––––––––
WE approached the rim, expecting attack. We came to it, guns ready, and lo! no one was there under it. We looked out at the river: the lone rider was just going into it; we watched him cross on the shallow ford, and then turn down the bottom.
"Ha! Not an enemy nor a friend," said my father. "He doesn’t even care who we are."
Smoke was rising from the bottom below the junction of the two rivers, a sign that people were camped there. My mother wondered who they might be. We didn't care just then: what we wanted was water, and we made a rush down to it, the staggering horses pricking up their ears and for the first time willingly following us. And oh, how good that water tasted! It seemed as though we could not get enough of it. We drank and drank, and then unpacked the horses, and when they were turned out my father and I went downstream and bathed, and my mother and sister did the same above our camping-place.
We had still a little meat. We cooked and ate it, and then we all lay down in the shade of the trees, and my father kept watch while we three slept.
When night came he awakened us. No one had come in sight, he said, but just before sunset he had heard three shots away down the river. We took what little bedding we had, went some distance down into the timber, and again lay down, my father also. We were still very tired; we did not want anything to eat; it was good to lie there in the warm night and rest, and go to the river often for more water. We all soon went to sleep and did not once awake during the night.
I was first up in the morning. From the river-bank I again saw smoke in the bottom below the mouth of the Bighorn. The horses were feeding near the place where we had turned them loose. I went from them to the inner edge of the timber and looked out upon the bottom. Five antelopes were grazing away out in the center of it. I crawled through the sage-brush until quite near them, and then shot one. So it was that we had something for our morning meal.
We ate plenty. All our tired feeling was gone. We kept looking off across the river, expecting to see people coming to learn who we were, but none came. The sun was high when we packed up and crossed the river.
On the far side was a plain trail running down through the bottom. We followed it, crossing the Bighorn some distance above its mouth, and on into the next bottom; and there, just below a big grove of cottonwoods, we came upon a fort, just like the one Ki-pah had built at the mouth of the Marias, and a single lodge beside it.
Five white men came out of the fort with their women and children, and out from the lodge came another white man, with his woman, and watched us as we approached them after tying our horses to a nearby tree. The white man standing by the lodge had painted his face and hands black, and we wondered at that: we had not known that the whites did that, as do we, when mourning for our dead.
It is not pleasant to be stared at. The whites and their women stared steadily at us as we approached them, making it very hard for us to walk right up and greet them naturally. But we did it, and all the men shook hands with my father and me. We had already learned from the Red-Coat traders of the North that that was the way white men gave greeting. It is a foolish custom.
After the hand-shaking was over, the black white man, the one who had charge of the trading-post, asked us in signs who we were and whence we had come. And as my father had answered the Cheyennes, so he answered now, that we had come from the Pikuni, from whom we had quit—parted forever.
He then wanted to know where the Pikuni were; and next, if we had seen a house like his up on the Big River, and a man in charge of it who had a Mandan woman. My father answered that we had been there several times; that the white man was our friend; that we had bought our guns from him; that the Pikuni and the Gros Ventres had all traded with him, and filled his house with beaver skins.
That pleased the man. He laughed and clapped his hands, and signed: "That is good. The white man and I are one, together in trade. He is my close friend. Come in. We will eat. "
We went inside: through the trade-room full of the beautiful and useful white men's goods, and on into another room where was a big fireplace with pots of food sitting before the hot coals. We were given seats.
One by one the white men washed their hands and faces, and wiped them with white cloths. The black-painted one washed. We were surprised to see him do it, for mourners do not wash in the middle of the day. But we were more than astonished when we saw that the black paint did not wash off, nor leave even a mark on the white wiping-cloth. Did we see wrong, or was this some kind of medicine work, we wondered?
One of the women, watching our surprise, said something to her companions, and they all looked at us and laughed. And then she signed to us: "He is a different kind of white man. He is a black white man."
At that we looked more carefully at the man and saw that he differed from the others in more than the color of his skin: his short, black hair curled tight to the scalp; he had big, blue-red lips; a very wide nose; and big eyes with much white in them. The woman was right: he was not a white man painted; he was a black white man. We didn't know whether we should like him or not."
The women handed us food in thin metal dishes, — soup, meat, and boiled corn of the Mandans growing, — and we ate plenty. After the meal my father talked and smoked with the white men, and we learned that the Crows were daily expected to come in to trade. They had been trapping beavers for several moons up on the headwaters of the Bighorn. We decided to remain at the fort and meet them there. In the afternoon we put up our lodge with cottonwood poles.
In the evening the black white man and his Crow wife visited us. He asked many questions about the Pikuni, and why we had parted from them, and said that they were bad people, always making war against the Crows, but were poor fighters. And he went on to tell how he had led the Crows against them in many battles, and how many of them he had killed. It was not pleasant to listen to all that, but of one thing I was glad: I could see that his talk made my father angry. That was a good sign: it showed that, for all his talk against them, he was still one of the Pikuni. My mother noticed too; we spoke about it afterwards.
Days came and days went, and the Crows did not appear. There were some beavers living in the banks of the two rivers, and I kept getting one or two in my traps every night. Also, I hunted, and kept our lodge and the trading-post supplied with different kinds of meat. My father did nothing, and said but little. His heart was very low. When he did speak, it was always of his medicines, his horses, and his plans for getting them back. Once we were safe with the Crows, he would start for the Assiniboine country, he said.
A whole moon passed before the Crows appeared. They came riding down the valley one afternoon, a multitude of them, with hundreds of packed horses and thousands of loose ones. The chiefs and head warriors rode far in the lead, and fired their guns in salute as they neared the fort. They were all dressed in their war clothes for the meeting with the white trader and his help, and never saw I finer-appearing men nor more beautiful costumes. I think that, if anything, their war clothes, their shields, and plumed head-dresses were even more handsome than those of our own people, and that is saying much.
My father did not stand outside with us to watch the coming of the Crows. He remained in the lodge, hardly knowing what to do. He had no fine horses, nor anything else for presents to the chief, and was ashamed to go to him and say: "I am very poor. Have pity on me."
The chiefs dismounted close to our lodge and looked curiously at it, and at us as they greeted the traders and went inside the fort with them. The people, meantime, were making camp at the edge of the timber above the fort and close to the river.
As soon as the lodges were up, my mother got out the presents Sah-kwi-ah-ki had given her for the Arickaree woman, and my sister and I went with her to deliver them. Oh, how the people stared at us as we went through the camp, inquiring by signs for the lodge of Spotted Antelope. Some of them gave us no answer; others pointed toward the far end of the camp. None of them smiled at us, nor so much as asked who we were. I remembered afterward that they did not need to do that: the pattern of the embroidery on our moccasins told them that we were Pikuni. We at last came to the end of the camp, and an old woman pointed to a certain lodge as that of Spotted Antelope. One after another we entered it and found there a young woman pounding cherries. She looked at us in surprise, and smiled, and offered us seats.
We sat down and my mother signed to her. "Are you an Arickaree?"
"Yes," the woman answered.
"Have you a Mandan friend married to a white man trader?"
"Yes, yes," she quickly answered. "Where is she — my friend? You have seen her?"
My mother handed her the sack of presents, told her that they were from her friend, and that we had met her away up on the Big River, where her man had just built a trading-post at the mouth of the Marias River.
She was a handsome young woman, this Arickaree, but little older than I was, and when, she opened the sack and took out the blanket and cloth and things, her face was all smiles.
Said my mother then: "Your friend is my friend, so have pity on us. We are parted from our people because of my man's anger at them. War parties have taken our horses, my man's medicines, all our things, and my man says that we must live with the Crows. We have nothing, no presents for the chiefs. Have pity: ask your man to make their hearts good toward us."
"I am your friend; have no fear," Crow Woman answered. "My man is a chief; the other chiefs will listen to him — take his words."
And so saying she opened one of her parfleches and took from it a new red blanket which she gave my mother, and a quill-embroidered belt for my sister. That, my son, was the beginning of my long friendship with Crow Woman. Little did we then think that in our old age we should be with Sah-kwi-ah-ki, here, in the camp of my people.
When we returned home from Crow Woman’s lodge, we found my father still sitting on his couch, and more low-hearted than ever. The chiefs had finished their visit with the trader and gone to their lodges, but none of them had called to see him nor sent him an invitation to smoke. That surely did look bad for us: if the tribe did not receive us, if the chiefs should order us to leave, we should be followed by some of the warriors, — those who had lost friends and relatives in battle with our people, — and that would be our end. My mother told him of our talk with Crow Woman and her promise to help us; he laughed, and said that he did not think that a woman could be of much help to us.
The long day passed, and when evening came, with still no notice being taken of us, we felt that it was a bad sign; that trouble was coming. But just when we were feeling worst, Crow Woman came in with her man, a big, heavy, laughing-faced warrior whom it was good to look upon.
He took the seat my father offered him, and said, in signs: "My woman tells me that you wish to live with us Crow people?"
"Yes," my father answered, "we want to live with you. We have parted with the Pikuni. My heart is not good toward them."
"That is good, and I will help you," said Spotted Antelope; "so tell me all about it: why you left your people, and how long ago."
My father was ashamed to say that he had been whipped by the All Friends Society; he just told that he had quarreled with the chiefs about hunting buffaloes, that he had hunted anyhow, and was done with the tribe forever; also, he told of all our troubles; of the loss of his medicines, our two bands of horses, and of our property that we had been obliged to throw away. He had no more than finished when a messenger came with word from the head chief, Buffalo Hump, that he wished to see my father.
"I have already talked with him, I asked him to send for you," said Spotted Antelope. "Come, let us go to his lodge."
The two went out and were gone a long time, Crow Woman remaining with us and telling us much about her life, and her friendship with Sah-kwi-ah-ki. Upon their return Spotted Antelope did not come into the lodge with my father; he called to Crow Woman and she went home with him.
Then my father told us what had taken place in the head chief’s lodge.
"All the chiefs were gathered there, and they had me tell why I wanted to live with the Crows, why I had left the Pikuni. When I finished, they talked together for a long time. Of course, I couldn't understand what they were saying, but I knew that three of the chiefs were talking against me, and that Spotted Antelope and the head chief spoke for me, and that others agreed with them. And at last the three angry ones were talked down, and the head chief said to me in signs, — he is a fine sign talker: "I and my children here say this to you: We do not like the Pikuni; we are at war with them; we do not know you. Maybe your heart is good, your tongue straight. We are going to find out about that. You may camp and hunt with us for a time, and we shall watch you. If we find that you are a good man, you shall become a Crow."
"That is not much like the way the Gros Ventres received us," said my mother. "Now, my man, listen and be not angry at me for what I am going to say: As you love your children and me, be careful. Whenever you get angry at these people, as you are sure to do, just keep your mouth tight shut, else the end will come quickly for all of us."
My sister and I, listening, were surprised to hear her speak out so to our quick-tempered father. We were still more surprised when he quietly answered: "I will be careful. I shall keep strong hold of my good sense."
So it was that life with the Crows began for us. A few of them became very friendly to us; the many paid no more attention to us than if we had been so many dogs. They pretended not to see us when we met or passed them. My father was seldom asked to the feasts and smokes of the chiefs, never except at Spotted Antelope's lodge, and that hurt him. Always, among the Pikuni, and among the other tribes of us, the Blackfeet, Bloods, and Gros Ventres, his place had been with the chiefs, for he was himself one of the greatest warriors of them all.
After the Crows had been at the trading-post for about ten days, they decided to start out on another trapping round. Like the Pikuni, the Gros Ventres, and other tribes their one thought was of the goods in the forts of the white traders. They wanted them all, those useful and beautiful things, and so began the trapping and hunting for furs and buffalo robes that is now ending in the wiping-out of our power. We could not see it then, my son, else a white man would never have been allowed to enter our country.
I bought three horses with the skins of the beavers I had caught. Crow Woman and her man gave us three more, so we had in all eight head; enough to carry us and our lodge and things. It was Crow Woman who came to our lodge one evening and told us where the Crows were going to trap; to no other place than the Musselshell. Right in the hunting-ground of our people, and not far from where they were camping!
"Why, the Crows have no right to go there!" my father cried. "That is not their country, it belongs to the Pikuni."
"But what if it does? You are not one of that tribe," my mother reminded him; and he just dropped back in his seat and made her no answer. But later he had a talk with Spotted Antelope; told him that the Pikuni were on the Yellow River, just over the mountains from the Musselshell, and advised that the Crows keep to the south of the Yellowstone, else they would get into trouble. Spotted Antelope went at once to the other chiefs with the news and they held a long council.
Crow Woman told us the result of it: they were going to the Musselshell, back into their own country. The Pikuni had been able to take it from them because they had plenty of guns, bought from the Red Coat traders of the North. Well, the Crows now had plenty of guns, and were no longer afraid of the Pikuni.
Said my father: "We shall see what we shall see. The Crows forget that, if trouble comes, the Pikuni have the three other tribes of the prairie people with them."
So we started out, on what was, for us four, the back trail. And lo! when we arrived at the Musselshell, there were our pack-saddles, our beddings and other things, just as we had left them. But even then our four pack-horses could not carry everything, and what we couldn't take we gave to Crow Woman.
The trapping began right there at the big bend of the river. I was now as good a trapper as was my father, but he always went with me on the rounds of the three sets every morning. He kept saying that the Crows were not to be trusted, and that he dared not leave us and go, as he so much wanted to, on another attempt to recover his pipe and horses from the Assiniboines.
I knew that my father was right — that the Crows, the most of them, did not like us; but I said nothing because my mother and sister were already afraid enough of them. Our lodge was pitched beside that of Spotted Antelope, for protection, and they never went for wood or water except in company of Crow Woman. I made no friends. Always, when I passed a gathering of boys and young men, they made remarks about me and laughed at me. I could not understand what they said, of course, and I was glad that I couldn't; perhaps I should not have been able to stand some of the names they no doubt called me. For one thing, they, of course, made talk about my poor clothes. Well, I was poor. I had only cow-leather leggings, and a leather summer wrap, and they all wore blankets and blanket or cloth leggings, and fine ear-rings and bracelets and paint, and looking-glasses dangling from their wrists. And all they did was to herd their horses, and stand around and look nice. I worked. My father and I were doing our best to catch beavers with which to buy more horses; and we hunted for Spotted Antelope as well as for ourselves.
We were doing well with our three traps. We were first out of camp every morning, we went farther away from it than anyone else to do our trapping, and we did all we could to set the traps properly, often wading a long way to the foot of the slides so as to leave no scent along the shore. So it was that we got more beavers than any other trapper, excepting the black white man. He had thirty traps, and loaned them out, two or three here and two or three there, for half the catch. He did nothing himself except to wear fine clothes and sit and smoke, and keep telling how many enemies he had killed.
My father's eyes used to shine every time he looked at the black skin, and he would say to us: "I would just like to meet the big talker away out from camp where there would be no one to help him. I think that I am just as good a fighter as he is."
We camped there at the big bend a long time; almost a moon, I think. Then beavers became very scarce and the chiefs counseled together. Some wanted to move camp up the river; others thought it would be best to move down and camp at the mouth of Willows Around Creek.
As they could not agree, some young men scouts were sent out both ways to find out where the beavers were most plentiful. They did not leave camp very early. Neither did my father and I that morning, as I was a long time finding our horses. When we were ready to start down to our traps, the party going that way had already left.
We were in need of meat that day, so when we saw a band of antelopes coming down to the river to drink, we waylaid them and each killed a buck. We skinned them and quartered the carcasses for packing, and went on to our traps. The first one was unsprung. The second held a beaver. We pulled the drowned and dripping animal from the water and skinned it, and went on, to find that our third trap had been stolen. There were fresh moccasin tracks in the mud at the foot of the slide where we had set it; a smooth and still wet furrow showed where beaver and trap had been dragged ashore; and just back of the slide the ground was trampled by the feet of three horses. Three was the number of the scouts ahead of us that morning: they had stolen our trap and our beaver. Oh, how angry we were, and how helpless.
Unlike the Pikuni, the Crows had no hunting laws; we could not ask for the punishment of the thieves, nor could we punish them ourselves. All the happiness of the day was gone. We took up our two traps, picked up the meat when we came to it, and went home with dead hearts.
In our lodge my father made loud complaint about our loss and about the Crows, a lawless tribe. But he got no sympathy from my mother. Said she: "I don't see why you complain. You left the Pikuni because of their hunting rules. I thought that was just what you wanted: to live with people who do not have them."
Wasn't that hard talk, and the truth? And what could my father say in answer to it? Nothing. He didn’t even try to answer, and for the rest of the day he was very quiet.
Soon after dark that evening great excitement broke out in camp. Everywhere men were calling to one another, or singing war songs, and hunting from lodge to lodge and talking excitedly. We wondered what it was all about.
And while we were wondering, Crow Woman hurried in to us and signed: "The scouts have discovered a small camp of the Pikuni downriver, down at the mouth of Willows Around Creek. All the warriors are going in the morning, as soon as they can see to catch their horses, to attack it. I fear for you when they return. Tomorrow you had best all move into our lodge."
"How many lodges did the scouts see?" my father asked.
"They say that there are about eighty lodges in the camp," she answered, and hurried out. She came to the doorway again to sign: "Be quiet. I will come again," and was gone.