indian child life [illustration] by e. w. deming [illustration] indian child life with numerous full-page colour-plates after paintings in water-colour together with illustrations in black-and-white by edwin willard deming and with new stories by therese o. deming [illustration] new york copyright, 1899, by frederick a. stokes company publishers _printed in america_ [transcriber's note: extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] a runaway. once, after an arickara indian mother had finished all her packing, as they were going to move camp, she fixed a travois on her big dog and placed her baby in the basket. then all was ready and they were about to start, when a great, ugly black dog came along, and the two dogs began to fight. the squaw whipped them apart, and after she had quieted her poor little baby boy, who had been very much frightened, she put him back into his little carriage, and soon the indians started. [illustration: the two dogs began to fight.] the squaw walked beside the dog to guide him and, also, to amuse her baby. indian babies play with little dolls made of buckskin, with long buckskin fringe for hair. if a feather is placed in the dolly's hair the babies think it is beautifully dressed. the baby of our story was having a lovely time with his dolly and so his mother thought she would just drop back and have a little chat with another indian mother while the baby was good. she had hardly turned around, when that naughty dog saw a great big jack rabbit, just ahead, and thought it would make a delicious dinner. off he started. he jumped right through the rough sage brush, and the poor baby rolled out. his mother was afraid he would be badly hurt, but he was only frightened. when the squaw caught the naughty dog again, she tied a rope around his neck and kept tight hold of it, so he couldn't play another trick on her. when the indians stopped and camped, the little boy picked up a stick and whipped that dog as hard as he could for treating him so badly during the day's traveling. [illustration: the little boy picked up a stick.] [illustration] a greedy bear. once there was a little pueblo indian boy and his father was one of the best hunters in the village. one morning he went out into the mountains to shoot deer, the meat of which was to be dried for the winter supply. he was walking very carefully, as he would have frightened the game away if he had made a noise. suddenly he heard a sound as if a mama bear were scolding a cub for being selfish. he looked, and there, indeed, was an old she-bear turning over stones and trying to find some grubs for her babies. [illustration: trying to find some grubs for her babies.] the indian shot the mama bear and one of the cubs scampered off as fast as he could go, but the hunter caught the other little bear and tied a horse-hair rope tight around the little fellow's neck, so he could drag him home to his little tan-tsi-day. the two became very good friends, and when tan-tsi-day's mother brought a bowl of porridge to her baby, she always put in enough for the baby bear too. one day the baby bear was naughty, and when tan-tsi-day's mother had gone into the house, he took the bowl and ate all the porridge himself, and didn't give his little playfellow any. the baby was very much surprised, and called his indian mother. do you know how she punished the selfish little bear? when the next meal-time came, she just brought enough of the good porridge for her tan-tsi-day, and made that naughty bear eat with the puppies. i think baby bear won't be such a greedy little fellow when allowed to eat with his little companion again. [illustration: drag him home to his tan-tsi-day.] [illustration] in mischief. the naughty bear had been kept away from his playfellow for some time, and as the two loved one another so much, it made them both feel very sad. one day the indian mother went out to visit, and baby bear saw her go. "now," thought he, "i will see my little friend, and, if i am a very good little bear, perhaps his mother will let us play together again." baby bear crept along very carefully, and when he thought the mother was not looking he hid behind a bake oven and almost had his first accident, for tan-tsi-day's mother had left one of her best jars standing there with herbs to dry. [illustration: he hid behind a bake oven.] when the mother had got out of sight the baby bear marched into the adobe home of his friend, and then the two companions were glad. but baby bear and tan-tsi-day saw the jars with all the good things in them, and then they forgot to try to be good. they ate the dried berries and sweet roots; tipped the jars and baskets to see if any goodies were in them; and when they had eaten all they wanted, sat just as close to each other as possible and went fast asleep. after a while the mother came home, and when she saw those two fast asleep, the jars broken, and all her good things spilled over the floor, she became very angry and started to whip them. baby bear wakened up and ran as fast as his clumsy little legs would let him; but he didn't reach the top of his pole before the indian mother had given him a good switching. [illustration: reach the top of his pole.] [illustration] canoe boys. little chippeway indian boys have lots of good times. in the spring they help their fathers and big brothers to make maple sugar. they watch the birch-bark troughs and, when one is full of sap, carry and empty it into a big kettle over a fire to boil down. often the bears find the sap during the night, and, as they like sweets very much, drink it all; and the little boys are disappointed in the morning, when they go around with their birch-bark buckets, to find it all gone. sometimes the bears try to steal the boiling syrup, and then they get their paws badly burned for trying to be thieves. [illustration: the bears find the sap.] in summer, the boys love to swim and play in the little lakes that are so numerous in the region of their home. one afternoon a number of boys got into a canoe and paddled, and as many other boys waded out into one of the shallow lakes to have some fun. the boys in the water were to try and take the canoe away from the boys that were inside. oh, how hard the two sides worked, one to keep the boat right side up, and the other side to capture it; for if they tipped the canoe and spilled all the boys out they gained the victory, and would get in and see if they could hold it. they splashed the water in all directions, and when one boy fell or was pulled out of the boat, didn't he get a good ducking! the little dog helped all he could by barking very loud and trying to frighten the boys in the water. they played until it was so dark they had to stop and go home. their houses, canoes, baskets, buckets and various other things, are made out of the bark of the birch tree. whenever any of the chippeway indians want to go visiting, they always go in canoes when possible, for they are canoe indians and almost live in their boats. they seldom go visiting on horseback as most other tribes do. [illustration: they always go in canoes.] [illustration] winter fun. the little assiniboin indian boys had a great deal of snow in winter, and, as they have no sleds as white boys have, they took buffalo ribs and slid down hill on them. a little boy was walking over the snow one day, on his snow-shoes, when he thought what fun it would be, if the boys would all go over on the hill and slide. he walked through the village, playing he was the town crier, and called all the little boys out on the hill to slide. they all took their buffalo ribs and went out, and the little girls--some who had babies on their backs, and some who were only playing--and even the mothers and grandmothers went along to see how much fun the boys were going to have. [illustration: a little boy was walking over the snow one day, on his snow-shoes.] some of the boys fastened the buffalo ribs on their feet, while others made little sleds by fastening the ribs together and making cross pieces of wood. then they started at the top of the hill and came down, one after the other, shouting and laughing while other boys threw snow at them. several times they went down the hill without any accident, and they were beginning to think nothing could throw them. they all ran up the hill for another long slide, the first one up was to be the first to start. one started right after the other, and as the first one was nearly at the bottom of the hill he lost his balance and over he went. the other boys were close behind him, and as each one came he went over, and the boys and girls, who were watching thought that was more fun for them than the sliding had been. even the three companions who had been throwing sticks over the snow to see which could make them slide farthest, stopped their game to see how the boys were piled on top of one another. [illustration: throwing sticks over the snow to see which could make them slide farthest.] [illustration] mr. and mrs. antelope and the babies. one bright, sunny day, mr. and mrs. antelope took little baby antelope out for a run. they knew where to find a lovely feeding-ground, so that their baby could have a good dinner of nice young grass. mr. and mrs. antelope were walking along very quietly; but the baby was so pleased to get out, that she gamboled far away, and frisked about. pretty soon she came running back very much frightened and said, "oh mamma and papa antelope, do come with me! i have seen some of the queerest little animals over near that tree, and i don't know what they are." [illustration: mr. and mrs. antelope took little baby antelope out for a run.] mr. and mrs. antelope became very much worried, because they thought perhaps their little one had seen one of those animals that walk on two legs and carry a long iron stick that can hit and kill them from afar. as mr. and mrs. antelope are very curious people, they wanted to see what their baby meant. can you guess what they saw? leaning against the tree were two queer little animals. mr. and mrs. antelope thought hard and looked very keenly; but they had never seen such animals before. weren't mr. and mrs. antelope funny? they didn't know that if they stayed much longer, a sioux indian mother would come out from the bushes where she was picking berries and frighten them away from her little baby and then she would have to scold her daughter tom-be for falling asleep and not taking better care of her baby brother. [illustration] [illustration] the cliff-dwellers and their pets. a long time ago, before the white people came to live here, the cochiti indians used to live in houses made by hollowing deep holes into the north side of the deep cañons. they built their houses to face the south, because it was warmer in winter when the fierce north wind came over the mountains to see what damage he could do. instead of finding houses to go into, he could only blow against the mountains. the little boys used to climb down the sides of the cliffs from their homes, and play in the warm sunshine with their tame foxes and make them jump for dried meat. [illustration] sometimes they took their bows and arrows and went out to hunt wild turkeys in the arroyos, or deep gullies around their homes. at night the foxes found a warm place in some house that had been deserted, perhaps because the opening had grown too large and the sand had drifted in, or perhaps because it was not sheltered enough from the snow in winter. the boys would climb to their own houses. in those days, the men and boys had to watch from high places to warn the people of the approach of any of their enemies, because the navajo and apache indians troubled the pueblo indians a great deal in olden times. as long as the watchers could see no enemy, the women used to carry water from the river--which was quite far away--gather wood and till little patches of ground, but as soon as the enemy came down upon them, they looked for water in wells dug into the rock to hold the rain when it fell. this water was always saved for cases of this kind. [illustration: sometimes they went out to hunt wild turkeys.] [illustration] the burro race. tom-o-ping was a little pueblo indian boy and one day his father said to him, "tom-o-ping take my big black burro over to the cañon to feed." tom-o-ping didn't say, "wait a minute" to his father, but jumped right on his burro. as he was going through the pueblo, he met his three companions, a-go-ya, to-a and bo-ping. tom-o-ping did not like to go alone, so he asked two of his little friends to jump on behind him while the third ran along as best he could, and they would all get their own burros and have a race. the boys did not have to be asked twice, so they jumped on behind tom-o-ping and then, as they were anxious to get to racing, they all tried to hurry the poor old burro along by kicking him in the ribs while bo-ping's dog barked at his heels. mr. burro was tired and wouldn't endure that long: so in a moment he was standing on his fore-legs and the three boys were turning somersaults over his head, while the dog was kicked high in the air. the boys jumped upon his back again and this time were more patient, so they finally reached the cañon where the donkeys were feeding in safety. [illustration: while bo-ping's dog barked at his heels.] the three waited for their friend to come and then each boy caught his own little animal, and as to-a was the eldest boy he gave the signal to start. one! two!! three!!! and off they went over fields and prairie, down the old trail and through the sage brush, shouting and laughing and urging their little steeds along. first bo-ping was a little ahead, and then he was glad, for he had been telling how well his little donkey could go. then the others whipped their small animals a little harder for none wanted to be beaten. how they did go! you never saw four little donkeys go faster. at last the race came to an end, and the little children, who had gathered to see the finish, clapped their hands and laughed as to-a, who was a favorite with them all, came in just a little ahead of his companions. [illustration: the boys were turning somersaults over his head.] [illustration] learning to shoot. indian fathers are just as proud of their little sons as white fathers are of theirs. one day, a crow indian chief came in from the mountains, where he had been hunting and said to his little son: "now, my little warrior, you are getting to be a big boy, you must grow up to be a big chief of your tribe. you must learn to shoot and be brave so that when you grow up, you will earn a name, and your people will love you." the father gave his little son a tiny bow and some arrows, and taking him by the hand, called his little dog and went out to see what they could find to shoot at. just outside of the tepees, were some bushes where the magpies had gathered and were chattering together, enjoying the beautiful sunshine. magpies are very inquisitive birds, and when they saw the little hunter, come along with his dog and his father, one of the little birds jumped down from the bush and hopped over to see what they were going to do. the father thought this was a good chance for his boy, so he got down on the ground to instruct him. the little fellow shot, and do you know he killed one of those birds! [illustration: gave his little son a tiny bow.] then the father was just as proud as his little boy. the little fellow picked up the bird, and then off he started for home. his mother was sitting in the tepee making her little son a new pair of moccasins, and when he came in and threw the bird over for her to see, she was as much pleased as her boy, for soon he would be able to shoot rabbits and other game for her to cook for his dinner. [illustration: able to shoot rabbits.] [illustration] little bird, the navajo shepherd boy. little bird was a little navajo boy, whose papa had given him a dear little pony, because he took such good care of the sheep. when little bird went out with his papa's flock of sheep, he always took some goats along to help keep the flock together and drive off wolves or bears. little bird, on his pony's back, would watch, and the goats would climb on the rocks where they could see a long distance. one day, while they were watching, little bird fell asleep, on his pony's back. he didn't think there were any wolves or bears about; but soon he was dreaming that he heard the sheep making a great noise, and when he awoke, he saw that they were very much frightened and that the goats were marching toward the cañon. [illustration] [illustration] what do you think he saw? a great, black bear holding a dear little lamb in his arms. [illustration] little beaver and the tame crows. one day as little beaver was playing on the prairie before his mother's tepee, he saw his father coming across an arroyo from a hunting trip he had taken. little beaver looked very intently, for on top of one of the pack horses, he saw two black things flapping their wings. as soon as his father had got home and the things were unpacked, he said, "come, my little warrior, i want to tell you a story." as soon as his little boy was on his knees he said: "while i was riding through the woods, i heard something say, 'caw, caw.' at first, i didn't see where it was and then i wished i had my little bright-eyed boy, for he could see. by and by it said 'caw, caw,' again and then, looking up, i saw an old mother crow standing on a limb, with a little crow on each side of her. i shot the mother and then climbed the tree and captured these two little crows and brought them home to my boy." little beaver was very much pleased, and he used to play a great deal with these two new pets. [illustration] not long after, when the crows had grown quite big and mischievous, little beaver sat outside of the tepee on the ground, to eat some dinner. the crows saw him and came running over to him. while little beaver tried to frighten one away the other would try to steal his meat and they kept it up quite a while until the little boy whipped them away. then the crows felt very mournful to think they had been beaten, and walked away with their heads drooping, as if they knew enough to be ashamed of what they had tried to do. [illustration] [illustration] bright-eyes and his puma kittens. indian boys have very queer pets; they capture bear cubs, puma or mountain lion kittens, and various other young animals of the forest and tame them. the boys like to play with these strange pets, as much as little white boys love to play with puppies or kittens. some indian boys, just like the white boys, enjoy teasing their pets, which is very wrong as it makes the animals very angry, and often the boys are punished beyond their expectation for their naughtiness. bright-eyes was a little pawnee boy, who had two pretty little puma kittens, of which he was very proud, and when he did not tease or make them angry they would let him fondle and caress them just as you would a kitten. [illustration: some indian boys enjoy teasing their pets.] one day bright-eyes was sitting on a blanket under a tree playing with his kittens, when two of his friends came along. he asked them to stop and they did, because bright-eyes seemed to be having such a good time with his pets. the other boys did not play as gently as bright-eyes had done, and began teasing the kittens. they became very angry and wild. they scratched at the boys and tried to bite them, and if bright-eyes had been alone he would have fared very badly because he could not have beaten his wild pets off, but the other boys were older and they succeeded in quieting them enough to lead them away and tie them up. the kittens never trusted bright-eyes again as they did before, and the little fellow felt very sad. his father did not trust him with his pets either, and after that always kept the kittens tied even though bright-eyes promised not to make them angry any more. [illustration] [illustration] hodgska makes a visit. i will tell you of a little red boy going visiting, and perhaps you can fancy why he liked it so much. one day a crow indian mother called her little boy, hodgska, and told him to get dressed and she would take him to see his grandfather. hodgska was delighted. he came running in, and his mother put a pretty red breech-clout on him, braided his hair neatly, and then painted the part in his hair red, and hodgska was ready to start. [illustration: had to pull up his feet to keep his moccasins dry.] the horses were all ready, too. the mother's saddle was all decorated with bright colored flannel and pretty bead work, and hodgska had a bright blanket thrown over his horse's back. the mother rode in front because she had to lead the way. they followed an old trail for awhile, and hodgska was disappointed because he didn't think that was fun. then off in the distance he saw a river, and oh how he wished they would have to cross it! hodgska was delighted when they really started to cross. in splashed the horses, and the water kept getting deeper and deeper until it came so high that the little boy had to pull up his feet to keep his moccasins dry. after the river had been forded they had to climb over a mountain, and hodgska was glad he had brought his bow and arrows because he might be able to shoot something to take to his grandfather. they rode very quietly, and little hodgska tried to ride especially quiet because he knew if he made much noise he would frighten the game. soon he heard a little noise in the brush and looking over he saw two pretty deer, but they saw him, too, and ran off just as fast as they could. hodgska heard the little birds chattering and calling to one another and he saw a bear, but he found nothing he could shoot; so he had to meet his grandfather without being able to show what a hunter he had become. [illustration: he saw two pretty deer.] [illustration] playing at moving house. once there were two little piegan indian girls and they had been playing in a little play tepee for a long time. they had their baby brothers with them, and the babies had been playing out in the warm sunshine with their dogs, while the little girls played with their indian dollies. the little brothers were good for a long time, and then they became tired of playing in one place, just as little white children get tired, so the sisters thought they would play at moving house. they fastened two long poles to the sides of the dog and made a travois, then they put a basket between the poles and laid their dollies in this play carriage. then the little girls started to take down their tepee. [illustration: ran off as hard as he could run.] all of a sudden the most awful accident happened! the puppy caught one of the dollies in his mouth and ran off as hard as he could run. the poor little mamma was almost frantic. she ran after the naughty puppy and caught him just as he was about to chew that poor dolly up! after the poor dolly had been petted and loved, it was put back into the travois, and after all the packing had been finished the little girls took their baby brothers on their backs and started to move. just as they were passing their homes their mothers came to the door and called them in to their dinner. they didn't say "in a minute," as little white children very often do, but went right away. [illustration: took their baby brothers on their backs.] [illustration] the war dance. i fancy that little white children don't know that their red brothers like to dress up in grown-up people's things just as much as they do. one day several little sioux indian boys decided to have a war dance. they braided each other's hair, and one little boy was so vain that, while his companion was braiding his hair, he kept admiring himself in a little piece of looking-glass that he held in his hand. after all had their hair finished, they put on the dance costumes just as they had seen their fathers do. each wore the roach on his head, beads around his neck, and the belt; then each took his little bow and they started to have the dance. when the girls heard their little brothers playing outside, they went to the doors of their lodges to watch them. then the boys had to do their best, of course, to show the girls what brave warriors they were going to be. [illustration: kept admiring himself in a little piece of looking-glass.] an old grandfather was sitting out-of-doors sunning himself; so the boys brought a tom-tom, and asked him to make music for them. then they danced the war dance in earnest--a true imitation of their fathers. they danced for several hours, until they were so tired they could dance no longer; then they retired to a tepee, which they made believe was their council house, and in council they decided that the little girls would surely have much more respect for them in the future. [illustration: the little girls would have more respect for them.] [illustration] taking care of the ponies. out in the real wild west, where the ponca indians live when they are at home, there are bears, mountain lions, wolves, foxes, and many other wild animals, always roaming about in quest of food. every evening, when it begins to get dark, the little boys have to go out and gather together all the horses, drive them to the village, and picket them for the night where the men can watch and keep them safe, not only from wild animals, but from indians belonging to hostile tribes, out on horse-stealing expeditions. [illustration: the wolf.] after the horses are safely picketed around camp, the small boys can play and have a good time; but they have to go to bed early because they have to be up very early in the morning. when the boys are all through with their breakfasts they drive the horses first to water for a drink, and then over to the cañons where some of them are hobbled and allowed to feed all day. when the boys hobble their horses they tie their front legs together down near the hoofs, so that the horses can only take short steps, and cannot run or wander off very far. while the little boys are out herding they keep their bright little eyes wide open to see everything. sometimes they shoot at the little prairie dogs with their bows and arrows; but the prairie dogs have very bright eyes, too, and down they go into their little holes before the arrows can hurt them. the wise little owls live with the prairie dogs and they come out and sit near the holes watching for mice. the little boys shoot birds, rabbits, and various other small animals while they are out tending the horses. sometimes when indian mothers are very busy or want to visit, they hobble their little ones by tying their feet together, so that they can take short steps only. then the babies can play out-of-doors, and the mothers are sure they cannot get very far away from home. [illustration: the wise little owls.] [illustration] the babies and the woodpeckers. one day two winnebago indian mothers took their little baby boys and put them on a blanket to play together. they were two happy little children, and after they had finished the bowl of dinner their mothers had given them, they didn't cry, but started playing with their little fingers and toes, and trying to catch the little stray rays of sunshine. they were sitting in the shade of a little sapling, and suddenly they heard a little "tap! tap!" against the tree. the babies looked all around, but they couldn't see anything. then they heard another, "tap! tap!" just like the first one. this time they looked at the tree, and, can you tell what they saw? two great, big woodpeckers, with great red heads. the babies thought they were such pretty birds, but they did not know what to say to them, and so were a little bashful; while the woodpeckers were very curious to know what new kind of animal they had found. [illustration: the badgers come out of their holes.] you see there were no nice fat little worms in the young tree, and so the birds may have thought that the children had a bowl full of their favorite food, and they had themselves come too late. little indian children learn to know wild animals very early. sometimes the badgers come out of their holes to look at them, and then the children are very much frightened because badgers are wise animals and play many tricks on people. at night, when they lie awake in their little beds, the children hear the wild geese talking to one another as they fly over the village. then the mother tells them what bird is making the noise, and she also tells them, that when the geese fly south it will be too cold before very long for their babies to sit out of doors and when they fly toward the north, spring is on the way with its beautiful sunshine. [illustration: the wild geese talking to one another as they fly.] [illustration] how the pueblo boys were frightened. little indian children, like their white brothers, have to be in bed early or their mothers tell them that the indian bugaboo, which is a water spirit, will come after them. sometimes the pueblo children, just like their white brothers, too, think their mothers are only trying to frighten them, when she reminds them of the time and tells them stories of how children are taken away, if they stay up late. one day some little boys were talking the bugaboo stories over, and they decided to try and see if their mothers were telling them true stories; so, after they had been sent to bed, they were very quiet for awhile, but when their mothers weren't watching, they slipped out. [illustration: it was a lovely night.] it was a lovely night and they thought they would go behind the houses and play awhile. the boys were running along, thinking of how they never again would be afraid of the water spirit, when, they all stopped short. for a moment they were so frightened, they could scarcely move. what do you think they saw? there, coming out of a doorway, straight ahead of them, was one of those terrible water spirits their mothers had been telling them about. it was coming right after them, shaking a rattle. i tell you those boys ran! several very much frightened boys reached their homes, and, after that, they were very glad to go to bed when it was time, for they never again wanted to be chased by another water spirit. but i will tell you a secret. there are no water spirits; and these small indian boys were surprised by a pueblo man who had seen them steal away from their homes and had decided to frighten them. so he dressed up to look like the indians' pictures of a terrible water spirit from the rio grande river, and ran after the boys. [illustration: one of those terrible water spirits] [transcriber's note: bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.] yellow thunder our little indian cousin the little cousin series (trade mark) each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in tint. cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover, per volume, 60 cents list of titles by mary hazelton wade (unless otherwise indicated) =our little african cousin= =our little alaskan cousin= by mary f. nixon-roulet =our little arabian cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little armenian cousin= =our little australian cousin= by mary f. nixon-roulet =our little brazilian cousin= by mary f. nixon-roulet =our little brown cousin= =our little canadian cousin= by elizabeth r. macdonald =our little chinese cousin= by isaac taylor headland =our little cuban cousin= =our little dutch cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little egyptian cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little english cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little eskimo cousin= =our little french cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little german cousin= =our little greek cousin= by mary f. nixon-roulet =our little hawaiian cousin= =our little hindu cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little hungarian cousin= by mary f. nixon-roulet =our little indian cousin= =our little irish cousin= =our little italian cousin= =our little japanese cousin= =our little jewish cousin= =our little korean cousin= by h. lee m. pike =our little mexican cousin= by edward c. butler =our little norwegian cousin= =our little panama cousin= by h. lee m. pike =our little persian cousin= by e. c. shedd =our little philippine cousin= =our little porto rican cousin= =our little russian cousin= =our little scotch cousin= by blanche mcmanus =our little siamese cousin= =our little spanish cousin= by mary f. nixon-roulet =our little swedish cousin= by claire m. coburn =our little swiss cousin= =our little turkish cousin= l. c. page & company new england building, boston, mass. [illustration: yellow thunder.] yellow thunder our little indian cousin by mary hazelton wade _illustrated by_ l. j. bridgman [illustration] boston l. c. page & company _publishers_ _copyright, 1901_ by l. c. page & company (incorporated) _all rights reserved_ twelfth impression, march, 1909 thirteenth impression, june, 1910 preface once upon a time, as you doubtless know, there were no white people in the western world. in those days our indian cousins were free to wander wherever they wished, from the atlantic to the pacific. some of them had their homes on the great plains, where herds of wild buffaloes supplied them with food and clothing. others dwelt by the shores of lakes and rivers. whenever they wished a change, they moved their camps from one spot to another. they had little to fear except the attacks of unfriendly tribes of their own race. when the white men, with their greater skill and knowledge, came to america, many troubles began for our red cousins. these troubles were such as they had never known before. they were driven away from the homes that were so dear to them. great numbers were killed. strong drink, given to them by the white strangers, was the ruin of thousands. still others died from sickness and want. the people whom we have called indians ever since columbus gave them that name now think with sadness of the old free and happy days before the white traders gave them beads and blankets in exchange for large tracts of land. there were then no roads, no cities, no stores or factories in all this vast continent, and yet our red cousins were freer and happier than they can ever hope to be again. malden, mass., _may, 1904_. list of illustrations page yellow thunder _frontispiece_ "she swings on the branch of a tree" 15 "he will give his son wise words of counsel" 29 "he shoots down the river" 49 "his wife is standing in the door of the wigwam" 57 "they . . . danced in every hut in the village" 75 yellow thunder our little indian cousin they call him yellow thunder. do not be afraid of your little cousin because he bears such a terrible name. it is not his fault, i assure you. his grandmother had a dream the night he was born. she believed the great spirit, as the indians call our heavenly father, sent this to her. in the dream she saw the heavens in a great storm. lightning flashed and she constantly heard the roar of thunder. when she awoke in the morning she said, "my first grandson must be called 'yellow thunder.'" and yellow thunder became his name. but his loving mamma does not generally call him this. when he is a good boy and she is pleased with him, she says, "my bird." if he is naughty, for once in a great while this happens, she calls him "bad boy." for some reason i don't understand myself, she rarely speaks his real name. perhaps it is sacred to her, since she believes it was directed by the great spirit. yellow thunder lives in the forests of your own land, north america. his skin is a dull, smoky red, his eyes are black and very bright, his hair is black and coarse. his body is straight and well formed. he can run through the woods as quickly and softly as a deer. he lives in a bark house made by his mother. his father is strong and well, yet he did not help in building it. he thinks such work is not for men. it is fit only for women. when i tell you how it is made, you will not think it is very hard work. yellow thunder's patient mamma chose the place for her home, and then gathered some long poles in the forest. she set these poles in a circle in the ground, bent them over at the top, and tied them. she left a small hole at the top. the framework of the house was now complete. what should she have for a covering? she went out once more into the woods and got some long sheets of white birch bark. at the end of each sheet she fastened a rim of cedar wood. the sheets of bark were hung on the framework, with the rim at the bottom of each one, and the house was finished. the rim would be useful in keeping the bark from being lifted by the winds. but, if there should be a severe storm, the indian woman would lay stones on the rims to keep the bark down more firmly still. this is yellow thunder's simple home, summer and winter. you would probably freeze there in the cold days of december, but the indian boy was brought up to endure a great deal of cold. let us look inside. we must first lift the deerskin which hangs in the doorway. does the family sit on the cold, bare ground, do you think? oh, no; yellow thunder has helped his mamma make good thick rugs out of the bullrushes and flags which they gather every autumn. these rugs are very pretty, for they are woven and dyed with the bright colours the indian women know how to make. there are many of these mats, because they are used for many purposes. yellow thunder sleeps on one of them at night. in the day-time he sits on a mat whenever he is in the house. but he is such a strong lad, he is out-of-doors nearly all the time, both in sunshine and in storm. in the middle of the house you will notice there is a bare spot covered with clean sand. this is the place where the fire is made. it is carefully swept when there is no fire. if you look directly over the fireplace, you can see the sky. on rainy days, unless the mother is cooking, she keeps the hole covered with a piece of deerskin, that the inside of the house may be dry. but how does she prepare the food for breakfast, for that is the principal meal of the day to the indian? a strong hook is fastened in the framework of the house, above the fireplace. the indian mother hangs a pot on the hook, puts in the meat or fish, and it boils quickly over the burning twigs which her little boy has gathered. let us look around the wigwam. of course, you have long ago heard that name for the indian's house. what beautiful baskets of rushes those are! i wonder how the red men discovered the way of making such beautiful colours. besides many other things, the jewelry and clothing of the whole family are kept in these baskets. look up at the sides of the hut and notice the bows and arrows. and, yes! there is a real tomahawk, with its sharp edge sticking in that corner. ears of corn braided together are hanging from the framework. [illustration: "she swings on the branch of a tree."] but the prettiest thing we see is the baby's cradle, fastened to a peg. two bright black eyes are looking out of it, and that is all we can see of yellow thunder's baby sister, "woman of the mountain." it took the loving mother a long time to make that cradle. she was very happy while doing it, for she loves her baby tenderly. it is hardly right to call it a cradle. baby-frame is a better name. it was made in three pieces, out of the wood of the maple-tree,--a straight board about two feet long for the bottom, a carved foot-board, and a bow which is fastened to the sides and arches over the baby's head. these are all bound together with the sinews of a deer. it is lined with moss, and then woman of the mountain is fastened in her queer little bed with straps, which her mamma has made beautiful with bead work. moss is placed between her feet, her hands are bound at her side, her feet are bound down also, and a beaded coverlet is placed over her tiny body. she looks like a little mummy. if it is stormy she is hung up on a peg in the hut to swing, but if it is a pleasant day, she swings on the branch of a tree and watches the leaves flutter and the birds sing. she is a happy little baby, although you would hardly think it possible. she got used to her imprisonment almost as soon as she was born. she doubtless thinks it is all right. when mamma goes out into the forest to gather wood, or into the corn field to work, woman of the mountain goes too. the baby-frame is fastened on her mother's back by a pretty beaded strap bound over the woman's forehead. when the indian baby was only two days old, she was fastened into her cradle and carried all day on mamma's back while she was weeding the garden. to be sure, the woman stopped two or three times to feed her baby, but the little thing was not once taken out of her frame. perhaps you would like to hear a lullaby the indian mamma often sings to her little one as she swings in her frame. i fear you could not understand the indian words, so i will give them as mrs. elizabeth oakes smith wrote them in english: swinging, swinging, lul la by, sleep, little daughter, sleep, 'tis your mother watching by, swinging, swinging, she will keep, little daughter, lul la by. 'tis your mother loves you, dearest, sleep, sleep, daughter, sleep, swinging, swinging, ever nearest, baby, baby, do not weep; little daughter, lul la by. swinging, swinging, lul la by, sleep, sleep, little one, and thy mother will be nigh- swing, swing, not alone- little daughter, lul la by. you can understand from this how dearly the indian mother loves her baby,--just as dearly, i do not doubt, as your own mamma has always loved and cared for you. but what is yellow thunder's stern-looking father doing all the time? he has no store to keep, no mill to grind, no factory to work in. there are only three things which deserve his attention. at least that is what he thinks. he hunts or fishes, goes to war, and holds councils with the men of his tribe. everything else he believes is woman's work, and from the indian's standpoint, woman is much beneath a man. after all, the men's work is really the hardest. sometimes it is easy for them to find plenty of food. then yellow thunder's father comes home rejoicing with the big load he carries. perhaps he has a red deer hanging over his shoulder; perhaps it is a bear which he has chased many miles before he could get near enough to kill it; or it may be some raccoons for a delicious stew. but, again, it may be stormy weather. the rivers are frozen over and snow covers the ground. then, perhaps, the hunter has little success with his bow and arrow, and searches long and far before he can find anything to satisfy his children's hunger. he feels sad, but not for a moment does he think of complaining or giving up. it is his duty to obtain food for his family. it does not matter how cold he gets or how wet he may be. he keeps travelling onward. he will not give up. if he does not at last get enough for all, he will insist on his wife and children satisfying their hunger first. he would scorn to show that he himself is tired, or hungry, or suffering in any way. we can understand now why the indian baby is pinned down in its cradle and not allowed to move freely. it is its first lesson in endurance. it must learn to be uncomfortable and not to show that it is so. it must learn to bear pain, and neither cry nor pucker its mouth. it must learn to appear calm, no matter how it feels. the hunt is pleasant sometimes, you see, but at others it is work of the hardest kind. the second duty of the red boy's father is war. he must protect his home from human and wild beast enemies. but i'm really afraid that it is a pleasure for him to fight. if indians had not been at war so much among themselves, it would have been far harder for the white people to conquer them. i suppose you children have all heard the story of the bundle of sticks, but i will repeat it. a certain man was about to die. he gathered his sons around him to give them good advice. he showed them some sticks fastened tightly together. then he asked each one to try to break the bundle. no one could do it. when he saw that they failed, he separated the sticks, and showed them how easy it was to break each one by itself. "take a lesson from this," said the man. "if you are united and work together, you will succeed in anything you undertake, for no one can break your strength. if, however, you quarrel among yourselves and try to work each for himself, you will be like the separate twigs,--easily broken." it has been like this with the indians. they have fought against each other, tribe with tribe. they are very brave and have great courage. but they have not understood that they should work together. so the white man came and was able to conquer them. besides hunting and going to war, yellow thunder's papa is often busy in the council. all matters of business are settled here. new chiefs are chosen at the council; wrong-doers are punished according to what it decides, and treaties with other tribes or the white men are talked over and agreed upon. sometimes a council will last many days. it is always opened with a prayer to the great spirit, thanking him for his good gifts to the people. each evening, after the business of the council is over, games are played by old and young. it is a time for feasting and pleasure. no business with other people is really settled by a council without gifts of wampum to bind the bargain. of course you have heard about wampum. perhaps you have been told it is the indian's money. there are two kinds of wampum. one is purple and the other white. the white wampum is shaped into beads out of the inside of large conch shells, while the purple is made from the inside of the mussel shell. these beads are strung on deer's sinews and woven into belts. a belt of white wampum is a seal of friendship between two tribes. it is the same as a sacred promise which must not be broken. it is the most precious of all things an indian owns. yellow thunder's papa is very fond of tobacco. he always carries a beaded pouch filled with it. he believes that the great spirit gave tobacco to the indian. when he smokes it, it opens a way through which he may draw near god, and be taught by him. his pipe and tobacco will be buried with him when he dies, as he thinks they will be needed on his journey toward heaven. he smokes at the council. he smokes around the camp-fire when he is away hunting. he smokes in the evening time as he sits with his friends and tells stories of the chase or listens to legends of his people. i hardly know what this indian father would do without his pipe, as it seems to give him so much comfort and pleasure. see! here he comes now. yellow thunder is at the door of the lodge, watching him as he walks quickly down the forest path. he is truly called a "brave." he looks as though he would fear no danger. how straight is his body, and how strong are his muscles! he wears leggings of deerskin, finely worked with beads. they are fastened just above his knees. a short kilt is gathered around his waist. it is also made of deerskin, but is worked around the edge with porcupine quills stained in several colours. it is bitterly cold to-day, so he wears a blanket over his shoulders. his head is shaved bare, excepting the scalp-lock at the back. it must be this which makes him look so fierce. i want you to notice his feet. they step softly and yet firmly. you could not walk as he does. perhaps you have pointed shoes with high heels. the indian would look with scorn upon these. what! cramp the toes with such uncomfortable things! impossible! he covers his feet in the most sensible manner with the soft moccasins made by his wife. they fit his feet exactly. he can run like a deer, or creep along the ground like a wildcat in these coverings, and no one will hear him coming. each moccasin is made of a single piece of deerskin, seamed at the heel and in front. the bottom is smooth and without a seam, while the upper part is worked with beads. yellow thunder's good mamma uses a curious needle and thread. the needle is made from the bone of a deer's ankle, and her thread is of the sinews of the same animal. what would the indian have done without the deer in the old days before the white man came to this country? i can't imagine, can you? this animal furnished much of his food and clothing; ornaments were made of his hoofs; needles and many other things came from his bones. even the brains of the creature were used in tanning skins of animals. they were mixed with moss, made into cakes, and dried in the sun. this mixture will keep a great length of time. whenever it is needed, a piece of this brain-cake is boiled in water, and the skin is soaked in it after the hair is scraped off. then it is wrung out and stretched until it is dry. but even then the skin is not ready for use. it will tear very easily. it must be thoroughly smoked on both sides. this work all belongs to yellow thunder's mamma. his father has nothing to do with it. suppose we follow the red man into his home. ugh! what a smoke there is inside! we can hardly see across the wigwam. we shall need to lie down on the mat as the indian does. our eyes will be blinded unless we do this. the wife has a good meal waiting for her husband, but she will not eat till he has finished. that is indian good manners. his wooden bowl and plate, together with a boiled corn-cake, are placed on the mat in front of the man. venison stew is served him out of the big pot, and a dish of sassafras tea is also set before him. there is no milk to put into this queer drink, but if he wishes to sweeten it, he can add some delicious maple syrup. this is certainly not a bad meal for any one. the red man eats and drinks, while scarcely a word is said to his waiting family. when he has finished his meal, he will light his pipe for a quiet smoke, after which his wife and child satisfy their hunger. yellow thunder's mamma knows how to prepare many a good dish. she can make several different kinds of corn bread. she prepares soups of deer and bear meat. she boils the hominy, on which our little red cousin pours the maple syrup. she makes teas of wild spices and herbs which grow near the hut. but these drinks are not likely to keep yellow thunder awake at night. neither is there danger of his starving, so long as his father can hunt and his mother can gather her crops. his food is suited to make him strong and healthy, and he does not miss the dainties of which you are so fond. the stern-looking father never thinks of interfering in the management of the home. that is his wife's right. she gives him his sleeping-place and the corner in which he shall put his belongings. she decides on what shall be cooked, and what shall be stored away. she is the ruler in the home. but, on the other hand, he does not expect her to scold. she should always be obliging and happy in entertaining his friends. she should be ready to furnish him a good meal whenever he comes home. as yet, he does not take much notice of his only son. he does not correct the boy's faults. he seldom takes him on his hunts. he has left all care of the boy to his wife up to this time. but yellow thunder is now twelve years old. he will soon be a man. in a year or two, at most, his father will begin to make a companion of his son in hunting and fishing. he will teach him the ways of a brave indian warrior. then there will be no more woman's work for yellow thunder. when the time comes for this great change in his life, he will go out into the forest to fast. no one will insist on his doing this. he will himself desire it. it is the same as a baptism to a young indian. his father will go with him to the lonely spot where he decides to stay. he will give his son wise words of counsel. he will urge him to be brave and keep his fast as long as possible. he will be able to show by this how much courage and spirit he possesses, and how great a man he desires to be. then he will leave his son alone and go back to the village. [illustration: "he will give his son wise words of counsel."] a day passes by, and yellow thunder grows faint. two days now are gone, and the boy's thirst is intense. at the end of three days his father comes back and finds his son lying weak and dizzy beneath the trees. he gives him a little water, but no food, for yellow thunder says he can fast still longer. the father goes away again, leaving the son to watch for the visions which will surely come. it will be decided now what the red boy's future will be. the longer he can fast, the greater man he will become among his people. no one can be a chief unless he has fasted many days at the beginning of his manhood. we cannot tell what yellow thunder will be, but we know that his visions will always be remembered. he believes that his guardian spirits will appear in some form or another to him, and he will get instruction about his future life. he will endure his fast bravely as long as possible. it sometimes happens that indian boys die at this time of fasting, but we feel sure that yellow thunder will live and be a joy to his parents to the end of their lives. but how is the indian mother preparing him for this great test? she teaches him, first of all, to _obey_. in no other way would it be possible for him to become a great man. he must heed everything that his father and mother tell him. he must always be ready to do their bidding. it is the greatest token of rudeness to appear curious, therefore he must ask no questions. he must love the truth. a lie is almost unknown among the indians; they scorn it as the mark of a cowardly and mean nature. he must be brotherly to all creatures, and ready to give to others always. yellow thunder has never seen a pauper or beggar in his life. whenever any one comes to his home, his mother hastens at once to prepare food for the visitor. it is almost a law to her to do so. if relatives should come for a visit, they will be made welcome and allowed to stay as long as they desire. if they should remain for the rest of their lives, they would never be asked to leave. "be hospitable to all," is a maxim planted in the heart of every indian child. yellow thunder is taught that everything should be shared in common. the indian does not say, "my land." it is always "ours." the people of a tribe are truly brothers to each other. the red boy's mamma does not need to teach him that theft is wrong. it is almost unknown among his people. the idea of doing such an unbrotherly thing does not enter their heads. no wonder there are neither poorhouses nor prisons among these people. we call them savages, but there are many things we could copy with profit from them. don't you think so, children? "live and learn," is an old saying, and i think we would do well to remember it when we read the lives of our cousins in many lands. yellow thunder does not go to church or sunday school. i doubt if sunday is any different to him from any other day. but his mamma has taught him that there is one loving heavenly father for all. if yellow thunder is good and brave, he will go to the "happy hunting-grounds" when he dies. at least, this is what he is taught to believe. there will be enough food and an abundance of animals to kill. everything that the indian loves best to do in this life, he thinks can be found in his heaven. but there is no place there for the white man. george washington was the only white man who ever lived whom they thought fit to enter their paradise. the exception was made in his case because he was brave and good, and treated the indians fairly and justly. yellow thunder's mother often tells him of a prophecy which was made long ago by the wise men of her tribe. they said that a great monster, with white eyes, would come out of the east and consume the land. did the prophecy come true, you ask? yes, my dears, it was the white race. when yellow thunder thinks of the great forests which his people once owned, and of the numbers of animals roaming there, when he remembers the wars which have been fought and lost with the "great monster," his heart grows bitter. don't blame him, children, but feel sorry for your little indian cousin. his people have certainly had a hard time. they have been very cruel in warfare with us, but they felt they were treated unjustly, and we were taking their homes away from them. yellow thunder believes in the great father, as i have told you. his mother has also taught him that there are many spirits, both good and bad. god made the good spirits to help him in his care of this great world. the indian believes that the wind is a spirit of great power. the thunder is another spirit, whom he calls heno. heno makes the clouds and the rain. it is he who forms the thunderbolt and sends it to destroy the wicked. the great spirit is very kind to give men such a helper, and when the harvest time comes, yellow thunder gives him thanks and prays to him that he will continue to send heno into the world. there is an old legend among the indians that heno once dwelt in a cave behind niagara falls. the mighty rushing noise of the water was pleasing to him. yellow thunder pictures the spirit of the winds to himself. this spirit has the face of an old man who is always in the midst of discord, for the four winds are never at peace with each other. then there are the spirits of corn, of beans, and of squash. each one of these is looked upon as a friend of the red race, for these vegetables are prized by them above all others. it is believed that these spirits have the forms of beautiful women, and that they dwell happily together and are very fond of each other. there are many other good spirits. the red boy feels their presence in the forests and out upon the waters. they are ever around him to protect him when he is good. but, if he should be bad? ah! there are many evil spirits, too, who are only too ready to work mischief and harm among men, if they have the chance. yellow thunder believes that animals have souls, only they are not as wise as men. sometimes, when they have done great wrongs, men have been changed into animals. our cousin thinks the wolf was once a little boy like himself, but the poor little fellow was neglected by his parents, and was transformed into an animal. the raccoon was once a shell on the seashore. what curious ideas these are! where do you suppose they came from before they lived in the minds of the red race? while we are speaking of these things, i will stop and tell you of something that happened at yellow thunder's house the other day. his father, black cloud, came home from the hunt bringing a big black bear. it was so heavy that two other men had to help in carrying it. they had discovered the creature in a hollow tree and had easily killed it. but now comes the amusing part of the story. as soon as the bear was laid down in front of the hut, yellow thunder and his mamma went up to it and began to kiss and stroke the dead animal's head. black cloud did the same, and then they all begged the bear's pardon for having killed it. black cloud said, "i would not have done so, had we not needed food, so i know you will forgive me." then the head of the bear was cut off and laid on one of the best mats. it was decorated with all the jewelry owned by the family. there were silver armlets and bracelets, as well as belts and necklaces of wampum. tobacco was placed in front of its head, while each one in turn lighted a pipe and blew the smoke into the bear's nostrils. this was to turn away its anger from those who had killed it. black cloud then made a speech to the bear. i suppose these people believed that the spirit of some human being had come to live in the animal's body, and they looked upon it as a friend whom they were forced to kill. after all this ceremony, the fat of the bear was boiled down to oil, the meat was cut up and dried for future use, while the head was put into the pot to cook for dinner. i do not doubt that when the bear stew was served, yellow thunder did not give a single thought to the idea of eating a friend. he had done his duty in asking its forgiveness, and that was enough. what kind of a school does yellow thunder attend? it is a very large one. it covers the forests, the rivers, and the lakes. and who is his teacher? the very same one who gives so many lessons to anahei in the hot land of borneo, so far away. dame nature is her name. she is usually loving and kind, but sometimes she shows her anger in the storms and winds which rage about our little cousins. the lessons which yellow thunder learns are very different from those given anahei, for they live in vastly different climates. anahei, you remember, is near the equator, while yellow thunder lives in the temperate lands. he learns from the ice and the snow, he sees different animals, plants, and trees. he is quicker, stronger, and brighter than anahei, for the cold winters make him so. his eyes are very sharp, his ears will hear sounds that yours would not notice, his feet can travel many miles without his having a thought of being tired. he has no compass, and yet he can journey in the forest in any direction he may choose without losing his way. how does he do it? he has learned to notice that the tops of the pine-trees generally lean toward the rising sun. he has discovered that moss grows toward the roots of the trees on their north side, while the largest branches of trees are usually found on the south side of their trunks. in fact, yellow thunder has learned so many of nature's secrets that, if he should reveal them all, they would fill many books. this cousin of yours knows nothing about writing as you understand it. he puts all his stories into pictures. he could send you a letter with two or three pictures, telling a long, long story, but i don't believe you could understand one-quarter of it. his little indian friends would be able to read it all at a glance. their eyes are well trained, although they know nothing about your alphabet or vertical penmanship. black cloud often finds a bark picture hanging to some tree while he is hunting. it is better than any guide-post such as we make, because it will tell him so much. he will know from it that other red men have journeyed this way, and what kind of experience they had. perhaps it will warn him of danger, or explain to him the best direction to go if he wishes to find more game. you may like to see such a picture. i will copy one which mr. henry rowe schoolcraft saw while he was living among the indians. he was exploring the country with a party of white men and two indian guides. they lost their way during the day and camped out all night in a deep forest. before they went away on the next morning, the indian guides hung this picture on a tree: [illustration] they thought it might be of use to others passing there. figure i. is the officer who commanded the party. you may know this because he carries a sword. ii. has a book in his hand. this shows he is the secretary. iii. carries a hammer, because he is a geologist. iv. and v. are attendants. vi. is the man who interprets to the party the words of the indian guides. the group of eight figures marked ix. consists of soldiers. their muskets stand in the corner, and are marked x., vii. and viii. are the two indian guides. you will notice that they are drawn with no hats, which shows at once that they are not white men. xiii., xiv., and xv. represent fires, showing that each separate group--officers, soldiers, and indian guides--had a separate one. figures xi. and xii. are the pictures of a prairie-hen and a tortoise, which were the only game they had been able to kill that day. the pole to which the piece of bark was fastened leaned in the direction which the party was going to travel. there were three notches in the pole to show the distance they had already journeyed. yellow thunder learns to read these bark pictures, and also to make them himself. he enjoys this work very much, and can tell a long story quickly. if i were you, i would write him a letter and ask him to answer it in his own way. this cousin of yours has many things to keep him busy. i have already told you of the mats and baskets which he helps his mother in making. he goes with her to get the bark which she will use in mending the wigwam and making many useful things. he makes barrels out of red elm bark in which to store groundnuts, corn, and beans. he cuts ladles out of wood, which the family will use in eating their soup and hominy. on the end of each ladle yellow thunder carves the figure of some animal. perhaps it is a beaver or a squirrel. he does it very neatly. whatever the indian boy does, he does well. yellow thunder makes sieve-baskets out of splint. his mother can sift the corn-meal through one of these as nicely as your mamma can do it with her wire sieve. he makes salt-bottles out of corn-husks, wooden bowls and pitchers, and many other things for the simple housekeeping. all this work is done during the cold winter months, while his mother is making moccasins and kilts for his father and himself. when spring opens, she must till the ground for her corn, and yellow thunder can now be of great help. she will miss him greatly when he begins to hunt with his father. she will then have all this work to do alone. i wish you could see the indian woman's garden. it is kept so carefully, i don't believe you would be able to find a weed. yellow thunder's mother did a queer thing the first night after it was planted. she stole out of the wigwam alone into the darkness. she went behind a bush, and took off all her clothing. taking her skirt in her hand, she ran swiftly around the field of corn, dragging the garment after her. she believed this would keep away all insects which might destroy the crop, and that now it would be sure to yield well. for what a sad thing it would be if winter should come with no bread to eat through the long months! yellow thunder is very fond of his mother's corn bread. the corn is first hulled by boiling in ashes and water. the tough skin will now slip off easily. after being washed and dried, it is pounded in a mortar into flour. then it is sifted and made into cakes about an inch thick. these cakes are dropped into boiling water, and are quickly made ready for our red cousin to eat. since he was a baby, he has lived almost entirely on corn bread, together with the game and fish which his father brings home. yellow thunder eats something on his corn cakes which you like as much as he does himself. it is maple syrup. the sugar which his mother makes from it is the only kind he has ever tasted in his life. it is his work to tap the trees in the spring, and bring home the jars of sap, which his mother will boil down to syrup and sugar. when her husband goes out on a long hunt, he must take food with him, as it may be a long time before he gets any game. he cannot carry the boiled corn cakes, as they would soon crumble and grow sour. his good wife roasts some corn until it is quite dry. she pounds it into powder and mixes it with maple sugar. it is packed away in black cloud's bearskin pocket. he need not worry about hunger now, even if he is away from home many days. he has everything he needs to keep hunger away. yellow thunder is very proud of the beautiful canoe he has just finished. he had to search a long time before he was able to find a tree which suited him. he wanted to make his canoe of birch bark because it is much lighter than the bark of the elm-tree, of which his father's boat is made. he needed a strip at least twelve feet long, because the canoe must be made of one piece. two of his boy friends went with him and they at last obtained a strip which was just right. they helped him bend it into shape, until the side pieces came together in two pointed ends. how do you suppose they fastened the edges together? they made thread out of the bark itself, and with this yellow thunder sewed the pieces together. he next got strips of white ash for the rim of his canoe, because the wood of that tree is very elastic. the boat must be made stronger still with ribs of the ash, and the work is done. the canoe is a little beauty. it is so light that the red boy can lift it out of the water and carry it with the greatest ease from place to place. i wish you could see him as he shoots down the river in his boat. he moves so rapidly, he will be out of sight in a few minutes. [illustration: "he shoots down the river."] the indians of the northwestern part of our country used to make their canoes of cedar logs. the cedar trees there grow so large that canoes eighty feet long, and large enough to hold one hundred men, were made of a single piece. one was exhibited at the columbian exposition at chicago. it was twelve feet wide. yellow thunder has taken his bow and arrows with him to-day, as he may come upon a flock of wild ducks. he would like to surprise his mother with some birds for supper. he can shoot well. he will not fail to secure some game. he has practised archery ever since he was a tiny little fellow. he would feel himself disgraced for ever if he should disappoint his father when they go out to hunt. i can't tell you how many bows and arrows he has already made in his lifetime. he has now grown so large and strong that he uses a bow three and a half feet long. it has such a difficult spring that i fear you could not bend it far, but yellow thunder can set his arrow to the head with ease. but it takes skill and great strength to do it. perhaps you wonder why the arrow is feathered at the end. this will make it go straight ahead in the direction in which it is sent. sometimes yellow thunder uses arrow-heads cut out of flint. they are dangerous things, and will kill deer and even men. indians have often been known to place poison on the arrow-heads they used in warfare. the agonies of the men who were shot by them were terrible indeed. black cloud has not been to war since yellow thunder was born. there are so few of the red race now, and the numbers of the white men are so great, that there is not much chance of warfare. however, many stories are told in black cloud's lodge of the good old days when the war-whoop was commonly heard and the tomahawk and scalping-knife were in constant use. yellow thunder often passes by the grave of a great indian chief, and thinks about that hero's bravery in battle. this grave is reverently marked and carefully fenced in. the boy wishes he had a chance to leave such a memory. at the head of the grave there is a stick with the figure of a wolf carved upon it. it is the symbol, or "totem" of the chief's tribe. below the wolf there are many strokes of red paint, which yellow thunder likes to count, for each stroke tells of a scalp taken in warfare. not many miles up the river above yellow thunder's home, beavers are hunted. black cloud likes to catch them, because their flesh is good to eat, and the skin is covered with fine fur. last winter he allowed his son to go with himself and a party of men to hunt for this clever little creature. yellow thunder believes that the beavers were once people and able to speak like himself. but they were too wise, so the great spirit took away this power and changed them into these animals. i wonder if you have ever seen a beaver's house. he usually makes it of the young wood of birch or pine trees, and builds it a short way out in the river, so that it is surrounded by water. he shows a great deal of skill in making his home. it has a roof shaped like a dome. it reaches three or four feet above the surface of the water. there are generally only two young beavers in the family. the first year they live with their parents. the second year they have a room built next to the main house for their special use. by this time they are old enough to help their father and mother get food. they eat great quantities of roots and wood, but they like the wood of the birch and poplar trees best of all. when the young beavers are two years old, they leave their old home, and choose a new place in which to build houses for themselves. once in a great while, hunters find beavers that the indians call "old bachelors." this is because they live alone, build no houses, but make their homes in holes they find, or dig out for themselves. the beaver always makes holes in the banks of the river near his house. the entrance to such a hole is below the surface of the water, so that if the beaver is attacked in his house, he can flee for safety to his hiding-place in the bank. now let us return to yellow thunder and his beaver hunt. it was a bitter cold day and the river was frozen over in some places, but that would be so much the better if the hunters hoped to secure their game. they journeyed by the riverside for several miles. there was a heavy fall of snow, but they moved along quickly with the help of their snowshoes, till one of the men whispered: "i see it. stop!" sure enough! a few feet away from them and from the bank rose the roof of a dam above the ice. one of the men tried the ice and found it was thick enough to bear them. yellow thunder was told to remain where he was on the bank, while the rest of the party took heavy tools in their hands and went over to the beavers' house. they quickly destroyed it. but the beavers? what had become of them? they did not stay in their house to have it broken down over their heads. they were too wise. when the first alarm was given, they hurried through the water, under the icy covering of the river, to a hiding-place in the bank. they had made it long ago to be ready in case of danger. would the indians succeed in finding them? remember that nothing could be seen to show where the beavers had gone. the hunters crept along the ice on the edges of the river, and kept striking it with their mallets. if they should hear a hollow sound as they struck the ice, they would know they had discovered the beavers' hiding-place. ah! sure enough! it is yellow thunder himself who says: "quick, father, come here; i have found it. i know this is a hole because of the noise the water makes underneath. beavers are breathing there, or it would not move so quickly." black cloud hurries to the spot and the ice is cracked in an instant. yes, his son is right. a family of beavers is inside the hole. they must be taken quickly, or they will escape. there is but one way to do it. the hunter must reach his hands into the hole and pull the animals out. their teeth are very sharp, and they will do their best to bite him, but black cloud does not think of that. he is quickly at work and pulls out one after another. there are four beavers in all,--two old ones and their young about two years of age. they are soon killed and ready to be skinned. how beautiful and glossy the fur is! it is at its very best in midwinter. this has been a fine day's sport, and black cloud has received only one bad bite in his wrist. it must cause him a good deal of pain, yet he does not show that he feels any. he binds up his wrist, and nothing is said about it. [illustration: "his wife is standing in the door of the wigwam."] when they reach home yellow thunder's mamma will take the tails of the beavers and put them in the pot to boil. the indians think they are a great delicacy. they will make a feast, to which black cloud has gone to invite his friends. his wife is standing in the door of the wigwam, waiting for the return of her husband and son. she has dressed herself with great care to-day, and has a really beautiful costume. just imagine your mamma in a dress like hers. she wears long leggings of red cloth reaching from above her knees down over her moccasins. they are worked with beads around the edges. a long time ago the indian women made their clothing of deerskins and embroidered them with porcupine quills, but nowadays they buy cloth and beads of the white traders in exchange for furs. over the woman's leggings a long blue skirt reaches from her waist nearly to the ground. this, also, is embroidered with beads in a flower pattern. and last, but not least, she wears a bright calico overdress which reaches from her throat to a short distance below her waist, is also beaded, and is gathered in at the belt. i must not forget to mention her glass necklace, large silver earrings, and the shoulder ornaments of woven grass and beadwork. she is a graceful woman, and it is pleasant to look at her with the sunset light upon her black hair and eyes. when her little boy was six years old he was very sick. his cheeks burned with fever. he could not lift his head from the mat on which he lay. his dear mamma scarcely left his side through the long hours of the day. she tried to soothe him with low, sweet songs, but it was in vain. the fever grew stronger and fiercer. black cloud came home at night. looking at his little son, he said, "the medicine-man must come. he will cure him." the medicine-man was at once sent for. he is a very important person among the indians. he is considered very wise. he is thought to have wonderful dreams and to get instruction from the great spirit. the red people think he can cure sickness, unless it is the will of the great spirit for the patient to die. the medicine-man always carries a bag of charms to help him in making his cures. i do not doubt you would laugh at the collection in the bag, if you had a chance to peep in, but no good indian has a thought of doing such a thing. it is believed to be holy, and nothing inside should be looked upon except as the medicine-man draws it out to work his cures. there are medicines, the carved figures of different animals, the bones of others, and i don't know how many other queer things. poor little yellow thunder looked up with delight as the great man entered the hut. he believed that he would soon be well and ready to work and play once more. the medicine-man ordered first that a dog be sacrificed. next, that the family prepare a great feast for themselves. these things would help to satisfy the great spirit and turn away his anger. but this was not all. he took out a rattle from his bag. it was made of the dried hoofs of deer fastened to a stick. he began to sing, beating time with his rattle, and striking himself violent blows. the singing grew louder and louder. the rattle made a fearful din. how did our poor sick cousin stand it? i'm sure i can't tell. the little fellow lay with closed eyes and hardly moved. this queer doctor at length stopped his song and got ready to go away. he told yellow thunder's papa that his son would be sure to get well. and you know already from my story that our red cousin did get over his sickness, and grew to be a big, strong boy. whether the treatment he got was any help, or whether mother nature did all the work, i leave you to decide for yourselves. i have my own opinion in the matter. yellow thunder is very fond of music. i wonder what he would think of a church organ or grand piano. his own instruments are very simple. he made them himself. he has a tambourine on which he often plays in the evening while other children dance. he cut a section of wood from a hollow tree and stretched a skin over it, and his instrument was made. he also has a flute. it was a little more work for the red boy to make this. he carved two pieces of cedar in the shape of half cylinders, and fastened them together with fish glue. he next hunted about in the woods for a snake. after he had found one and killed it, he took off the skin and stretched it over the wood. eight holes were then made in the instrument, as well as a mouthpiece like that of a flageolet. when yellow thunder blows upon this flute, it makes soft and sweet music. it lay by his side when he was sick with the fever, and as soon as he was strong enough to sit up, he amused himself by playing some simple tunes his mamma had taught him. our little friend is very fond of dancing. his people have so many dances that i shall have to tell you about some of them. they believe the great spirit gave them the gift of dancing. they have a dance for the dead, a medicine dance, the war-dance, the dance of honour, and i don't know how many others. in some of them only men take part, and they have special costumes, while in others there are none but women. it seems as though there were always something happening among the indians to give them a good reason to dance. the war-dance is only performed in the evening and always on some important occasion. fifteen or twenty men are usually chosen, one of whom must be the leader. all appear in costume and wear knee rattles of deer's hoofs. when the time draws near, the people gather in the council-house and wait quietly for the dancers to arrive. a keeper-of-the-faith rises and makes a short speech on the meaning of the dance. hark! the war-whoop sounds outside! it is heard again, and still again. the band is drawing near. ah! here they come at last. to our eyes they look hideous in their war-paint and feathers, but to the crowd of eager indians who are waiting, they appear very fair, indeed. they march in and form a circle. the war-whoop is sounded again by the leader, and answered by the rest of the dancers. at a given sign, the singers commence the war-song, the drums beat, and the dancers begin to move. they come down on their heels again and again with the greatest force, keeping time to the beating of the drums. the knee rattles make noise enough of themselves. the din is fearful. the dancers change their positions continually. at the same moment you will see some of them with their arms raised as though to attack, others in the act of drawing the bow, others again appear to be throwing the tomahawk, or striking with the war-club. every position possible in battle is taken. each one is full of the excitement of the moment. the wild music and dancing last for about two minutes. for the next two minutes the dancers walk around in a circle to the slow beating of the drums. then there is another war-whoop, which is followed by another dance and song. the dance is often stopped by a tap upon the ground by one of the audience. he wishes to make a short speech. it, maybe, is a funny one to make everybody laugh. or perhaps the speaker wishes to inspire the people to nobler lives or to greater love for their race. he can say anything he chooses, on condition that at the end of the speech he makes a present to one of the dancers. this speech gives the dancers a chance to rest, and at the same time keeps the people interested. the evening is full of entertainment, and passes only too quickly. i'm afraid, however, if you were present you would be more frightened than amused by such wild music and motions. another strange dance which is performed among yellow thunder's people is called the dance for the dead. only women take part in it. it is generally given every spring and fall, in honour of those of the tribe who have died. the indians believe that at these times their dead friends come back and join in the dance. the music is sad, and the movements of the dancers are slow and mournful. this strange dance is kept up from dusk till the early morning. it is believed that the dead friends who have been present must then go back to the happy hunting-grounds. i haven't said very much as yet about our red cousin's playmates and sports. they have many good times together. they have a great number of games and many matches of strength and quickness. yellow thunder loves his ball game as much as you boys love baseball. he and his friends often prepare for a game by a special diet and training for days beforehand. crowds gather from neighbouring tribes and villages to see the sport. those who take part wear no clothing except a waist-cloth. the ball is small and is made of deerskin. a large open field is chosen, and two gates are made on opposite sides of it. each gate is made by setting two poles three rods apart. six or eight boys play on a side and own one of the gates. the game is won by the side which first carries the ball through its own gate a certain number of times. the white men learned this game from the indians, and it is a great favourite with them in some parts of the country, especially in canada. it is now called "lacrosse," but its name in the language of the iroquois indians was o-ta-da-jish-qua-age. black cloud has as much interest as yellow thunder in the game, and often takes part in it with his friends. you can hardly believe how excited these red men get when they are preparing for a set game of ball. the javelin game is another of the boy's favourites. it is quite simple, and yet one needs to be very skilful. rings about eight inches across, and javelins five or six feet long are needed in playing it. while a ring is set rolling upon the ground by one person, a player on the other side throws the javelin and tries to hit it. if he succeed, the ring is set up as a target, and each one on the opposite side must throw a javelin and try to hit it. if he fail, he loses his javelin. victory belongs to the side which wins the most javelins. the favourite game in winter is that of snow snakes. the snakes are made of hickory. they are from five to seven feet long. the head of the snake is round and pointed with lead. it is about an inch wide and slightly turned up. the snake is made so that it tapers toward the tail, which is only about half an inch wide. yellow thunder has practised so much that he can throw his snake with great skill. it skims along the snow crust like an arrow. he has won many a game this winter and his father is very proud of him, because it takes a great deal of strength and training to be a good player. there are many other games played by the indian men and boys, but i shall have to tell you about them some other time. i hear one of my little friends say: "i wonder if my red cousin has any holidays. he certainly cannot understand the glorious fourth, and i don't believe he ever heard of christmas. how does he get along?" why, my dear children, i can't stop to tell you of all the feasts and festivals to which the boy is invited. on every possible occasion a feast is given by some one in the village. for instance, if the men are very successful in one of their hunts, and come home laden down with a good supply of deer, raccoon, or bear, some one of them prepares a feast. how you would laugh to see them gathering at a party. each one carries his own wooden bowl and plate, for that is the custom. i mean that each _man_ does this, for the women are not expected to sit down. they only stand around and laugh at the bright sayings they hear. they must not even join in the conversation. they seem to think that they are having a good time, however, and when the feast is over go back to their own wigwams, repeating to each other the good things they have heard. the men remain to smoke and tell more stories. sometimes a feast is prepared on purpose for the young people. at such a time some one who is much older than themselves makes a speech. he encourages his young friends to be nobler, braver, and better than ever before. it seems as though yellow thunder could never forget the good words he has heard at these feasts. whenever he feels like showing pain or being ill-tempered, he recollects them, and they help to keep him calm. each season of the year has its special festival. the longest of all is the new year jubilee, which lasts seven days. it takes place in the middle of the winter, about the first of february. several days before the beginning of the celebration, our little cousin gathers with his people in the council-hall. they must confess their sins to each other before the new year opens. yellow thunder thinks over everything which he has done, or not done as he ought, during the past year. he does not wish to forget anything. when the great day arrives, two keepers-of-the-faith come to his home early in the morning. it is their duty to go to every other wigwam, too. they are dressed up in such a way that yellow thunder cannot tell who they are. they wear bear or buffalo skins wrapped around their bodies, and fastened about their heads with wreaths of corn husks. they also wear wreaths of corn husks around their arms and ankles. their faces are painted in all sorts of queer ways. they carry corn pounders in their hands. as they enter the hut, they bow to the family, and one of them strikes the ground with his corn pounder. when every one is silent, he makes a speech, urging them to clean their house, put everything in order, and prepare for the festivities of the next few days. if any one in the family should be taken sick and die, he urges them not to mourn till the ceremonies which the great spirit has commanded are over. you can see from this that the indian's religion is carried into everything he does. after a song of thanksgiving, the keepers-of-the-faith leave yellow thunder's home and pass on to the next one. in the afternoon they come back again, and urge the family to give thanks to the great spirit for the return of the season. the little boy is most excited on this first day of the festival by the strangling of the white dog. it must be spotless, if possible. white is the emblem of purity and faith. a white deer or squirrel, or any other animal that is pure white, is thought to be sacred to the great spirit. the dog, which has been carefully kept for this purpose, is killed with the greatest care. otherwise it would not be a fitting sacrifice. not a drop of blood must be shed. not a bone must be broken. when it is quite dead, it is trimmed with ribbons and feathers, and spotted in different places with dabs of red paint. then it is hung up by its neck on a pole. it must stay there till the fifth day. at that time it will be taken down to be burned. on the second day, yellow thunder is dressed up in his very best, and goes out with his father and mother to make calls on his neighbours. the keepers-of-the-faith come to his house three times during the day. they are now dressed up as warriors with all their war-paint and feathers. one of them stirs up the ashes in the fireplace and sprinkles them about. as he does this, he makes a speech, thanking the great spirit that the family, as well as himself, have been allowed to live another year to take part in the festival. there is another song of thanksgiving and they go away. on the third and fourth days small dancing parties go from home to home. one party will perform the war-dance, another the feather-dance, still another the fish-dance, and so on. this year yellow thunder's father let him join a party of boys to give the war-dance. they had great fun dressing up as warriors and decking themselves with paint and feathers. they went from home to home till they had danced in every hut in the village. they were tired enough to sleep soundly when night came. [illustration: "they . . . danced in every hut in the village."] i must tell you of some more sport they had during the festival. some of the boys dressed in rags and paint, put on false faces and formed a "thieving party," as it was called. they went about collecting things for a feast. an old woman carrying a large basket went with them. if the family they visited made them presents, they handed them to the old woman and gave a dance in return for the kindness. but if no presents were given, they took anything they could seize without being seen. if they were discovered, they gave them up, but if not, it was considered fair for them to carry the things away for their feast. yellow thunder had great fun hiding the stolen articles in his clothing. he was not once caught. every night was given up to dancing and other entertainments. our indian cousin got time for a game of snow snakes nearly every day. on the morning of the fifth day the white dog was burned. a procession was formed, the men marching in indian file. listen! a great sound is heard. it is something like the war-whoop. it is the signal to start. the dead dog is carried to the altar on a bark litter in front of the procession. the sacrifice is laid upon the altar. the fire is kindled. as the flames rise, a prayer is made to the great spirit for all his good gifts to the indians. the trees and the bushes, the sun and the winds, the moon and the stars,--none are forgotten that have helped to make the world better to live in. as the sacrifice burns upon the altar, yellow thunder listens to the long prayer with reverence. he believes that the dog's soul is now rising to the great spirit. it will be a proof to him of the faith of his people, for the day itself is the day of faith and trust. during the rest of the festival there is more dancing and more feasting, while favourite games are played by old and young. "oh, what a good time it is," thinks yellow thunder; "how happy we all should be that the new year has come." and what a tired boy sleeps on yellow thunder's mat when the seven days of this glorious time are over. the fourth of july celebration is slight indeed compared with it. yellow thunder begins already to look forward to the first festival of the springtime. it is called by the indians "thanks to the maple." i don't dare to give it to you in their own language. you would only scowl and say, "oh, dear! what's the use? i can't pronounce those long words, and i will not try." just as soon as the first warm days arrive, the red boy's eyes begin to watch the maple-trees. he wishes to be the first one to discover that the sap has started and is beginning to flow. then hurrah for a holiday for old and young! thanks must be given to the tree that gives so much sweetness to boys and girls. the great spirit must be thanked, also, for he gave the maple to the poor indian. there must be more feasting and story-telling, more games and dancing. tobacco must be burned as an offering to the great spirit, and prayers must be said. the great feather dance will be the best thing of all. it is very graceful and beautiful, and the band of dancers will wear costumes which belong only to this dance. you certainly cannot wonder that yellow thunder enjoys this festival. i don't doubt you would like to be there, also, as well as at the green corn feast, and many others. at these times your red cousin's heart is full of gladness and gratitude for the great gifts the great spirit has given him. it is evening time. let us creep up softly behind him as he listens to a legend one of the story-tellers of the tribe is repeating. it is the tale of the lone lightning. once upon a time there was a poor little boy who had no father or mother. he lived with an uncle who did not love him. this cruel man made the child do many hard things and did not give him enough to eat. of course the child did not grow properly. he was very thin and pitiful to look upon. after awhile the cruel uncle grew ashamed of the appearance of the boy. every one could see that he was ill-treated. he said to himself, "i will give the child so much to eat that he will die. i hate him!" then he went to his wife and said, "give the boy bear's meat, and choose the fat of it for him." they kept cramming the child. when they were stuffing the food down his throat one day, he almost choked. poor little fellow! there was no one who cared for him or wished him to live. he knew it only too well. the first chance he obtained, he ran away. he did not know where to go, but wandered around in the forest. night came. wild beasts would now begin to roam about. they would get him and eat him. the little boy was afraid when he thought of all this. he climbed up in a tree as far as he dared, and went to sleep in a fork of the branches. he had a wonderful dream. it was an omen given to him by the spirits. it seemed as though some one appeared to him from out of the sky. he spoke to the orphan, and said, "poor child, i know all about your hard life and your cruel uncle. come with me." the boy awoke instantly. there was his guide. he began to follow him. higher and higher he rose up in the air till they were both in the upper sky. then his guide placed twelve arrows in his hands and told him that there were many bad manitos (spirits) in the northern sky. he must go forth and try to shoot them. he did as he was told. he travelled toward the north and shot one arrow after another, vainly trying to kill the manitos. he now had only one arrow left. as each one had sped forth from his bow, there had been a long streak of lightning in the sky. then all had grown clear again. the boy held the last arrow in his hand for a long time and tried again to discover the manitos. but these beings are very cunning if they choose, and they can change their forms at any moment. they were afraid of the boy's arrows, for they had magic powers and had been given him by a good spirit. if the child aimed them straight, the bad manitos would be killed. at length the boy gained courage and shot his last arrow. he thought it was aimed at the very heart of the chief of the spirits. but before it reached him, he had changed himself into a rock. the head of the arrow pierced this rock and fastened itself within it. the manito was enraged. he cried out, "your arrows are gone now. you shall be punished for daring to strike at me." as he said these words, he changed the boy into the lone lightning, which is still seen in the northern sky to this day. =the end.= the little colonel books (trade mark) _by annie fellows johnston_ _each 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated, per vol._ $1.50 =the little colonel stories= (trade mark) being three "little colonel" stories in the cosy corner series, "the little colonel," "two little knights of kentucky," and "the giant scissors," put into a single volume. =the little colonel's house party= (trade mark) =the little colonel's holidays= (trade mark) =the little colonel's hero= (trade mark) =the little colonel at boarding school= (trade mark) =the little colonel in arizona= (trade mark) =the little colonel's christmas vacation= (trade mark) =the little colonel, maid of honour= (trade mark) =the little colonel's knight comes riding= (trade mark) =mary ware: the little colonel's chum= (trade mark) _these ten volumes, boxed as a ten-volume set._ $15.00 =the little colonel= (trade mark) =two little knights of kentucky= =the giant scissors= =big brother= special holiday editions each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $1.25 new plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page drawings in color, and many marginal sketches. =in the desert of waiting:= the legend of camelback mountain. =the three weavers:= a fairy tale for fathers and mothers as well as for their daughters. =keeping tryst= =the legend of the bleeding heart= =the rescue of princess winsome:= a fairy play for old and young. =the jester's sword= each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative $0.50 paper boards .35 there has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of these six stories, which were originally included in six of the "little colonel" books. =joel: a boy of galilee:= by annie fellows johnston. illustrated by l. j. bridgman. new illustrated edition, uniform with the little colonel books, 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50 a story of the time of christ, which is one of the author's best-known books. =the little colonel good times book= uniform in size with the little colonel series. $1.50 bound in white kid (morocco) and gold 3.00 cover design and decorations by amy carol rand. the publishers have had many inquiries from readers of the little colonel books as to where they could obtain a "good times book" such as betty kept. mrs. johnston, who has for years kept such a book herself, has gone enthusiastically into the matter of the material and format for a similar book for her young readers. every girl will want to possess a "good times book." =asa holmes: or, at the cross-roads.= a sketch of country life and country humor. by annie fellows johnston. with a frontispiece by ernest fosbery. large 16mo, cloth, gilt top $1.00 "'asa holmes; or, at the cross-roads' is the most delightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long while."--_boston times._ =the rival campers:= or, the adventures of henry burns. by ruel perley smith. square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 a story of a party of typical american lads, courageous, alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off the maine coast. =the rival campers afloat:= or, the prize yacht viking. by ruel perley smith. square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 this book is a continuation of the adventures of "the rival campers" on their prize yacht _viking_. =the rival campers ashore= by ruel perley smith. square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 "as interesting ashore as when afloat."--_the interior._ =jack harvey's adventures:= or, the rival campers among the oyster pirates. by ruel perley smith. illustrated $1.50 "just the type of book which is most popular with lads who are in their early teens."--_the philadelphia item._ =prisoners of fortune: a tale of the massachusetts bay colony.= by ruel perley smith. cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50 "there is an atmosphere of old new england in the book, the humor of the born raconteur about the hero, who tells his story with the gravity of a preacher, but with a solemn humor that is irresistible."--_courier-journal._ =famous cavalry leaders.= by charles h. l. johnston. large 12mo. with 24 illustrations $1.50 biographical sketches, with interesting anecdotes and reminiscences of the heroes of history who were leaders of cavalry. "more of such books should be written, books that acquaint young readers with historical personages in a pleasant informal way."--_n. y. sun._ =famous indian chiefs.= by charles h. l. johnston. large 12mo, illustrated $1.50 in this book mr. johnston gives interesting sketches of the indian braves who have figured with prominence in the history of our own land, including powhatan, the indian cã¦sar; massasoit, the friend of the puritans; pontiac, the red napoleon; tecumseh, the famous war chief of the shawnees; sitting bull, the famous war chief of the sioux; geronimo, the renowned apache chief, etc., etc. =billy's princess.= by helen eggleston haskell. cloth decorative, illustrated by helen mccormick kennedy $1.25 billy lewis was a small boy or energy and ambition, so when he was left alone and unprotected, he simply started out to take care of himself. =tenants of the trees.= by clarence hawkes. cloth decorative, illustrated in colors $1.50 "a book which will appeal to all who care for the hearty, healthy, outdoor life of the country. the illustrations are particularly attractive."--_boston herald._ =beautiful joe's paradise: or, the island of brotherly love.= a sequel to "beautiful joe." by marshall saunders, author of "beautiful joe." one vol., library 12mo, cloth, illustrated $1.50 "this book revives the spirit of 'beautiful joe' capitally. it is fairly riotous with fun, and is about as unusual as anything in the animal book line that has seen the light."--_philadelphia item._ ='tilda jane.= by marshall saunders. one vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50 "i cannot think of any better book for children than this. i commend it unreservedly."--_cyrus townsend brady._ ='tilda jane's orphans.= a sequel to 'tilda jane. by marshall saunders. one vol., 12mo, fully illustrated, cloth decorative, $1.50 'tilda jane is the same original, delightful girl, and as fond of her animal pets as ever. =the story of the graveleys.= by marshall saunders, author of "beautiful joe's paradise," "'tilda jane," etc. library 12mo, cloth decorative. illustrated by e. b. barry $1.50 here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a delightful new england family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear. =born to the blue.= by florence kimball russel. 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.25 the atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on every page of this delightful tale. the boy is the son of a captain of u. s. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation. =in west point gray= by florence kimball russel. 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 "singularly enough one of the best books of the year for boys is written by a woman and deals with life at west point. the presentment of life in the famous military academy whence so many heroes have graduated is realistic and enjoyable."--_new york sun._ =from chevrons to shoulder straps= by florence kimball russel. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, decorative $1.50 west point again forms the background of a new volume in this popular series, and relates the experience of jack stirling during his junior and senior years. =the sandman: his farm stories= by william j. hopkins. with fifty illustrations by ada clendenin williamson. large 12mo, decorative cover $1.50 "an amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very small children. it should be one of the most popular of the year's books for reading to small children."--_buffalo express._ =the sandman: more farm stories= by william j. hopkins. large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50 mr. hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories met with such approval that this second book of "sandman" tales was issued for scores of eager children. life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner. =the sandman: his ship stories= by william j. hopkins, author of "the sandman: his farm stories," etc. large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50 "children call for these stories over and over again."--_chicago evening post._ =the sandman, his sea stories= by william j. hopkins. large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50 each year adds to the popularity of this unique series of stories to be read to the little ones at bed time and at other times. =the doctor's little girl= by marion ames taggart, author of "pussy-cat town," etc. one vol., library 12mo, illustrated $1.50 a thoroughly enjoyable tale of a little girl and her comrade father, written in a delightful vein of sympathetic comprehension of the child's point of view. =sweet nancy= the further adventures of the doctor's little girl. by marion ames taggart. one vol., library, 12mo, illustrated $1.50 in the new book, the author tells how nancy becomes in fact "the doctor's assistant," and continues to shed happiness around her. =the christmas-makers' club= by edith a. sawyer. 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 a delightful story for girls, full of the real spirit of christmas. it abounds in merrymaking and the right kind of fun. =carlota= a story of the san gabriel mission. by frances margaret fox. square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by ethelind ridgway $1.00 "it is a pleasure to recommend this little story as an entertaining contribution to juvenile literature."--_the new york sun._ =the seven christmas candles= by frances margaret fox. square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by ethelind ridgway $1.00 miss fox's new book deals with the fortunes of the delightful mulvaney children. =pussy-cat town= by marion ames taggart. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors $1.00 "anything more interesting than the doings of the cats in this story, their humor, their wisdom, their patriotism, would be hard to imagine."--_chicago post._ =the roses of saint elizabeth= by jane scott woodruff. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by adelaide everhart $1.00 this is a charming little story of a child whose father was caretaker of the great castle of the wartburg, where saint elizabeth once had her home. =gabriel and the hour book= by evaleen stein. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by adelaide everhart $1.00 gabriel was a loving, patient, little french lad, who assisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books were written and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries. =the enchanted automobile= translated from the french by mary j. safford. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by edna m. sawyer $1.00 "an up-to-date french fairy-tale which fairly radiates the spirit of the hour,--unceasing diligence."--_chicago record-herald._ =o-heart-san= the story of a japanese girl. by helen eggleston haskell. small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and decorated in colors by frank p. fairbanks $1.00 "the story comes straight from the heart of japan. the shadow of fujiyama lies across it and from every page breathes the fragrance of tea leaves, cherry blossoms and chrysanthemums."--_the chicago inter-ocean._ =the young section-hand:= or, the adventures of allan west. by burton e. stevenson. square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 mr. stevenson's hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance as a section-hand on a big western railroad, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrilling. =the young train dispatcher.= by burton e. stevenson. square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 "a better book for boys has never left an american press."--_springfield union._ =the young train master.= by burton e. stevenson. square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 "nothing better in the way of a book of adventure for boys in which the actualities of life are set forth in a practical way could be devised or written."--_boston herald._ =captain jack lorimer.= by winn standish. square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 jack is a fine example of the all-around american high-school boy. =jack lorimer's champions:= or, sports on land and lake. by winn standish. square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 "it is exactly the sort of book to give a boy interested in athletics, for it shows him what it means to always 'play fair.'"--_chicago tribune._ =jack lorimer's holidays:= or, millvale high in camp. by winn standish. illustrated $1.50 full of just the kind of fun, sports and adventure to excite the healthy minded youngster to emulation. =jack lorimer's substitute:= or, the acting captain of the team. by winn standish. illustrated $1.50 on the sporting side, this book takes up football, wrestling, tobogganing, but it is more of a school story perhaps than any of its predecessors. =captain jinks:= the autobiography of a shetland pony. by frances hodges white. cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 the story of captain jinks and his faithful dog friend billy, their quaint conversations and their exciting adventures, will be eagerly read by thousands of boys and girls. the story is beautifully written and will take its place alongside of "black beauty" and "beautiful joe." =the red feathers.= by theodore roberts. cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 "the red feathers" tells of the remarkable adventures of an indian boy who lived in the stone age, many years ago, when the world was young. =flying plover.= by theodore roberts. cloth decorative. illustrated by charles livingston bull $1.00 squat-by-the-fire is a very old and wise indian who lives alone with her grandson, "flying plover," to whom she tells the stories each evening. =the wreck of the ocean queen.= by james otis, author of "larry hudson's ambition," etc. cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 "a stirring story of wreck and mutiny, which boys will find especially absorbing. the many young admirers of james otis will not let this book escape them, for it fully equals its many predecessors in excitement and sustained interest."--_chicago evening post._ =little white indians.= by fannie e. ostrander. cloth decorative, illustrated $1.25 "a bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly to the 'make-believe' instinct in children, and will give them a healthy, active interest in 'the simple life.'" =marching with morgan.= how donald lovell became a soldier of the revolution. by john l. veasy. cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 this is a splendid boy's story of the expedition of montgomery and arnold against quebec. cosy corner series it is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain only the very highest and purest literature,--stories that shall not only appeal to the children themselves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows. the numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists, and each volume has a separate attractive cover design. each 1 vol., 16mo, cloth $0.50 _by annie fellows johnston_ =the little colonel= (trade mark.) the scene of this story is laid in kentucky. its heroine is a small girl, who is known as the little colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region. =the giant scissors= this is the story of joyce and of her adventures in france. joyce is a great friend of the little colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences of the "house party" and the "holidays." =two little knights of kentucky= who were the little colonel's neighbors. in this volume the little colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. she is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the "two little knights." =mildred's inheritance= a delightful little story of a lonely english girl who comes to america and is befriended by a sympathetic american family who are attracted by her beautiful speaking voice. by means of this one gift she is enabled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one. =cicely and other stories for girls= the readers of mrs. johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young people. =aunt 'liza's hero and other stories= a collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys and most girls. =big brother= a story of two boys. the devotion and care of stephen, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale. =ole mammy's torment= "ole mammy's torment" has been fitly called "a classic of southern life." it relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right. =the story of dago= in this story mrs. johnston relates the story of dago, a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. dago tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing. =the quilt that jack built= a pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed the course of his life many years after it was accomplished. =flip's islands of providence= a story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final triumph, well worth the reading. * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. [illustration: snana called loudly to her companion turnip-diggers. frontispiece. _see page_ 123.] indian child life by charles a. eastman (_ohiyesa_) illustrated by george varian boston little, brown, and company 1915 _copyright, 1913_, by little, brown, and company. _all rights reserved_ printers s. j. parkhill & co., boston, u.s.a. transcriber's note: in the name "hak[=a]dah" the [=a] represents an "a" with a macron above it. a letter to the children dear children:--you will like to know that the man who wrote these true stories is himself one of the people he describes so pleasantly and so lovingly for you. he hopes that when you have finished this book, the indians will seem to you very real and very friendly. he is not willing that all your knowledge of the race that formerly possessed this continent should come from the lips of strangers and enemies, or that you should think of them as blood-thirsty and treacherous, as savage and unclean. war, you know, is always cruel, and it is true that there were stern fighting men among the indians, as well as among your own forefathers. but there were also men of peace, men generous and kindly and religious. there were tender mothers, and happy little ones, and a home life that was pure and true. there were high ideals of loyalty and honor. it will do you good and make you happier to read of these things. perhaps you wonder how a "real, live indian" could write a book. i will tell you how. the story of this man's life is itself as wonderful as a fairy tale. born in a wigwam, as he has told you, and early left motherless, he was brought up, like the little hiawatha, by a good grandmother. when he was four years old, war broke out between his people and the united states government. the indians were defeated and many of them were killed. some fled northward into canada and took refuge under the british flag, among them the writer of this book, with his grandmother and an uncle. his father was captured by the whites. after ten years of that wild life, now everywhere at an end, of which he has given you a true picture in his books, his father, whom the good president lincoln had pardoned and released from the military prison, made the long and dangerous journey to canada to find and bring back his youngest son. the sioux were beginning to learn that the old life must go, and that, if they were to survive at all, they must follow "the white man's road," long and hard as it looked to a free people. they were beginning to plow and sow and send their children to school. ohiyesa, the winner, as the boy was called, came home with his father to what was then dakota territory, to a little settlement of sioux homesteaders. everything about the new life was strange to him, and at first he did not like it at all. he had thoughts of running away and making his way back to canada. but his father, many lightnings, who had been baptized a christian under the name of jacob eastman, told him that he, too, must take a new name, and he chose that of charles alexander eastman. he was told to cut off his long hair and put on citizen's clothing. then his father made him choose between going to school and working at the plow. ohiyesa tried plowing for half a day. it was hard work to break the tough prairie sod with his father's oxen and the strange implement they gave him. he decided to try school. rather to his surprise, he liked it, and he kept on. his teachers were pleased with his progress, and soon better opportunities opened to him. he was sent farther east to a better school, where he continued to do well, and soon went higher. in the long summer vacations he worked, on farms, in shops and offices; and in winter he studied and played football and all the other games you play, until after about fifteen or sixteen years he found himself with the diplomas of a famous college and a great university, a bachelor of science, a doctor of medicine, and a doubly educated man--educated in the lore of the wilderness as well as in some of the deepest secrets of civilization. since that day, a good many more years have passed. ohiyesa, known as doctor charles a. eastman, has now a home and six children of his own among the new england hills. he has hundreds of devoted friends of both races. he is the author of five books which have been widely read, some of them in england, france and germany as well as in america, and he speaks face to face to thousands of people every year. perhaps some of you have heard from his own lips his recollections of wild life. you may find all the stories in this book, and many more of the same sort, in the books called "indian boyhood," and "old indian days," published by doubleday, page and company, of garden city, l.i., who have kindly consented to the publication of this little volume in order that the children in our schools might read stories of real indians by a real indian. contents part one my indian childhood chapter page i. "the pitiful last" 1 ii. early hardships 9 iii. an indian sugar camp 19 iv. games and sports 26 v. an indian boy's training 37 vi. the boy hunter 48 vii. evening in the lodge 58 part two stories of real indians i. winona's childhood 75 ii. winona's girlhood 83 iii. a midsummer feast 93 iv. the faithfulness of long ears 103 v. snana's fawn 118 vi. hakadah's first offering 131 vii. the grave of the dog 145 list of illustrations snana called loudly to her companion turnip-diggers _frontispiece_ so he bravely jumped upon the nest page 32 "oh, what nice claws he has, uncle!" i exclaimed eagerly 69 he began to sing a dirge for him 140 part one my indian childhood i "the pitiful last" what boy would not be an indian for a while when he thinks of the freest life in the world? this life was mine. every day there was a real hunt. there was real game. no people have a better use of their five senses than the children of the wilderness. we could smell as well as hear and see. we could feel and taste as well as we could see and hear. nowhere has the memory been more fully developed than in the wild life, and i can still see wherein i owe much to my early training. of course i myself do not remember when i first saw the day, but my brothers have often recalled the event with much mirth; for it was a custom of the sioux that when a boy was born his brother must plunge into the water, or roll in the snow naked if it was winter time; and if he was not big enough to do either of these himself, water was thrown on him. if the new-born had a sister, she must be immersed. the idea was that a warrior had come to camp, and the other children must display some act of hardihood. i was so unfortunate as to be the youngest of five children who, soon after i was born, were left motherless. i had to bear the humiliating name "hak[=a]dah," meaning "the pitiful last," until i should earn a more dignified and appropriate name. i was regarded as little more than a plaything by the rest of the children. the babe was done up as usual in a movable cradle made from an oak board two and a half feet long and one and a half feet wide. on one side of it was nailed with brass-headed tacks the richly embroidered sack, which was open in front and laced up and down with buckskin strings. over the arms of the infant was a wooden bow, the ends of which were firmly attached to the board, so that if the cradle should fall the child's head and face would be protected. on this bow were hung curious playthings--strings of artistically carved bones and hoofs of deer, which rattled when the little hands moved them. in this upright cradle i lived, played, and slept the greater part of the time during the first few months of my life. whether i was made to lean against a lodge pole or was suspended from a bough of a tree, while my grandmother cut wood, or whether i was carried on her back, or conveniently balanced by another child in a similar cradle hung on the opposite side of a pony, i was still in my oaken bed. this grandmother, who had already lived through sixty years of hardships, was a wonder to the young maidens of the tribe. she showed no less enthusiasm over hakadah than she had done when she held her first-born, the boy's father, in her arms. every little attention that is due to a loved child she performed with much skill and devotion. she made all my scanty garments and my tiny moccasins with a great deal of taste. it was said by all that i could not have had more attention had my mother been living. uncheedah (grandmother) was a great singer. sometimes, when hakadah wakened too early in the morning, she would sing to him something like the following lullaby: sleep, sleep, my boy, the chippewas are far away--are far away. sleep, sleep, my boy; prepare to meet the foe by day--the foe by day! the cowards will not dare to fight till morning break--till morning break. sleep, sleep, my child, while still 'tis night; then bravely wake--then bravely wake! the dakota women were wont to cut and bring their fuel from the woods and, in fact, to perform most of the drudgery of the camp. this of necessity fell to their lot because the men must follow the game during the day. very often my grandmother carried me with her on these excursions; and while she worked it was her habit to suspend me from a wild grape vine or a springy bough, so that the least breeze would swing the cradle to and fro. she has told me that when i had grown old enough to take notice, i was apparently capable of holding extended conversations in an unknown dialect with birds and red squirrels. once i fell asleep in my cradle, suspended five or six feet from the ground, while uncheedah was some distance away, gathering birch bark for a canoe. a squirrel had found it convenient to come upon the bow of my cradle and nibble his hickory nut, until he awoke me by dropping the crumbs of his meal. it was a common thing for birds to alight on my cradle in the woods. after i left my cradle, i almost walked away from it, she told me. she then began calling my attention to natural objects. whenever i heard the song of a bird, she would tell me what bird it came from, something after this fashion: "hakadah, listen to shechoka (the robin) calling his mate. he says he has just found something good to eat." or "listen to oopehanska (the thrush); he is singing for his little wife. he will sing his best." when in the evening the whippoorwill started his song with vim, no further than a stone's throw from our tent in the woods, she would say to me: "hush! it may be an ojibway scout!" again, when i waked at midnight, she would say: "do not cry! hinakaga (the owl) is watching you from the tree-top." i usually covered up my head, for i had perfect faith in my grandmother's admonitions, and she had given me a dreadful idea of this bird. it was one of her legends that a little boy was once standing just outside of the teepee (tent), crying vigorously for his mother, when hinakaga swooped down in the darkness and carried the poor little fellow up into the trees. it was well known that the hoot of the owl was commonly imitated by indian scouts when on the war-path. there had been dreadful massacres immediately following this call. therefore it was deemed wise to impress the sound early upon the mind of the child. indian children were trained so that they hardly ever cried much in the night. this was very expedient and necessary in their exposed life. in my infancy it was my grandmother's custom to put me to sleep, as she said, with the birds, and to waken me with them, until it became a habit. she did this with an object in view. an indian must always rise early. in the first place, as a hunter, he finds his game best at daybreak. secondly, other tribes, when on the war-path, usually make their attack very early in the morning. even when our people are moving about leisurely, we like to rise before daybreak, in order to travel when the air is cool, and unobserved, perchance, by our enemies. as a little child, it was instilled into me to be silent and reticent. this was one of the most important traits to form in the character of the indian. as a hunter and warrior it was considered absolutely necessary to him, and was thought to lay the foundations of patience and self-control. ii early hardships one of the earliest recollections of my adventurous childhood is the ride i had on a pony's side. i was passive in the whole matter. a little girl cousin of mine was put in a bag and suspended from the horn of an indian saddle; but her weight must be balanced or the saddle would not remain on the animal's back. accordingly, i was put into another sack and made to keep the saddle and the girl in position! i did not object, for i had a very pleasant game of peek-a-boo with the little girl, until we came to a big snow-drift, where the poor beast was stuck fast and began to lie down. then it was not so nice! this was the convenient and primitive way in which some mothers packed their children for winter journeys. however cold the weather might be, the inmate of the fur-lined sack was usually very comfortable--at least i used to think so. i believe i was accustomed to all the precarious indian conveyances, and, as a boy, i enjoyed the dog-travaux ride as much as any. the travaux consisted of a set of rawhide strips securely lashed to the tent-poles, which were harnessed to the sides of the animal as if he stood between shafts, while the free ends were allowed to drag on the ground. both ponies and large dogs were used as beasts of burden, and they carried in this way the smaller children as well as the baggage. this mode of travelling for children was possible only in the summer, and as the dogs were sometimes unreliable, the little ones were exposed to a certain amount of danger. for instance, whenever a train of dogs had been travelling for a long time, almost perishing with the heat and their heavy loads, a glimpse of water would cause them to forget all their responsibilities. some of them, in spite of the screams of the women, would swim with their burdens into the cooling stream, and i was thus, on more than one occasion, made to partake of an unwilling bath. i was a little over four years old at the time of the "sioux massacre" in minnesota. in the general turmoil, we took flight into british columbia, and the journey is still vividly remembered by all our family. a yoke of oxen and a lumber-wagon were taken from some white farmer and brought home for our conveyance. how delighted i was when i learned that we were to ride behind those wise-looking animals and in that gorgeously painted wagon! it seemed almost like a living creature to me, this new vehicle with four legs, and the more so when we got out of axle-grease and the wheels went along squealing like pigs! the boys found a great deal of innocent fun in jumping from the high wagon while the oxen were leisurely moving along. my elder brothers soon became experts. at last, i mustered up courage enough to join them in this sport. i was sure they stepped on the wheel, so i cautiously placed my moccasined foot upon it. alas, before i could realize what had happened, i was under the wheels, and had it not been for the neighbor immediately behind us, i might have been run over by the next team as well. this was my first experience with a civilized vehicle. i cried out all possible reproaches on the white man's team and concluded that a dog-travaux was good enough for me. i was really rejoiced that we were moving away from the people who made the wagon that had almost ended my life, and it did not occur to me that i alone was to blame. i could not be persuaded to ride in that wagon again and was glad when we finally left it beside the missouri river. the summer after the "minnesota massacre," general sibley pursued our people across this river. now the missouri is considered one of the most treacherous rivers in the world. even a good modern boat is not safe upon its uncertain current. we were forced to cross in buffalo-skin boats--as round as tubs! the washechu (white men) were coming in great numbers with their big guns, and while most of our men were fighting them to gain time, the women and the old men made and equipped the temporary boats, braced with ribs of willow. some of these were towed by two or three women or men swimming in the water and some by ponies. it was not an easy matter to keep them right side up, with their helpless freight of little children and such goods as we possessed. in our flight, we little folks were strapped in the saddles or held in front of an older person, and in the long night marches to get away from the soldiers, we suffered from loss of sleep and insufficient food. our meals were eaten hastily, and sometimes in the saddle. water was not always to be found. the people carried it with them in bags formed of tripe or the dried pericardium of animals. now we were compelled to trespass upon the country of hostile tribes and were harassed by them almost daily and nightly. only the strictest vigilance saved us. one day we met with another enemy near the british lines. it was a prairie fire. we were surrounded. another fire was quickly made, which saved our lives. one of the most thrilling experiences of the following winter was a blizzard, which overtook us in our wanderings. here and there, a family lay down in the snow, selecting a place where it was not likely to drift much. for a day and a night we lay under the snow. uncle stuck a long pole beside us to tell us when the storm was over. we had plenty of buffalo robes and the snow kept us warm, but we found it heavy. after a time, it became packed and hollowed out around our bodies, so that we were as comfortable as one can be under those circumstances. the next day the storm ceased, and we discovered a large herd of buffaloes almost upon us. we dug our way out, shot some of the buffaloes, made a fire and enjoyed a good dinner. i was now an exile as well as motherless; yet i was not unhappy. our wanderings from place to place afforded us many pleasant experiences and quite as many hardships and misfortunes. there were times of plenty and times of scarcity, and we had several narrow escapes from death. in savage life, the early spring is the most trying time and almost all the famines occurred at this period of the year. the indians are a patient and a clannish people; their love for one another is stronger than that of any civilized people i know. if this were not so, i believe there would have been tribes of cannibals among them. white people have been known to kill and eat their companions in preference to starving; but indians--never! in times of famine, the adults often denied themselves in order to make the food last as long as possible for the children, who were not able to bear hunger as well as the old. as a people, they can live without food much longer than any other nation. i once passed through one of these hard springs when we had nothing to eat for several days. i well remember the six small birds which constituted the breakfast for six families one morning; and then we had no dinner or supper to follow! what a relief that was to me--although i had only a small wing of a small bird for my share! soon after this, we came into a region where buffaloes were plenty, and hunger and scarcity were forgotten. such was the indians' wild life! when game was to be had and the sun shone, they easily forgot the bitter experiences of the winter before. little preparation was made for the future. they are children of nature, and occasionally she whips them with the lashes of experience, yet they are forgetful and careless. much of their suffering might have been prevented by a little calculation. during the summer, when nature is at her best, and provides abundantly for the savage, it seems to me that no life is happier than his! food is free--lodging free--everything free! all were alike rich in the summer, and, again, all were alike poor in the winter and early spring. however, their diseases were fewer and not so destructive as now, and the indian's health was generally good. the indian boy enjoyed such a life as almost all boys dream of and would choose for themselves if they were permitted to do so. the raids made upon our people by other tribes were frequent, and we had to be constantly on the watch. i remember at one time a night attack was made upon our camp and all our ponies stampeded. only a few of them were recovered, and our journeys after this misfortune were effected mostly by means of the dog-travaux. the second winter after the massacre, my father and my two older brothers, with several others, were betrayed by a half-breed at winnipeg to the united states authorities. as i was then living with my uncle in another part of the country, i became separated from them for ten years. during all this time we believed that they had been killed by the whites, and i was taught that i must avenge their deaths as soon as i was able to go upon the war-path. iii an indian sugar camp with the first march thaw the thoughts of the indian women of my childhood days turned promptly to the annual sugar-making. this industry was chiefly followed by the old men and women and the children. the rest of the tribe went out upon the spring fur-hunt at this season, leaving us at home to make the sugar. the first and most important of the necessary utensils were the huge iron and brass kettles for boiling. everything else could be made, but these must be bought, begged or borrowed. a maple tree was felled and a log canoe hollowed out, into which the sap was to be gathered. little troughs of basswood and birchen basins were also made to receive the sweet drops as they trickled from the tree. as soon as these labors were accomplished, we all proceeded to the bark sugar house, which stood in the midst of a fine grove of maples on the bank of the minnesota river. we found this hut partially filled with the snows of winter and the withered leaves of the preceding autumn, and it must be cleared for our use. in the meantime a tent was pitched outside for a few days' occupancy. the snow was still deep in the woods, with a solid crust upon which we could easily walk; for we usually moved to the sugar house before the sap had actually started, the better to complete our preparations. my grandmother did not confine herself to canoe-making. she also collected a good supply of fuel for the fires, for she would not have much time to gather wood when the sap began to flow. presently the weather moderated and the snow began to melt. the month of april brought showers which carried most of it off into the minnesota river. now the women began to test the trees--moving leisurely among them, axe in hand, and striking a single quick blow, to see if the sap would appear. trees, like people, have their individual characters; some were ready to yield up their life-blood, while others were more reluctant. now one of the birchen basins was set under each tree, and a hardwood chip driven deep into the cut which the axe had made. from the corners of this chip--at first drop by drop, then, more freely--the sap trickled into the little dishes. it is usual to make sugar from maples, but several other trees were also tapped by the indians. from the birch and ash was made a dark-colored sugar, with a somewhat bitter taste, which was used for medicinal purposes. the box-elder yielded a beautiful white sugar, whose only fault was that there was never enough of it! a long fire was now made in the sugar house, and a row of brass kettles suspended over the blaze. the sap was collected by the women in tin or birchen buckets and poured into the canoes, from which the kettles were kept filled. the hearts of the boys beat high with pleasant anticipations when they heard the welcome hissing sound of the boiling sap! each boy claimed one kettle for his especial charge. it was his duty to see that the fire was kept under it, to watch lest it boil over, and finally, when the sap became sirup, to test it upon the snow, dipping it out with a wooden paddle. so frequent were these tests that for the first day or two we consumed nearly all that could be made; and it was not until the sweetness began to pall that my grandmother set herself in earnest to store up sugar for future use. she made it into cakes of various forms, in birchen molds, and sometimes in hollow canes or reeds, and the bills of ducks and geese. some of it was pulverized and packed in rawhide cases. being a prudent woman, she did not give it to us after the first month or so, except upon special occasions, and it was thus made to last almost the year around. the smaller candies were reserved as an occasional treat for the little fellows, and the sugar was eaten at feasts with wild rice or parched corn, and also with pounded dried meat. coffee and tea, with their substitutes, were all unknown to us in those days. every pursuit has its trials and anxieties. my grandmother's special tribulations, during the sugaring season, were the upsetting and gnawing of holes in her birch-bark pans. the transgressors were the rabbit and squirrel tribes, and we little boys for once became useful, in shooting them with our bows and arrows. we hunted all over the sugar camp, until the little creatures were fairly driven out of the neighborhood. occasionally one of my older brothers brought home a rabbit or two, and then we had a feast. i remember on this occasion of our last sugar bush in minnesota, that i stood one day outside of our hut and watched the approach of a visitor--a bent old man, his hair almost white, and carrying on his back a large bundle of red willow, or kinnikinick, which the indians use for smoking. he threw down his load at the door and thus saluted us: "you have indeed perfect weather for sugar-making." it was my great-grandfather, cloud man, whose original village was on the shores of lakes calhoun and harriet, now in the suburbs of the city of minneapolis. he was the first sioux chief to welcome the protestant missionaries among his people, and a well-known character in those pioneer days. he brought us word that some of the peaceful sugar-makers near us on the river had been attacked and murdered by roving ojibways. this news disturbed us not a little, for we realized that we too might become the victims of an ojibway war party. therefore we all felt some uneasiness from this time until we returned heavy laden to our village. iv games and sports the indian boy was a prince of the wilderness. he had but very little work to do during the period of his boyhood. his principal occupation was the practice of a few simple arts in warfare and the chase. aside from this, he was master of his time. it is true that our savage life was a precarious one, and full of dreadful catastrophes; however, this never prevented us from enjoying our sports to the fullest extent. as we left our teepees in the morning, we were never sure that our scalps would not dangle from a pole in the afternoon! it was an uncertain life, to be sure. yet we observed that the fawns skipped and played happily while the gray wolves might be peeping forth from behind the hills, ready to tear them limb from limb. our sports were molded by the life and customs of our people; indeed, we practiced only what we expected to do when grown. our games were feats with the bow and arrow, foot and pony races, wrestling, swimming and imitation of the customs and habits of our fathers. we had sham fights with mud balls and willow wands; we played lacrosse, made war upon bees, shot winter arrows (which were used only in that season), and coasted upon the ribs of animals and buffalo robes. no sooner did the boys get together than, as a usual thing, they divided into squads and chose sides; then a leading arrow was shot at random into the air. before it fell to the ground a volley from the bows of the participants followed. each player was quick to note the direction and speed of the leading arrow and he tried to send his own at the same speed and at an equal height, so that when it fell it would be closer to the first than any of the others. it was considered out of place to shoot by first sighting the object aimed at. this was usually impracticable in actual life, because the object was almost always in motion, while the hunter himself was often upon the back of a pony at full gallop. therefore, it was the off-hand shot that the indian boy sought to master. there was another game with arrows that was characterized by gambling, and was generally confined to the men. the races were an every-day occurrence. at noon the boys were usually gathered by some pleasant sheet of water, and as soon as the ponies were watered, they were allowed to graze for an hour or two, while the boys stripped for their noonday sports. a boy might say to some other whom he considered his equal: "i can't run; but i will challenge you to fifty paces." a former hero, when beaten, would often explain his defeat by saying: "i drank too much water." boys of all ages were paired for a "spin," and the little red men cheered on their favorites with spirit. as soon as this was ended, the pony races followed. all the speedy ponies were picked out and riders chosen. if a boy declined to ride, there would be shouts of derision. last of all came the swimming. a little urchin would hang to his pony's long tail, while the latter, with only his head above water, glided sportively along. finally the animals were driven into a fine field of grass and we turned our attention to other games. the "mud-and-willow" fight was rather a severe and dangerous sport. a lump of soft clay was stuck on the end of a limber and springy willow wand and thrown as boys throw apples from sticks, with considerable force. when there were fifty or a hundred players on each side, the battle became warm; but anything to arouse the bravery of indian boys seemed to them a good and wholesome diversion. wrestling was largely indulged in by us all. it may seem odd, but wrestling was done by a great many boys at once--from ten to any number on a side. it was really a battle, in which each one chose his opponent. the rule was that if a boy sat down, he was let alone, but as long as he remained standing within the field, he was open to an attack. no one struck with the hand, but all manner of tripping with legs and feet and butting with the knees was allowed. altogether it was an exhausting pastime--fully equal to the american game of football, and only the young athlete could really enjoy it. one of our most curious sports was a war upon the nests of wild bees. we imagined ourselves about to make an attack upon the ojibways or some tribal foe. we all painted and stole cautiously upon the nest; then, with a rush and war-whoop, sprang upon the object of our attack and endeavored to destroy it. but it seemed that the bees were always on the alert and never entirely surprised, for they always raised quite as many scalps as did their bold assailants! after the onslaught upon the nest was ended, we usually followed it by a pretended scalp dance. on the occasion of my first experience in this mode of warfare, there were two other little boys who were also novices. one of them particularly was really too young to indulge in an exploit of that kind. as it was the custom of our people, when they killed or wounded an enemy on the battle-field, to announce the act in a loud voice, we did the same. my friend, little wound (as i will call him, for i do not remember his name), being quite small, was unable to reach the nest until it had been well trampled upon and broken and the insects had made a counter charge with such vigor as to repulse and scatter our numbers in every direction. however, he evidently did not want to retreat without any honors; so he bravely jumped upon the nest and yelled: "i, the brave little wound, to-day kill the only fierce enemy!" [illustration: so he bravely jumped upon the nest. _page 32._] scarcely were the last words uttered when he screamed as if stabbed to the heart. one of his older companions shouted: "dive into the water! run! dive into the water!" for there was a lake near by. this advice he obeyed. when we had reassembled and were indulging in our mimic dance, little wound was not allowed to dance. he was considered not to be in existence--he had been killed by our enemies, the bee tribe. poor little fellow! his swollen face was sad and ashamed as he sat on a fallen log and watched the dance. although he might well have styled himself one of the noble dead who had died for their country, yet he was not unmindful that he had _screamed_, and this weakness would be apt to recur to him many times in the future. we had some quiet plays which we alternated with the more severe and warlike ones. among them were throwing wands and snow-arrows. in the winter we coasted much. we had no "double-rippers" or toboggans, but six or seven of the long ribs of a buffalo, fastened together at the larger end, answered all practical purposes. sometimes a strip of bass-wood bark, four feet long and about six inches wide, was used with considerable skill. we stood on one end and held the other, using the slippery inside of the bark for the outside, and thus coasting down long hills with remarkable speed. the spinning of tops was one of the all-absorbing winter sports. we made our tops heart-shaped of wood, horn or bone. we whipped them with a long thong of buckskin. the handle was a stick about a foot long and sometimes we whittled the stick to make it spoon-shaped at one end. we played games with these tops--two to fifty boys at one time. each whips his top until it hums; then one takes the lead and the rest follow in a sort of obstacle race. the top must spin all the way through. there were bars of snow over which we must pilot our top in the spoon end of our whip; then again we would toss it in the air on to another open spot of ice or smooth snow-crust from twenty to fifty paces away. the top that holds out the longest is the winner. we loved to play in the water. when we had no ponies, we often had swimming matches of our own, and sometimes made rafts with which we crossed lakes and rivers. it was a common thing to "duck" a young or timid boy or to carry him into deep water to struggle as best he might. i remember a perilous ride with a companion on an unmanageable log, when we were both less than seven years old. the older boys had put us on this uncertain bark and pushed us out into the swift current of the river. i cannot speak for my comrade in distress, but i can say now that i would rather ride on a swift bronco any day than try to stay on and steady a short log in a river. i never knew how we managed to prevent a shipwreck on that voyage and to reach the shore. we had many curious wild pets. there were young foxes, bears, wolves, raccoons, fawns, buffalo calves and birds of all kinds, tamed by various boys. my pets were different at different times, but i particularly remember one. i once had a grizzly bear for a pet, and so far as he and i were concerned, our relations were charming and very close. but i hardly know whether he made more enemies for me or i for him. it was his habit to treat every boy unmercifully who injured me. v an indian boy's training very early, the indian boy assumed the task of preserving and transmitting the legends of his ancestors and his race. almost every evening a myth, or a true story of some deed done in the past, was narrated by one of the parents or grand-parents, while the boy listened with parted lips and glistening eyes. on the following evening, he was usually required to repeat it. if he was not an apt scholar, he struggled long with his task; but, as a rule, the indian boy is a good listener and has a good memory, so that the stories were tolerably well mastered. the household became his audience, by which he was alternately criticized and applauded. this sort of teaching at once enlightens the boy's mind and stimulates his ambition. his conception of his own future career becomes a vivid and irresistible force. whatever there is for him to learn must be learned; whatever qualifications are necessary to a truly great man he must seek at any expense of danger and hardship. such was the feeling of the imaginative and brave young indian. it became apparent to him in early life that he must accustom himself to rove alone and not to fear or dislike the impression of solitude. it seems to be a popular idea that all the characteristic skill of the indian is instinctive and hereditary. this is a mistake. all the stoicism and patience of the indian are acquired traits, and continual practice alone makes him master of the art of wood-craft. physical training and dieting were not neglected. i remember that i was not allowed to have beef soup or any warm drink. the soup was for the old men. general rules for the young were never to take their food very hot, nor to drink much water. my uncle, who educated me up to the age of fifteen years, was a strict disciplinarian and a good teacher. when i left the teepee in the morning, he would say: "hakadah, look closely to everything you see"; and at evening, on my return, he used often to catechize me for an hour or so. "on which side of the trees is the lighter-colored bark? on which side do they have most regular branches?" it was his custom to let me name all the new birds that i had seen during the day. i would name them according to the color or the shape of the bill or their song or the appearance and locality of the nest--in fact, anything about the bird that impressed me as characteristic. i made many ridiculous errors, i must admit. he then usually informed me of the correct name. occasionally i made a hit and this he would warmly commend. he went much deeper into this science when i was a little older, that is, about the age of eight or nine years. he would say, for instance: "how do you know that there are fish in yonder lake?" "because they jump out of the water for flies at mid-day." he would smile at my prompt but superficial reply. "what do you think of the little pebbles grouped together under the shallow water? and what made the pretty curved marks in the sandy bottom and the little sand-banks? where do you find the fish-eating birds? have the inlet and the outlet of a lake anything to do with the question?" he did not expect a correct reply at once to all the questions that he put to me on these occasions, but he meant to make me observant and a good student of nature. "hakadah," he would say to me, "you ought to follow the example of the shunktokecha (wolf). even when he is surprised and runs for his life, he will pause to take one more look at you before he enters his final retreat. so you must take a second look at everything you see. "it is better to view animals unobserved. i have been a witness to their courtships and their quarrels and have learned many of their secrets in this way. i was once the unseen spectator of a thrilling battle between a pair of grizzly bears and three buffaloes--a rash act for the bears, for it was in the moon of strawberries, when the buffaloes sharpen and polish their horns for bloody contests among themselves. "i advise you, my boy, never to approach a grizzly's den from the front, but to steal up behind and throw your blanket or a stone in front of the hole. he does not usually rush for it, but first puts his head out and listens and then comes out very indifferently and sits on his haunches on the mound in front of the hole before he makes any attack. while he is exposing himself in this fashion, aim at his heart. always be as cool as the animal himself." thus he armed me against the cunning of savage beasts by teaching me how to outwit them. "in hunting," he would resume, "you will be guided by the habits of the animal you seek. remember that a moose stays in swampy or low land or between high mountains near a spring or lake, for thirty to sixty days at a time. most large game moves about continually, except the doe in the spring; it is then a very easy matter to find her with the fawn. conceal yourself in a convenient place as soon as you observe any signs of the presence of either, and then call with your birchen doe-caller. "whichever one hears you first will soon appear in your neighborhood. but you must be very watchful, or you may be made a fawn of by a large wild-cat. they understand the characteristic call of the doe perfectly well. "when you have any difficulty with a bear or a wild-cat--that is, if the creature shows any signs of attacking you--you must make him fully understand that you have seen him and are aware of his intentions. if you are not well equipped for a pitched battle, the only way to make him retreat is to take a long sharp-pointed pole for a spear and rush toward him. no wild beast will face this unless he is cornered and already wounded. these fierce beasts are generally afraid of the common weapon of the larger animals,--the horns,--and if these are very long and sharp, they dare not risk an open fight. "there is one exception to this rule--the gray wolf will attack fiercely when very hungry. but their courage depends upon their numbers; in this they are like white men. one wolf or two will never attack a man. they will stampede a herd of buffaloes in order to get at the calves; they will rush upon a herd of antelopes, for these are helpless; but they are always careful about attacking man." of this nature were the instructions of my uncle, who was widely known at that time as among the greatest hunters of his tribe. all boys were expected to endure hardship without complaint. in savage warfare, a young man must, of course, be an athlete and used to undergoing all sorts of privations. he must be able to go without food and water for two or three days without displaying any weakness, or to run for a day and a night without any rest. he must be able to traverse a pathless and wild country without losing his way either in the day or night time. he cannot refuse to do any of these things if he aspires to be a warrior. sometimes my uncle would waken me very early in the morning and challenge me to fast with him all day. i had to accept the challenge. we blackened our faces with charcoal, so that every boy in the village would know that i was fasting for the day. then the little tempters would make my life a misery until the merciful sun hid behind the western hills. i can scarcely recall the time when my stern teacher began to give sudden war-whoops over my head in the morning while i was sound asleep. he expected me to leap up with perfect presence of mind, always ready to grasp a weapon of some sort and to give a shrill whoop in reply. if i was sleepy or startled and hardly knew what i was about, he would ridicule me and say that i need never expect to sell my scalp dear. often he would vary these tactics by shooting off his gun just outside of the lodge while i was yet asleep, at the same time giving blood-curdling yells. after a time i became used to this. when indians went upon the war-path, it was their custom to try the new warriors thoroughly before coming to an engagement. for instance, when they were near a hostile camp, they would select the novices to go after the water and make them do all sorts of things to prove their courage. in accordance with this idea, my uncle used to send me off after water when we camped after dark in a strange place. perhaps the country was full of wild beasts, and, for aught i knew, there might be scouts from hostile bands of indians lurking in that very neighborhood. yet i never objected, for that would show cowardice. i picked my way through the woods, dipped my pail in the water and hurried back, always careful to make as little noise as a cat. being only a boy, my heart would leap at every crackling of a dry twig or distant hooting of an owl, until, at last, i reached our teepee. then my uncle would perhaps say: "ah, hakadah, you are a thorough warrior!" empty out the precious contents of the pail, and order me to go a second time. imagine how i felt! but i wished to be a brave man as much as a white boy desires to be a great lawyer or even president of the united states. silently i would take the pail and endeavor to retrace my foot-steps in the dark. with all this, our manners and morals were not neglected. i was made to respect the adults and especially the aged. i was not allowed to join in their discussions, nor even to speak in their presence, unless requested to do so. indian etiquette was very strict, and among the requirements was that of avoiding the direct address. a term of relationship or some title of courtesy was commonly used instead of the personal name by those who wished to show respect. we were taught generosity to the poor and reverence for the "great mystery." religion was the basis of all indian training. vi the boy hunter there was almost as much difference between the indian boys who were brought up on the open prairies and those of the woods, as between city and country boys. the hunting of the prairie boys was limited and their knowledge of natural history imperfect. they were, as a rule, good riders, but in all-round physical development much inferior to the red men of the forest. our hunting varied with the season of the year, and the nature of the country which was for the time our home. our chief weapon was the bow and arrows, and perhaps, if we were lucky, a knife was possessed by some one in the crowd. in the olden times, knives and hatchets were made from bone and sharp stones. for fire we used a flint with a spongy piece of dry wood and a stone to strike with. another way of starting fire was for several of the boys to sit down in a circle and rub two pieces of dry, spongy wood together, one after another, until the wood took fire. we hunted in company a great deal, though it was a common thing for a boy to set out for the woods quite alone, and he usually enjoyed himself fully as much. our game consisted mainly of small birds, rabbits, squirrels and grouse. fishing, too, occupied much of our time. we hardly ever passed a creek or a pond without searching for some signs of fish. when fish were present, we always managed to get some. fish-lines were made of wild hemp, sinew or horse-hair. we either caught fish with lines, snared or speared them, or shot them with bow and arrows. in the fall we charmed them up to the surface by gently tickling them with a stick and quickly threw them out. we have sometimes dammed the brooks and driven the larger fish into a willow basket made for that purpose. it was part of our hunting to find new and strange things in the woods. we examined the slightest sign of life; and if a bird had scratched the leaves off the ground, or a bear dragged up a root for his morning meal, we stopped to speculate on the time it was done. if we saw a large old tree with some scratches on its bark, we concluded that a bear or some raccoons must be living there. in that case we did not go any nearer than was necessary, but later reported the incident at home. an old deer-track would at once bring on a warm discussion as to whether it was the track of a buck or a doe. generally, at noon, we met and compared our game, noting at the same time the peculiar characteristics of everything we had killed. it was not merely a hunt, for we combined with it the study of animal life. we also kept strict account of our game, and thus learned who were the best shots among the boys. i am sorry to say that we were merciless toward the birds. we often took their eggs and their young ones. my brother chatanna and i once had a disagreeable adventure while bird-hunting. we were accustomed to catch in our hands young ducks and geese during the summer, and while doing this we happened to find a crane's nest. of course, we were delighted with our good luck. but, as it was already midsummer, the young cranes--two in number--were rather large and they were a little way from the nest; we also observed that the two old cranes were in a swampy place near by; but, as it was moulting-time, we did not suppose that they would venture on dry land. so we proceeded to chase the young birds; but they were fleet runners and it took us some time to come up with them. meanwhile, the parent birds had heard the cries of their little ones and come to their rescue. they were chasing us, while we followed the birds. it was really a perilous encounter! our strong bows finally gained the victory in a hand-to-hand struggle with the angry cranes; but after that we hardly ever hunted a crane's nest. almost all birds make some resistance when their eggs or young are taken, but they will seldom attack man fearlessly. we used to climb large trees for birds of all kinds; but we never undertook to get young owls unless they were on the ground. the hooting owl especially is a dangerous bird to attack under these circumstances. i was once trying to catch a yellow-winged woodpecker in its nest when my arm became twisted and lodged in the deep hole so that i could not get it out without the aid of a knife; but we were a long way from home and my only companion was a deaf-mute cousin of mine. i was about fifty feet up in the tree, in a very uncomfortable position, but i had to wait there for more than an hour before he brought me the knife with which i finally released myself. our devices for trapping small animals were rude, but they were often successful. for instance, we used to gather up a peck or so of large, sharp-pointed burrs and scatter them in the rabbit's furrow-like path. in the morning, we would find the little fellow sitting quietly in his tracks, unable to move, for the burrs stuck to his feet. another way of snaring rabbits and grouse was the following: we made nooses of twisted horse-hair, which we tied very firmly to the top of a limber young tree, then bent the latter down to the track and fastened the whole with a slip-knot, after adjusting the noose. when the rabbit runs his head through the noose, he pulls the slip-knot and is quickly carried up by the spring of the young tree. this is a good plan, for the rabbit is out of harm's way as he swings high in the air. perhaps the most enjoyable of all was the chipmunk hunt. we killed these animals at any time of year, but the special time to hunt them was in march. after the first thaw, the chipmunks burrow a hole through the snow crust and make their first appearance for the season. sometimes as many as fifty will come together and hold a social reunion. these gatherings occur early in the morning, from daybreak to about nine o'clock. we boys learned this, among other secrets of nature, and got our blunt-headed arrows together in good season for the chipmunk expedition. we generally went in groups of six to a dozen or fifteen, to see which would get the most. on the evening before, we selected several boys who could imitate the chipmunk's call with wild oat-straws and each of these provided himself with a supply of straws. the crust will hold the boys nicely at this time of the year. bright and early, they all come together at the appointed place, from which each group starts out in a different direction, agreeing to meet somewhere at a given position of the sun. my first experience of this kind is still well remembered. it was a fine crisp march morning, and the sun had not yet shown himself among the distant tree-tops as we hurried along through the ghostly wood. presently we arrived at a place where there were many signs of the animals. then each of us selected a tree and took up his position behind it. the chipmunk-caller sat upon a log as motionless as he could, and began to call. soon we heard the patter of little feet on the hard snow; then we saw the chipmunks approaching from all directions. some stopped and ran experimentally up a tree or a log, as if uncertain of the exact direction of the call; others chased one another about. in a few minutes, the chipmunk-caller was besieged with them. some ran all over his person, others under him and still others ran up the tree against which he was sitting. each boy remained immovable until their leader gave the signal; then a great shout arose, and the chipmunks in their flight all ran up the different trees. now the shooting-match began. the little creatures seemed to realize their hopeless position; they would try again and again to come down the trees and flee away from the deadly aim of the youthful hunters. but they were shot down very fast; and whenever several of them rushed toward the ground, the little redskin hugged the tree and yelled frantically to scare them up again. each boy shoots always against the trunk of the tree, so that the arrow may bound back to him every time; otherwise, when he had shot away all of them, he would be helpless, and another, who had cleared his own tree, would come and take away his game, so there was warm competition. sometimes a desperate chipmunk would jump from the top of the tree in order to escape, which was considered a joke on the boy who lost it and a triumph for the brave little animal. at last all were killed or gone, and then we went on to another place, keeping up the sport until the sun came out and the chipmunks refused to answer the call. vii evening in the lodge i had been skating on that part of the lake where there was an overflow, and came home somewhat cold. i cannot say just how cold it was, but it must have been intensely so, for the trees were cracking all about me like pistol-shots. i did not mind, because i was wrapped up in my buffalo robe with the hair inside, and a wide leather belt held it about my loins. my skates were nothing more than strips of basswood bark bound upon my feet. i had taken off my frozen moccasins and put on dry ones in their places. "where have you been and what have you been doing?" uncheedah asked as she placed before me some roast venison in a wooden bowl. "did you see any tracks of moose or bear?" "no, grandmother, i have only been playing at the lower end of the lake. i have something to ask you," i said, eating my dinner and supper together with all the relish of a hungry boy who has been skating in the cold for half a day. "i found this feather, grandmother, and i could not make out what tribe wear feathers in that shape." "ugh, i am not a man; you had better ask your uncle. besides, you should know it yourself by this time. you are now old enough to think about eagle feathers." i felt mortified by this reminder of my ignorance. it seemed a reflection on me that i was not ambitious enough to have found all such matters out before. "uncle, you will tell me, won't you?" i said, in an appealing tone. "i am surprised, my boy, that you should fail to recognize this feather. it is a cree medicine feather, and not a warrior's." "then," i said, with much embarrassment, "you had better tell me again, uncle, the language of the feathers. i have really forgotten it all." the day was now gone; the moon had risen; but the cold had not lessened, for the trunks of the trees were still snapping all around our teepee, which was lighted and warmed by the immense logs which uncheedah's industry had provided. my uncle, white footprint, now undertook to explain to me the significance of the eagle's feather. "the eagle is the most war-like bird," he began, "and the most kingly of all birds; besides, his feathers are unlike any others, and these are the reasons why they are used by our people to signify deeds of bravery. "it is not true that when a man wears a feather bonnet, each one of the feathers represents the killing of a foe or even a _coup_. when a man wears an eagle feather upright upon his head, he is supposed to have counted one of four _coups_ upon his enemy." "well, then, a _coup_ does not mean the killing of an enemy?" "no, it is the after-stroke or touching of the body after he falls. it is so ordered, because oftentimes the touching of an enemy is much more difficult to accomplish than the shooting of one from a distance. it requires a strong heart to face the whole body of the enemy, in order to count the _coup_ on the fallen one, who lies under cover of his kinsmen's fire. many a brave man has been lost in the attempt. "when a warrior approaches his foe, dead or alive, he calls upon the other warriors to witness by saying: 'i, fearless bear, your brave, again perform the brave deed of counting the first (or second or third or fourth) _coup_ upon the body of the bravest of your enemies.' naturally, those who are present will see the act and be able to testify to it. when they return, the heralds, as you know, announce publicly all such deeds of valor, which then become a part of the man's war record. any brave who would wear the eagle's feather must give proof of his right to do so. "when a brave is wounded in the same battle where he counted his _coup_, he wears the feather hanging downward. when he is wounded, but makes no count, he trims his feather, and in that case it need not be an eagle feather. all other feathers are merely ornaments. when a warrior wears a feather with a round mark, it means that he slew his enemy. when the mark is cut into the feather and painted red, it means that he took the scalp. "a brave who has been successful in ten battles is entitled to a war-bonnet; and if he is a recognized leader, he is permitted to wear one with long, trailing plumes. also those who have counted many _coups_ may tip the ends of the feathers with bits of white or colored down. sometimes the eagle feather is tipped with a strip of weasel skin; that means the wearer had the honor of killing, scalping and counting the first _coup_ upon the enemy all at the same time. "this feather you have found was worn by a cree--it is indiscriminately painted. all other feathers worn by the common indians mean nothing," he added. "tell me, uncle, whether it would be proper for me to wear any feathers at all if i have never gone upon the war-path." "you could wear any other kind of feathers, but not an eagle's," replied my uncle, "although sometimes one is worn on great occasions by the child of a noted man, to indicate the father's dignity and position." the fire had gone down somewhat, so i pushed the embers together and wrapped my robe more closely about me. now and then the ice on the lake would burst with a loud report like thunder. uncheedah was busy re-stringing one of uncle's old snow-shoes. there were two different kinds that he wore; one with a straight toe and long; the other shorter and with an upturned toe. she had one of the shoes fastened toe down, between sticks driven into the ground, while she put in some new strings and tightened the others. aunt four stars was beading a new pair of moccasins. wabeda, the dog, the companion of my boyhood days, was in trouble because he insisted upon bringing his extra bone into the teepee, while uncheedah was determined that he should not. i sympathized with him, because i saw the matter as he did. if he should bury it in the snow outside, i knew shunktokecha (the coyote) would surely steal it. i knew just how anxious wabeda was about his bone. it was a fat bone--i mean a bone of a fat deer; and all indians know how much better they are than the other kind. wabeda always hated to see a good thing go to waste. his eyes spoke words to me, for he and i had been friends for a long time. when i was afraid of anything in the woods, he would get in front of me at once and gently wag his tail. he always made it a point to look directly in my face. his kind, large eyes gave me a thousand assurances. when i was perplexed, he would hang about me until he understood the situation. many times i believed he saved my life by uttering the dog word in time. most animals, even the dangerous grizzly, do not care to be seen when the two-legged kind and his dog are about. when i feared a surprise by a bear or a gray wolf, i would say to wabeda: "now, my dog, give your war-whoop!" and immediately he would sit up on his haunches and bark "to beat the band," as you white boys say. when a bear or wolf heard the noise, he would be apt to retreat. sometimes i helped wabeda and gave a war-whoop of my own. this drove the deer away as well, but it relieved my mind. when he appealed to me on this occasion, therefore, i said: "come, my dog, let us bury your bone so that no shunktokecha will take it." he appeared satisfied with my suggestion, so we went out together. we dug in the snow and buried our bone wrapped up in a piece of old blanket, partly burned; then we covered it up again with snow. we knew that the coyote would not touch anything burnt. i did not put it up a tree because wabeda always objected to that, and i made it a point to consult his wishes whenever i could. i came in and wabeda followed me with two short rib bones in his mouth. apparently he did not care to risk those delicacies. "there," exclaimed uncheedah, "you still insist upon bringing in some sort of bone!" but i begged her to let him gnaw them inside because it was so cold. having been granted this privilege, he settled himself at my back and i became absorbed in some specially nice arrows that uncle was making. "oh, uncle, you must put on three feathers to all of them so that they can fly straight," i suggested. "yes, but if there are only two feathers, they will fly faster," he answered. "woow!" wabeda uttered his suspicions. "woow!" he said again, and rushed for the entrance of the teepee. he kicked me over as he went and scattered the burning embers. "en na he na!" uncheedah exclaimed, but he was already outside. "wow, wow, wow! wow, wow, wow!" a deep guttural voice answered him. out i rushed with my bow and arrows in my hand. "come, uncle, come! a big cinnamon bear!" i shouted as i emerged from the teepee. uncle sprang out, and in a moment he had sent a swift arrow through the bear's heart. the animal fell dead. he had just begun to dig up wabeda's bone, when the dog's quick ear had heard the sound. "ah, uncle, wabeda and i ought to have at least a little eaglet's feather for this! i too sent my small arrow into the bear before he fell," i exclaimed. "but i thought all bears ought to be in their lodges in the winter time. what was this one doing at this time of the year and night?" "well," said my uncle, "i will tell you. among the tribes, some are naturally lazy. the cinnamon bear is the lazy one of his tribe. he alone sleeps out of doors in the winter, and because he has not a warm bed, he is soon hungry. sometimes he lives in the hollow trunk of a tree, where he has made a bed of dry grass; but when the night is very cold, like to-night, he has to move about to keep himself from freezing, and as he prowls around, he gets hungry." we dragged the huge carcass within our lodge. "oh, what nice claws he has, uncle!" i exclaimed eagerly. "can i have them for my necklace?" [illustration: "oh, what nice claws he has, uncle!" i exclaimed eagerly. _page 69._] "it is only the old medicine-men who wear them regularly. the son of a great warrior who has killed a grizzly may wear them upon a public occasion," he explained. "and you are just like my father and are considered the best hunter among the santees and sissetons. you have killed many grizzlies, so that no one can object to my bear's-claw necklace," i said appealingly. white foot-print smiled. "my boy, you shall have them," he said, "but it is always better to earn them yourself." he cut the claws off carefully for my use. "tell me, uncle, whether you could wear these claws all the time?" i asked. "yes, i am entitled to wear them, but they are so heavy and uncomfortable," he replied, with a superior air. at last the bear had been skinned and dressed and we all resumed our usual places. uncheedah was particularly pleased to have some more fat for her cooking. "now, grandmother, tell me the story of the bear's fat. i shall be so happy if you will," i begged. "it is a good story and it is true. you should know it by heart and gain a lesson from it," she replied. "it was in the forests of minnesota, in the country that now belongs to the ojibways. from the bedawakanton sioux village a young married couple went into the woods to get fresh venison. the snow was deep; the ice was thick. far away in the woods they pitched their lonely teepee. the young man was a well-known hunter and his wife a good maiden of the village. "he hunted entirely on snow-shoes, because the snow was very deep. his wife had to wear snow-shoes too, to get to the spot where they pitched their tent. it was thawing the day they went out, so their path was distinct after the freeze came again. "the young man killed many deer and bears. his wife was very busy curing the meat and trying out the fat while he was away hunting each day. in the evenings she kept on trying the fat. he sat on one side of the teepee and she on the other. "one evening, she had just lowered a kettle of fat to cool, and as she looked into the hot fat she saw the face of an ojibway scout looking down at them through the smoke-hole. she said nothing, nor did she betray herself in any way. "after a little she said to her husband in a natural voice: 'marpeetopah, some one is looking at us through the smoke-hole, and i think it is an enemy's scout.' "then marpeetopah (four-skies) took up his bow and arrows and began to straighten and dry them for the next day's hunt, talking and laughing meanwhile. suddenly he turned and sent an arrow upward, killing the ojibway, who fell dead at their door. "'quick, wadutah!' he exclaimed; 'you must hurry home upon our trail. i will stay here. when this scout does not return, the war-party may come in a body or send another scout. if only one comes, i can soon dispatch him and then i will follow you. if i do not do that, they will overtake us in our flight.' "wadutah (scarlet) protested and begged to be allowed to stay with her husband, but at last she came away to get re-inforcements. "then marpeetopah (four-skies) put more sticks on the fire so that the teepee might be brightly lit and show him the way. he then took the scalp of the enemy and proceeded on his track, until he came to the upturned root of a great tree. there he spread out his arrows and laid out his tomahawk. "soon two more scouts were sent by the ojibway war-party to see what was the trouble and why the first one failed to come back. he heard them as they approached. they were on snow-shoes. when they came close to him, he shot an arrow into the foremost. as for the other, in his effort to turn quickly his snow-shoes stuck in the deep snow and detained him, so marpeetopah killed them both. "quickly he took the scalps and followed wadutah. he ran hard. but the ojibways suspected something wrong and came to the lonely teepee, to find all their scouts had been killed. they followed the path of marpeetopah and wadutah to the main village, and there a great battle was fought on the ice. many were killed on both sides. it was after this that the sioux moved to the mississippi river." i was sleepy by this time and i rolled myself up in my buffalo robe and fell asleep. part two stories of real indians i winona's childhood hush, hushaby, little woman! be brave and weep not! the spirits sleep not; 'tis they who ordain to woman, pain. hush, hushaby, little woman! now, all things bearing, a new gift sharing from those above- to woman, love. _--sioux lullaby._ "chinto, wã©yanna! yes, indeed; she is a real little woman," declares the old grandmother, as she receives and critically examines the tiny bit of humanity. there is no remark as to the color of its hair or eyes, both so black as almost to be blue, but the old woman scans sharply the delicate profile of the baby face. "ah, she has the nose of her ancestors! lips thin as a leaf, and eyes bright as stars in midwinter!" she exclaims, as she passes on the furry bundle to the other grandmother for her inspection. "tokee! she is pretty enough to win a twinkle from the evening star," remarks that smiling personage. "and what shall her name be? "winona, the first-born, of course. that is hers by right of birth." "still, it may not fit her. one must prove herself worthy in order to retain that honorable name." "ugh," retorts the first grandmother, "she can at least bear it on probation!" "tosh, tosh," the other assents. thus the unconscious little winona has passed the first stage of the indian's christening. presently she is folded into a soft white doeskin, well lined with the loose down of cattails, and snugly laced into an upright oaken cradle, the front of which is a richly embroidered buckskin bag, with porcupine quills and deer's hoofs suspended from its profuse fringes. this gay cradle is strapped upon the second grandmother's back, and that dignitary walks off with the newcomer. "you must come with me," she says. "we shall go among the father and mother trees, and hear them speak with their thousand tongues, that you may know their language forever. i will hang the cradle of the woman-child upon utuhu, the oak; and she shall hear the love-sighs of the pine maiden!" in this fashion winona is introduced to nature and becomes at once "nature-born," in accord with the beliefs and practices of the wild red man. the baby girl is called winona for some months, when the medicine-man is summoned and requested to name publicly the first-born daughter of chetonska, the white hawk; but not until he has received a present of a good pony with a finely painted buffalo-robe. it is usual to confer another name besides that of the "first-born," which may be resumed later if the maiden proves worthy. the name winona implies much of honor. it means charitable, kind, helpful; all that an eldest sister should be! the herald goes around the ring of lodges announcing in singsong fashion the christening, and inviting everybody to a feast in honor of the event. a real american christening is always a gala occasion, when much savage wealth is distributed among the poor and old people. winona has only just walked, and this fact is also announced with additional gifts. a well-born child is ever before the tribal eye and in the tribal ear, as every little step in its progress toward manhood or womanhood--the first time of walking or swimming, first shot with bow and arrow (if a boy), first pair of moccasins made (if a girl)--is announced publicly with feasting and the giving of presents. so winona receives her individual name of tatiyopa, or her door. it is symbolic, like most indian names, and implies that the door of the bearer is hospitable and her home attractive. the two grandmothers, who have carried the little maiden upon their backs, now tell and sing to her by turns all the legends of their most noted female ancestors, from the twin sisters of the old story, the maidens who married among the star people of the sky, down to their own mothers. all their lullabies are feminine, and designed to impress upon her tender mind the life and duties of her sex. as soon as she is old enough to play with dolls, she plays mother in all seriousness and gravity. she is dressed like a miniature woman (and her dolls are clad likewise), in garments of doeskin to her ankles, adorned with long fringes, embroidered with porcupine quills, and dyed with root dyes in various colors. her little blanket or robe, with which she shyly drapes or screens her head and shoulders, is the skin of a buffalo calf or a deer, soft, white, embroidered on the smooth side, and often with the head and hoofs left on. "you must never forget, my little daughter, that you are a woman like myself. do always those things that you see me do," her mother often admonishes her. even the language of the sioux has its feminine dialect, and the tiny girl would be greatly abashed were it ever needful to correct her for using a masculine termination. this mother makes for her little daughter a miniature copy of every rude tool that she uses in her daily tasks. there is a little scraper of elk-horn to scrape raw-hides preparatory to tanning them, another scraper of a different shape for tanning, bone knives, and stone mallets for pounding choke-cherries and jerked meat. while her mother is bending over a large buffalo-hide stretched and pinned upon the ground, standing upon it and scraping off the fleshy portion as nimbly as a carpenter shaves a board with his plane, winona, at five years of age, stands upon a corner of the great hide and industriously scrapes away with her tiny instrument. when the mother stops to sharpen her tool, the little woman always sharpens hers also. perhaps there is water to be fetched in bags made from the dried pericardium of an animal; the girl brings some in a smaller water-bag. when her mother goes for wood she carries one or two sticks on her back. she pitches her play teepee to form an exact copy of her mother's. her little belongings are nearly all practical, and her very play is real! ii winona's girlhood braver than the bravest, you sought honors at death's door; could you not remember one who weeps at home- could you not remember me? braver than the bravest, you sought honors more than love; dear, i weep, yet i am not a coward; my heart weeps for thee- my heart weeps when i remember thee! _--sioux love song._ the sky is blue overhead, peeping through window-like openings in a roof of green leaves. right between a great pine and a birch tree their soft doeskin shawls are spread, and there sit two sioux maidens amid their fineries--variously colored porcupine quills for embroidery laid upon sheets of thin birch-bark, and moccasin tops worked in colors like autumn leaves. it is winona and her friend miniyata. they have arrived at the period during which the young girl is carefully secluded from her brothers and cousins and future lovers, and retires, as it were, into the nunnery of the woods, behind a veil of thick foliage. thus she is expected to develop her womanly qualities. in meditation and solitude, entirely alone or with a chosen companion of her own sex and age, she gains a secret strength, as she studies the art of womanhood from nature herself. "come, let us practise our sacred dance," says one to the other. each crowns her glossy head with a wreath of wild flowers, and they dance with slow steps around the white birch, singing meanwhile the sacred songs. now upon the lake that stretches blue to the eastward there appears a distant canoe, a mere speck, no bigger than a bird far off against the shining sky. "see the lifting of the paddles!" exclaims winona. "like the leaping of a trout upon the water!" suggests miniyata. "i hope they will not discover us, yet i would like to know who they are," remarks the other, innocently. the birch canoe approaches swiftly, with two young men plying the light cedar paddles. the girls now settle down to their needle-work, quite as if they had never laughed or danced or woven garlands, bending over their embroidery in perfect silence. surely they would not wish to attract attention, for the two sturdy young warriors have already landed. they pick up the canoe and lay it well up on the bank, out of sight. then one procures a strong pole. they lift a buck deer from the canoe--not a mark upon it, save for the bullet wound; the deer looks as if it were sleeping! they tie the hind legs together and the fore legs also and carry it between them on the pole. quickly and cleverly they do all this; and now they start forward and come unexpectedly upon the maidens' retreat! they pause for an instant in mute apology, but the girls smile their forgiveness, and the youths hurry on toward the village. winona has now attended her first maidens' feast and is considered eligible to marriage. she may receive young men, but not in public or in a social way, for such is not the custom of the sioux. when he speaks, she need not answer him unless she chooses. it was no disgrace to the chief's daughter in the old days to work with her hands. indeed, their standard of worth was the willingness to work, but not for the sake of accumulation, only in order to give. winona has learned to prepare skins, to remove the hair and tan the skin of a deer so that it may be made into moccasins within three days. she has a bone tool for each stage of the conversion of the stiff rawhide into velvety leather. she has been taught the art of painting tents and rawhide cases, and the manufacture of garments of all kinds. generosity is a trait that is highly developed in the sioux woman. she makes many moccasins and other articles of clothing for her male relatives, or for any who are not well provided. she loves to see her brother the best dressed among the young men, and the moccasins especially of a young brave are the pride of his woman-kind. her own person is neatly attired, but ordinarily with great simplicity. her doeskin gown has wide, flowing sleeves; the neck is low, but not so low as is the evening dress of society. her moccasins are plain; her leggins close-fitting and not as high as her brother's. she parts her smooth, jet-black hair in the middle and plaits it in two. in the old days she used to do it in one plait wound around with wampum. her ornaments, sparingly worn, are beads, elks' teeth, and a touch of red paint. no feathers are worn by the woman, unless in a sacred dance. she is supposed to be always occupied with some feminine pursuit or engaged in some social affair, which also is strictly feminine as a rule. there is an etiquette of sitting and standing, which is strictly observed. the woman must never raise her knees or cross her feet when seated. she seats herself on the ground sidewise, with both feet under her. notwithstanding her modesty and undemonstrative ways, there is no lack of mirth and relaxation for winona among her girl companions. in summer, swimming and playing in the water is a favorite amusement. she even imitates with the soles of her feet the peculiar, resonant sound that the beaver makes with her large, flat tail upon the surface of the water. she is a graceful swimmer, keeping the feet together and waving them backward and forward like the tail of a fish. nearly all her games are different from those of the men. she has a sport of wand-throwing, which develops fine muscles of the shoulder and back. the wands are about eight feet long, and taper gradually from an inch and a half to half an inch in diameter. some of them are artistically made, with heads of bone and horn, so that it is remarkable to what a distance they may be made to slide over the ground. in the feminine game of ball, which is something like "shinny," the ball is driven with curved sticks between two goals. it is played with from two or three to a hundred on a side, and a game between two bands or villages is a picturesque event. a common indoor diversion is the "deer's foot" game, played with six deer hoofs on a string, ending in a bone or steel awl. the object is to throw it in such a way as to catch one or more hoofs on the point of the awl, a feat which requires no little dexterity. another is played with marked plum-stones in a bowl, which are thrown like dice and count according to the side that is turned uppermost. winona's wooing is a typical one. as with any other people, love-making is more or less in vogue at all times of the year, but more especially at midsummer, during the characteristic reunions and festivities of that season. the young men go about usually in pairs, and the maidens do likewise. they may meet by chance at any time of day, in the woods or at the spring, but oftenest seek to do so after dark, just outside the teepee. the girl has her companion, and he has his, for the sake of propriety or protection. the conversation is carried on in a whisper, so that even these chaperons do not hear. at the sound of the drum on summer evenings, dances are begun within the circular rows of teepees, but without the circle the young men promenade in pairs. each provides himself with the plaintive flute and plays the simple cadences of his people, while his person is completely covered with his fine robe, so that he cannot be recognized by the passer-by. at every pause in the melody he gives his yodel-like love-call, to which the girls respond with their musical, sing-song laughter. matosapa has improved every opportunity, until winona has at last shyly admitted her willingness to listen. for a whole year he has been compelled at intervals to repeat the story of his love. through the autumn hunting of the buffalo and the long, cold winter he often presents her kinsfolk with his game. at the next midsummer the parents on both sides are made acquainted with the betrothal, and they at once begin preparations for the coming wedding. provisions and delicacies of all kinds are laid aside for a feast. matosapa's sisters and his girl cousins are told of the approaching event, and they too prepare for it, since it is their duty to dress or adorn the bride with garments made by their own hands. the bride is ceremoniously delivered to her husband's people, together with presents of rich clothing, collected from all her clan, which she afterward distributes among her new relations. winona is carried in a travois handsomely decorated, and is received with equal ceremony. iii a midsummer feast the wahpetonwan village on the banks of the minnesota river was alive with the newly-arrived guests and the preparations for the coming event. meat of wild game had been put away with much care during the previous fall in anticipation of this feast. there was wild rice and the choicest of dried venison that had been kept all winter, as well as freshly dug turnips, ripe berries and an abundance of fresh meat. along the edge of the woods the teepees were pitched in groups or semi-circles, each band distinct from the others. the teepee of mankato or blue earth was pitched in a conspicuous spot. just over the entrance was painted in red and yellow a picture of a pipe, and directly opposite this the rising sun. the painting was symbolic of welcome and good will to men under the bright sun. a meeting was held to appoint some "medicine-man" to make the balls that were to be used in the lacrosse contest; and presently the herald announced that this honor had been conferred upon old chankpee-yuhah, or "keeps the club," while every other man of his profession was disappointed. towards evening he appeared in the circle, leading by the hand a boy about four years old. closely the little fellow observed every motion of the man; nothing escaped his vigilant black eyes, which seemed constantly to grow brighter and larger, while his glossy black hair was plaited and wound around his head like that of a celestial. he wore a bit of swan's down in each ear, which formed a striking contrast with the child's complexion. further than this, the boy was painted according to the fashion of the age. he held in his hands a miniature bow and arrows. the medicine-man drew himself up in an admirable attitude, and proceeded to make his short speech: "wahpetonwans, you boast that you run down the elk; you can outrun the ojibways. before you all, i dedicate to you this red ball. kaposias, you claim that no one has a lighter foot than you; you declare that you can endure running a whole day without water. to you i dedicate this black ball. either you or the leaf-dwellers will have to drop your eyes and bow your head when the game is over. i wish to announce that if the wahpetonwans should win, this little warrior shall bear the name ohiyesa (winner) through life; but if the light lodges should win, let the name be given to any child appointed by them." the ground selected for the great game was on a narrow strip of land between a lake and the river. it was about three quarters of a mile long and a quarter of a mile in width. the spectators had already ranged themselves all along the two sides, as well as at the two ends, which were somewhat higher than the middle. the soldiers appointed to keep order furnished much of the entertainment of the day. they painted artistically and tastefully, according to the indian fashion, not only their bodies but also their ponies and clubs. they were so strict in enforcing the laws that no one could venture with safety within a few feet of the limits of the field. now all of the minor events and feasts, occupying several days' time, had been observed. heralds on ponies' backs announced that all who intended to participate in the final game were requested to repair to the ground; also that if any one bore a grudge against another, he was implored to forget his ill-feeling until the contest should be over. the most powerful men were stationed at the half-way ground, while the fast runners were assigned to the back. it was an impressive spectacle a fine collection of agile forms, almost stripped of garments and painted in wild imitation of the rainbow and sunset sky on human canvas. some had undertaken to depict the milky way across their tawny bodies, and one or two made a bold attempt to reproduce the lightning. others contented themselves with painting the figure of some fleet animal or swift bird on their muscular chests. at the middle of the ground were stationed four immense men, magnificently formed. a fifth approached this group, paused a moment, and then threw his head back, gazed up into the sky in the manner of a cock and gave a smooth, clear operatic tone. instantly the little black ball went up between the two middle rushers, in the midst of yells, cheers and war-whoops. both men endeavored to catch it in the air; but alas! each interfered with the other; then the guards on each side rushed upon them. for a time, a hundred lacrosse sticks vied with each other, and the wriggling human flesh and paint were all one could see through the cloud of dust. suddenly there shot swiftly through the air toward the south, toward the kaposias' goal, the ball. there was a general cheer from their adherents, which echoed back from the white cliff on the opposite side of the minnesota. as the ball flew through the air, two adversaries were ready to receive it. the kaposia quickly met the ball, but failed to catch it in his netted bag, for the other had swung his up like a flash. thus it struck the ground, but had no opportunity to bound up when a wahpeton pounced upon it like a cat and slipped out of the grasp of his opponents. a mighty cheer thundered through the air. the warrior who had undertaken to pilot the little sphere was risking much, for he must dodge a host of kaposias before he could gain any ground. he was alert and agile; now springing like a panther, now leaping like a deer over a stooping opponent who tried to seize him around the waist. every opposing player was upon his heels, while those of his own side did all in their power to clear the way for him. but it was all in vain. he only gained fifty paces. thus the game went. first one side, then the other would gain an advantage, and then it was lost, until the herald proclaimed that it was time to change the ball. no victory was in sight for either side. after a few minutes' rest, the game was resumed. the red ball was now tossed in the air in the usual way. no sooner had it descended than one of the rushers caught it and away it went northward; again it was fortunate, for it was advanced by one of the same side. the scene was now one of the wildest excitement and confusion. at last, the northward flight of the ball was checked for a moment and a desperate struggle ensued. the ball had not been allowed to come to the surface since it reached this point, for there were more than a hundred men who scrambled for it. suddenly a warrior shot out of the throng like the ball itself! then some of the players shouted: "look out for antelope!" but it was too late. the little sphere had already nestled into antelope's palm and that fleetest of wahpetons had thrown down his lacrosse stick and set a determined eye upon the northern goal. such a speed! he had cleared almost all the opponents' guards--there were but two more. these were exceptional runners of the kaposias. as he approached them in his almost irresistible speed, every savage heart thumped louder in the indian's dusky bosom. in another moment there would be a defeat for the kaposias or a prolongation of the game. the two men, with a determined look approached their foe like two panthers prepared to spring; yet he neither slackened his speed nor deviated from his course. a crash--a mighty shout!--the two kaposias collided, and the swift antelope had won the laurels! the turmoil and commotion at the victors' camp were indescribable. a few beats of a drum were heard, after which the criers hurried along the lines, announcing the last act to be performed at the camp of the "leaf dwellers." the day had been a perfect one. every event had been a success; and, as a matter of course, the old people were happy, for they largely profited by these occasions. within the circle formed by the general assembly sat in a group the members of the common council. blue earth arose, and in a few appropriate and courteous remarks assured his guests that it was not selfishness that led his braves to carry off the honors of the last event, but that this was a friendly contest in which each band must assert its prowess. in memory of this victory, the boy would now receive his name. a loud "ho-o-o" of approbation reverberated from the edge of the forest upon the minnesota's bank. half frightened, the little fellow was now brought into the circle, looking very much as if he were about to be executed. cheer after cheer went up for the awe-stricken boy. chankpee-yuhah, the medicine-man, proceeded to confer the name. "ohiyesa (or winner) shall be thy name henceforth. be brave, be patient and thou shalt always win! thy name is ohiyesa." iv the faithfulness of long ears away beyond the thin hills, above the big lone tree upon the powder river, the uncpapa sioux had celebrated their sun dance, some forty years ago. it was midsummer and the red folk were happy. they lacked for nothing. the yellowish green flat on either side of the powder was studded with wild flowers, and the cottonwood trees were in full leaf. one large circle of buffalo-skin teepees formed the movable village. the tribal rites had all been observed, and the usual summer festivities enjoyed to the full. the camp as it broke up divided itself in three parts, each of which had determined to seek a favorite hunting-ground. one band journeyed west, toward the tongue river. one followed a tributary of the powder to the south. the third merely changed camp, on account of the grazing for ponies, and for four days remained near the old place. the party that went west did not fail to realize the perilous nature of their wanderings, for they were trespassing upon the country of the warlike crows. on the third day at sunrise, the sioux crier's voice resounded in the valley of the powder, announcing that the lodges must be razed and the villagers must take up their march. breakfast of jerked buffalo meat had been served and the women were adjusting their packs, not without much chatter and apparent confusion. weeko (beautiful woman), the young wife of the war-chief shunkaska, who had made many presents at the dances in honor of her twin boys, now gave one of her remaining ponies to a poor old woman whose only beast of burden, a large dog, had died during the night. this made it necessary to shift the packs of the others. nakpa, or long ears, her kitten-like gray mule, which had heretofore been honored with the precious burden of the twin babies, was to be given a heavier and more cumbersome load. weeko's two-year-old spotted pony was selected to carry the babies. accordingly, the two children, in their gorgeously beaded buckskin hoods, were suspended upon either side of the pony's saddle. as weeko's first-born, they were beautifully dressed; even the saddle and bridle were daintily worked by her own hands. the caravan was now in motion, and weeko started all her ponies after the leader, while she adjusted the mule's clumsy burden of kettles and other household gear. in a moment: "go on, let us see how you move with your new load! go on!" she exclaimed again, with a light blow of the horse-hair lariat, as the animal stood perfectly still. nakpa simply gave an angry side glance at her load and shifted her position once or twice. then she threw herself headlong into the air and landed stiff-legged, uttering at the same time her unearthly protest. first she dove straight through the crowd, then proceeded in a circle, her heels describing wonderful curves and sweeps in the air. her pack, too, began to come to pieces and to take forced flights from her undignified body and heels, in the midst of the screams of women and children, the barking of dogs, and the war-whoops of the amused young braves. the cowskin tent became detached from her saddle, and a moment later nakpa stood free. her sides worked like a bellows as she stood there, meekly indignant, apparently considering herself to be the victim of an uncalled-for misunderstanding. "i should put an arrow through her at once, only she is not worth a good arrow," said shunkaska, or white dog, the husband of weeko. at his wife's answer, he opened his eyes in surprised displeasure. "no, she shall have her own pack again. she wants her twins. i ought never to have taken them from her!" weeko approached nakpa as she stood alone and unfriended in the face of her little world, all of whom considered that she had committed the unpardonable sin. as for her, she evidently felt that her misfortunes had not been of her own making. she gave a hesitating, sidelong look at her mistress. "nakpa, you should not have acted so. i knew you were stronger than the others, therefore i gave you that load," said weeko in a conciliatory tone, and patted her on the nose. "come, now, you shall have your own pet pack," and she led her back to where the young pony stood silently with the babies. nakpa threw back her ears and cast savage looks at him, while shunkaska, with no small annoyance, gathered together as much as he could of their scattered household effects. the sleeping brown-skinned babies in their chrysalis-like hoods were gently lowered from the pony's back and attached securely to nakpa's padded wooden saddle. the family pots and kettles were divided among the pack-ponies. order was restored and the village once more in motion. "come now, nakpa; you have your wish. you must take good care of my babies. be good, because i have trusted you," murmured the young mother in her softest tones. "really, weeko, you have some common ground with nakpa, for you both always want to have your own way, and stick to it, too! i tell you, i fear this long ears. she is not to be trusted with babies," remarked shunkaska, with a good deal of severity. but his wife made no reply, for she well knew that though he might criticize, he would not actually interfere with her domestic arrangements. he now started ahead to join the men in advance of the slow-moving procession, thus leaving her in undivided charge of her household. one or two of the pack ponies were not well trained and required all her attention. nakpa had been a faithful servant until her escapade of the morning, and she was now obviously satisfied with her mistress' arrangements. she walked alongside with her lariat dragging, and perfectly free to do as she pleased. some hours later, the party ascended a slope from the river bottom to cross over the divide which lay between the powder river and a tributary stream. the ford was deep, with a swift current. here and there a bald butte stood out in full relief against the brilliant blue sky. "whoo! whoo!" came the blood-curdling signal of danger from the front. it was no unfamiliar sound--the rovers knew it only too well. it meant sudden death--or at best a cruel struggle and frantic flight. terrified, yet self-possessed, the women turned to fly while yet there was time. instantly the mother looked to nakpa, who carried on either side of the saddle her precious boys. she hurriedly examined the fastenings to see that all was secure, and then caught her swiftest pony, for, like all indian women, she knew just what was happening, and that while her husband was engaged in front with the enemy, she must seek safety with her babies. hardly was she in the saddle when a heartrending war-whoop sounded on their flank, and she knew that they were surrounded! instinctively she reached for her husband's second quiver of arrows, which was carried by one of the pack-ponies. alas! the crow warriors were already upon them! the ponies became unmanageable, and the wild screams of women and children pierced the awful confusion. quick as a flash, weeko turned again to her babies, but nakpa had already disappeared! when the crows made their flank charge, nakpa apparently appreciated the situation. to save herself and the babies, she took a desperate chance. she fled straight through the attacking force. when the warriors came howling upon her in great numbers, she at once started back the way she had come, to the camp left behind. they had travelled nearly three days. to be sure, they did not travel more than fifteen miles a day, but it was full forty miles to cover before dark. "look! look!" exclaimed a warrior, "two babies hung from the saddle of a mule!" no one heeded this man's call, and his arrow did not touch nakpa or either of the boys, but it struck the thick part of the saddle over the mule's back. "whoo! whoo!" yelled another crow to his comrades, "the sioux have dispatched a runner to get reinforcements! there he goes, down on the flat! now he has almost reached the river bottom!" it was only nakpa. she laid back her ears and stretched out more and more to gain the river, for she realized that when she had crossed the ford the crows would not pursue her farther. now she had reached the bank. with the intense heat from her exertions, she was extremely nervous, and she imagined a warrior behind every bush. yet she had enough sense left to realize that she must not satisfy her thirst. she tried the bottom with her forefoot, then waded carefully into the deep stream. she kept her big ears well to the front as she swam, to catch the slightest sound. as she stepped on the opposite shore, she shook herself and the boys vigorously, then pulled a few mouthfuls of grass and started on. soon one of the babies began to cry, and the other was not long in joining him. nakpa did not know what to do. she gave a gentle whinny and both babies apparently stopped to listen; then she took up an easy gait as if to put them to sleep. these tactics answered only for a time. as she fairly flew over the lowlands, the babies' hunger increased and they screamed so loud that a passing coyote had to sit upon his haunches and wonder what in the world the fleeing long-eared horse was carrying on his saddle. even magpies and crows flew near as if to ascertain the meaning of this curious sound. nakpa now came to the little trail creek, a tributary of the powder, not far from the old camp. there she swerved aside so suddenly as almost to jerk her babies out of their cradles. two gray wolves, one on each side, approached her, growling low--their white teeth showing. never in her humble life had nakpa been in more desperate straits. the larger of the wolves came fiercely forward to engage her attention, while his mate was to attack her behind and cut her hamstrings. but for once the pair had made a miscalculation. the mule used her front hoofs vigorously on the foremost wolf, while her hind ones were doing even more effective work. the larger wolf soon went limping away with a broken hip, and the one in the rear received a deep cut on the jaw which proved an effectual discouragement. a little further on, an indian hunter drew near on horseback, but nakpa did not pause or slacken her pace. on she fled through the long dry grass of the river bottoms, while her babies slept again from sheer exhaustion. toward sunset, she entered the sioux camp amid great excitement, for some one had spied her afar off, and the boys and the dogs announced her coming. "whoo, whoo! weeko's nakpa has come back with the twins! whoo, whoo!" exclaimed the men. "tokee! tokee!" cried the women. zeezeewin, a sister to weeko, who was in the village, came forward and released the children, as nakpa gave a low whinny and stopped. "sing a brave-heart song for the long-eared one! she has escaped alone with her charge. she is entitled to wear an eagle's feather! look at the arrow in her saddle! and more, she has a knife-wound in her jaw and an arrow-cut on her hind leg.--no, those are the marks of a wolf's teeth! she has passed through many dangers and saved two chief's sons, who will some day make the crows sorry for this day's work!" the speaker was an old man, who thus addressed the fast gathering throng. zeezeewin now came forward again with an eagle feather and some white paint in her hands. the young men rubbed nakpa down, and the feather, marked with red to indicate her wounds, was fastened to her mane. shoulders and hips were touched with red paint to show her endurance in running. then the crier, praising her brave deed in heroic verse, led her around the camp, inside of the circle of teepees. all the people stood outside their lodges and listened respectfully, for the dakota loves well to honor the faithful and the brave. during the next day, riders came in from the ill-fated party, bringing the sad news of the fight and heavy loss. late in the afternoon came weeko, her face swollen with crying, her beautiful hair cut short in mourning, her garments torn and covered with dust and blood. her husband had fallen in the fight, and her twin boys she supposed to have been taken captive by the crows. singing in a hoarse voice the praises of her departed warrior, she entered the camp. as she approached her sister's teepee, there stood nakpa, still wearing her honorable decorations. at the same moment, zeezeewin came out to meet her with both babies in her arms. "mechinkshee! mechinkshee! (my sons, my sons!)" was all that the poor mother could say, as she all but fell from the saddle to the ground. the despised long ears had not betrayed her trust. v snana's fawn the little missouri was in her spring fulness, and the hills among which she found her way to the great muddy were profusely adorned with colors, much like those worn by the wild red man upon a holiday! between the gorgeous buttes and rainbow-tinted ridges there were narrow plains, broken here and there by dry creeks or gulches, and these again were clothed scantily with poplars and sad-colored bull-berry bushes, while the bare spots were purple with the wild dakota crocuses. upon the lowest of a series of natural terraces there stood on this may morning a young sioux girl, whose graceful movements were not unlike those of a doe which chanced to be lurking in a neighboring gulch. on the upper plains, not far away, were her young companions, all busily employed with the wewoptay, as it is called--the sharp-pointed stick with which the sioux women dig wild turnips. they were gayly gossiping together, or each humming a love-song as she worked, only snana stood somewhat apart from the rest; in fact, concealed by the crest of the ridge. it was now full-born day. the sun shone hot upon the bare ground, and the drops stood upon snana's forehead as she plied her long pole. there was a cool spring in the dry creek bed near by, well hidden by a clump of choke-cherry bushes, and she turned thither to cool her thirsty throat. in the depths of the ravine her eye caught a familiar footprint--the track of a doe with the young fawn beside it. the hunting instinct arose within. "it will be a great feat if i can find and take from her the babe. the little tawny skin shall be beautifully dressed by my mother. the legs and the nose shall be embossed with porcupine quills. it will be my work-bag," she said to herself. as she stole forward on the fresh trail she scanned every nook, every clump of bushes. there was a sudden rustle from within a grove of wild plum trees, thickly festooned with grape and clematis, and the doe mother bounded away as carelessly as if she were never to return. ah, a mother's ruse! snana entered the thorny enclosure, which was almost a rude teepee, and, tucked away in the further-most corner, lay something with a trout-like, speckled, tawny coat. she bent over it. the fawn was apparently sleeping. presently its eyes moved a bit, and a shiver passed through its subtle body. "thou shalt not die; thy skin shall not become my work-bag!" unconsciously the maiden spoke. the mother sympathy had taken hold on her mind. she picked the fawn up tenderly, bound its legs, and put it on her back to carry like an indian babe in the folds of her robe. "i cannot leave you alone, tachinchala. your mother is not here. our hunters will soon return by this road, and your mother has left behind her two plain tracks leading to this thicket," she murmured. the wild creature struggled vigorously for a minute, and then became quiet. its graceful head protruded from the elk-skin robe just over snana's shoulder. she was slowly climbing the slope with her burden, when suddenly like an apparition the doe mother stood before her. the fawn called loudly when it was first seized, and the mother was not too far away to hear. now she called frantically for her child, at the same time stamping with her delicate forefeet. "yes, sister, you are right; she is yours; but you cannot save her to-day! the hunters will soon be here. let me keep her for you; i will return her to you safely. and hear me, o sister of the woods, that some day i may become the mother of a noble race of warriors and of fine women, as handsome as you are!" at this moment the quick eyes of the indian girl detected something strange in the doe's actions. she glanced in every direction and behold! a grizzly bear was cautiously approaching the group from a considerable distance. "run, run, sister! i shall save your child if i can," she cried, and flew for the nearest scrub oak on the edge of the bank. up the tree she scrambled, with the fawn still securely bound to her back. the grizzly came on with teeth exposed, and the doe-mother in her flight came between him and the tree, giving a series of indignant snorts as she ran, and so distracted mato from his object of attack; but only for a few seconds--then on he came! "desist, o brave mato! it does not become a great medicine-man to attack a helpless woman with a burden upon her back!" snana spoke as if the huge brute could understand her, and, indeed, the indians hold that wild animals understand intuitively when appealed to by human beings in distress. yet he replied only with a hoarse growl, as rising upon his hind legs he shook the little tree vigorously. "ye, ye, heyupi ye!" snana called loudly to her companion turnip-diggers. her cry soon brought all the women into sight upon a near-by ridge, and they immediately gave a general alarm. mato saw them, but appeared not at all concerned and was still intent upon dislodging the girl, who clung frantically to her perch. presently there appeared upon the little knoll several warriors, mounted and uttering the usual war-whoop, as if they were about to swoop down upon a human enemy. this touched the dignity of mato, and he immediately prepared to accept the challenge. every indian was alive to the possibilities of the occasion, for it is well known that mato, or grizzly bear, alone among animals is given the rank of a warrior, so that whoever conquers him may wear an eagle feather. "woo! woo!" the warriors shouted, as they maneuvered to draw him into the open plain. he answered with hoarse growls, threatening a rider who had ventured too near. but arrows were many and well-aimed, and in a few minutes the great and warlike mato lay dead at the foot of the tree. the men ran forward and counted their _coups_ on him, just as when an enemy is fallen. then they looked at one another and placed their hands over their mouths as the young girl descended the-tree with a fawn bound upon her back. "so that was the bait!" they cried. "and will you not make a feast with that fawn for us who came to your rescue?" "the fawn is young and tender, and we have not eaten meat for two days. it will be a generous thing to do," added her father, who was among them. "ye-e-e!" she cried out in distress. "do not ask it! i have seen this fawn's mother. i have promised to keep her child safe. see! i have saved its life, even when my own was in danger." "ho, ho, wakan ye lo! (yes, yes, 'tis holy or mysterious)," they exclaimed approvingly. it was no small trouble for snana to keep her trust. as may well be supposed, all the dogs of the teepee village must be watched and kept at a distance. neither was it easy to feed the little captive; but in gaining its confidence the girl was an adept. the fawn soon followed her everywhere, and called to her when hungry exactly as she had called to her own mother. after several days, when her fright at the encounter with the bear had somewhat worn off, snana took her pet into the woods and back to the very spot in which she had found it. in the furthest corner of the wild plum grove she laid it down, gently stroked its soft forehead, and smoothed the leaf-like ears. the little thing closed its eyes. once more the sioux girl bent over and laid her cheek against the fawn's head; then reluctantly she moved away, hoping and yet dreading that the mother would return. she crouched under a clump of bushes near by, and gave the doe call. it was a reckless thing for her to do, for such a call might bring upon her a mountain lion or ever-watchful silver-tip; but snana did not think of that. in a few minutes she heard the light patter of hoofs, and caught a glimpse of a doe running straight toward the fawn's hiding-place. when she stole near enough to see, the doe and the fawn were examining one another carefully, as if fearing some treachery. at last both were apparently satisfied. the doe caressed her natural child, and the little one accepted the milk she offered. in the sioux maiden's mind there was turmoil. a close attachment to the little wild creature had already taken root there, contending with the sense of justice that was strong within her. now womanly sympathy for the mother was in control, and now a desire to possess and protect her helpless pet. "i can take care of her against all hunters, both animal and human. they are ever ready to seize the helpless fawn for food. her life will be often exposed. you cannot save her from disaster. o, takcha, my sister, let me still keep her for you!" she finally appealed to the poor doe, who was nervously watching the intruder, and apparently thinking how she might best escape with the fawn. just at this moment there came a low call from the wood. it was a doe call; but the wild mother and her new friend both knew that it was not the call of a real doe. "it is a sioux hunter!" whispered the girl. "you must go, my sister! be off; i will take your child to safety!" while she was yet speaking, the doe seemed to realize the danger. she stopped only an instant to lick fondly the tawny coat of the little one, then she bounded away. as snana emerged from the bushes with her charge, a young hunter met her face to face, and stared at her curiously. he was not of her father's camp, but a stranger. "ugh, you have my game." "tosh!" she replied coquettishly. it was so often said among the indians that the doe was wont to put on human form to mislead the hunter, that it looked strange to see a woman with a fawn, and the young man could not forbear to gaze upon snana. "you are not the real mother in maiden's guise? tell me truly if you are of human blood," he demanded rudely. "i am a sioux maiden! do you not know my father?" she replied. "ah, but who is your father? what is his name?" he insisted, nervously fingering his arrows. "do not be a coward! surely you should know a maid of your own race," she replied reproachfully. "ah, you know the tricks of the doe! what is thy name?" "hast thou forgotten the etiquette of thy people, and wouldst compel me to pronounce my own name? i refuse; thou art jesting!" she retorted with a smile. "thou dost give the tricky answers of a doe. i cannot wait; i must act before i lose my natural mind. but already i am yours. whatever purpose you may have in thus charming a poor hunter, be merciful," and, throwing aside his quiver, he sat down. the maiden stole a glance at his face and then another. he was handsome. softly she reã«ntered the thicket and laid down the little fawn. "promise me never to hunt here again!" she said earnestly, as she came forth without her pretty burden, and he exacted another promise in return. thus snana lost her fawn, and found a lover. vi hakadah's first offering "hakadah, coowah!" was the sonorous call that came from a large teepee in the midst of the indian encampment. in answer to the summons there emerged from the woods, which were only a few steps away, a boy, accompanied by a splendid black dog. there was little in the appearance of the little fellow to distinguish him from the other sioux boys. he hastened to the tent from which he had been summoned, carrying in his hands a bow and arrows gorgeously painted, while the small birds and squirrels that he had killed with these weapons dangled from his belt. within the tent sat two old women, one on each side of the fire. uncheedah was the boy's grandmother, who had brought up the motherless child. wahchewin was only a caller, but she had been invited to remain and assist in the first personal offering of hakadah to the "great mystery." it had been whispered through the teepee village that uncheedah intended to give a feast in honor of her grandchild's first sacrificial offering. this was mere speculation, however, for the clear-sighted old woman had determined to keep this part of the matter secret until the offering should be completed, believing that the "great mystery" should be met in silence and dignity. the boy came rushing into the lodge, followed by his dog ohitika, who was wagging his tail promiscuously, as if to say: "master and i are really hunters!" hakadah breathlessly gave a descriptive narrative of the killing of each bird and squirrel as he pulled them off his belt and threw them before his grandmother. "this blunt-headed arrow," said he, "actually had eyes this morning. before the squirrel can dodge around the tree it strikes him in the head, and, as he falls to the ground, my ohitika is upon him." he knelt upon one knee as he talked, his black eyes shining like evening stars. "sit down here," said uncheedah to the boy; "i have something to say to you. you see that you are now almost a man. observe the game you have brought me! it will not be long before you will leave me, for a warrior must seek opportunities to make him great among his people. "you must endeavor to equal your father and grandfather," she went on. "they were warriors and feast-makers. but it is not the poor hunter who makes many feasts. do you not remember the 'legend of the feast-maker,' who gave forty feasts in twelve moons? and have you forgotten the story of the warrior who sought the will of the great mystery? to-day you will make your first offering to him." the concluding sentence fairly dilated the eyes of the young hunter, for he felt that a great event was about to occur, in which he would be the principal actor. but uncheedah resumed her speech. "you must give up one of your belongings--whichever is dearest to you--for this is to be a sacrificial offering." this somewhat confused the boy; not that he was selfish, but rather uncertain as to what would be the most appropriate thing to give. then, too, he supposed that his grandmother referred to his ornaments and playthings only. so he volunteered: "i can give up my best bow and arrows, and all the paints i have, and--and my bear's claws necklace, grandmother!" "are these the things dearest to you?" she demanded. "not the bow and arrows, but the paints will be very hard to get, for there are no white people near; and the necklace--it is not easy to get one like it again. i will also give up my otter-skin head-dress, if you think that it not enough." "but think, my boy, you have not yet mentioned the thing that will be a pleasant offering to the great mystery." the boy looked into the woman's face with a puzzled expression. "i have nothing else as good as those things i have named, grandmother, unless it is my spotted pony; and i am sure that the great mystery will not require a little boy to make him so large a gift. besides, my uncle gave three otter-skins and five eagle-feathers for him and i promised to keep him a long while, if the blackfeet or the crows do not steal him." uncheedah was not fully satisfied with the boy's free offerings. perhaps it had not occurred to him what she really wanted. but uncheedah knew where his affection was vested. his faithful dog, his pet and companion--hakadah was almost inseparable from the loving beast. she was sure that it would be difficult to obtain his consent to sacrifice the animal, but she ventured upon a final appeal. "you must remember," she said, "that in this offering you will call upon him who looks at you from every creation. in the wind you hear him whisper to you. he gives his war-whoop in the thunder. he watches you by day with his eye, the sun; at night, he gazes upon your sleeping countenance through the moon. in short, it is the mystery of mysteries, who controls all things, to whom you will make your first offering. by this act, you will ask him to grant to you what he has granted to few men. i know you wish to be a great warrior and hunter. i am not prepared to see my hakadah show any cowardice, for the love of possessions is a woman's trait and not a brave's." during this speech, the boy had been completely aroused to the spirit of manliness, and in his excitement was willing to give up anything he had--even his pony! but he was unmindful of his friend and companion, ohitika, the dog! so, scarcely had uncheedah finished speaking, when he almost shouted: "grandmother, i will give up any of my possessions for the offering to the great mystery! you may select what you think will be most pleasing to him." there were two silent spectators of this little dialogue. one was wahchewin, the other was ohitika. the woman had been invited to stay, although only a neighbor. the dog, by force of habit, had taken up his usual position by the side of his master when they entered the teepee. without moving a muscle, save those of his eyes, he had been a very close observer of what passed. had the dog but moved once to attract the attention of his little friend, he might have been dissuaded from that impetuous exclamation: "grandmother, i will give up any of my possessions!" it was hard for uncheedah to tell the boy that he must part with his dog, but she was equal to the situation. "hakadah," she proceeded cautiously, "you are a young brave. i know, though young, your heart is strong and your courage is great. you will be pleased to give up the dearest thing you have for your first offering. you must give up ohitika. he is brave; and you, too, are brave. he will not fear death; you will bear his loss bravely. come,--here are four bundles of paints and a filled pipe,--let us go to the place!" when the last words were uttered, hakadah did not seem to hear them. he was simply unable to speak. to a civilized eye, he would have appeared at that moment like a little copper statue. his bright black eyes were fast melting in floods of tears, when he caught his grandmother's eye and recollected her oft-repeated adage: "tears for woman and the war-whoop for man to drown sorrow!" he swallowed two or three big mouthfuls of heartache and the little warrior was master of the situation. "grandmother, my brave will have to die! let me tie together two of the prettiest tails of the squirrels that he and i killed this morning, to show to the great mystery what a hunter he has been. let me paint him myself." this request uncheedah could not refuse, and she left the pair alone for a few minutes, while she went to ask wacoota to execute ohitika. every indian boy knows that, when a warrior is about to meet death, he must sing a death dirge. hakadah thought of his ohitika as a person who would meet his death without a struggle, so he began to sing a dirge for him, at the same time hugging him tight to himself. as if he were a human being, he whispered in his ear: [illustration: he began to sing a dirge for him. _page 140._] "be brave, my ohitika! i shall remember you the first time i am upon the war-path in the ojibway country." at last he heard uncheedah talking with a man outside the teepee, so he quickly took up his paints. ohitika was a jet-black dog, with a silver tip on the end of his tail and on his nose, beside one white paw and a white star upon a protuberance between his ears. hakadah knew that a man who prepares for death usually paints with red and black. nature had partially provided ohitika in this respect, so that only red was required and this hakadah supplied generously. then he took off a piece of red cloth and tied it around the dog's neck; to this he fastened two of the squirrels' tails and a wing from the oriole they had killed that morning. just then it occurred to him that good warriors always mourn for their departed friends, and the usual mourning was black paint. he loosened his black braided locks, ground a dead coal, mixed it with bear's oil and rubbed it on his entire face. during this time every hole in the tent was occupied with an eye. among the lookers-on was his grandmother. she was very near relenting. had she not feared the wrath of the great mystery, she would have been happy to call out to the boy: "keep your dear dog, my child!" as it was, hakadah came out of the teepee with his face looking like an eclipsed moon, leading his beautiful dog, who was even handsomer than ever with the red touches on his specks of white. it was now uncheedah's turn to struggle with the storm and burden in her soul. but the boy was emboldened by the people's admiration of his bravery, and did not shed a tear. as soon as she was able to speak, the loving grandmother said: "no, my young brave, not so! you must not mourn for your first offering. wash your face and then we will go." the boy obeyed, submitted ohitika to wacoota with a smile, and walked off with his grandmother and wahchewin. the boy and his grandmother descended the bank, following a tortuous foot-path until they reached the water's edge. then they proceeded to the mouth of an immense cave, some fifty feet above the river, under the cliff. a little stream of limpid water trickled down from a spring within the cave. the little watercourse served as a sort of natural staircase for the visitors. a cool, pleasant atmosphere exhaled from the mouth of the cavern. really it was a shrine of nature, and it is not strange that it was so regarded by the tribe. a feeling of awe and reverence came to the boy. "it is the home of the great mystery," he thought to himself; and the impressiveness of his surroundings made him forget his sorrow. very soon wahchewin came with some difficulty to the steps. she placed the body of ohitika upon the ground in a life-like position and again left the two alone. as soon as she disappeared from view, uncheedah, with all solemnity and reverence, unfastened the leather strings that held the four small bundles of paints and one of tobacco, while the filled pipe was laid beside the dead ohitika. she scattered paints and tobacco all about. again they stood a few moments silently; then she drew a deep breath and began her prayer to the great mystery: "o, great mystery, we hear thy voice in the rushing waters below us! we hear thy whisper in the great oaks above! our spirits are refreshed with thy breath from within this cave. o, hear our prayer! behold this little boy and bless him! make him a warrior and a hunter as great as thou didst make his father and grandfather." and with this prayer the little warrior had completed his first offering. vii the grave of the dog the full moon was just clear of the high mountain ranges when the game scout moved slowly homeward, well wrapped in his long buffalo robe, which was securely belted to his strong loins; his quiver tightly tied to his shoulders so as not to impede his progress. as he emerged from the lowlands into the upper regions, he loomed up a gigantic figure against the clear, moonlit horizon. his picturesque foxskin cap with all its trimmings was incrusted with frost from the breath of his nostrils, and his lagging footfall sounded crisply. the distance he had that day covered was enough for any human endurance; yet he was neither faint nor hungry; but his feet were frozen into the psay, the snow-shoes, so that he could not run faster than an easy slip and slide. at last he reached the much-coveted point--the crown of the last ascent; and when he smelled fire and the savory odor of the jerked buffalo meat, it well-nigh caused him to waver! but he must not fail to follow the custom of untold ages, and give the game scout's wolf call before entering camp. accordingly he paused upon the highest point of the ridge and uttered a cry to which the hungry cry of a real wolf would have seemed but a coyote's yelp in comparison! then it was that the rest of the buffalo hunters knew that their game scout was returning with welcome news; for the unsuccessful scout enters the camp silently. in the meantime, the hunters at the temporary camp were aroused to a high pitch of excitement. some turned their buffalo robes and put them on in such a way as to convert themselves into make-believe bison, and began to tread the snow, while others were singing the buffalo song, that their spirits might be charmed and allured within the circle of the camp-fires. the scout, too, was singing his buffalo bull song in a guttural, lowing chant as he neared the hunting camp. within arrow-shot he paused again, while the usual ceremonies were enacted for his reception. this done, he was seated with the leaders in a chosen place. "it was a long run," he said, "but there were no difficulties. i found the first herd directly north of here. the second herd, a great one, is northeast, near shell lake. the snow is deep. the buffalo can only follow their leader in their retreat." "hi, hi, hi!" the hunters exclaimed solemnly in token of gratitude, raising their hands heavenward and then pointing them toward the ground. "ho, kola! one more round of the buffalo-pipe, then we shall retire, to rise before daybreak for the hunt," advised one of the leaders. silently they partook in turn of the long-stemmed pipe, and one by one, with a dignified "ho!" departed to their teepees. the scout betook himself to his little old buffalo teepee, which he used for winter hunting expeditions. his faithful shunka, who had been all this time its only occupant, met him at the entrance as dogs alone know how to welcome a lifelong friend. as his master entered he stretched himself in his old-time way, from the tip of his tail to that of his tongue, and finished by curling both ends upward. "ho, mita shunka, eat this; for you must be hungry!" so saying, the scout laid before his canine friend the last piece of his dried buffalo meat. it was the sweetest meal ever eaten by a dog, judging by his long smacking of his lips after he had swallowed it! the hunting party was soon lost in heavy slumber. not a sound could be heard save the gnawing of the ponies upon the cottonwood bark, which was provided for them instead of hay in the winter time. when wapashaw, the game scout, had rolled himself in his warm buffalo robe and was sound asleep, his faithful companion hunter, the great esquimaux wolf dog, silently rose and again stretched himself, then stood quiet for a moment as if meditating. it was clear that he knew well what he had planned to do, but was considering how he should do it without arousing any suspicion of his movements. this is a dog's art, and the night tricks and marauding must always be the joy and secret of his life! softly he emerged from the lodge and gave a sweeping glance around to assure him that there were none to spy upon him. suspiciously he sniffed the air, as if to ascertain whether there could be any danger to his sleeping master while he should be away. up the long ascent he trotted in a northerly direction, yet not following his master's trail. he was large and formidable in strength, combining the features of his wild brothers of the plains with those of the dogs who keep company with the red men. his jet-black hair and sharp ears and nose appeared to immense advantage against the spotless and jewelled snow, until presently his own warm breath had coated him with heavy frost. after a time shunka struck into his master's trail and followed it all the way, only taking a short cut here and there when, by dog instinct, he knew that a man must go around such a point to get to his destination. he met many travellers during the night, but none had dared to approach him, though some few followed at a distance, as if to discover his purpose. at last he reached shell lake, and there beheld a great gathering of the herds! they stood in groups, like enormous rocks, no longer black, but white with frost. every one of them emitted a white steam, quickly frozen into a fine snow in the air. shunka sat upon his haunches and gazed. "wough, this is it!" he said to himself. he had kept still when the game scout gave the wolf call, though the camp was in an uproar, and from the adjacent hills the wild hunters were equally joyous, because they understood the meaning of the unwonted noise. yet his curiosity was not fully satisfied, and he had set out to discover the truth, and it may be to protect or serve his master in case of danger. at daybreak the great dog meekly entered his master's rude teepee, and found him already preparing for the prospective hunt. he was filling his inside moccasins full of buffalo hair to serve as stockings, over which he put on his large buffalo moccasins with the hair inside, and adjusted his warm leggins. he then adjusted his snow-shoes and filled his quiver full of good arrows. the dog quietly lay down in a warm place, making himself as small as possible, as if to escape observation, and calmly watched his master. soon all the hunters were running in single file upon the trail of the scout, each indian closely followed by his trusty hunting dog. in less than two hours they stood just back of the low ridge which rounded the south side of shell lake. the narrow strip of land between its twin divisions was literally filled with the bison. in the gulches beyond, between the dark lines of timber, there were also scattered groups; but the hunters at once saw their advantage over the herd upon the peninsula. "hechetu, kola! this is well, friends!" exclaimed the first to speak. "these can be forced to cross the slippery ice and the mire around the springs. this will help us to get more meat. our people are hungry, and we must kill many in order to feed them!" "ugh, he is always right! our dogs must help us here. the meat will be theirs as well as ours," another added. "tosh, kola! the game scout's dog is the greatest shunka of them all! he has a mind near like that of a man. let him lead the attack of his fellows, while we crawl up on the opposite side and surround the buffalo upon the slippery ice and in the deceitful mire," spoke up a third. so it was agreed that the game scout and his shunka should lead the attack. "woo, woo, woo!" was the hoarse signal from the throat of the game scout; but his voice was drowned by the howling and barking of the savage dogs as they made their charge. in a moment all was confusion among the buffalo. some started this way, others that, and the great mass swayed to and fro uncertainly. a few were ready to fight, but the snow was too deep for a countercharge upon the dogs, save on the ice just in front of them, where the wind had always full sweep. there all was slippery and shining! in their excitement and confusion the bison rushed upon this uncertain plain. their weight and the momentum of their rush carried them hopelessly far out, where they were again confused as to which way to go, and many were stuck in the mire which was concealed by the snow, except here and there an opening above a spring from which there issued a steaming vapor. the game scout and his valiant dog led on the force of canines with deafening war-cries, and one could see black heads here and there popping from behind the embankments. as the herd finally swept toward the opposite shore, many dead were left behind. pierced by the arrows of the hunters, they lay like black mounds upon the glassy plain. it was a great hunt! "once more the camp will be fed," they thought, "and this good fortune will help us to reach the spring alive!" a chant of rejoicing rang out from the opposite shore, while the game scout unsheathed his big knife and began the work which is ever the sequel of the hunt--to dress the game; although the survivors of the slaughter had scarcely disappeared behind the hills. all were busily skinning and cutting up the meat into pieces convenient for carrying, when suddenly a hunter called the attention of those near him to an ominous change in the atmosphere. "there are signs of a blizzard! we must hurry into the near woods before it reaches us!" he shouted. some heard him; others did not. those who saw or heard passed on the signal and hurried toward the wood, where others had already arranged rude shelters and gathered piles of dry wood for fuel. around the several camp-fires the hunters sat or stood, while slices of savory meat were broiled and eaten with a relish by the half-starved men. but the storm had now fairly enveloped them in whirling whiteness. "woo, woo!" they called to those who had not yet reached camp. one after another answered and emerged from the blinding pall of snow. at last none were missing save the game scout and his shunka! the hunters passed the time in eating and telling stories until a late hour, occasionally giving a united shout to guide the lost one should he chance to pass near their camp. "fear not for our scout, friends!" finally exclaimed a leader among them. "he is a brave and experienced man. he will find a safe resting-place, and join us when the wind ceases to rage." so they all wrapped themselves in their robes and lay down to sleep. all that night and the following day it was impossible to give succor, and the hunters felt much concern for the absent. late in the second night the great storm subsided. "ho, ho! iyotanka! rise up!" so the first hunter to awaken aroused all the others. as after every other storm, it was wonderfully still; so still that one could hear distinctly the pounding feet of the jack-rabbits coming down over the slopes to the willows for food. all dry vegetation was buried beneath the deep snow, and everywhere they saw this white-robed creature of the prairie coming down to the woods. now the air was full of the wolf and coyote game call, and they were seen in great numbers upon the ice. "see, see! the hungry wolves are dragging the carcasses away! harken to the war-cries of the scout's shunka! hurry, hurry!" they urged one another in chorus. away they ran and out upon the lake; now upon the wind-swept ice, now upon the crusted snow; running when they could, sliding when they must. there was certainly a great concourse of the wolves, whirling in frantic circles, but continually moving toward the farther end of the lake. they could hear distinctly the hoarse bark of the scout's shunka, and occasionally the muffled war-whoop of a man, as if it came from under the ice. as they approached nearer the scene they could hear more distinctly the voice of their friend, but still as it were from underground. when they reached the spot to which the wolves had dragged two of the carcasses of the buffalo, shunka was seen to stand by one of them, but at that moment he staggered and fell. the hunters took out their knives and ripped up the frozen hide covering the abdominal cavity. it revealed a warm nest of hay and buffalo hair in which the scout lay, wrapped in his own robe! he had placed his dog in one of the carcasses and himself in another for protection from the storm; but the dog was wiser than the man, for he kept his entrance open. the man lapped the hide over and it froze solidly, shutting him securely in. when the hungry wolves came shunka promptly extricated himself and held them off as long as he could; meanwhile, sliding and pulling, the wolves continued to drag over the slippery ice the body of the buffalo in which his master had taken refuge. the poor, faithful dog, with no care for his own safety, stood by his imprisoned master until the hunters came up. but it was too late, for he had received more than one mortal wound. as soon as the scout got out, with a face more anxious for another than for himself, he exclaimed: "where is shunka, the bravest of his tribe?" "ho, kola, it is so, indeed; and here he lies," replied one sadly. his master knelt by his side, gently stroking the face of the dog. "ah, my friend; you go where all spirits live! the great mystery has a home for every living creature. may he permit our meeting there!" at daybreak the scout carried him up to one of the pretty round hills overlooking the lake, and built up around him walls of loose stone. red paints were scattered over the snow, in accordance with indian custom, and the farewell song was sung. since that day the place has been known to the sioux as shunkahanakapi--the grave of the dog. the end glossary of indian words be-day-wahâ´-kan-ton, lake-dwellers. cha-tanâ´-na, fourth son. chinâ´-to, certainly. che-tonâ´-skah, white hawk. chank-payâ´-yu-hah, carries the club. cooâ´-wah, come here! ha-nahâ´-kah-pee, grave. he-yuâ´-pee-yay, come all of you! hayâ´-chay-tu, it is well. hah-kayâ´-dah, the last-born. he-nahâ´-kah-gah, the owl. kah-poâ´-se-yah, light lodges (a band of sioux). koâ´-lah, friend. man-kahâ´-to, blue earth. mah-toâ´, bear. mah-toâ´-sap-ah, black bear. mah-peeâ´-to-pah, four heavens. me-ne-yahâ´-tah, beside the water. me-chinkâ´-shee, my son. nak-pahâ´, ears (of an animal). o-oâ´-pay-hanâ´-skah, bluebird. o-hitâ´-e-kah, brave. shunâ´kah, dog. snaâ´-na, rattle. shunk-toâ´-kay-chah, wolf. she-choâ´-kah, robin. shunâ´-kah-skah, white dog. teeâ´-pee, tent. tak-chahâ´, deer. to-keeâ´, well, well! ta-teeâ´-yo-pah, her door. un-cheeâ´-dah, grand-mother. u-tuâ´-hu, oak. wa-kanâ´, holy, wonderful. wah-cooâ´-tay, shooter. wah-payâ´-ton, dweller among the leaves. wah-cheeâ´-win, dancing woman. wee-koâ´, beautiful woman. wa-dooâ´-tah, scarlet. weâ´-yan-nah, little woman. we-noâ´-nah, first-born girl. wah-be-dayâ´, orphan. zee-zeeâ´-wee, yellow woman. indian stories historical stories retold from st. nicholas magazine in five volumes indian stories a mirror of indian ideas, customs, and adventures. colonial stories stirring tales of the rude frontier life of early times. revolutionary stories heroic deeds, and especially children's part in them. civil war stories thrilling stories of the great struggle, both on land and sea. our holidays something of their meaning and spirit. each about 200 pages. full cloth, 12mo. the century co. [illustration: an indian horse-race--coming over the scratch _drawing by frederic remington_] indian stories retold from st. nicholas [illustration] published by the century co. new york mcmvii copyright, 1877, 1878, 1879, by scribner & co. copyright, 1884, 1888, 1889, 1893, 1894, 1896, 1899, 1900, 1904, by the century co. the devinne press publisher's note this collection of indian stories is the first in a series of volumes of historic tales retold from "st. nicholas." the books do not pretend to give anything like connected history, but by means of the story that thrills and interests they impart the real spirit of the times they depict in a way no youthful reader will be likely to forget. most of the stories in this book a boy of eight or nine can read for himself, and these are the years of his school life when he is being taught something of our colonial history and of the myths and legends of primitive man. thus these stories, while delighting many children and tempting them to read "out of hours," will serve a very useful purpose. contents page onatoga's sacrifice _john dimitry_ 1 waukewa's eagle _james buckham_ 10 a fourth of july among the indians _w. p. hooper_ 22 a boy's visit to chief joseph _erskine wood_ 43 little moccasin's ride on the thunder-horse 54 _colonel guido ilges_ the little first man and the little first woman 74 _william m. cary_ fun among the red boys _julian ralph_ 87 the children of zuñi _maria brace kimball_ 100 the indian girl and her messenger-bird _george w. ranck_ 112 how the stone-age children played _charles c. abbott_ 115 games and sports of the indian boy 123 _dr. charles alexander eastman_ an old-time thanksgiving _m. eloise talbot_ 136 some indian dolls _olive thorne miller_ 155 the walking purchase _george wheeler_ 159 the first americans _f. s. dellenbaugh_ 171 indian stories indian lullaby sleep, sleep, my boy; the chippewas are far away--are far away. sleep, sleep, my boy; prepare to meet the foe by day--the foe by day! the cowards will not dare to fight till morning break--till morning break. sleep, sleep, my child, while still 'tis night; then bravely wake--then bravely wake! indian stories onatoga's sacrifice by john dimitry once, in the long ago, before the white man had heard of the continent on which we live, red men, who were brave and knew not what fear was in battle, trembled at the mention of a great man-eating bird that had lived before the time told of in the traditions known of their oldest chiefs. this bird, which, according to the indian legends, ate men, was known as the piasau. the favorite haunt of this terrible bird was a bluff on the mississippi river, a short distance above the site of the present city of alton, illinois. there it was said to lie in wait, and to keep watch over the broad, open prairies. whenever some rash indian ventured out alone to hunt upon this fatal ground, he became the monster's prey. the legend says that the bird, swooping down with the fierce swiftness of a hawk, seized upon its victim and bore him to a gloomy cave wherein it made its horrid feasts. the monster must have had an insatiable appetite or a prolonged existence, for tradition declares that it depopulated whole villages. then it was that the wise men began to see visions and to prophesy the speedy extinction of the tribe. years of its ravages followed one upon another, until at length, according to the legend, was lost all reckoning of the time when first that strange, foul creature came to scourge their sunny plains. the aged men, whose youth was but a dim memory, could say only that the bird was as it had always been. none like it had ever been heard of save in vague traditions. there was one, onatoga, who began to ponder. [illustration: onatoga in the forest] now, onatoga was the great leader of the illini; one whose name was spoken with awe even in the distant wigwams north of the great lake. long had he grieved and wondered over the will of the great spirit; that he should look upon the men of the western prairies, not as warriors, but as deer or bison, only fit to fill the maw of so pestilent a thing as this monstrous bird! before the new moon began to grow upon the face of the sky, onatoga's resolve was taken. he would go to some spot deep in the forest where by fasting and prayer his spirit would become so pure that the great master of life would hear him and once again be kind and turn his face back, in light, upon the illini. stealing away from his tribe in the night, he plunged far into the trackless forest. then, blackening his face, for a whole moon he fasted. the moon waxed full and then waned; but no vision came to assure him that the great spirit had heard his prayers. only one more night remained. wearied and sorrow-worn, he closed his eyes. but, through the deep sleep that fell upon him, came the voice of the great spirit. and this is the message that came to onatoga, as he lay sleeping in body but, in his soul, awake: "arise, chief of the illini! thou shalt save thy race. choose thou twenty of thy warriors; noble-hearted, strong-armed, eagle-eyed. put in each warrior's hand a bow. give to each an arrow dipped in the venom of the snake. seek then the man whose heart loveth the great spirit. let him not fear to look the piasau in the face; but see that the warriors, with ready bows, stand near in the shadow of the trees." onatoga awoke; strong, though he had fasted a month; happy, though he knew he was soon to die! who, but he, the great chief of the illini, should die for his people--for was it not death to look on the face of the piasau? binding his moccasins firmly upon his feet, he washed the marks of grief from his face, and painted it with the brightest vermilion and blue. thus, in the splendid colors of a triumphant warrior, he returned homeward. all was silent in the village when, in the gray light of early day, he entered his lodge. soon the joyful news was known. from lodge to lodge it spread until the last wigwam was reached. onatoga's quest was successful! then the warriors began to gather. furtively, even in their gladness, they sought his lodge, for the fear of the piasau was over all. a solemn awe fell upon them as they gathered around the chief, who, it was whispered, had heard the voice of the great spirit. without, on that high bluff, they knew that the fiend-bird crouched, waiting for the morning light to reveal its prey. within, in sorrowing silence, they heard how the people could be saved; but the hearts of the warriors were heavy. all knew the sacrifice demanded--their bravest and their best! [illustration: "onatoga, never ceasing his chant, faced the piasau fearlessly"] onatoga chose his twenty warriors and appointed them their place, where the rolling prairie was broken by the edge of the forest. then, when the sun shot its first long shafts of light across the level grasses, the chief walked slowly forth and stood alone upon the prairie. the world in the morning light was beautiful to onatoga's eyes. the flowers beneath his feet seemed to smile, and poured forth richest perfumes; the sun was glorious in its golden breast-plate, to do him honor; while the lark and the mock-bird sang his praise in joyous songs. he had not long to wait. soon, afar off, the dreaded piasau was seen moving heavily through the clear morning air. onatoga, drawing himself to the full measure of his lofty height, raised his death-song. the dull flutter of huge wings came nearer, and a great shadow came rushing over the sunlit fields. onatoga, never ceasing his chant, faced the piasau fearlessly. a sudden fierce swoop downward! in that very moment, twenty poisoned arrows, loosed by twenty faithful hands, sped true to their aim. with a scream that the bluffs sent rolling back in sharp and deafening echoes, the foul monster dropped dead! the great spirit loved the man who had been willing to sacrifice his life for his people. in the very instant when death seemed sure, he covered the heart of onatoga with a shield; and he suffered not the wind to blow aside a single arrow from its mark,--the body of the fated piasau. [illustration: "cunning carvers cut deep into the rock the form of the piasau"] great were the rejoicings that followed and rich were the feasts that were held in honor of onatoga. the illini resolved that the story of the great deliverance and of the courageous love of onatoga should not die, though they themselves should pass away. the cunning carvers of the tribe cut deep into the living rock of the bluff the terrible form of the piasau. and, in later years, when young children asked the meaning of this great figure, so unlike any of the birds that they knew upon their rivers and their prairies, then the fathers would tell them the story of the piasau, and how the great spirit had found, in onatoga, a warrior who loved his fellow-men better than he loved his own life. waukewa's eagle by james buckham one day, when the indian boy waukewa was hunting along the mountain-side, he found a young eagle with a broken wing, lying at the base of a cliff. the bird had fallen from an aery on a ledge high above, and being too young to fly, had fluttered down the cliff and injured itself so severely that it was likely to die. when waukewa saw it he was about to drive one of his sharp arrows through its body, for the passion of the hunter was strong in him, and the eagle plunders many a fine fish from the indian's drying-frame. but a gentler impulse came to him as he saw the young bird quivering with pain and fright at his feet, and he slowly unbent his bow, put the arrow in his quiver, and stooped over the panting eaglet. for fully a minute the wild eyes of the wounded bird and the eyes of the indian boy, growing gentler and softer as he gazed, looked into one another. then the struggling and panting of the young eagle ceased; the wild, frightened look passed out of its eyes, and it suffered waukewa to pass his hand gently over its ruffled and draggled feathers. the fierce instinct to fight, to defend its threatened life, yielded to the charm of the tenderness and pity expressed in the boy's eyes; and from that moment waukewa and the eagle were friends. waukewa went slowly home to his father's lodge, bearing the wounded eaglet in his arms. he carried it so gently that the broken wing gave no twinge of pain, and the bird lay perfectly still, never offering to strike with its sharp beak the hands that clasped it. warming some water over the fire at the lodge, waukewa bathed the broken wing of the eagle and bound it up with soft strips of skin. then he made a nest of ferns and grass inside the lodge, and laid the bird in it. the boy's mother looked on with shining eyes. her heart was very tender. from girlhood she had loved all the creatures of the woods, and it pleased her to see some of her own gentle spirit waking in the boy. when waukewa's father returned from hunting, he would have caught up the young eagle and wrung its neck. but the boy pleaded with him so eagerly, stooping over the captive and defending it with his small hands, that the stern warrior laughed and called him his "little squaw-heart." "keep it, then," he said, "and nurse it until it is well. but then you must let it go, for we will not raise up a thief in the lodges." so waukewa promised that when the eagle's wing was healed and grown so that it could fly, he would carry it forth and give it its freedom. it was a month--or, as the indians say, a moon--before the young eagle's wing had fully mended and the bird was old enough and strong enough to fly. and in the meantime waukewa cared for it and fed it daily, and the friendship between the boy and the bird grew very strong. [illustration: "the young eagle rose toward the sky"] but at last the time came when the willing captive must be freed. so waukewa carried it far away from the indian lodges, where none of the young braves might see it hovering over and be tempted to shoot their arrows at it, and there he let it go. the young eagle rose toward the sky in great circles, rejoicing in its freedom and its strange, new power of flight. but when waukewa began to move away from the spot, it came swooping down again; and all day long it followed him through the woods as he hunted. at dusk, when waukewa shaped his course for the indian lodges, the eagle would have accompanied him. but the boy suddenly slipped into a hollow tree and hid, and after a long time the eagle stopped sweeping about in search of him and flew slowly and sadly away. summer passed, and then winter; and spring came again, with its flowers and birds and swarming fish in the lakes and streams. then it was that all the indians, old and young, braves and squaws, pushed their light canoes out from shore and with spear and hook waged pleasant war against the salmon and the red-spotted trout. after winter's long imprisonment, it was such joy to toss in the sunshine and the warm wind and catch savory fish to take the place of dried meats and corn! above the great falls of the apahoqui the salmon sported in the cool, swinging current, darting under the lee of the rocks and leaping full length in the clear spring air. nowhere else were such salmon to be speared as those which lay among the riffles at the head of the apahoqui rapids. but only the most daring braves ventured to seek them there, for the current was strong, and should a light canoe once pass the danger-point and get caught in the rush of the rapids, nothing could save it from going over the roaring falls. very early in the morning of a clear april day, just as the sun was rising splendidly over the mountains, waukewa launched his canoe a half-mile above the rapids of the apahoqui, and floated downward, spear in hand, among the salmon-riffles. he was the only one of the indian lads who dared fish above the falls. but he had been there often, and never yet had his watchful eye and his strong paddle suffered the current to carry his canoe beyond the danger-point. this morning he was alone on the river, having risen long before daylight to be first at the sport. the riffles were full of salmon, big, lusty fellows, who glided about the canoe on every side in an endless silver stream. waukewa plunged his spear right and left, and tossed one glittering victim after another into the bark canoe. so absorbed in the sport was he that for once he did not notice when the head of the rapids was reached and the canoe began to glide more swiftly among the rocks. but suddenly he looked up, caught his paddle, and dipped it wildly in the swirling water. the canoe swung sidewise, shivered, held its own against the torrent, and then slowly, inch by inch, began to creep upstream toward the shore. but suddenly there was a loud, cruel snap, and the paddle parted in the boy's hands, broken just above the blade! waukewa gave a cry of despairing agony. then he bent to the gunwale of his canoe and with the shattered blade fought desperately against the current. but it was useless. the racing torrent swept him downward; the hungry falls roared tauntingly in his ears. then the indian boy knelt calmly upright in the canoe, facing the mist of the falls, and folded his arms. his young face was stern and lofty. he had lived like a brave hitherto--now he would die like one. faster and faster sped the doomed canoe toward the great cataract. the black rocks glided away on either side like phantoms. the roar of the terrible waters became like thunder in the boy's ears. but still he gazed calmly and sternly ahead, facing his fate as a brave indian should. at last he began to chant the death-song, which he had learned from the older braves. in a few moments all would be over. but he would come before the great spirit with a fearless hymn upon his lips. suddenly a shadow fell across the canoe. waukewa lifted his eyes and saw a great eagle hovering over, with dangling legs, and a spread of wings that blotted out the sun. once more the eyes of the indian boy and the eagle met; and now it was the eagle who was master! [illustration: "he and the struggling eagle were floating outward and downward"] with a glad cry the indian boy stood up in his canoe, and the eagle hovered lower. now the canoe tossed up on that great swelling wave that climbs to the cataract's edge, and the boy lifted his hands and caught the legs of the eagle. the next moment he looked down into the awful gulf of waters from its very verge. the canoe was snatched from beneath him and plunged down the black wall of the cataract; but he and the struggling eagle were floating outward and downward through the cloud of mist. the cataract roared terribly, like a wild beast robbed of its prey. the spray beat and blinded, the air rushed upward as they fell. but the eagle struggled on with his burden. he fought his way out of the mist and the flying spray. his great wings threshed the air with a whistling sound. down, down they sank, the boy and the eagle, but ever farther from the precipice of water and the boiling whirlpool below. at length, with a fluttering plunge, the eagle dropped on a sand-bar below the whirlpool, and he and the indian boy lay there a minute, breathless and exhausted. then the eagle slowly lifted himself, took the air under his free wings, and soared away, while the indian boy knelt on the sand, with shining eyes following the great bird till he faded into the gray of the cliffs. a fourth of july among the indians by w. p. hooper indians--real indians--real, live indians--were what we, like all boys, wanted to see; and this was why, after leaving the railroad on which we had been traveling for several days and nights, we found ourselves at last in a big canvas-covered wagon lumbering across the monotonous prairie. [illustration] we were on our way to see a celebration of the fourth of july at a dakota indian agency. it was late in the afternoon of a hot summer's day. we had been riding since early morning, and had not met a living creature--not even a bird or a snake. only those who have experienced it know how wearying to the eyes it is to gaze all day long, and see nothing but the sky and the grass. however, an hour before sunset we _did_ see something. at first, it looked like a mere speck against the sky; then it seemed like a bush or a shrub; but it rapidly increased in size as we approached. then, with the aid of our field-glass, we saw it was a man on horseback. no, not exactly that, either; it was an indian chief riding an indian pony. now, i have seen indians in the east--"dime museum indians." i have seen the indians who travel with the circus--yes, and i have seen the untutored savages who sell bead-work at niagara falls; but this one was different--he was quite different. i felt sure that he was a genuine indian. he was unlike the indians i had seen in the east. the most striking difference was that this one presented a grand unwashed effect. it must have required years of patient industry in avoiding the wash-bowl, and great good luck in dodging the passing showers, for him to acquire the rich effect of color which he displayed. though it was one of july's hottest days, he had on his head an arrangement made of fur, with head trimmings and four black-tipped feathers; a long braid of his hair, wound with strips of fur, hung down in front of each ear, and strings of beads ornamented his neck. he wore a calico shirt, with tin bands on his arms above the elbow; a blanket was wrapped around his waist; his leggings had strips of beautiful bright bead-work, and his moccasins were ornamented in the same style. but in his right hand he was holding a most murderous-looking instrument. it was a long wooden club, into one end of which three sharp, shining steel knife-blades were set. though i had been complaining of the heat, still i now felt chilly as i looked at the weapon, and saw how well it matched the expression of his cruel mouth and piercing eyes. he passed on while we were trying to make a sketch of him. however, the next day, an interpreter brought him around, and, for a small piece of tobacco, he was glad to pose while the sketch was being finished. we learned his name was "can-h-des-ka-wan-ji-dan" (one hoop). [illustration: "one hoop" in his summer costume] a few moments later, we passed an iron post set firmly into the ground. it marked one of the boundaries of the indian reservation. we were now on a tract of land set aside by the united states government as the living-ground of sixteen hundred "santee" sioux indians. we soon saw more indians, who, like us, seemed to be moving toward the little village at the indian agency. each group had put their belongings into a big bundle, and strapped it upon long poles, which were fastened at one end to the back of a pony. in this bundle the little papooses rode in great comfort, looking like blackbirds peering from a nest. in some cases, an older child would be riding in great glee on the pony's back among the poles. the family baggage seemed about equally distributed between the pony and the squaw who led him. she was preceded by her lord and master, the noble red indian, who carried no load except his long pipe. the next thing of interest was what is called a red river wagon. it was simply a cart with two large wheels, the whole vehicle made of wood. as the axles are never oiled, the red river carry-all keeps up a most terrible squeaking. this charming music-box was drawn by one ox, and contained an indian, who was driving with a whip. his wife and children were seated on the bottom of this jolting and shrieking cart. [illustration: an indian encampment for the night] as we neared the agency buildings, we passed many indians who had settled for the night. they chose the wooded ravines, near streams, by which to put up their tents, or "tepees," which consisted of long poles covered with patched and smoke-stained canvas, with two openings, one at the top for a "smoke-hole" and the other for a door, through which any one must crawl in order to enter the domestic circle of the gentle savage. we entered several tepees, making ourselves welcome by gifts of tobacco to every member of the family. that night, after reaching the agency and retiring to our beds, we dreamed of smoking great big pipes, with stems a mile long, which were passed to us by horrible-looking black witches. but morning came at last,--and _such_ a morning! that fourth of july morning i shall never forget. we were awakened by the most blood-curdling yells that ever pierced the ears of three white boys. it was the indian war-whoop. i found myself instinctively feeling for my back hair, and regretting the distance to the railroad. we lingered indoors in a rather terrified condition, until we found out that this was simply the beginning of the day's celebration. it was the "sham-fight," but it looked real enough when the indians came tearing by, their ponies seeming to enter into the excitement as thoroughly as their riders. there were some five hundred, in full frills and war-paint, and all giving those terrible yells. their costumes were simple, but gay in color--paint, feathers, and more paint, with an occasional shirt. for weapons they carried guns, rifles, and long spears. bows and arrows seemed to be out of style. a few had round shields on their left arms. most of the tepees had been collected together and pitched so as to form a large circle, and their wagons were placed outside this circle so as to make a sort of protection for the defending party. the attacking party, brandishing their weapons in the air with increased yells, rushed their excited and panting ponies up the slope toward the tepees, where they were met by a rapid discharge of blank cartridges and powder. some of the ponies became frightened and unmanageable, several riders were unhorsed, and general confusion prevailed. the intrenched party, in the meantime, rushed out from behind their defenses, climbing on top of their wagons, yelling and dancing around like demons. added to this, the sight of several riderless ponies flying wildly from the tumult made the sham-fight have a terribly realistic look. after the excitement was over, the regular games which had been arranged for the day began. [illustration: the sham-fight] in the foot-races, the costumes were so slight that there was nothing to describe--simply paint in fancy patterns, moccasins, and a girdle of red flannel. but how they could run! i did not suppose anything on two legs could go so fast. the lacrosse costumes were bright and attractive. the leader of one side wore a shirt of soft, tanned buck-skin, bead-work and embroidery on the front, long fringe on the shoulders, bands around the arms, and deep fringe on the bottom of the skirt. the legs were bare to the knee, and from there down to the toes was one mass of fine glittering bead-work. in the game, there were a hundred indians engaged on each side. the game was long, but exciting, being skilfully played. the grounds extended about a mile in length. the ball was the size of a common baseball, and felt almost as solid as a rock, the center being of lead. the shape of the indian lacrosse stick is shown in the sketch. then came games on horseback. but the most interesting performance of the whole day, and one in which they all manifested an absorbing interest, was the dinner. at 3 a.m. several oxen had been butchered, and from that time till the dinner was served all the old squaws had their hands full. fires were made in long lines, poles placed over them, and high black pots, kettles, and zinc pails filled with a combination of things, including beef and water, were suspended there and carefully tended by ancient indian ladies in picturesque, witch-like costumes, who gently stirred the boiling bouillion with pieces of wood, while other seemingly more ancient and worn-out-looking squaws brought great bundles of wood from the ravines, tied up in blankets and swung over their shoulders. think of a dinner for sixteen hundred noble chiefs and braves, stalwart head-men, young bucks, old squaws, girls, and children! and such queer-looking children--some dressed in full war costume, some in the most approved dancing dresses. [illustration: sha-ke-to-pa, a young brave] [illustration: "taking a spoonful of the soup, he poured it upon the ground."] one little boy, whose name was sha-ke-to-pa (four nails), had five feathers--big ones, too--in his hair. his face was painted; he wore great round ear-rings, and rows of beads and claws around his neck; bands of beads on his little bare brown arms; embroidered leggings and beautiful moccasins, and a long piece of red cloth hanging from his waist. in fact, he was as gaily dressed as a grown-up indian man, and he had a cunning little war-club, all ornamented and painted. when the dinner was nearly ready, the men began to seat themselves in a long curved line. behind them, the women and children were gathered. when everything was ready, a chief wearing a long arrangement of feathers hanging from his back hair and several bead pouches across his shoulders, with a long staff in his left hand, walked into the center of the circle. taking a spoonful of the soup, he held it high in the air, and then, turning slowly around, chanting a song, he poured the contents of the spoon upon the ground. this, an interpreter explained to us, was done to appease the spirits of the air. after this, the old squaws limped nimbly around with the pails of soup and other food, serving the men. after they were all bountifully and repeatedly helped, the women and children, who had been patiently waiting, were allowed to gather about the fragments and half-empty pots and finish the repast, which they did with neatness and despatch. [illustration: a waitress] then the warriors lay around and smoked their long-stem pipes, while the young men prepared for the pony races. the first of the races was "open to all," and more than a hundred ponies and their riders were arranged in a row. some of the ponies were very spirited, and seemed fully to realize what was going to take place, and they would persist in pushing ahead of the line. then the other riders would start their ponies; then the whole line would have to be reformed. but finally they were all started, and such shouting, and such waving of whips in the air!--and how the little ponies did jump! when the race was over, how we all crowded around the winner, and how proud the pony as well as the rider seemed to feel! now we had a better chance to examine the ponies than ever before, and some were very handsome. and such prices! think of buying a beautiful three-year-old cream-colored pony for twenty dollars! but as the hour of sunset approached, the interest in the races vanished, and so did most of the braves. they sought the seclusion of their bowers, to adorn themselves for the grand "grass dance," which was to begin at sunset. what a contrast between their every-day dress and their dancing costumes! the former consists of a blanket more or less tattered and torn, while the gorgeousness of the latter discourages a description in words; so i refer you to the pictures. of course, we were eager to purchase some of the indian finery, but it was a bad time to trade successfully with the indians. they were too much taken up with the pleasures of the day to care to turn an honest penny by parting with any of their ornaments. however, we succeeded in buying a big war-club set with knives, some pipes with carved stems a yard long, a few knife-sheaths and pouches, glittering with beads, and several pairs of beautiful moccasins,--most of which now adorn a new york studio. [illustration: holiday clothes and every-day clothes] soon the highly decorated red men silently assembled inside a large space inclosed by bushes stuck into the ground. this was their dance-hall. the squaws were again shut out, as, according to santee sioux custom, they are not allowed to join in the dances with the men. the indians, as they came in, sat quietly down around the sides of the inclosure. the musicians were gathered around a big drum, on which they pounded with short sticks, while they sang a sort of wild, weird chant. the effect, to an uneducated white man's ear, was rather depressing, but it seemed very pleasing to the indians. the ball was opened by an old chief, who, rising slowly, beckoned the others to follow him. in his right hand the leader carried a wooden gun, ornamented with eagles' feathers; in the left he held a short stick, with bells attached to it. he wore a cap of otter skin, from which hung a long train. his face was carefully painted in stripes of blue and yellow. [illustration: the dance] at first, they all moved slowly, jumping twice on each foot; then, as the musicians struck up a more lively pounding and a more inspiring song, the dancers moved with more rapidity, giving an occasional shout and waving their arms in the air. as they grew warmer and more excited, the musicians redoubled their exertions on the drum and changed their singing into prolonged howls; then one of them, dropping his drumsticks, sprang to his feet, and, waving his hands over his head, he yelled till he was breathless, urging on the dancers. this seemed to be the finishing touch. the orchestra and dancers seemed to vie with each other as to who should make the greater noise. their yells were deafening, and, brandishing their knives and tomahawks, they sprang around with wonderful agility. of course, this intense excitement could last but a short time; the voices of the musicians began to fail, and, finally, with one last grand effort, they all gave a terrible shout, and then all was silence. the dancers crawled back to their places around the inclosure, and sank exhausted on the grass. but soon some supple brave regained enough strength to rise. the musicians slowly recommenced, other dancers came forward, and the "mad dance" was again in full blast. and thus the revels went on, hour after hour, all night, and continued even through the following day. but there was a curious fascination about it, and, tired as we were after the long day, we stood there looking on hour after hour. finally, after midnight had passed, we gathered our indian purchases about us, including two beautiful ponies, and began our return trip toward the railroad and civilization. but the monotonous sound of the indian drum followed us mile after mile over the prairie; in fact, it followed us much better than my new spotted pony. my arm aches now, as i remember how that pony hung back. [illustration] [illustration: chief joseph] a boy's visit to chief joseph by erskine wood [note: the author of the sketch "a boy's visit to chief joseph" was erskine wood, a boy thirteen years old. he was then an expert shot with the rifle, and had brought down not only small game, but bear, wolves, and deer. a true woodsman, he was also a skilled archer and angler, having camped alone in the woods, and lived upon the game secured by shooting and fishing. when chief joseph, of the nez percé indians, went to the national capital, he met erskine, and invited the young hunter to visit his camp some summer. so in july, 1892, the boy started alone from portland, oregon, carrying his guns, bows, rods, and blanket, and made his own way to chief joseph's camp on the nespilem river. the indians received him hospitably, and he took part in their annual fall hunt. he was even adopted into the tribe by the chief, and, according to their custom, received an indian name, _ishem-tux-il-pilp_,--"red moon." chief joseph's band was the remnant of the tribe which, under his leadership, fought the united states army so gallantly in 1877; they carried on a running fight of about eleven hundred miles in one summer. when erskine visited him, the chief was in every way most kind and hospitable to his young guest. c. e. s. wood.] i left portland on the third of july, 1892, to visit chief joseph, who was chief of the nez percé indians. they lived on the colville agency, two or three hundred miles north of the city of spokane, in the state of washington. i arrived at davenport, washington, on the fourth of july. there was no stage, so i had to stay all night. i left for fort spokane next day, arriving at about seven in the evening. as we did not start for nespilem until the seventh, i went and visited colonel cook, commanding officer at the fort. i stayed all night, and next morning i helped the soldiers load cartridges at the magazine. that afternoon i watched the soldiers shooting volleys at the target range. we started for nespilem in a wagon at three o'clock in the morning. the next day i went fishing in the morning, and in the afternoon i went up the creek again, fishing with doctor latham. he was doctor at the indian agency. the next day i went down to joseph's camp, where i stayed the rest of the time--about five months--alone with the indians. the doctor and the teamster returned to the agency. during my first day in the camp, i wrote a letter to my mother, and bought a beaded leather belt from one of the squaws. i stayed about camp most of the first day; but in the afternoon i went fishing, and caught a nice string of trout. the indian camp is usually in two or more long rows of tepees. sometimes two or three families occupy one lodge. when they are hunting and drying meat for their winter supply, several lodges are put together, making one big lodge about thirty feet long, in which are two or three fires instead of one. they say that it dries the meat better. when game gets scarce, camp is broken and moved to a different place. the men and boys catch the horses, and then the squaws have to put on the pack-saddles (made of bone and covered with untanned deer-hide) and pack them. the men sit around smoking and talking. when all is ready, the different families set out, driving their spare horses and pack-horses in front of them. the men generally hunt in the early morning; they get up at about two o'clock, take a vapor bath, get breakfast, and start to hunt at about three. sometimes they hunt on horseback, and sometimes on foot. they come back at about ten or eleven o'clock, and if they have been on foot and have been successful they take a horse and go and bring in the game. the meat is always divided. if chief joseph is there, he divides it; and if he is not there, somebody is chosen to fill his place. they believe that if the heads or horns of the slain deer are left on the ground, the other deer feel insulted and will go away, and that would spoil the hunting in that neighborhood. so the heads and horns are hung up in trees. they think, too, that when anybody dies, his spirit hovers around the spot for several days afterward, and so they always move the lodge. i was sitting with joseph in the tepee once, when a lizard crawled in. i discovered it, and showed it to joseph. he was very solemn, and i asked him what was the matter. "a medicine-man sent it here to do me harm. you have very good eyes to discover the tricks of the medicine-men." i was going to throw it into the fire, but he stopped me, saying: "if you burn it, it will make the medicine-men angry. you must kill it some other way." the indians' calendars are little square sticks of wood about eight inches long. every day they file a little notch, and on sunday a little hole is made. when any one dies, the notch is painted red or black. when they are home at nespilem, they all meet out on the prairie on certain days, and have horse-racing. they run for about two miles. when they are on the home-stretch, about half a mile from the goal, a lot of men get behind them and fire pistols and whip the horses. i was out grouse-hunting with niky mowitz, my indian companion, and we started a deer. we were near the camp, and he proposed to run around in front of the deer and head it for camp. so we started, and the way he got over those rocks was a wonder! if we had not had the dogs, we might have succeeded; but as soon as they caught sight of the deer, they went after it like mad, and we did not see it again. niky mowitz is a nephew and adopted son of chief joseph; his father was killed in the nez percé war of 1877. in the fall hunt the boys are not allowed to go grouseor pheasant-hunting without first getting permission of the chief in command. and it is never granted to them until the boys have driven the horses to water and counted them to see if any are missing. the game that the boys play most has to be played out in open country, where there are no sticks or underbrush. they get a little hoop, or some of them have a little iron ring, about two inches across. then they range themselves in rows, and one rolls the ring on the ground, and the others try to throw spears through it. the spears are straight sticks about three feet and a half long, with two or three little branches cut short at the end, to keep the spear from going clear through the ring. the indians take "turkish," or vapor, baths. they have a little house in the shape of a half globe, made of willow sticks, covered with sods and dirt until it is about a foot thick and perfectly tight. a hole is dug in the house and filled with hot rocks. the indians (usually about four) crowd in, and then one pours hot water on the hot rocks, making a lot of steam. they keep this up until one's back commences to burn, and then he gives a little yell, and somebody outside tilts up the door (a blanket), and they all come out and jump at once into the cold mountain-stream. this bath is taken just before going hunting, as they think that the deer cannot scent them after it. only the boys indulge in wrestling. they fold their hands behind each other's backs, and try to throw each other by force, or by bending the back backward. tripping is unfair, in their opinion. the country is full of game, and we killed many deer and a cinnamon bear. in the evening, when they come home, they talk about the day's hunt, and what they saw and did. the one that killed the bear said that when he first saw the bear it was about fifteen yards off, and coming for him with open jaws, and growling and roaring like everything. he fired and wounded it. it stopped and stood on its hind legs, roaring worse than ever. while this was going on, the indian slipped around and shot it through the heart. i cut off the claws and made a necklace out of them. the next day they dug a hole nine feet in diameter and built a big fire in it, and piled rocks all over the fire to heat them. in the meantime the squaws had cut a lot of fir-boughs and brought the bear-meat. when the fire had burned down, and the rocks were red hot, all the coals and things that would smoke were raked out, and sticks laid across the hole (it was about three feet deep). then the fir-boughs were dipped in water and laid over the sticks. and then meat was laid on, and then more fir-boughs, and then the fat (the fat between the hide and flesh of a bear is taken off whole) is laid on, and then more fir-boughs dipped and sprinkled with water. then come two or three blankets, and, last of all, the whole thing is covered with earth until it is perfectly tight. after about two hours everything is removed, and the water that has been put on the boughs has steamed the meat thoroughly. then chief joseph comes and cuts it up, and every family gets a portion. i helped the squaws cook some wild carrots once (they cook them just as they do the bear, except that they let them cook all night), and joseph said that i must not do squaws' work: that a brave must hunt, fish, fight, and take care of the horses; but a squaw must put up the tepees, cook, sew, make moccasins and clothes, tan the hides, and take care of the household goods. the boys take care of the horses. they catch them and drive them to and from their watering-places; and the rest of the time they hunt with bows and arrows (the boys don't have guns), and fish and play games. the indian dogs are fine grouseand pheasant-hunters, scenting the game from a long distance, and going and treeing them; and they will stay there and bark until the men come. the dogs are exactly like coyotes, except that they are smaller. [illustration: erskine wood--named by chief joseph "ishem-tux-il-pilp" or "red moon"] many people have said that the indian is lazy. in the summer he takes care of his horses, hunts enough to keep fresh meat, fishes, and plays games. but in the fall, when they are getting their winter meat, they get up regularly every morning at two o'clock and start to hunt. and if the indian has been successful, as he usually is, he seldom gets home before five o'clock. and the next morning it is the same thing, while hoar-frost is all over the ground. in the fall hunt, i was out in the mountains with them seventy-five miles from nespilem (where joseph's camp was, and about one hundred and fifty miles from the agency), and it was about the 15th of november; and if i had not gone home then, i would not have been able to go until spring. so niky mowitz brought me in to nespilem, and we made the trip (seventy-six miles) in one day. we started at about eight o'clock in the morning, on our ponies. we had not been gone more than an hour when the dogs started a deer; we rode very fast, and tried to get a sight of it, but we couldn't. chief joseph did not go to the mountains with us on this hunt, and we reached his tent in nespilem at about ten o'clock. when we got to the tent, one of joseph's squaws cooked us some supper; and on the third day after that, i went to wilbur, a little town on the railroad, and from there to portland, where papa met me at the train. little moccasin's ride on the thunder-horse by colonel guido ilges "little moccasin" was, at the time we speak of, fourteen years old, and about as mischievous a boy as could be found anywhere in the big horn mountains. unlike his comrades of the same age, who had already killed buffaloes and stolen horses from the white men and the crow indians, with whom moccasin's tribe, the uncapapas, were at war, he preferred to lie under a shady tree in the summer, or around the campfire in winter, listening to the conversation of the old men and women, instead of going upon expeditions with the warriors and the hunters. the uncapapas are a very powerful and numerous tribe of the great sioux nation, and before uncle sam's soldiers captured and removed them, and before the northern pacific railroad entered the territory of montana, they occupied the beautiful valleys of the rosebud, big and little horn, powder and redstone rivers, all of which empty into the grand yellowstone valley. in those days, before the white man had set foot upon these grounds, there was plenty of game, such as buffalo, elk, antelope, deer, and bear; and, as the uncapapas were great hunters and good shots, the camp of indians to which little moccasin belonged always had plenty of meat to eat and plenty of robes and hides to sell and trade for horses and guns, for powder and ball, for sugar and coffee, and for paint and flour. little moccasin showed more appetite than any other indian in camp. in fact, he was always hungry, and used to eat at all hours, day and night. buffalo meat he liked the best, particularly the part taken from the hump, which is so tender that it almost melts in the mouth. when indian boys have had a hearty dinner of good meat, they generally feel very happy and very lively. when hungry, they are sad and dull. this was probably the reason why little moccasin was always so full of mischief, and always inventing tricks to play upon the other boys. he was a precocious and observing youngster, full of quaint and original ideas--never at a loss for expedients. but he was once made to feel very sorry for having played a trick, and i must tell my young readers how it happened. "running antelope," one of the great warriors and the most noted orator of the tribe, had returned from a hunt, and mrs. antelope was frying for him a nice buffalo steak--about as large as two big fists--over the coals. little moccasin, who lived in the next street of tents, smelled the feast, and concluded that he would have some of it. in the darkness of the night he slowly and carefully crawled toward the spot where mistress antelope sat holding in one hand a long stick, at the end of which the steak was frying. little moccasin watched her closely, and, seeing that she frequently placed her other hand upon the ground beside her and leaned upon it for support, he soon formed a plan for making her drop the steak. he had once or twice in his life seen a pin, but he had never owned one, and he could not have known what use is sometimes made of them by bad white boys. he had noticed, however, that some of the leaves of the larger varieties of the prickly-pear cactus-plant are covered with many thorns, as long and as sharp as an ordinary pin. so when mrs. antelope again sat down and looked at the meat to see if it was done, he slyly placed half-a-dozen of the cactus leaves upon the very spot of ground upon which mrs. antelope had before rested her left hand. then the young mischief crawled noiselessly into the shade and waited for his opportunity, which came immediately. when the unsuspecting mrs. antelope again leaned upon the ground, and felt the sharp points of the cactus leaves, she uttered a scream, and dropped from her other hand the stick and the steak, thinking only of relief from the sharp pain. then, on the instant, the young rascal seized the stick and tried to run away with it. but running antelope caught him by his long hair, and gave him a severe whipping, declaring that he was a good-for-nothing boy, and calling him a "coffee-cooler" and a "squaw." the other boys, hearing the rumpus, came running up to see the fun, and they laughed and danced over poor little moccasin's distress. often afterward they called him "coffee-cooler"; which meant that he was cowardly and faint-hearted, and that he preferred staying in camp around the fire, drinking coffee, to taking part in the manly sports of hunting and stealing expeditions. the night after the whipping, little moccasin could not sleep. the disgrace of the whipping and the name applied to him were too much for his vanity. he even lost his appetite, and refused some very nice prairie-dog stew which his mother offered him. he was thinking of something else. he must do something brave--perform some great deed which no other indian had ever performed--in order to remove this stain upon his character. but what should it be? should he go out alone and kill a bear? he had never fired a gun, and was afraid that the bear might eat him. should he attack the crow camp single-handed? no, no--not he; they would catch him and scalp him alive. all night long he was thinking and planning; but when daylight came, he had reached no conclusion. he must wait for the great spirit to give him some ideas. during the following day he refused all food and kept drawing his belt tighter and tighter around his waist every hour, till, by evening, he had reached the last notch. this method of appeasing the pangs of hunger, adopted by the indians when they have nothing to eat, is said to be very effective. in a week's time little moccasin had grown almost as thin as a bean-pole, but no inspiration had yet revealed what he could do to redeem himself. about this time a roving band of cheyennes, who had been down to the mouth of the little missouri, and beyond, entered the camp upon a friendly visit. feasting and dancing were kept up day and night, in honor of the guests; but little moccasin lay hidden in the woods nearly all the time. during the night of the second day of their stay, he quietly stole to the rear of the great council-tepee, to listen to the pow-wow then going on. perhaps he would there learn some words of wisdom which would give him an idea how to carry out his great undertaking. after "black catfish," the great cheyenne warrior, had related in the flowery language of his tribe some reminiscences of his many fights and brave deeds, "strong heart" spoke. then there was silence for many minutes, during which the pipe of peace made the rounds, each warrior taking two or three puffs, blowing the smoke through the nose, pointing toward heaven, and then handing the pipe to his left-hand neighbor. "strong heart," "crazy dog," "bow-string," "dog-fox," and "smooth elkhorn" spoke of the country they had just passed through. then again the pipe of peace was handed round, amid profound silence. "black pipe," who was bent and withered with the wear and exposure of seventy-nine winters, and who trembled like some leafless tree shaken by the wind, but who was sound in mind and memory, then told the uncapapas, for the first time, of the approach of a great number of white men, who were measuring the ground with long chains, and who were being followed by "thundering horses" and "houses on wheels." (he was referring to the surveying parties of the northern pacific railway company, who were just then at work on the crossing of the little missouri.) with heart beating wildly, little moccasin listened to this strange story and then retired to his own blankets in his father's tepee. now he had found the opportunity he so long had sought! he would go across the mountains, all by himself, look at the thundering horses and the houses on wheels. he then would know more than any one in the tribe, and return to the camp,--a hero! at early morn, having provided himself with a bow and a quiver full of arrows, without informing any one of his plan he stole out of camp, and, running at full speed, crossed the nearest mountain to the east. allowing himself little time for rest, pushing forward by day and night, and after fording many of the smaller mountain-streams, on the evening of the third day of his travel he came upon what he believed to be a well-traveled road. but--how strange!--there were two endless iron rails lying side by side upon the ground. such a curious sight he had never beheld. there were also large poles, with glass caps, and connected by wire, standing along the roadside. what could all this mean? poor little moccasin's brain became so bewildered that he hardly noticed the approach of a freight-train drawn by the "thundering horse." there was a shrill, long-drawn whistle, and immense clouds of black smoke; and the thundering horse was sniffing and snorting at a great rate, emitting from its nostrils large streams of steaming vapor. besides all this, the earth, in the neighborhood of where little moccasin stood, shook and trembled as if in great fear; and to him the terrible noises the horse made were perfectly appalling. gradually the snorts, and the puffing, and the terrible noise lessened, until, all at once, they entirely ceased. the train had come to a stand-still at a watering tank, where the thundering horse was given its drink. the rear car, or "house on wheels," as old black pipe had called it, stood in close proximity to little moccasin,--who, in his bewilderment and fright at the sight of these strange moving houses, had been unable to move a step. but as no harm had come to him from the terrible monster, moccasin's heart, which had sunk down to the region of his toes, began to rise again; and the curiosity inherent in every indian boy mastered fear. he moved up, and down, and around the great house on wheels; then he touched it in many places, first with the tip-end of one finger, and finally with both hands. if he could only detach a small piece from the house to take back to camp with him as a trophy and as a proof of his daring achievement! but it was too solid, and all made of heavy wood and iron. at the rear end of the train there was a ladder, which the now brave little moccasin ascended with the quickness of a squirrel to see what there was on top. it was gradually growing dark, and suddenly he saw (as he really believed) the full moon approaching him. he did not know that it was the headlight of a locomotive coming from the opposite direction. absorbed in this new and glorious sight, he did not notice the starting of his own car, until it was too late, for, while the car moved, he dared not let go his hold upon the brake-wheel. there he was, being carried with lightning speed into a far-off, unknown country, over bridges, by the sides of deep ravines, and along the slopes of steep mountains. but the thundering horse never tired nor grew thirsty again during the entire night. at last, soon after the break of day, there came the same shrill whistle which had frightened him so much on the previous day; and, soon after, the train stopped at miles city. but, unfortunately for our little hero, there were a great many white people in sight; and he was compelled to lie flat upon the roof of his car, in order to escape notice. he had heard so much of the cruelty of the white men that he dared not trust himself among them. soon they started again, and little moccasin was compelled to proceed on his involuntary journey, which took him away from home and into unknown dangers. at noon, the cars stopped on the open prairie to let thundering horse drink again. quickly, and without being detected by any of the trainmen, he dropped to the ground from his high and perilous position. then the train left him--all alone in an unknown country. alone? not exactly; for, within a few minutes, half a dozen crow indians, mounted on swift ponies, are by his side, and are lashing him with whips and lassoes. he has fallen into the hands of the deadliest enemies of his tribe, and has been recognized by the cut of his hair and the shape of his moccasins. when they tired of their sport in beating poor little moccasin so cruelly, they dismounted and tied his hands behind his back. then they sat down upon the ground to have a smoke and to deliberate about the treatment of the captive. during the very severe whipping, and while they were tying his hands, though it gave him great pain, little moccasin never uttered a groan. indian-like, he had made up his mind to "die game," and not to give his enemies the satisfaction of gloating over his sufferings. this, as will be seen, saved his life. the leader of the crows, "iron bull," was in favor of burning the hated uncapapa at a stake, then and there; but "spotted eagle," "blind owl," and "hungry wolf" called attention to the youth and bravery of the captive, who had endured the lashing without any sign of fear. then the two other crows took the same view. this decided poor moccasin's fate; and he understood it all, although he did not speak the crow language, for he was a great sign-talker, and had watched them very closely during their council. blind owl, who seemed the most kind-hearted of the party, lifted the boy upon his pony, blind owl himself getting up in front, and they rode at full speed westward to their large encampment, where they arrived after sunset. little moccasin was then relieved of his bonds, which had benumbed his hands during the long ride, and a large dish of boiled meat was given to him. this, in his famished condition, he relished very much. an old squaw, one of the wives of blind owl, and a sioux captive, took pity on him, and gave him a warm place with plenty of blankets in her own tepee, where he enjoyed a good rest. during his stay with the crows, little moccasin was made to do the work, which usually falls to the lot of the squaws; and which was imposed upon him as a punishment upon a brave enemy, designed to break his proud spirit. he was treated as a slave, made to haul wood and draw water, do the cooking, and clean game. many of the crow boys wanted to kill him, but his foster-mother, "old looking-glass," protected him; and, besides, they feared that the soldiers of fort custer might hear of it, if he was killed, and punish them. many weeks thus passed, and the poor little captive grew more despondent and weaker in body every day. often his foster-mother would talk to him in his own language, and tell him to be of good cheer; but he was terribly homesick and longed to get back to the mountains on the rosebud, to tell the story of his daring and become the hero which he had started out to be. one night, after everybody had gone to sleep in camp, and the fires had gone out, old looking-glass, who had seemed to be soundly sleeping, approached his bed and gently touched his face. looking up, he saw that she held a forefinger pressed against her lips, intimating that he must keep silence, and that she was beckoning him to go outside. there she soon joined him; then, putting her arm around his neck, she hastened out of the camp and across the nearest hills. when they had gone about five miles away from camp, they came upon a pretty little mouse-colored pony, which old looking-glass had hidden there for little moccasin on the previous day. she made him mount the pony, which she called "blue wing," and bade him fly toward the rising sun, where he would find white people who would protect and take care of him. [illustration: "they came upon a pretty little mouse-colored pony"] old looking-glass then kissed little moccasin upon both cheeks and the forehead, while the tears ran down her wrinkled face; she also folded her hands upon her breast and, looking up to the heavens, said a prayer, in which she asked the great spirit to protect and save the poor boy in his flight. after she had whispered some indistinct words into the ear of blue wing (who seemed to understand her, for he nodded his head approvingly), she bade little moccasin be off, and advised him not to rest this side of the white man's settlement, as the crows would soon discover his absence, and would follow him on their fleetest ponies. "but blue wing will save you! he can outrun them all!" these were her parting words, as he galloped away. in a short time the sun rose over the nearest hill, and little moccasin then knew that he was going in the right direction. he felt very happy to be free again, although sorry to leave behind his kind-hearted foster-mother, looking-glass. he made up his mind that after a few years, when he had grown big and become a warrior, he would go and capture her from the hated crows and take her to his own tepee. he was so happy in this thought that he had not noticed how swiftly time passed, and that already the sun stood over his head; neither had he urged blue wing to run his swiftest; but that good little animal kept up a steady dog-trot, without, as yet, showing the least sign of being tired. but what was the sudden noise which was heard behind him? quickly he turned his head, and, to his horror, he beheld about fifty mounted crows coming toward him at a run, and swinging in their hands guns, pistols, clubs, and knives! his old enemy, iron bull, was in advance, and under his right arm he carried a long lance, with which he intended to spear little moccasin. moccasin's heart stood still for a moment with fear; he knew that this time they would surely kill him if caught. he seemed to have lost all power of action. nearer and nearer came iron bull, shouting at the top of his voice. but blue wing now seemed to understand the danger of moccasin's situation; he pricked up his ears, snorted a few times, made several short jumps, fully to arouse moccasin, who remained paralyzed with fear, and then, like a bird, fairly flew over the prairie, as if his little hoofs were not touching the ground. little moccasin, too, was now awakened to his peril, and he patted and encouraged blue wing; while, from time to time, he looked back over his shoulder to watch the approach of iron bull. thus they went, on and on; over ditches and streams, rocks and hills, through gulches and valleys. blue wing was doing nobly, but the pace could not last forever. iron bull was now only about five hundred yards behind and gaining on him. little moccasin felt the cold sweat pouring down his face. he had no firearm, or he would have stopped to shoot at iron bull. blue wing's whole body seemed to tremble beneath his young rider, as if the pony was making a last desperate effort, before giving up from exhaustion. unfortunately, little moccasin did not know how to pray, or he might have found some comfort and help thereby; but in those moments, when a terrible death was so near to him, he did the next best thing: he thought of his mother and his father, of his little sisters and brothers, and also of looking-glass, his kind old foster-mother. then he felt better and was imbued with fresh courage. he again looked back, gave one loud, defiant yell at iron bull, and then went out of sight over some high ground. ki-yi-yi-yi! there is the railroad station just in front, only about three hundred yards away. he sees white men around the buildings, who will protect him. at this moment blue wing utters one deep groan, stumbles, and falls to the ground. fortunately, though, little moccasin has received no hurt. he jumps up, and runs toward the station as fast as his weary legs can carry him. at this very moment iron bull with several of his braves came in sight again, and, realizing the helpless condition of the boy, they all gave a shout of joy, thinking that in a few minutes they would capture and kill him. but their shouting had been heard by some of the white men, who at once concluded to protect the boy, if he deserved aid. little moccasin and iron bull reached the door of the station-building at nearly the same moment; but the former had time enough to dart inside and hide under the table of the telegraph operator. when iron bull and several other crows rushed in to pull the boy from underneath the table, the operator quickly took from the table drawer a revolver, and with it drove the murderous crows from the premises. then the boy had to tell his story, and he was believed. all took pity upon his forlorn condition, and his brave flight made them his friends. in the evening blue wing came up to where little moccasin was resting and awaiting the arrival of the next train, which was to take him back to his own home. then they both were put aboard a lightning-express train, which took them to within a short distance of the old camp on the rosebud. when little moccasin arrived at his father's tepee, riding beautiful blue wing, now rested and frisky, the whole camp flocked around him; and when he told them of his great daring, of his capture and his escape, running antelope, the big warrior of the uncapapas and the most noted orator of the tribe, proclaimed him a true hero, and then and there begged his pardon for having called him a "coffee-cooler." in the evening little moccasin was honored by a great feast, and the name of "rushing lightning," _wakee-wata-keepee_, was bestowed upon him--and by that name he is known to this day. the little first man and the little first woman an indian legend by william m. cary [this story has been told to the children of the dacotah indians for very many years, having been handed down from generation to generation; and it is now listened to by indian children with as much interest as it excited in the red-skinned boys and girls of a thousand years ago.] on the bank of one of the many branches of the missouri river--or "big muddy," as it is called by the indians on account of the color of its waters--there lived a little boy and a little girl. these children were very small indeed, being no bigger than a man's finger, but very handsome, well formed, and also quite strong, considering their size. there were no men and women in the world at that time, and none of the people who told the story knew how these two small folk came to be living on the banks of the river. some persons thought that they might have been little beavers, or little turtles, who were so smart that they turned into a boy and a girl; but nothing about this is known for certain. these small people lived in a tiny lodge near the river, feeding upon the berries that grew along the shore. these were of great variety and many delicious flavors. there were wild currants, raspberries, gooseberries, service-berries, wild plums and grapes; and of most of these, one was sufficient to make a meal for both of the children. the little girl was very fond of the boy, and watched over and tended him with great care. she made him a tiny bow from a blade of grass, with arrows to match, and he hunted grasshoppers, crickets, butterflies, and many other small creatures. she then made him a hunting-shirt, or coat, from the skin of a humming-bird, ornamented with brilliant little stones and tiny shells found in the sand. she loved him so dearly that no work was too much when done for him. [illustration: telling the story of the little first man and the little first woman] one day he was out hunting on the prairie; and, feeling tired from an unusually long tramp, he lay down to rest and soon fell fast asleep. the wind began to rise, after the heat of the day; but this made him sleep the sounder, and he knew nothing of the storm that was threatening. the clouds rolled over from the northwestern horizon, like an army of blankets torn and ragged. with flashing lightning, the thunder-god let loose his powers, and peal after peal went echoing loudly through the cañons, up over the hills, and down into prairies where the quaking-asp shivered, the willows waved, and the tall blue-grass rolled, as the wind passed over, like a tempest-tossed sea. only the stubborn aloes, the spanish-bayonet, and the prickly-pears kept their position. but the storm was as brief as it was violent; and, gradually subsiding, it passed to the southeast, leaving nothing but a bank of clouds behind the horizon. everything was drenched by the heavy rain. the flowers hung their heads, or lay crushed from the weight of water on their tender petals, vainly struggling to rise and rejoice that the storm had passed away. the sage-brush looked more silvery than ever, clothed with myriads of rain-drops, which beaded its tiny leaves. through all the storm our little hero slept, the feathers of his hunting-coat wet and flattened by the rain. when the sun came out again and shone upon him, it dried and shriveled this little coat until it cracked and fell off him like the shell of an egg from a newly hatched chicken. he soon began to feel uncomfortable, and woke up. evening was fast approaching; the blue-jay chattered, the prairie-chicken was calling its young brood to rest under its wings for the night, the cricket had at last sung himself to sleep, and all nature seemed to be getting ready for a long rest. our boy, however, had no thought of further sleep. his active mind was thinking how he could revenge himself upon the sun for his treatment of him, in thus ruining his coat. the shadows on the plains deepened into gloom and darkness, but still he thought and planned out his revenge. early in the morning he started for home. the little girl had been anxiously watching for him all night, and came out to meet him, much rejoiced at his safe return; but when she saw the condition of his coat, on which she had labored with so much care and love, she was very much grieved. her tears only made him more angry with the sun, and he set himself to planning with greater determination by what means he could annoy this enemy. at last a bright idea struck him, and he at once told it to the girl. she was delighted, and admired him the more for his shrewdness. they soon put their plans into practice, and began plaiting a rope of grasses. this was a great undertaking, as the rope had to be very long. many moons came and went before this rope was finished, and, when the task was completed, the next thing to be considered was, how they should carry or transport it to the place where the sun rises in the morning. this question puzzled them greatly, for the rope was very large and heavy, and the distance was very great. [illustration: "he hunted grasshoppers"] all the animals at that time were very small tween compared to the field-mouse, which was then the largest quadruped in the whole world, twice the size of any buffalo. the horse, or, as the indians call it, "shungatonga," meaning elk-dog, did not then exist. it was a long time before the children could find a field-mouse to whom they could appeal for aid. at last they found one at home, sitting comfortably under an immense fern. [illustration: "at home, under an immense fern"] the little boy then went up to him, and, after relating his troubles, asked if he would assist in carrying the rope. mountains had to be crossed, rivers swum or forded, according to their depth, wide expanses of prairie to be passed over, forests skirted, swamps waded, and lakes circled before the rope and its makers could reach the place where the sun rises. the field-mouse, after much consideration, agreed to help the pair, and they began their preparations by winding the rope into a great coil, which they packed on the back of the field-mouse. on the top of this the boy and girl seated themselves, and the journey began. when they came to a river which must be crossed by swimming, the rope was taken off the mouse and unwound; then he would take one end in his mouth, and swim to the other side, letting it trail out after him as he swam. this performance had to be repeated many times before the whole rope was landed on the opposite bank. when this was done, he had to swim across again and fetch the little pair, seating them on his forehead. [illustration: on the journey] it was hard work for the mouse, but the little boy encouraged him to his work by promises of reward and compliments on his extraordinary strength. the high mountains were crossed with great toil, and while they were on the dry plains the travelers suffered for want of water. the sun had dried up everything, and it almost seemed as if he understood their object, for he poured down upon them his hottest rays. several changes of the seasons, and many moons, had come and gone before they reached the dense forest from behind which the sun was accustomed to rise. they managed to arrive at this big forest at night, so that the sun should not see them, and then they screened themselves in the woods, resting there for several days. when, at last, they felt rested and refreshed, they began their work at nightfall, and the first thing they did was to uncoil the rope. the little boy then took one end of it in his teeth, and climbed up one of the trees at the extreme edge of the woods, where he spread it out in the branches, making loops and slip-knots here and there all over, from one tree to another, until the rope looked like an immense net. then the mouse, finding his services no longer needed, left them and wandered far away. [illustration: the field-mouse carrying the little pair across a river] as morning approached, the two children quitted the wood, everything being in readiness, and retired to a distance to watch the result of their work. soon they espied a pale light gleaming behind the forest and gradually becoming brighter and brighter. on came the sun, rolling up in all his grandeur and fast approaching the rope, while the two little hearts were beating quickly down below. in a moment he had reached the network of rope, and then, before he knew it, he was entangled in its meshes, and found himself thoroughly entrapped! what a proud moment for our hero! he compared his own size with that of the sun, and his delight seemed beyond bounds as he and the little girl watched the sun struggling to free himself, getting red with fury and rage, and pouring out his burning heat on all surrounding things. the leaves shriveled and dropped from the trees, the branches could be seen to smoke, the grass curled up and withered, and at last the forest began to burn as the heat became more intense. it seemed as if all nature was on fire. the joy of the children now turned into fear. the elk, deer, and buffalo came rushing out of the woods. the birds circled, shrieking and crying, and all living things seemed wild with fear. [illustration: the consultation] at last the field-mouse called the animals together for a consultation as to what was best to be done. they held a brief council, for no time could be lost. the elk spoke up and said that as the mouse had gone to so much trouble to carry the rope to entrap the sun, he was the one who ought to set him free from his entanglement. this was generally agreed to, and, besides, the field-mouse was the largest animal, and had such sharp and strong teeth that it would be easy for him to gnaw through any rope. it was getting hotter and hotter: something must be done quickly. the sun was blazing with rage! the field-mouse finally yielded to the wishes of his fellow-animals; and, rushing into the wood, through the terrible heat and smoke, he gnawed the rope, but in doing so was melted down to his present size. the sun then rapidly arose, and everything soon became all right again. the fact of the little man trapping the sun and causing so much mischief proved his superiority over the other animals, and they have feared him ever since. and, according to the indian belief, this little man and little woman were the father and mother of all the tribes of men. fun among the red boys by julian ralph various as are the customs of the indians, it is their savage, warlike natures that we are most apt to remember. few of us, in fact, ever think of indian children at all, except at the sight of a picture of them. little has been told or written about the boy and girl red folk, and it would puzzle most of my readers to say what they suppose these children of nature look like, or do to amuse themselves, or how they are brought up. it will astonish most city people to hear that red children are very like white children, just as a lady who was out on the plains a few years ago was astonished to find that they had skins as smooth and soft as any lady's--no, smoother and softer than that: as delicate and lovely as any dear little baby's here in new york. this lady was visiting the blackfeet in my company, and she was so surprised, when she happened to touch one little red boy's bare arm, that she went about pinching a dozen chubby-faced boys and girls to make herself sure that all their skins were like the coats of ripe peaches to the touch. whether the indians really love their children, or know what genuine love or affection is, i cannot say; but they are so proud and careful of their little ones that it amounts to the same thing so far as the youngsters are concerned. boy babies are always most highly prized, because they will grow up into warriors. the little that is taught to indian boys must seem to them much more like fun than instruction. they must hear the fairy stories and the gabble of the medicine-men or conjurers, and the tales of bloody fights and brave and cunning deeds which make the histories of their tribes. they learn not to take what does not belong to them unless it belongs to an enemy. they learn not to be impudent to any one stronger and bigger than themselves; they learn how to track animals and men, how to go without food when there is not any, how to eat up all there is _at once_ when any food is to be had, how to ride and shoot and run and paddle, and smoke very mild tobacco. as for the rest, they "just grow," like topsy, and are as emotional and fanciful and wilful as any very little white child ever was. they never get over being so. the older they grow to be, the older children they become, for they are all very much like spoiled children as long as they live. the first indians i ever saw, outside of a show, were boys at play. they were onondagas, on their reservation near syracuse, new york. they were big boys of from sixteen to twenty years old, and the game they were playing was "snow-snakes." the earth was covered with snow, and by dragging a stout log through this covering they had made a narrow gutter or trough about 500 or 700 feet long. each youth had his snow-snake, which is a stick about eight feet long, and shaped something like a spear. all the snow-snakes were alike, less than an inch wide, half an inch thick, flat on the under side, rounded on top, and with a very slight turn upward at the point to suggest a serpent's head. the "snakes" were all smoothed and of heavy hard wood. the game was to see who could send his the farthest along the gutter in the snow. the young men grasped their snakes at the very end, ran a few steps, and shot the sticks along the trough. as one after another sped along the snow, the serpent-like heads kept bobbing up and down over the rough surface of the gutter precisely like so many snakes. i bought a snow-snake, but, though i have tried again and again, i cannot get the knack of throwing it. [illustration: onondaga indian boys playing at "snow-snakes"] but i have since seen indian boys of many tribes at play, and one time i saw more than a hundred and fifty "let loose," as our own children are in a country school-yard at recess. to be sure, theirs is a perpetual recess, and they were at home among the tents of their people, the canada blackfeet, on the plains, within sight of the rocky mountains. the smoke-browned tepees, crowned with projecting pole-ends, and painted with figures of animals and with gaudy patterns, were set around in a great circle, and the children were playing in the open, grassy space in the center. their fathers and mothers were as wild as any indians, except one or two tribes, on the continent, but nothing of their savage natures showed in these merry, lively, laughing, bright-faced little ragamuffins. at their play they laughed and screamed and hallooed. some were running foot-races, some were wrestling, some were on the backs of scampering ponies; for they are sometimes put on horseback when they are no more than three years old. such were their sports, for indian boys play games to make them sure of aim, certain of foot, quick in motion, and supple in body, so that they can shoot and fight and ride and hunt and run well. to be able to run fast is a necessary accomplishment for an indian. what they call "runners" are important men in every tribe. they are the messenger men, and many a one among them has run a hundred miles in a day. they cultivate running by means of foot-races. in war they agree with the poet who sang: "for he who fights and runs away may live to fight another day"; and afterward, if they were taken prisoners, they had a chance for life, in the old days, if they could run fast enough to escape their captors and the spears and bullets of their pursuers. a very popular game that attracted most of the blackfeet boys was the throwing of darts, or little white hand-arrows, along the grass. the game was to see who could throw his arrow farthest in a straight line. at times the air was full of the white missiles where the boys were playing, and they fell like rain upon the grass. in another part of the field were some larger boys with rude bows with which to shoot these same darts. these boys were playing a favorite blackfeet game. each one had a disk or solid wheel of sheet-iron or lead, and the game was to see who could roll his disk the farthest, while all the others shot at it to tip it over and bring it to a stop. the boys made splendid shots at the swift-moving little wheels, and from greater distances than you would imagine. they play with arrows so frequently that it is no wonder they are good marksmen; yet you would be surprised to see how frequently they bring down the birds, rabbits, and gophers which abound on the plains. the houses of these plump little drab-colored creatures are holes in the turf, and as you ride along the plains you will see them everywhere around, sitting up on their haunches with their tiny fore paws held idle and limp before them, and their bead-like, bright eyes looking at you most trustingly--until you come just so near, when pop! suddenly down goes little mr. gopher in his hole. you may be sure the indian boys find great sport in shooting at these comical little creatures. but the boys take a mean advantage of the fact that the restless gophers cannot stay still in one place any great length of time. when one pops into a hole it is only for a minute, and during that minute the indian boy softly and deftly arranges a snare around the hole, so that when the gopher pops up again the snare can be jerked and the animal captured. we gave the boys in the blackfeet camp great sport by standing at a distance of a hundred yards from all of them and offering a silver quarter to whichever boy got to us first. you should have seen the stampede that followed the signal, "go!" blankets were dropped, moccasins fell off, boys stumbled and others fell atop of them, their black locks flew in the breeze, and the air was noisy with yelling and laughter. these boys spin tops, but their "top-time" is the winter, when snow is on the ground and is crusted hard. their tops are made of lead or some other metal, and are mere little circular plates which they cover with red flannel and ornament with tiny knots or wisps of cord all around the edges. these are spun with whips and look very pretty on the icy white playgrounds. nearly all indian boys play ball, but not as we do, for their only idea of the game is the girlish one of pitching and catching. all their games are the simplest, and lack the rules which we lay down to make our sports difficult and exciting. the boys of the papago tribe in the southwest have a game which the fellows in harvard and yale would form rules about, if they played it, until it became very lively indeed. these indian boys make dumb-bells of woven buckskin or rawhide. they weave them tight and stiff, and then soak them in a sort of red mud which sticks like paint. they dry them, and then the queer toys are ready for use. to play the game they mark off goals, one for each band or "side" of players. the object of each side is to send its dumb-bells over to the goal of the enemy. the dumb-bells are tossed with sticks that are thrust under them as they lie on the ground. the perverse things will not go straight or far, and a rod is a pretty good throw for one. the sport quickly grows exciting, and the players are soon battling in a heap, almost as if they were playing at foot-ball. [illustration: "you should have seen the stampede that followed the signal, 'go!'"] these are games that will not wear out while there are indian boys to play them. on the oldest reservations, where even the grandfathers of the indians now alive were shut up and fed by their government, the boys still play the old games. but wherever one travels to-day, even among the wildest tribes, a new era is seen to have begun as the result of the indian schools, and indian boys are being taught things more useful than any they ever knew before. the brightest boys in the various tribes are selected to be sent to these schools, and it is hoped that what they learn will make all the others anxious to imitate white men's ways. [illustration: copy in black and white of a color-drawing by an indian boy] the children of zuñi by maria brace kimball "little indian, sioux or crow, little frosty eskimo, little turk or japanee, oh, don't you wish that you were me?" so says the well-fed, well-dressed, well-housed little scotchman in robert louis stevenson's rhyme. but i don't believe that the small indians of zuñi would care at all to change places with the little "me" of edinburgh or new york. in their village of mud and stone, on the sunny plains of new mexico, they have lived for centuries in perfect contentment. fine houses, green parks, and merry streets would be nothing to them; hats and parasols, candies and ice-cream would make them stare; and mere cleanliness would only astonish them. indeed, if they saw us washing our faces and brushing our hair every day, they would probably one and all cry out in zuñi words: "oh, don't you wish that you were _me_?" the little half-civilized children of zuñi so aroused our curiosity that we drove through forty miles of sand and sage-brush, from the railroad at fort wingate, to pay them a visit. as the indians do not provide for travelers, we took our hotel with us--tents, beds, and food--and camped just outside their village. the village looks like a huge beehive made of clay and stuck fast to the top of a sandy knoll. the hive is filled with a mass of cells--three hundred single rooms, placed side by side and piled in rows one on top of another. in each of these rooms lives a zuñi family. there are no inside stairways leading from story to story, but if the boys and girls living in one row wish to pay a visit to a house above them, they must go outdoors and climb a ladder. on the slope between the village and the zuñi river are a number of small vegetable-gardens, each one inclosed by a mud wall. zuñi has no inns, no shops, no saloons, not even proper streets, but only narrow alleys that thread their way through the strange town. as we walked through the village, all the world came out to see us. girls and boys clustered on the roofs or sat on the ovens,--queer little cones of mud which seem to grow up out of the house-tops,--while fathers, mothers, and babies peered out from dark doorways, to stare at the visitors. when we had finished our tour of the roofs and alleys, we were hospitably invited indoors; even there the children followed us, and as we glanced up to a hole in the ceiling which served as a window, a girl's laughing face filled the opening. we must have looked strange enough in our hats and gloves and long skirts. the zuñi child spends his early days in a cradle. but a cradle in zuñi-land does not mean down pillows, silken coverlets, and fluffy laces; it is only a flat board, just the length of the baby, with a hood like a doll's buggy-top over the head. upon this hard bed the baby is bound like a mummy--the coverings wound round and round him until the little fellow cannot move except to open his mouth and eyes. sometimes he is unrolled, and looks out into the bare whitewashed room, blinks at the fire burning on the hearth, and fixes his eyes earnestly on the wolf and cougar skins that serve as chairs and beds and carpets in the zuñi home. [illustration: a zuñi family on the march] by the time he is two or three years old, he has grown into a plump little bronze creature, with the straightest of coarse black hair and the biggest and roundest of black eyes. he is now out of the cradle, and trots about the house and the village. when the weather is bad he wears a small coarse shirt, and always a necklace of beads or turquoise. as he grows older, he adds a pair of loose cotton trousers to his costume, and, if anything more is needed to keep him warm, he girds on his blanket, just as his forefathers have done in all the three hundred years since white men first knew the zuñis. his long hair, either flying loosely in the wind or tied back with a band of some red stuff, serves him both as hair and as hat. his little sister, however, has a more elaborate dress. her mama weaves it for her, as she does her own, in a rude loom. she makes two square blankets of black cotton, finishes them neatly across top and bottom, sews them together at the sides with red yarn, and the dress is ready to try on. it always fits perfectly, as the part which forms the skirt is simply held in place by a sash, and the waist is made by drawing two corners of the blankets up over the left shoulder. the sash, woven in gay colors, is also the work of mama zuñi. a long, narrow piece of cotton cloth is draped from the other shoulder, and swings easily about, serving as pocket, shawl, or pinafore. in cold weather, moccasins, leggings, and blankets are also worn. these articles, too, are made at home. while the mother is the dressmaker and tailor, the father is the family shoemaker. a few of the zuñi girls have dresses like those of american girls. these clothes have come to them through the mission-school which adjoins the village. the zuñis have a language of their own--no very easy one for boys and girls to learn, judging from its many-syllabled, harsh-sounding words. they also speak a little spanish, as does nearly everybody in new mexico. the little zuñis amuse themselves with running, wrestling, jumping, and playing at grown folks, just as civilized children do. they have their bows and arrows, their rag-dolls,--strapped like real babies to cradles,--and their shinny sticks and balls. the children also make themselves useful at home. the older girls take care of their younger brothers and sisters, and the boys tend the goats. there are large herds of goats belonging to the village, and they must be taken every morning to graze on the plain, and brought home at night to be shut up in the corrals, or folds, safe from prowling wolves. the little children often go with their mothers to draw water from the village well, about a hundred yards from the houses. at the top of a flight of stone steps they wait, playing about in the sand, while their mothers go down to the spring. there the women fill the jars, then, poising them on their heads, climb the hill and mount the ladders to their homes. as all the water used by the village has to be brought to it in these _ollas_ (water-jars), carried on the women's heads, it is not surprising that the boys' clothes are grimy and the girls have apparently never known what it is to wash their faces. the _ollas_, which answer the purpose of family china and of kitchen-ware, are made by the zuñi women from the clay of the river-bank. the wet earth is shaped by hand into jars of all sorts and sizes; the jars are then painted with gay colors, in queer patterns, and burned. it is a pretty sight, of an evening, to see the fires of the kilns dotted all over the terraces of the village. each piece of pottery is shut up inside a little wall of chips, which are set on fire; when the chips are burned up, the article is baked and ready for use. the zuñi mamas make not only the jars for family use, but also clay toys for the children, curious rattles, dolls' moccasins, owls, eagles, horses, and other childish treasures. [illustration: on the way to fort wingate] the zuñi has learned that american coffee and tobacco are better than indian herb tea and willow bark. as he must have ready money in order to buy such articles, he has contrived various ways of earning a few _reales_ (spanish for shillings). when spring comes and the snows have melted, he collects the jars and bowls and trinkets that have been made during the winter, ties them up in the several corners of his blanket, and trudges off to market at fort wingate, forty miles away. bows and arrows, and canes made from a singular cactus which grows near zuñi, are also added to the stock in trade. if the indian is lucky enough to own a burro, he and one of the boys mount the patient creature, while the family, big and little, with some of the neighbors, complete the party. once in the garrison, the zuñi family need only walk up and down to advertise their wares; the boys and girls help to carry the jars, while the babies follow. the group, with its bright blankets and gay pottery, soon attracts attention and sales begin on the sidewalks and verandas. little is said by the zuñi merchants, but when the bargaining is finished, they stand silent, waiting with a hungry look for the usual invitation to the kitchen. there, seated in a circle on the floor, they gratefully eat and drink whatever is set before them. their store of words does not include "thank you," but their faces brighten, and the older people politely shake hands with a "bueno, bueno, señora" ("good, good, madame"), while the babies munch and crumble their cake and cry for more, just as our own white babies do. the thoughtful mamas do not forget the miles of "home stretch" before the family, and wisely tuck away in their blankets the last bits of cheese and crackers. when they have looked over the fort, tasted its bread and coffee, and sold their cargo, they cheerfully go home to their mud village and indian habits. old and young, they all are children, easily pleased, contented with things as they are, and quite certain in their own minds that the zuñi way is the right way to live. the indian girl and her messenger-bird by george w. ranck once upon a time, there was an indian who lived in a big wood on the banks of a beautiful river, and he did nothing all day long but catch fish and hunt wild deer. well, this indian had two lovely little daughters, and he named one sunbeam, because she was so bright and cheerful, and the other he called starlight, because, he said, her sweet eyes twinkled like the stars. sunbeam and starlight were as gay as butterflies, and as busy as bees, from morning till night. they ran races under the shady trees, made bouquets of wild flowers, swung on grape-vine swings, turned berries and acorns into beads, and dressed their glossy black hair with bright feathers that beautiful birds had dropped. they loved each other so much, and were so happy together, that they never knew what trouble meant until, one day, starlight got very sick, and before the big moon came over the tree-tops the sweet indian child had closed her starry eyes in death, and rested for the last time upon her soft, little deerskin bed. and now, for the first time, sunbeam's heart was full of grief. she could not play, for starlight was gone, she knew not where; so she took the bright feathers out of her hair, and sat down by the river and cried and cried for starlight to come back to her. but when her father told her that starlight was gone to the spirit-land of love and beauty, and would be happy for ever and ever, sunbeam was comforted. "now," said she, "i know where darling starlight is, and i can kiss her and talk to her again." sunbeam had heard her people say that the birds were messengers from the spirit-land. so she hunted through the woods until she found a little song-bird, that was too young to fly, fast asleep in its nest. she carried it gently home, put it into a cage, and watched over it and fed it tenderly day after day until its wings grew strong and it filled the woods with its music. then she carried it in her soft little hands to starlight's grave; and after she had loaded it with kisses and messages of love for starlight, she told it never to cease its sweetest song or fold its shining wings until it had flown to the spirit-land. she let it go, and the glad bird, as it rose above the tall green trees, poured forth a song more joyful than any that sunbeam had ever heard. higher and higher it flew, and sweeter and sweeter grew its song, until at last both its form and its music were lost in the floating summer clouds. then sunbeam ran swiftly over the soft grass to her father, and told him, with a bright smile and a light heart, that she had talked with dear starlight, and had kissed her sweet rosy mouth again; and sunbeam was once more her father's bright and happy little indian girl. how the stone-age children played by charles c. abbott not long since i wandered along a pretty brook that rippled through a narrow valley. i was on the lookout for whatever birds might be wandering that way, but saw nothing of special interest. so, to while away the time, i commenced geologizing; and, as i plodded along my lonely way, i saw everywhere traces of an older time, when the sparkling rivulet that now only harbors pretty salamanders was a deep creek, tenanted by many of our larger fishes. how fast the earth from the valley's slopes may have been loosened by frost and washed by freshet, and carried down to fill up the old bed of the stream, we will not stop to inquire; for other traces of this older time were also met with here. as i turned over the loose earth by the brook-side, and gathered here and there a pretty pebble, i chanced upon a little arrow-point. whoever has made a collection, be it of postage stamps or birds' eggs, knows full well how securing one coveted specimen but increases eagerness for others; and so was it with me that pleasant afternoon. just one pretty arrow-point cured me of my laziness, banished every trace of fatigue, and filled me with the interest of eager search; and i dug and sifted and washed the sandy soil for yards along the brook-side, until i had gathered at least a score of curious relics of the long-departed red men, or rather of the games and sports and pastimes of the red men's hardy and active children. [illustration: the hatchet] for centuries before columbus discovered san salvador, the red men (or indians, as they are usually called) roamed over all the great continent of north america, and having no knowledge of iron as a metal, they were forced to make of stone or bone all their weapons, hunting and household implements. from this fact they are called, when referring to those early times, a stone-age people, and so, of course, the boys and girls of that time were stone-age children. but it is not to be supposed that, because the children of savages, they were altogether unlike the youngsters of to-day. in one respect, at least, they were quite the same--they were very fond of play. their play, however, was not like the games of to-day, as you may see by the pictures of their toys. we might, perhaps, call the principal game of the boys "playing man," for the little stone implements, here pictured, are only miniatures of the great stone axes and long spear-points of their fathers. in one particular these old-time children were really in advance of the youngsters of to-day; they not only did, in play, what their parents did in earnest, but they realized, in part, the results of their playful labor. a good old moravian missionary says: "little boys are frequently seen wading in shallow brooks, shooting small fishes with their bows and arrows." going a-fishing, then, as now, was good fun; but to shoot fishes with a bow and arrow is not an easy thing to do, and this is one way these stone-age children played, and played to better advantage than most of my young readers can. among the stone-age children's toys that i gathered that afternoon, were those of which we have pictures. the first is a very pretty stone hatchet, very carefully shaped, and still quite sharp. it has been worked out from a porphyry pebble, and in every way, except size, it is the same as hundreds that still are to be found lying about the fields. no red man would ever deign to use such an insignificant-looking ax, and so we must suppose it to have been a toy hatchet for some little fellow that chopped away at saplings, or, perhaps, knocked over some poor squirrel or rabbit; for our good old moravian friend, the missionary, also tells us that "the boys learn to climb trees when very young, both to catch birds and to exercise their sight, which, by this method, is rendered so quick that in hunting they see objects at an amazing distance." their play, then, became an excellent schooling for them; and if they did nothing but play it was not a loss of time. the five little arrow-points figured in the second picture are among those i found in the valley. the ax was not far away, and both it and they may have belonged to the same bold and active young hunter. all of these arrow-points are very neatly made. [illustration: arrow-heads] the same missionary tells us that these young red men of the forest "exercise themselves very early with bows and arrows, and in shooting at a mark. as they grow up, they acquire a remarkable dexterity in shooting birds, squirrels, and small game." every boy remembers his first penknife, and, whether it had one or three blades, was proud enough of it; but how different the fortune of the stone-age children, in this matter of a pocket-knife! in the third picture is shown a piece of flint that was doubtless chipped into this shape that it might be used as a knife. i have found scores of such knives in the fields that extend along the little valley, and a few came to light in my search that afternoon in the brook-side sands and gravel. so, if this chipped flint is a knife, then, as in modern times, the children were whittlers. [illustration: flint knife] of course, our boys nowadays would be puzzled to cut a willow whistle or mend the baby's go-cart with such a knife as this; but still, it will not do to despise stone cutlery. the big canoe at the centennial, that took up so much room in the government building,--a boat sixty feet long,--was made in quite recent times, and only stone knives and hatchets were used in the process. i found too, in that afternoon walk, some curiously shaped splinters of jasper, which at first did not seem very well adapted to any purpose; and yet, although mere fragments, they had every appearance of having been purposely shaped, and not of accidental resemblances to a hook or sickle blade. when i got home, i read that perfect specimens, mine being certainly pieces of the same form, had been found away off in norway; and professor nilsson, who has carefully studied the whole subject, says they are fish-hooks. instead of my broken ones, we have in the fourth illustration some uninjured specimens of these fish-hooks from norway. two are made of flint, the largest one being bone; and hooks of exactly the same patterns really have been found within half a mile of the little valley i worked in that afternoon. the fish-hooks shown in our picture have been thought to be best adapted for, and really used in, capturing cod-fish in salt water, and perch and pike in inland lakes. the broken hooks i found were fully as large; and so the little brook that now ripples down the valley, when a large stream, must have had a good many big fishes in it, or the stone-age fishermen would not have brought their fishing-hooks, and have lost them, along this remnant of a larger stream. but it must not be supposed that only children in this bygone era did the fishing for their tribe. just as the men captured the larger game, so they took the bigger fishes; but it is scarcely probable that the boys who waded the little brooks with bows and arrows would remain content with that, and, long before they were men, doubtless they were adepts in catching the more valuable fishes that abounded, in indian times, in all our rivers. so, fishing, i think, was another way in which the stone-age children played. [illustration: fish-hooks] games and sports of the indian boy by dr. charles alexander eastman [these are actual recollections of the wild life. the indian boy whose experiences are described wrote them out himself many years afterward when, having graduated at dartmouth college and the boston university school of medicine, he had become an educated man, and a physician among his own people.] the indian boy was a prince of the wilderness. he had but very little work to do during the period of his boyhood. his principal occupation was the practising of a few simple but rigid rules in the arts of warfare and the chase. aside from this, he was master of his time. whatever was required of us boys was quickly performed; then the field was clear for our games and plays. there was always keen competition between us. we felt very much as our fathers did in hunting and war--each one strove to excel all the others. it is true that our savage life was a precarious one, and full of dreadful catastrophes; however, this never prevented us from enjoying our sports to the fullest extent. as we left our tepees in the morning, we were never sure that our scalps would not dangle from a pole in the afternoon! it was an uncertain life, to be sure. yet we observed that the fawns skipped and played happily while the gray wolves might be peeping forth from behind the hills, ready to tear them limb from limb. our sports were molded by the life and customs of our people--indeed, we practised only what we expected to do when grown. our games were feats with the bow and arrow, foot and pony races, wrestling, swimming, and imitations of the customs and habits of our fathers. we had sham fights with mud balls and willow wands, we played lacrosse, made war upon bees, shot winter arrows (which were used only in that season), and coasted upon ribs of animals and buffalo-robes. our games with bow and arrow were usually combined with hunting; but as i shall take hunting for the subject of another letter, i will speak only of such as were purely plays. no sooner did the boys get together than they divided into squads, and chose sides; then a leading arrow was shot at random into the air. before it fell to the ground, a volley from the bows of the participants followed. each player was quick to see the direction and speed of the leading arrow, and he tried to send his own with the same speed and at an equal height, so that when it fell it would be closer than any of the others to the first. it was considered out of place to shoot an arrow by first sighting the object aimed at. this was usually impracticable, because the object was almost always in motion, while the hunter himself was often on the back of a pony in full gallop. therefore, it was the offhand shot that the indian boy sought to master. there was another game with arrows which was characterized by gambling, and was generally confined to the men. the races were an every-day occurrence. at noon the boys were usually gathered by some pleasant sheet of water, and as soon as the ponies were watered, they were allowed to graze for an hour or two, while the boys stripped for their noonday sports. a boy might say, "i can't run, but i challenge you for fifty paces," to some other whom he considered his equal. a former hero, when beaten, would often explain his defeat by saying, "i had drunk too much water!" boys of all ages were paired for a "spin," and the little red men cheered on their favorites with spirit! as soon as this was ended, the pony races followed. all the speedy ponies were picked out, and riders chosen. if a boy said, "i cannot ride," what a shout went up! such derision! last of all came the swimming. a little urchin would hang to his pony's long tail, while the latter held only his head above water and glided sportively along. finally the animals were driven into a fine field of grass, and we turned our attention to other games. lacrosse was an older game, and was confined entirely to the sisseton and santee sioux. shinny, such as is enjoyed by white boys on ice, is now played by the western sioux. the "moccasin-game," although sometimes played by the boys, was intended mainly for adults. the "mud-and-willow" fight was rather a severe and dangerous sport. a lump of soft clay was stuck on one end of a limber and springy willow wand, to be thrown with considerable force--as boys throw apples from sticks. when there were fifty or a hundred on each side, the battle became warm; but anything to arouse the bravery of indian boys seemed to them a good and wholesome sport. wrestling was largely indulged in by all of us. it may seem odd, but the wrestling was by a great number of boys at once--from ten to any number on a side. it was really a battle, but each one chose his own opponent. the rule was that if a boy sat down, he was let alone; but as long as he remained standing within the field he was open to an attack. no one struck with the hand, but all manner of tripping with legs and feet and hurting with the knees was allowed; altogether it was an exhausting pastime--fully equal to the american game of foot-ball. only the boy who was an athlete could really enjoy it. one of our most curious sports was a war upon the nests of wild bees. we imagined ourselves about to make an attack upon the chippewas or some other tribal foe. we all painted and stole cautiously upon the nest; then, with a rush and a war-whoop, sprang upon the object of our attack and endeavored to destroy it. but it seemed that the bees were always on the alert, and never entirely surprised; for they always raised quite as many scalps as did their bold assailants! after the onslaught upon the bees was ended, we usually followed it by a pretended scalp-dance. on the occasion of my first experience in this mode of warfare, there were two other little boys who also were novices. one of them, particularly, was too young to indulge in such an exploit. as it was the custom of the indians, when they killed or wounded an enemy on the battle-field, to announce the act in a loud voice, we did the same. my friend little wound (as i will call him, for i do not remember his name), being quite small, was unable to reach the nest until it had been well trampled upon and broken, and the insects had made a counter charge with such vigor as to repulse and scatter our numbers in every direction. however, he evidently did not want to retreat without any honors; so he bravely jumped upon the nest and yelled: "i, brave little wound, to-day kill the only fierce enemy!" scarcely was the last word uttered when he screamed as if stabbed to the heart. one of his older companions shouted: "dive into the water! run! dive into the water!" for there was a lake near by. this advice he obeyed. [illustration: indian boys playing "follow my leader"] when we had reassembled and were indulging in our mimic dance, little wound was not allowed to dance. he was considered not to be in existence--he had been "killed" by our enemies, the bee tribe. poor little fellow! his tear-stained face was sad and ashamed, as he sat on a fallen log and watched the dance. although he might well have styled himself one of the noble dead who had died for their country, yet he was not unmindful that he had _screamed_, and that this weakness would be apt to recur to him many times in the future. we had some quiet plays which we alternated with the more severe and warlike ones. among them were throwing wands and snow-arrows. in the winter we coasted much. we had no "double-rippers" nor toboggans, but six or seven of the long ribs of a buffalo, fastened together at the larger end, answered all practical purposes. sometimes a strip of bass-wood bark, four feet long and half a foot wide, was used with much skill. we stood on one end and held the other, using the inside of the bark for the outside, and thus coasted down long hills with remarkable speed. sometimes we played "medicine dance." this to us was almost what "playing church" is among white children. our people seem to think it an act of irreverence to imitate these dances, but we children thought otherwise; therefore we quite frequently enjoyed in secret one of these performances. we used to observe all the important ceremonies and customs attending it, and it required something of an actor to reproduce the dramatic features of the dance. the real dances usually occupied a day and a night, and the program was long and varied, so that it was not easy to execute all the details perfectly; but the indian children are born imitators. i was often selected as choirmaster on these occasions, for i had happened to learn many of the medicine songs, and was quite an apt mimic. my grandmother, who was a noted medicine woman, on hearing of these sacrilegious acts (as she called them), warned me that if any of the medicine men should learn of my conduct, they would punish me terribly by shriveling my limbs with slow disease. occasionally we also played "white man." our knowledge of the pale-face was limited, but we had learned that he brought goods whenever he came, and that our people exchanged furs for his merchandise. we also knew, somehow, that his complexion was white, that he wore short hair on his head and long hair on his face, and that he had coat, trousers, and hat, and did not patronize blankets in the daytime. this was the picture we had formed of the white man. so we painted two or three of our number with white clay, and put on them birchen hats, which we sewed up for the occasion, fastened a piece of fur to their chins for a beard, and altered their costume as much as lay within our power. the white of the birch-bark was made to answer for their white shirts. their merchandise consisted of sand for sugar, wild beans for coffee, dried leaves for tea, pulverized earth for gunpowder, pebbles for bullets, and clear water for dangerous "fire-water." we traded for these goods with skins of squirrels, rabbits, and small birds. when we played "hunting buffalo" we would send a few good runners off on the open prairie with meat and other edibles; then start a few of our swiftest runners to chase them and capture the food. once we were engaged in this sport when a real hunt by the men was going on near by; yet we did not realize that it was so close until, in the midst of our play, an immense buffalo appeared, coming at full speed directly toward us. our mimic buffalo hunt turned into a very real "buffalo scare"! as it was near the edge of a forest, we soon disappeared among the leaves like a covey of young prairie-chickens, and some hid in the bushes while others took refuge in tall trees. in the water we always had fun. when we had no ponies, we often had swimming-matches of our own, and we sometimes made rafts with which we crossed lakes and rivers. it was a common thing to "duck" a young or timid boy, or to carry him into deep water to struggle as best he might. i remember a perilous ride with a companion on an unmanageable log, when we both were less than seven years old. the older boys had put us on this uncertain bark and pushed us out into the swift current of the river. i cannot speak for my comrade in distress, but i can say now that i would rather ride on a wild bronco any day than try to stay on and steady a short log in a river. i never knew how we managed to prevent a shipwreck on that voyage, and to reach the shore! we had many curious wild pets. there were young foxes, bears, wolves, fawns, raccoons, buffalo calves, and birds of all kinds, tamed by various boys. my pets were different at different times, but i particularly remember one. i once had a grizzly cub for a pet, and so far as he and i were concerned our relations were charming and very close. but i hardly know whether he made more enemies for me or i for him. it was his custom to treat unmercifully every boy who injured me. he was despised for his conduct in my interest, and i was hated on account of his interference. [illustration: copy in black and white of a color-drawing by an indian boy] an old-time thanksgiving by m. eloise talbot little prudence stood by the window, with her face pressed hard against it. she was not looking out; she could not do that, for the window-frame, instead of being filled with clear panes of glass, had oiled paper stretched tightly across it. it was a very curious window, indeed, and it transmitted a dull light into a very curious room. the floor was of uncovered boards; the walls were built of logs of wood with the bark still clinging to them in places, and overhead were great rafters from which hung suspended many things--swords and corselets, coats, bundles of dried herbs, pots and pans. the furniture was very simple. in the center of the room was a wooden table, scoured to whiteness, stiff-backed chairs were ranged against the wall, and a dresser, where pewter cups and platters stood in shining rows, adorned the farther corner. in a wide chimney-place a royal fire was blazing, and before it stood prudence's mother, carefully stirring some mixture in an iron pot which hung upon a crane. within the circle of the firelight, which played upon her yellow hair and turned it to ruddy gold, mehitable, prudence's sister, stepped rapidly to and fro, her spinning-wheel making a humming accompaniment to the crackling of the blaze. prudence turned to watch her, pushing farther back a little white cap which pressed upon her short curls; for she was a little puritan maiden, living in the town of plymouth, and it was not the present year of our lord, but about two hundred and eighty-four years ago. she was a very different prudence from what she would have been if she had been living now, and it was a very different plymouth from the pleasant town we know to-day, with its many houses climbing up the hill, and the busy people in its streets. there were only seven houses then, and they stood in one line leading to the water, and there was but one building besides--a square wooden affair with palisades, which served as a church on sundays, a fort when enemies were feared, and a storehouse all the time. beyond these nothing could be seen but woods--trackless, unknown forests--and, away to the east, the ocean, where the waves were booming with a lonesome sound. it was not quite a year before that prudence's father had stood with the other brave colonists on the deck of the _mayflower_, and had looked with eager eyes upon the shore of the new world. this first year in massachusetts had on the whole been a happy one for prudence. during the cold winter which followed their landing, she had indeed cast longing thoughts toward the home in holland which they had left; and especially did she long for the dutch home when she was hungry, and the provisions which had been brought on the ship were scanty; but she had forgotten all such longings in the bounty given by the summer, and now it seemed to her there was no more beautiful place in the world than this new england. it was prudence's father who opened the door and came in, carrying on his shoulder an ax with which he had been felling trees for the winter's fuel. prudence never could get over the queer feeling it gave her to see her father thus employed. when they lived in holland, he was always writing and studying in books of many languages, but here he did little else than work in the fields, for it was only so that the early settlers obtained their daily bread. he leaned his ax in a corner, and came toward the fire, rubbing his hands to get out the cold. "i have news for you, dear heart, to-night," he said to his wife. "i have just come from the granary, and indeed there is goodly store laid up of corn and rye, and game that has been shot in the forest. the children's mouths will not hunger this winter." "praised be the lord!" replied his wife, fervently. "but what is your news?" "the governor hath decided to hold a thanksgiving for the bountiful harvest, and on the appointed day is a great feast to be spread; and he hath sent a messenger to bid massasoit to break bread with us." "massasoit the indian?" "ay; but a friendly indian. he will come, and many of his braves with him. you will be kept busy, my heart, with the other housewives to bake sufficient food for this company." "oh, mother, _may_ i go?" cried prudence, her eyes dancing with excitement, clutching at her mother's skirts; but her father continued: "how now, mehitable? the news of a coming feast does not seem to make you merry as it was wont to do in holland." mehitable was grave, and there was even a tear in her eye. "i know," cried joel, who was two years older than prudence; "she is thinking of john andrews, who is across the sea." but the father frowned, and the mother said, "peace, foolish children!" as she placed the porridge on the table. so prudence and joel drew up their benches, and said no more. chairs and conversation did not belong to children in those days; they sat on little stools and kept silence. that did not keep them from thinking. a thanksgiving feast! what could it be? the only thanksgiving they knew about meant such long prayers in church that the little people grew very tired before the end--but a feast!--that would be something new and interesting. the feast was to be held on the following thursday; so, during all the days between, the house was full of the stir of brewing and baking. prudence polished the apples, and joel pounded the corn, in eager anticipation; but when the day arrived a disappointment awaited them, for their father decreed that they should remain at home. "you are over-young, my little prudence, and joel is over-bold; besides which, he must stay and care for you." "and do neither of you leave the house while your father and i are away," added the mother. "i shall not have a moment's peace of mind, if i think you are wandering outside alone." "i will bring you back a dutch cake, my little sister," whispered mehitable, who looked sweeter than ever in her best attire of black silk and a lace kerchief, which with an unwilling heart she had put on in obedience to her mother's command. but when the elders were gone the disappointment and loneliness were too much for the children. prudence, being a girl, sat down in a corner and cried; while joel, being a boy, got angry, and strode up and down the room with his hands in his pockets. "it is too bad!" he burst out suddenly. "the greedy, grown-up people, i believe they want all the food themselves! it's a downright shame to keep us at home!" "joel!" gasped prudence, horrified--"father and mother!" "well, i know," admitted joel, more mildly; "but they need not have shut us up in the house as if we were babies. prudence, let's go out in the yard and play, if we can't do anything else." "but mother forbade us," said prudence. "i know. but then, of course, she only meant we must not go into the woods for fear of wild beasts. there is no danger here by the doorsteps, and father won't care; _he's_ not afraid!" "i--don't--know," faltered prudence. "well, _i'm_ going, anyway," said joel, resolutely, taking his hat from the peg. "ah, do come too, prudence!" he added persuasively. so prudence, though she knew in her heart it was a naughty thing to do, took off her cap, and tying her little puritan bonnet under her chin, followed joel through the door. once outside, i am afraid their scruples were soon forgotten. all the sunshine of the summer and the sparkling air of the winter were fused together to make a wonderful november day. the children felt like colts just loosed, and ran and shouted together till, if there had not been a good deal of noise also at the stone house where the feast was being spread, their shrill little voices must surely have been heard there. all at once joel caught prudence by the arm. "hush!" he exclaimed. "look!" a beautiful gray squirrel ran across the grass in front of them. it stopped, poising its little head and intently listening. "i'm going to catch him," whispered joel, excitedly. "father said if i could catch one, he would make me a cage for it. come along." he tiptoed softly forward, but the squirrel heard and was up and away in an instant. joel pursued, and prudence ran after him. such a chase as the little creature gave them--up on the fence, under the stones, across the fields, and finally straight to the woods, with the children panting and stumbling after, still keeping him in sight. breath and patience gave out at last; but when they stopped, where were they? in the very heart of the forest, where the dead leaves rustled, and the sunlight slanted down upon them, and the squirrel, safe in the top of a tree, chattered angrily. "never saw--anything run--so fast," panted joel in disgust. "i--give--him up. we had better go back, prudence. why--but--i don't think i know the way!" prudence's lip quivered, and her eyes filled. "that's just like a girl!" said joel, harshly, "to go and cry the first thing." "i don't care," cried prudence, indignation burning away her tears; "you brought me into this, anyhow, joel, and now you ought to get me out." this was so obviously true that joel had no retort at hand. besides, he did not like to see prudence unhappy. so, after a moment, he put his arm around her. "never mind, prue," he said; "i think if we try together, we can find the way home." but though they walked until their feet were weary, they could find no familiar spot. when they came out of the woods at last, it was only to find themselves unexpectedly on the sandy beach of the ocean. they sat down on two stones, and looked at each other in silence. joel began to feel even his bravery giving way. all at once they heard a sound of soft feet, and a low, sweet voice said: "how do, english!" a little indian boy stood before them. he wore a garment of skins, and a tiny bow and quiver hung upon his back. his feet were bare, and he walked so lightly that the children could hardly hear his tread. prudence, in fright, shrank close to her brother; but joel had seen many indians during their year in the new world, and the stranger's eyes were so bright and soft that the white boy returned the indian's salutation. then, plunging his hand into his pocket, joel brought forth a handful of nut-meats, and held them out for an offering. [illustration: "'how do, english!'"] the little indian smiled delightedly, and politely took a few--not all. having munched the kernels gravely, the new-comer began to dance. it was a most remarkable dance. it was first a stately measure, accompanied by many poisings on his toes, and liftings of his head, from which the wind blew back his straight black hair; but gradually his motions grew faster and more furious, his slow steps changed to running, he turned, he twisted his lithe body into all possible contorted shapes, he threw his arms high above his head, waving them wildly, he took great leaps into the air, and finally, when his dance had lasted about fifteen minutes, several amazing somersaults brought him breathless, but still smiling, to the children's feet. his spectators had been shouting with delight during the whole performance, and now asked him eager questions. what was his name? how did he learn to dance? could he not speak any more english? but to all their inquiries he only shook his head, and at last sat down beside them, motionless now as any little bronze statue, and looked steadily out to sea. prudence's head drooped upon her brother's shoulder. "i'm rather tired, joel," she said wistfully; "don't you think we could get to plymouth pretty soon?" "i don't know," said joel, despondently. at the words the indian boy sprang to his feet. he ran toward the woods, then stopped, and beckoned them to follow. "he is going in the wrong direction, i am sure," said joel, shaking his head. the boy stamped on the ground with impatience, and, running back, seized prudence's hand, and gently pulled her forward. "plymout'!" he said, in his strange accent. the children looked at each other. "we might as well try him," said joel. the boy clapped his hands together, and ran on before them into the forest. it was a weary journey, over bogs and fallen trees, and seemed three times as long as when they had come. a wasp once stung prudence on the cheek, making her cry out with pain; but quick as thought the little indian caught up a pellet of clay, and plastered it upon the wound, and, marvelous to relate, before many minutes the sharp pain had quite gone away. the woods seemed gradually to grow a little more open, and pretty soon they heard the distant tinkle of a cow-bell. at last (prudence held her breath for fear it might not be true) they emerged suddenly into the clearing, and home lay before them. they found they had made a complete circle since they started. their little guide stooped and picked up a gaudy-colored feather from the ground. he examined it closely, and then he shouted aloud, and began to run toward the storehouse as fast as his sturdy legs could carry him. "i want to see mother," said prudence, half crying with fatigue; so they ran all together across the clearing. all this while the feast had been progressing. about noontime the great massasoit, chief of the indian tribe called the wampanoags, had emerged from the forest with all his tallest braves in single file behind him. they wore their best beaver-skins, and their heads were gay with nodding feathers. they were received at the door of the storehouse by their english entertainers, who also wore the bravest attire that puritan custom allowed. they gave the braves a hearty welcome. within, the long table fairly groaned with abundance of good cheer; for the housewives had vied with one another to provide the fattest game and the daintiest dishes that dutch or english housewifery had taught them. after asking a blessing, they all sat down, the stalwart colonists and their fair-haired women side by side with the taciturn indians. the white men felt that the best way to thank god for the harvest was to share it with their dark-skinned brethren, who had first taught them to plant and raise the maize which now furnished the table. governor bradford sat at the head of the table. he hoped much from this feast; first, that it might cement the friendship between the colonists and their indian neighbors, the wampanoags; and, second, that the news of it might induce the neighboring tribes, which were still partly hostile, to live in peace with the settlers. but though food and talk passed blithely round among the other guests, the governor saw, with growing dismay, that the great massasoit sat frowning and depressed. the governor was not long in learning the cause. the interpreter, observing the governor's uneasiness, whispered in his ear that in a recent war with the narragansetts, massasoit's only child, a boy, was missed and was thought to have been taken prisoner, and of course put to death, after the cruel savage custom. toward the end of the feast, drink was served to every guest. for the first time massasoit showed animation. he seized his cup, and lifted it in the air, and cried aloud in his native tongue, as he sprang to his feet: "may plague and famine seize the narragansetts!" at that very moment the house-door opened, and a pretty group appeared upon the threshold. two english children stood there, as fair and rosy as the may-time, and between them a dark, lithe little indian with sparkling eyes. prudence ran straight to her mother. massasoit paused and trembled; then, as his cup fell and shivered upon the ground, he crossed the room in one stride, and caught the indian boy in his arms, looking at him as if he could never see enough. governor bradford knew in an instant that the lost child had been restored, even without the indian warrior's shout of triumph, and massasoit's passionate exclamation: "light of my eyes--staff of my footsteps!--thou art come back to me--the warmth of my heart, the sunlight of my wigwam!" [illustration: "'thou art come back to me--the warmth of my heart, the sunlight of my wigwam!' exclaimed massasoit"] the rejoicing was so great that no one thought of chiding joel and prudence for their disobedience. the governor himself gave joel a large slice of pudding, and prudence told all her adventures, throned upon her father's knee, wearing around her neck a string of wampum which the grateful massasoit had hung there. "and, oh!" she exclaimed, "while the indian boy was dancing for joel and me, i looked out to sea, and i saw such a wonderful bird--a great white bird, flying along close to the water, and rising up and down. it was many times greater than the swans in amsterdam!" "was it, my little maid?" said the good governor, laying his hand on her head, and then he exchanged a keen look with prudence's father, saying nothing more. but when the guests had departed, bearing home the indian boy in triumph, none was so early as the governor to reach the seashore; and it was his call that brought the colonists to see the good ship _fortune_ (prudence's "great white bird") already rounding the point, and making ready to cast anchor in plymouth harbor. ah, then indeed the great guns rang out from the shore to hail the ship, and the ship's cannon boomed a quick reply, and the whole little town was full and running over with glad welcome for the second english vessel to land upon our massachusetts coast. in the evening a happy circle gathered round the fire in the house of prudence's father, and there was eager talk, for all had much to learn and to tell. "i know now," said joel to prudence, as they sat side by side--"i know now what thanksgiving means. it means plenty to eat." prudence looked at the dear faces around her, at mehitable's sweet smile, and at the shining eyes of john andrews, for he had been a passenger by the _fortune_. "perhaps," she replied; "but i think, joel, that we have thanksgiving because we are so glad to be all together once more." this first thanksgiving happened long ago, but out of it all our later ones have grown; and when we think of the glad meetings of long-parted parents and sons and daughters, of the merry frolics with brothers and sisters and cousins, which come upon thanksgiving day, in spite of our bountiful dinner-tables we shall agree with prudence that it is the happy family party which makes the pleasure, after all. some indian dolls by olive thorne miller among the wild indians of our country is surely the last place one would look for toys, and travelers have said they had none; but a closer look brings some to light. on the desk before me sit two dear creatures, just arrived from dakota territory. they were made by some loving mother of the gros ventre tribe of indians. but the unfortunate little redskin girl for whom they were intended never received them after all, for they were bought by a white man, and sent to new york to sit for their picture for you. they are a queer-looking pair, dressed in the most elegant gros ventre style. they are eighteen inches tall, made of cloth, with their noses sewed on, and their faces well colored; not only made red, like the skin, but with painted features. the indian doll has a gentle expression, with mild eyes, but the squaw has a wild look, as though she were very much scared to find herself in a white man's tepee. both have long hair in a braid over each ear, but the brave has also a quantity hanging down his back, and a crest standing up on top--perhaps as "scalp-lock." [illustration: dolls from dakota territory] the dress of the lady resembles, in style and material, a bathing-suit. it is of blue flannel, trimmed with red braid, a long blouse and leggings of the same. she has also moccasins, and a string of blue beads around her neck, besides little dots of beads all over her waist. the suit of the warrior is similar in style, but the blouse is of unbleached muslin, daubed with streaks of red paint, and trimmed with braid, also red. across his breast he wears an elaborate ornament of white beads, gorgeous to behold. beside these gros ventre dolls stand another pair, from a canada tribe; the squaw dragging a six-inch-long toboggan loaded with tent and poles, while the warrior carries his snow-shoes. she is dressed in red and black flannel, with calico blouse and cloth hood; tin bracelets are on her arms, and her breast bears an ornament like a dinner-plate, also of tin. her lord and master wears a dandyish suit of white canton-flannel, fuzzy side out, a calico shirt, red necktie, and likewise a hood and tin dinner-plate. they are made of wood, with joints at hip and shoulder, and the faces are carved and painted. wild dolls are curious and interesting. let me tell you of a few others i have seen. the little moquis girls have wooden dolls of different sizes and degrees. the best have arms and legs, are dressed in one garment of coarse cotton, and instead of hair have feathers sticking out of their heads, like the ends of a feather duster. a lower grade of moquis doll has no limbs, but is gaily painted in stripes, and wears beads as big as its fist would be, if it had one. this looks as you would with a string of oranges around your neck. the poorest of all, which has evidently been loved by some poor little indian girl, has in place of a head a sprig of evergreen. how did the white man get hold of a treasure like this? is the little owner grown up? is she laid to sleep under the daisies? or was this doll left behind in a hurried flight of the moquis village before an enemy? it isn't an edison doll; it can't talk,--so we shall never know. the walking purchase by george wheeler in the early twilight of a september morning, more than one hundred and sixty years ago, a remarkable company might have been seen gathering about a large chestnut-tree at the cross-roads near the friends' meeting-house in wrightstown, pennsylvania. it is doubtful whether any one of us could have guessed what the meeting meant. most of the party were quakers in wide-brimmed hats and plain dress, and if it had been first-day instead of third-day, we might have thought they were gathering under the well-known tree for a neighborly chat before "meeting." nor was it a warlike rendezvous; for the war-cry of the lenni-lenape had never yet been raised against the "children of mignon" (elder brother), as the followers of william penn were called; and in a little group somewhat apart were a few athletic indians in peaceful garb and friendly attitude. but it evidently was an important meeting, for here were several prominent officials, including even so notable a person as proprietor thomas penn. in 1686, fifty-one years before this, william penn bought from the lenni-lenape, or delaware indians, a section bounded on the east by the delaware, on the west by the neshaminy, and extending to the north from his previous purchases "as far as a man can go in a day and a half." no effort was made to fix the northern boundary until the indians, becoming uneasy at the encroachments of the settlers, asked to have the line definitely marked. on august 25, 1737, after several conferences between the delawares and william penn's sons, john and thomas, who, after their father's death, became proprietors of pennsylvania, the treaty of 1686 was confirmed, and a day was appointed for beginning the walk. this explains why the crowd was gathering about the old chestnut-tree in the early dawn of that day, september 19, 1737. "ready!" called out sheriff smith. [illustration: "the three men stepped from the crowd and placed their right hands upon the tree"] at the word, james yeates, a native of new england, "tall, slim, of much ability and speed of foot," solomon jennings, "a remarkably stout and strong man," and edward marshall, a well-known hunter, over six feet tall, and noted as a walker, stepped from the crowd and placed their right hands upon the tree. thomas penn had promised five pounds in money and five hundred acres of land to the walker who covered the greatest distance; and these three men were to contest for the prize. just as the edge of the sun showed above the horizon, sheriff smith gave the word, and the race began. yeates quickly took up the lead, stepping lightly. then came jennings, accompanied by two indians, who were there to see that the walking was fairly done. closely following them were men on horseback, including the sheriff and the surveyor-general. thomas penn himself followed the party for some distance. far in the rear came marshall, walking in a careless manner, swinging a hatchet in one hand, "to balance himself," and at intervals munching a dry biscuit, of which he carried a small supply. he seemed to have forgotten a resolution he had made to "win the prize of five hundred acres of land, or lose his life in the attempt." thomas penn had secretly sent out a preliminary party to blaze the trees along the line of the walk for as great a distance as it was thought possible for a man to walk in eighteen hours. so, when the wilderness was reached, the walkers still had the best and most direct course clearly marked out for them. the indians soon protested against the speed, saying over and over: "that's not fair. you run. you were to walk." but the treaty said, "as far as a man can _go_," and the walkers were following it in letter, if not in spirit, as they hurried along. their protests being disregarded, the indians endeavored to delay the progress by stopping to rest; but the white men dismounted, and allowed the indians to ride, and thus pushed on as rapidly as ever. at last the indians refused to go any farther, and left the party. before lehigh river was reached jennings was exhausted, gave up the race, and lagged behind in the company of followers. his health was shattered, and he lived only a few years. that night the party slept on the north side of the lehigh mountains, half a mile from the indian village of hokendauqua. next morning, while some of the party searched for the horses which had strayed away during the night, others went to the village to request lappawinzoe, the chief, to send other indians to accompany the walkers. he angrily replied: "you have all the good land now, and you may as well take the bad, too." one old indian, indignant at the stories of how the white men rushed along in their greed to get as much land as possible, remarked in a tone of deep disgust: "no sit down to smoke; no shoot squirrel; but lun, lun, lun, all day long." scarcely had the last half-day's walk begun before yeates, who was a drinking man, was overcome by the tremendous exertions and intemperance of the previous day. he stumbled at the edge of big creek, and rolled, helpless, down the bank into the water. when rescued he was entirely blind, and his death followed within three days. marshall still pressed on. passing the last of the blazed trees which had hitherto guided him, he seized a compass offered by surveyor-general eastburn, and by its aid still continued his onward course. at last, sheriff smith, who for some time had frequently looked at his watch, called, "halt!" marshall instantly threw himself at full length, and grasped a sapling. here was the starting-point for the northern boundary of the purchase of 1686, sixty-eight miles from the old chestnut-tree at wrightstown, and very close to where mauch chunk stands to-day. the walk was twice as long as the indians expected it to be. unfortunately for the delawares, they knew too little of legal technicalities to notice that the deed did not state in what direction the northern boundary was to be drawn. they naturally expected it to be drawn to the nearest point on the delaware. but the surveyor-general, to please penn, decided that the line should run at right angles to the direction of the walk, which was almost exactly northwest. draw a line from mauch chunk to the delaware so that if extended it would pass through new york city, and another to the point where new york, new jersey, and pennsylvania meet. the first is the indian's idea of the just way to lay out the northern boundary; the second is the line which surveyor-general eastburn actually finished marking out in four days after marshall's walk ended. and so the three hundred thousand acres which the indians would have given to the penns as the result of marshall's walk were increased to half a million by taking selfish advantage of a flaw in the deed. [illustration: "the indians protested against the speed"] the lenni-lenape had loved and trusted william penn because he always dealt openly and fairly with them. "we will live in love with william penn and his children," said they, "as long as the sun and moon shall shine." but the wrongs inflicted on them in the "walking purchase" aroused the deepest indignation. "next may," said lappawinzoe, "we will go to philadelphia, each one with a buckskin to repay the presents and take back our land again." it was too late, however, for this to be done. at last, in 1741, the indians determined to resort to arms to secure justice. but the iroquois, to whom the delawares had long been subject, came to the aid of the penns, and the last hope of righting the wrong was gone forever. there seems a sort of poetic justice in the later experiences of the principal men in the affair. marshall never got his five hundred acres of land, and his wife was killed in an attack by the indians. eastburn was repudiated by thomas penn, and his heirs were notified that they "need not expect the least favor." penn himself was brought before the king and forced to disown many of his acts and agents in a most humiliating manner. but all this did not repair the injury to the delawares, and they never again owned, as a tribe, a single inch along the river from which they took their name. a small monument, erected by the bucks county historical society, marks the spot where the old chestnut-tree formerly stood. in order that this might not seem to condone an unworthy deed, the monument was dedicated, not to those who made or conducted the walk, but to the lenni-lenape indians--"not to the wrong, but to the persons wronged." the inscription on the stone reads: to the memory of the lenni-lenape indians, ancient owners of this region, these stones are placed at this spot, the starting-point of the "indian walk," september 19, 1737. the first americans by f. s. dellenbaugh in the middle of the sixteenth century, when the spaniards who had followed columbus and cortes to the new world worked their way northward into the region that is now new mexico and arizona, they found to their surprise a people dwelling there in well-constructed, flat-roofed houses of stone. they gave to these people the name of _pueblos_, or villagers, to distinguish them from the wild tribes; and by this name they have been known in general ever since, though each village and cluster of villages has its distinctive title. the pueblos, instead of roaming about, subsisting on chance game, cultivated indian corn so largely that they ordinarily were able to store a supply to provide against the possibility of future famine; and such is still their custom. not only had they made this progress in agriculture and architecture, but they had also done something in the way of manufacturing, especially in the making of pottery and weaving of blankets. their pottery was varied in shape and ornamentation and skilfully modeled without the aid of a wheel. of the potter's wheel they are ignorant to this day, still following the practice of their forefathers in this matter as in many others. their blankets of cotton were unique in their designs; and these designs are perpetuated to-day in woolen material, as well as in cotton, though the latter is now used principally in the sacred ceremonies. those towns nearest to santa fé (which itself was originally a pueblo village and is, probably, the oldest town inhabited by white people in the united states) came most directly under the influence of the spaniards. they made santa fé their seat of government, and gradually many spanish customs prevailed among the natives in this part of the country. the spanish priests, following the army of invasion, soon made converts, and eventually the barbarous rites of the people in the towns near santa fé were abolished in favor of christianity. churches of adobe, or sun-dried brick, were erected, and the christian religion was in time accepted by numerous communities. the towns at a distance were not so easy of access, and hence longer maintained their independence, supporting and favoring the smoldering discontent of those in other localities whose prejudices or patriotism resented the spanish dominion. these native patriots believed the salvation of their country demanded the expulsion of these domineering foreigners from their land. we cannot blame them for thus regarding the spaniards, for we should certainly resent any interference by foreign powers with our affairs, and the pueblos were, in many respects, a civilized people and had governed themselves for centuries before the spaniards appeared in their territories. secretly, these patriots worked to arouse their fellow-countrymen against the intruders, hoping to succeed in a revolution which should annihilate the spanish power and restore the ancient rites and customs. several of these conspiracies were discovered by the spanish governor-general, and the conspirators paid for their patriotism with their lives; but, in a few years, others took their places, and while peace seemed to smile on all the land, a volcano was seething under the very feet of the invaders. there had been so much internal dissension among the pueblos over religion and over water-privileges (often a matter of the utmost importance in those arid lands) before the arrival of the spaniards, that concerted action must have been difficult to bring about; but at last, near the end of the seventeenth century, there was a mighty uprising, the foreigners were driven out of the country, and retreated into mexico, and those villages which had been under the spanish yoke revived their native ceremonies, which had been in disuse for a full century. meanwhile the spaniards were not content to let slip so easily this accession to their king's domain. collecting a stronger army, general vargas returned, and conquered village after village, until the rebellion was extinguished for all time. never since that day have the pueblos shown a warlike spirit, having accepted their subjugation as inevitable. they were made citizens by spain, but since their territory became a portion of the united states they have ranked politically with the other indians. the last locality to be brought under subjection was the province of tusayan, the home of the mokis. [illustration: a pueblo indian beside an eagle-cage] at that time this province was so difficult to reach, that the horses of the spanish general's troops were completely demoralized, and he was therefore obliged to omit a visit to oraibi, the largest and furthest removed of the villages. he had, however, met with little resistance from the inhabitants, and, doubtless, did not deem the mokis a warlike race. after the departure of vargas, the mokis continued their old ways and were seldom visited, so that even now, three and a half centuries after the first visit of the spaniards, they remain nearly in their original condition. next to the moki towns, the pueblo of zuñi maintained its primitive customs to the greatest extent, and from similar causes. the illustration is from a photograph made in zuñi by mr. hillers, photographer of the bureau of ethnology, and shows one of the natives, dressed in the costume of to-day, beside an eagle-cage. the costume is composed of simple materials, the trousers being of unbleached cotton, the shirt of calico, and the turban generally of some soft red cloth. the mokis wear their hair cut straight across the eyebrows in a sort of "bang," then straight back even with the bottom of the ear, the rest being made up into a knob behind. all are particular about their ornaments, caring little for any common sorts of beads, but treasuring coral, turquoise, and silver. the eagle is sacred among pueblos who have not abandoned their native religion, and the feathers are used in religious ceremonies. for this reason the eagle is protected and every feather preserved. his nesting-places are carefully watched, and often visited, so that a supply of feathers, from little downy ones no larger than a twenty-five cent piece to the stiff and long ones from the wing and tail, are preserved in every family,--the first, or downy ones, to breathe their prayers upon; the larger ones for other sacred uses. sometimes several "prayers" are fastened to one little twig that all may proceed together to their destination. there is something very poetic in this breathing of a prayer upon a feather from the breast of an eagle--in flight the king of birds, familiar with regions which man can know only through sight. the navajos have no reverence for the bird. they make raids upon the nesting-places where for centuries the mokis have obtained feathers, and these raids are a common source of trouble between the two tribes. none of the present buildings of the pueblos are equal in masonry to the ruins common throughout the region. these were ruins even when the spaniards arrived, and, consequently, it is supposed that a superior people once occupied the country, who may, however, have been either ancestors or kindred to the pueblos. in time the question may be solved through the numerous legends illustrated in pottery decoration, for all the decorations have a meaning, and the legends are handed down by word of mouth from father to son. once when the legends were being discussed, pow-it-iwa, an old moki, poetically remarked to a friend of mine, "many have passed by the house of my fathers, and none has stopped to ask where they have gone; but we of our family live to-day to teach our children concerning the past." animal stories retold from st. nicholas magazine in six volumes. edited by m. h. carter, department of science, new york training school for teachers about animals interesting facts about animals in general. bear stories information and adventure. cat stories dealing with the cat as a pet. stories of brave dogs showing the dog's love and devotion to man. lion and tiger stories stories of adventure. panther stories stories of adventure. each about 200 pages, full cloth, 12mo the century co. geographical stories retold from st. nicholas magazine in six volumes a series of books of adventure, travel and description, chiefly in the great sections of the united states western frontier stories stories of the early west, full of adventure. stories of the great lakes niagara and our great chain of inland seas. island stories stories of our island dependencies and of many other islands. stories of strange sights descriptions of natural wonders, curious places and unusual sights. sea stories tales of shipwreck and adventures at sea. southern stories pictures, scenes and stories of our sunny south. each about 200 pages. 50 illustrations. full cloth, 12mo. the century co. * * * * * transcriber's note: page 134, "racoons" changed to "raccoons" (fawns, raccoons, buffalo) 