty between us, not yet sufficiently ratified, immediately lit
his pipe, and passed it to me for a second smoke. We then set out, and
at dusk reached a small wood: here the Indian hobbled his horse, and
throwing a few sticks together, he kindled a fire. He then offered me a
small piece of venison, which he had broiled upon the coals; after which
he drew his blanket round him, and stretched himself at full length on
one side of the fire, while I threw myself across my rifle, on the
other. I must have slept for an hour. When I awoke it was intensely
cold, the fire having burnt very low. My companion lay exactly as I left
him when going to sleep; he did not seem to notice that the fire was
expiring, nor did the cold seem to affect him.

I rose up and stood over him; but he did not move. I then stirred him
with my foot, and shouted to him—at the same time motioning to him, to
assist in collecting wood to keep alive the fire. He apparently was aware
of my object, for all I could elicit, was a grunt; nor would he even open
his eyes to look at me. So in no very pleasant humour, I went in search
of fuel, taking my rifle with me.

I had not gone far, before I came upon his little devil of a horse. I
was so much vexed with the master, that I could not help bestowing a
thwack upon the animal, who came smelling up to me, with the air of an
old acquaintance. With a loud snort, and a half attempt at a kick, he
hobbled off, as well as the confined state of his legs would let him.

Hard of hearing, and difficult to rouse, as the Indian had been, when
I attempted it, no sooner was the tramping sound of the horse’s hoofs
heard, as he crashed over the dead brushwood, than he sprang to his feet
and came flying towards me with the swiftness of a deer.

I have but little doubt, that he thought I had served him an Indian
trick, and was scouring off through the bushes with his nag. As it was,
when he found him safe, he was for returning to stretch himself before
the fire. I however arrested him, and motioned to him to assist in
carrying a large limb to our sleeping place; which he did with evident
reluctance; for he seemed to possess in a high degree the Indian aversion
to labour.

About midnight he awakened me, and signified that it was time to be on
the move. He first unhobbled his horse, and led him to the bank of the
river, which was clayey and very steep, for the purpose of watering him.
Here a violent contest took place between the nag and the Indian: the
first being afraid to venture down the slippery descent, and the master
endeavouring by coaxing and kicking to induce him to advance. He had
planted his feet in the very edge of the bank, and although his nose and
head were pulled out to a horizontal line, by the efforts of the Indian,
the rest of his body was as immoveable, as one of the trees around. The
Indian then made signs to me to assist him, for he seemed determined
that the horse should drink, whether thirsty or not. I did not feel in a
very good humour with him, but as he seemed to wish it, I bestowed a few
hearty thwacks upon the hinder parts of the animal, which seemed only to
increase his desire to retrograde, instead of advancing. Finding this of
no avail, I seized a small sapling, and placing it under his belly, made
use of it as a lever, to press him sidewise over the bank. The pressure
against his ribs, drove him within a foot of the edge. I placed the pole
beyond the verge of the bank, and again made use of it as a lever; it
pushed him still nearer. He made a violent effort to resist; but just
then the Indian jerked his little halter violently, and over the horse
went, treading upon the toes of his master, and sousing heels over head
in the river, where he swam up and down, puffing and snorting. Several
times he attempted to climb the bank; but rolled back, and floundered in
the water. The Indian was now alarmed lest he should be drowned. But he
at last succeeded in helping him up the steep, and being satisfied that
his thirst was completely quenched, he once more hobbled him, and then
signified that we should move forward. Before starting, however, he took
from his shoulders his load of venison, and hung it upon a tree. I then
followed him silently, though I could not imagine why he had left his
venison, or why he travelled on foot, when he had a horse to carry him.
We soon came to a river, across which, though full of ice, we waded, and
then started forward on a trail which led through a wood. Occasionally I
took the lead; but the trail grew so indistinct, that I was obliged to
give place to my companion, who always kept on without hesitation.

We had travelled about twelve miles, making many circuits and windings,
and striking from one trail to another, until we emerged from the wood,
and I found myself again near the bank of the Konzas river. Before me
was a large house, with a court-yard in front. I sprang with joy through
the unhung gate, and ran to the door. It was open; I shouted; my voice
echoed through the rooms: but there was no answer. I walked in. The
doors of the inner chambers were swinging from their hinges, and long
grass was growing through the crevices of the floor. While I stood gazing
around, an owl flitted by, and dashed out of an unglazed window. Again I
shouted; but there was no answer: the place was desolate and deserted.
I afterwards learned that this house had been built for the residence
of the chief of the Konza tribe, but that the ground upon which it was
situated, having been discovered to be within a tract, granted to some
other tribe, the chief had deserted it, and it had been allowed to fall
to ruin.

My guide waited patiently until I finished my examination, and then
again we pressed forward. Several times I was deceived by the howling
of wolves, which I mistook for the baying of house-dogs; and when I was
passing through some dark skirt of timber, and expected to come upon
a human habitation, I would be disappointed, by seeing my guide once
more launch out into the open prairie. Several times too, my hopes were
excited by a light, glimmering in the darkness, which upon coming up, I
would discover to proceed from the trunk of a tree, which had caught fire
from the burning of the prairies.

Thus we kept on until near daylight, when we emerged from a thick forest,
and came suddenly upon a small hamlet. The barking of several dogs,
who came flying out to meet us, convinced me that this time I was not
mistaken. A light was shining through the crevices of a log cabin; I
knocked at the door with a violence, that might have awakened one of the
seven sleepers.

“Who dere—and vot de devil you vant?” screamed a little cracked voice
from within.

It sounded like music to me. I stated my troubles. The door was opened;
a head, garnished with a red night-cap, was thrust out, and after a
little parley, I was admitted into the bed-room of the man, his Indian
squaw, and a host of children. As, however, it was the only room in the
house, it was also the kitchen. I had gone so long without food, that
notwithstanding what I had eaten, the gnawings of hunger were excessive,
and I had no sooner mentioned my wants, than a fire was kindled, and in
ten minutes a meal (I don’t exactly know whether to call it breakfast,
dinner, or supper) of hot cakes, venison, honey, and coffee, was placed
before me, and disappeared with the rapidity of lightning. The squaw
having seen me fairly started, returned to her couch. From the owner of
the cabin, I learned that I was now at the Konza Agency, and that he was
the blacksmith of the place.

About sunrise I was awakened from a sound sleep, upon a bear-skin, by a
violent knocking at the door. It was my Indian guide. He threw out broad
hints respecting the service he had rendered me, and the presents he
deserved. This I could not deny; but I had nothing to give. I soon found
out, however, that his wants were moderate, and that a small present of
powder would satisfy him; so I filled his horn, and he left the cabin
apparently well pleased.

In a short time I left the house, and met the Konza Agent, General Clark,
a tall, thin, soldier-like man, arrayed in an Indian hunting shirt, and
an old fox-skin cap.

He received me cordially, and I remained with him all day, during which
time he talked upon metaphysics; discussed politics, and fed me upon
sweet potatoes. In speaking of my guide, I found that he had departed
after receiving a large present from the Agent, to whom he stated that he
had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours. I spoke of the deer’s-flesh he
had left behind.

“The lying rascal!” said the General, “he said he was starving.”

I spoke of the Indian pony.

“What colour was he?” asked the General.

“Black; with short mane, and crop ears.”

“My God! that’s my horse,” exclaimed he, “stolen four days ago. What a
d——d villain that Konza is!”

At night the General furnished me with a mule, and kindly accompanied me
to the garrison, which was forty miles distant, and which we reached on
the following morning a little before daylight.

As I passed one of the out-houses in riding up to the cantonment, I
perceived an Indian leaning against one of the door-posts. “Ugh!”
exclaimed he, starting forward; and the next moment my hand was grasped
in the cordial, but iron gripe of the Iotan chief.

The party had reached the garrison on the evening previous; and the whole
wild band, both Pawnees and Otoes, were now under the protection of the
whites.




                              CHAPTER XXII.

                    _Assembling of Council.—Council._


Messengers had been sent in every direction, to summon the neighbouring
tribes, to meet their ancient enemy, the Pawnees, in council; and the day
arrived upon which these rival nations, who had never before met except
in deadly hostility, were to mingle in peaceful ceremonial.

The different tribes had been for several days collecting round the
garrison, and had pitched their wild camps in the adjacent groves. There
had always existed a bitter hostility, between many of the civilized and
savage tribes. For this reason, especial care had been taken, to keep
them separate, until by the influence of the council, this cessation of
hostilities, should be converted into a permanent peace.

Early in the morning, the loud report of a piece of artillery bellowed
through the woods, echoing in the deep forest upon the opposite side of
the Missouri. This was the signal for the assembling of the council. In a
few moments the warriors of the different tribes, were seen leaving their
camps, and moving for the place appointed, beneath several of the large
trees, in front of the quarters of the officers.

First came the Delawares, dressed for the occasion, glittering with
trinkets; their silver ornaments glistening in the sunshine, and their
gay ribands fluttering in the wind. They were a gaudy, effeminate-looking
race. Yet beneath all their frippery of dress, lurked that indomitable
courage, and that thirst for glory, which not even intemperance, and
their intercourse with the whites could destroy. Behind the band,
followed the proud Delaware warrior Sou-wah-nock. It was he that first
kindled the torch of war, between his own tribe and the Pawnees, and led
the expedition that sacked the Pawnee village. He was without ornament,
except a heavy silver plate, resting upon his calico hunting-shirt. He
was not tall, but muscular, and his eye was as searching as an eagle’s.
There was a proud curl upon his lip; and withal, an iron firmness marked
his whole deportment. He seemed to think that the whole weight of anger
of the Pawnee nation, was about to descend upon himself, but was ready to
meet it. He did not deny that he had incited his nation to the outrage,
upon the Pawnee town. Nay, he gloried in it; and was now ready to meet
them in friendship, or as enemies. He knew that his nation looked up to
him, and determined that no act of his should ever sink him in their
opinion.

After the Delawares, followed the Shawanese, headed by the same portly
personage who had greeted us when we entered as strangers, into the
Indian country. The same enormous pair of black spectacles were seated
astride of his nose, and from his whole appearance, it is probable that
he had not undressed from the time that we had last saw him, some four
months previous. At his heels followed the same little potatoe-headed
Indian, who had also met us on the same occasion. Behind them, came
the gaudy warriors of the tribe, reeking with paint, shining with tin
ornaments, and flaunting with ribands. These seated themselves beside the
Delawares.

Then followed the rest of the migrating tribes; the Peorias, the
Piankashaws, the ragged Pottawattomies, and the lazy Kickapoos, who all
in turn seated themselves, among their civilized brethren.

They had scarcely become stationary, when the Otoes made their
appearance. They moved in Indian-file over the green, headed by their
sagacious old chief the Iotan. They walked swiftly and silently, and
ranged themselves at a little distance from the more civilized, though
less noble band, which had already collected. A few moments more, and the
wild troop of Pawnees were seen approaching. They were muffled in their
shaggy robes, and marched forward with a heavy though smothered tread.
In front of them strode the giant form of the Wild Horse; his savage
features not rendered any the less hideous by a drunken frolic, in which
he had been engaged on the day previous. His long hair hung tangled round
his head and shoulders. He wore no ornaments, and his body as usual was
smeared with red ochre. The whole of his enormous chest was bared, and
exposed to the cold chilling air of a frosty November morning. Behind
him followed the graceful, though stern form of the Long Hair. He walked
to his allotted place, without appearing to notice the congregated band
of civilized Indians. There were several other chiefs in the train, and
after them followed the whole savage herd, from the four Pawnee villages.

These stationed themselves directly opposite the Delawares. Stern looks
passed between them, and burning feelings were at work in their hearts.
There they sat brooding over past wrongs. Enemies from the time that
the Delawares had left the eastern states, they were now assembled to
crush their bitter feelings, to put an end to that dark hatred which
had hitherto existed between them, and to view each other, in a strange
and novel light—that of friends. A total revulsion was to take place in
their feelings. Old habits, old associations, were to be blotted out;
deep-rooted prejudices were to be removed, and hands which before had
clenched each other, only in the death-grapple, were now to be clasped in
the warm pressure of friendship.

Several days before the commencement of the meeting, a trifling incident
was near putting an end to the incipient peace.

The little tribe of Delawares, who muster but a hundred and fifty
warriors at most, had always considered themselves the source from whence
sprang the numerous and powerful tribes scattered throughout the whole
of North America. It is probable that this opinion is founded upon some
tradition still current among them, respecting the power and antiquity
of their forefathers. These, were the Lenni Lenape, who, coming up from
the south, seated themselves upon the eastern shores, and were afterwards
known to the whites by the name of Delawares. They are among the oldest
of the tribes of which tradition speaks. The remnant of this race, in
pursuance of their fatherly dogma, had now appropriated to themselves
the title of great grandfathers to the whole Indian race. Among the host
of their descendants were numbered those most unfilial of all great
grandchildren, the rebellious Pawnees. Notwithstanding the injunctions
of obedience to parents, which have been laid down in all quarters of
the globe, this nation had been unwilling to submit to the fatherly
corrections, bestowed upon their tribe by their great ancestors. Nor
is it to be wondered at; for they consisted, in quietly killing and
scalping, all who fell in their way, and helping them forward in their
journey towards the bright hunting grounds—a theme upon which an Indian
is for ever harping, during the whole period of his probation here. In
addition to the bitter feelings created by these hostilities, the Pawnees
looked upon this little handful of warriors with the most sovereign
contempt. Like many other undutiful children, they were ashamed of
their great grandparents, and denied that they had ever sprung from the
“Delaware dogs,” or that a drop of Delaware blood was mingled with that
which coursed through their veins. They concluded their expression of ill
will, by refusing to commence the council, if they were to be looked upon
as the descendants of that race. The Delawares, on the other hand, were
equally obstinate. They insisted on adopting the refractory Pawnees as
their great grandchildren, and that the latter should acknowledge them as
their great grandparents.

For a short time the commissioner was perplexed. But at length, privately
assembling the chiefs of the Pawnees, he endeavoured to overcome their
prejudices by means of fair words, and finally succeeded in satisfying
their scrupulous pride. He begged that for the sake of peace, the
Delawares should be humoured, although he acknowledged to the Pawnees,
that he knew there was no ground for their claim of relationship. At the
same time, he added, it was so absurd in itself that no person would for
a moment credit, that so brave and powerful a people as the Pawnees,
should have sprung from so paltry a stock as the Delawares. The chiefs
smiled grimly as they received the pleasing unction of flattery, and
at length consented, though with wry faces, to submit to the degrading
appellation until the council should be ended, and the treaty ratified.
They then threw out sage hints, which if translated literally, would
amount nearly to the same thing, as sending the Delawares to the devil.

These preliminaries had been settled before the day of council. The great
grandchildren, reversing the usual order of things, no longer disowned
their great grandfathers; though farther than the mere title, there was
no display of kindly feeling. The two bands sat opposite each other,
with the same grim expression of countenances, that might have been
expected from so many wild cats. Each seemed fearful to make a single
friendly step in advance, lest he should compromise the dignity of his
tribe. After a short time the commissioner rose up, and stated the object
of the meeting:—that war had long enough, been raging among them; and
that the different tribes had now assembled for the purpose of uniting
themselves in the bonds of friendship. He then entered explicitly, into
the conditions of the intended peace.

When he had ended, different warriors of each tribe addressed the
council. They all professed the greatest friendship for their enemies,
and poured out very penitential speeches, bewailing their past
transgressions, and winding up, by throwing the whole blame, upon the
shoulders of some neighbouring tribe.

For a short time the potentates of several little nations, which had
barely inhabitants enough to hang a name upon, cased their own importance
by speaking. The Delaware warrior Sou-wah-nock then rose. He spoke of the
destruction of the Grand Pawnee village. He did not deny his agency in
the deed. “The Pawnees,” said he, “met my young men upon the hunt, and
slew them. I have had my revenge. Let them look at their town. I found
it filled with lodges: I left it a heap of ashes.” The whole of his
speech was of the same bold, unflinching character, and was closed in
true Indian style. “I am satisfied,” said he, “I am not afraid to avow
the deeds that I have done, for I am Sou-wah-nock, a Delaware warrior.”
When he had finished, he presented a string of wampum to the Wild Horse,
as being the most distinguished warrior of the Pawnee nation. When the
slight bustle of giving, and receiving the present, had been finished,
the chief of the Republican village rose to answer his warrior enemy.

His speech abounded with those wild bursts of eloquence, which peculiarly
mark the savages of North America, and concluded in a manner, which
spoke highly of his opinion of what a warrior should be. “I have promised
to the Delawares,” said he, “the friendship of my tribe. I respect my
promise, and I cannot lie, for I am a Pawnee chief.”

When the Delawares had spoken, our little fat friend from the Shawnee
village rose. After frequent expectorations, he at length succeeded in
clearing a passage for the escape of his voice. He contrived with great
difficulty to wheeze through a speech of about ten minutes in length.
There appeared to be but two ideas in the whole of the address; and when
he had thoroughly belaboured one, he most assiduously returned to the
other. After repeating them again and again, with the addition of a new
dress for each time, he seated himself, perfectly convinced that he had
thrown a great deal of light upon the subject.

There was a strange contrast between the deportment of the civilized,
and savage Indians. The first, from long intercourse with the whites,
had acquired many of their habits. Their iron gravity had yielded to a
more mercurial temperament. Even in the midst of the council they gave
free vent to their merriment, and uttered their gibes and jests. They
were constantly on the move, coming and going to and from the place of
assembly, and paying but little heed to the deliberations.

The Pawnees sat unmoved, listening in silence and with profound
attention, to the addresses of those who spoke. They rarely uttered a
word, and the only smile which curled their lips, was one of scorn at the
frivolous deportment of their enemies.

From early in the morning, till near sunset, the council continued.
They then adjourned until the following day; in order that a few little
potentates, who considered themselves the luminaries of their respective
villages, might receive an opportunity to display their eloquence.




                             CHAPTER XXIII.

                   _Pawnee Dance.—Delaware Visiters._


In the evening it was determined, to bring the Delawares and the Pawnees
together as friends, for as yet they had held no intercourse. A large
fire was accordingly built before the out-houses in which the Pawnees
had taken up their quarters, and the wild troop sallied forth, prepared
to commence one of their national dances, round the flame. A group of
eight or ten savage looking fellows, seated themselves a little distance
off, furnished with a drum and rattle. They commenced a song, accompanied
by their rude instruments. For a time there was no movement among the
Pawnees, who stood huddled in a large, condensed crowd. Suddenly one of
them, a tall muscular savage, sprang into the middle of the circle, and
gazed around with a hurried air, then with a loud yell he commenced his
dance. He jumped slowly round the fire, with a kind of zig-zag step: at
every leap uttering a deep guttural “Ugh!” occasionally accompanied with
a rattling sound, from the very bottom of his lungs. His comrades looked
on silently, but with intense interest. They were a savage group; face
and body begrimed with paint; their fierce features reflecting the flame,
their teeth bared, and every brow knotted into a frown. Head rose behind
head, and gleaming eyes were seen peering through the living mass, until
those farthest off were hid by the darkness.

When the first warrior had made two or three circles about the fire, a
second left the crowd and sprang forward in the dance; a third followed,
and a fourth, until about twenty were flitting swiftly round, and joining
in the song. Occasionally they stopped short in their course, and
uttered a loud shrill yell, which was taken up by the whole surrounding
horde, until the very trees echoed to the sound. At one moment they moved
swiftly forward, and at another their steps were slow and wearied. As
we watched their fierce, earnest faces, the forms of some wrapped in
shaggy robes, the painted bodies of others, writhing in the dance, and
then turned to the silent, and equally savage group of lookers on, it
required no great stretch of the imagination, to fancy them a host of
evil spirits, busied in fiendish revel.

While they were thus engaged, the crowd separated and revealed a Delaware
watching their movements. Behind him were about twenty more of the same
tribe. No sooner had the Pawnees caught sight of them, than they retired.
Old prejudices could not be rooted out at once, and though the dancers
remained at their employment, the rest of the tribe drew off in a sullen
and haughty group, and stood watching the countenances of their _quondam_
enemies.

This continued during the whole evening. As it grew late, group after
group of the Pawnees left the fire, and retired into their dwelling.
The Delawares soon followed their example, and although their visit had
continued for several hours, I fear it did but little towards removing
that ancient venom, which, in spite of their apparent friendship, was
rankling in their hearts.




                              CHAPTER XXIV.

                  _Konza Council.—White Plume.—Tappage
                 Chief.—Treaty.—Interpreter.—Departure._


On the following morning, the loud report of a piece of artillery
announced the hour of council. Once more the different tribes left their
respective encampments, and assembled at the place of meeting. Scarcely,
however, had they collected, before a long train of warriors were seen
stringing over the distant prairie—making for the cantonment. They
approached swiftly until they reached the quarters of the officers. They
were clothed in white blankets; each man carried a rifle. They were a
band from the Konza nation, come to attend the council, and settle the
terms of peace. In front of the troop was the White Plume, enveloped
in a large drab-coloured over coat. This piece of dress deprived him
altogether of that dignity of appearance which had marked him upon our
first meeting. He now bore a strong resemblance in form and gracefulness,
to a walking hogs-head. However, he seemed perfectly satisfied with his
attire: and in truth, I believe there was scarcely a Pawnee who did not
envy him the possession of this cumbersome article of apparel.

The appearance of this chief, and of a delegation from his tribe, had
been anxiously expected. They were more venomous in their hate against
the Pawnees, than any other of the neighbouring Indians, and their
hostility had been marked by deeds of a more bloody character. The
Pawnees sat in silence, but with looks of smothered ferocity, as they
saw them approach. However, they evinced no hostile feelings, other than
those conveyed by their glances.

After a short conference with their agent, the Konzas withdrew from the
green, and encamped in the prairie, at a few hundred yards’ distance. The
council then proceeded. The different chiefs and warriors of the small
tribes of the vicinity, addressed the Pawnees—all agreeing to bury their
hostility, and regard them as friends. These offers were most thankfully
received by the Pawnees, though one of them afterwards remarked to the
interpreter, “that they had now made peace with several nations with whom
they had never been at war, and of whom they had never heard, until they
rose to address them in council.” This was little to be wondered at; as
many of them were most pitifully represented; and two or three little,
pursy, short-winded fellows, dressed in dirty calico, and bedraggled
ribands, composed the whole of their delegation, and probably the whole
of their tribe.

The deliberations lasted during the whole day: for as these Indians had
no particular injuries to dwell upon, they confined themselves to things
in general; and as this was a subject that would bear to be expatiated
upon, every man continued his address until he had exhausted his wind.
The Pawnees listened with exemplary patience; though I doubt if there was
one who regretted when the last speaker had finished.

The morning following, the Pawnees and Konzas had a meeting to settle
their difficulties. A large chamber in the garrison had been selected
for the purpose. About ten o’clock in the forenoon they assembled. The
two bands seated themselves upon long wooden benches, on opposites sides
of the room. There was a strong contrast between them. The Konzas had
a proud, noble air, and their white blankets as they hung in loose and
graceful folds around them, had the effect of classic drapery.

The Pawnees had no pride of dress. They were wrapped in shaggy robes, and
sat in silence—wild and uncouth in their appearance, with scowling brows,
and close pressed mouths.

At length the speaking commenced. First rose the White Plume. He had
boasted to his tribe, that he would relate such things, in his speech, as
should cause the Pawnees to wince. With true Indian cunning, at first, in
order that he might conciliate the favourable opinion of those present,
he spoke in praise of the whites—expressing his high opinion of them.
After this, he gradually edged off, into a philippic against the Pawnee
nation, representing them as a mean and miserly race—perfidious, and
revengeful. There was a hushed silence among his own people as he spoke,
and every eye was fastened upon the grim group opposite. The White Plume
went on; and still the deepest silence reigned through the room: that of
the Konzas arose from apprehension: the silence of the Pawnees was the
hushed brooding of fury.

The chief of the Tappage village was sitting directly opposite the
speaker; his eye was dark as midnight: his teeth were bared, and both
hands were tightly grasped round his own throat; but he remained silent
until the speech had finished. When the White Plume had taken his seat,
half a dozen Pawnees sprang to their feet; but the Tappage chief waved
them down: three times did he essay to speak, and as often, did he fail.
He rubbed his hand across his throat, to keep down his anger; then
stepping out, and fixing his eye on that of the Konza chief—in the calm,
quiet voice of smothered rage, he commenced his answer: he proceeded; he
grew more and more excited—indulging a vein of biting irony. The White
Plume quailed, and his eye drooped, beneath the searching, scornful
glance of his wild enemy. Still the Pawnee went on: he represented the
injury which first kindled the war between the two nations. “My young
men,” said he, “visited the Konzas as friends: the Konzas treated them
as enemies. They were strangers in the Konza tribe, and the Konzas fell
upon them, and slew them—and concealed their death.” He then entered into
the particulars of the quarrel, which unfortunately for the Konzas, were
strongly against them. The chief of the latter tribe, received the answer
with great philosophy; nor did he attempt to utter any thing in reply.
Perhaps, too, he did not wish to invite a second attack, from so rough a
quarter. When the Pawnee had finished, the commissioner interposed, and
after a short time, harmony was restored, and several of the inferior
chiefs made their harangues. They were of a more calm and conciliating
nature, and gradually tended to soothe the inflamed feelings of their
foes. The council lasted until sunset, when the terms of the treaty were
finally adjusted.

On this occasion I was made sensible of the justice of the complaint
generally made, by those who have had public negotiations with the savage
tribes, of the insufficiency of the interpreters through whom they are
obliged to receive the sentiments and language of the Indians. They are
with few exceptions, ignorant and illiterate. Those we employed, spoke
a wretched French patois, and a still more wretched English. On such,
even the high imaginative vein, the poetical thought, which run through
Indian eloquence, is entirely lost. There was not a savage who addressed
us, who did not at times, clothe his ideas in beautiful attire, and make
use of wild and striking similes, drawn from the stores of his only
instructress, nature. This we ascertained from some persons present of
cultivated minds, and who were well versed in the Indian tongues. As to
the interpreters, they reduced every thing to a bald, disjointed jargon.

On the day following the council, the articles of peace were signed, and
most of the tribes departed for their respective homes. A few of the
Pawnees and Otoes remained to accompany the Commissioner to the village
of the Osages, for the purpose of negotiating a peace with that tribe;
with whom they had long been at deadly enmity.

Here then I will conclude this series of Indian Sketches; for the
council being ended and my curiosity satisfied, I determined to return
homeward on the following day. A feeling of sadness came over me as I
prepared to leave those, with whom I had for months associated. However
different in dispositions and feelings, we had until then, been united
by a link of sympathy. We had led the same life; viewed the same scenes,
and undergone the same privations. For months together one tent had
sheltered us, and we had eaten from the same board. A rough, untramelled
friendship had sprung up between us, increasing with the distance between
ourselves and our homes, and strengthening as we retired farther from the
abode of civilized man.

But now we had returned from our wanderings, and were once more in the
circle of our fellows. Still old recollections bound us together by a
golden tie, that was painful to sever; and although my home with all its
attractions rose in my fancy, yet I felt sad, when one of the orderlies
informed me that all was ready.

I shook hands with my friends and comrades of the wilderness, and
mounting my mule, with a heavy heart, turned my back upon Leavenworth.


THE END.

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Transcriber’s Note
- Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.
  Variations in hyphenation have been standardized but all other
  spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.
- Footnotes placed at end of their respective paragraph.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74957 ***