 | THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES.
A TALE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. The wilderness and the war path |  |
THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES.
A TALE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
The life of the American Indian is not so destitute of the interest
created by variety of incident, as might be supposed by a
casual observation of the habits of this singular race. It is true
that the simple structure of their communities, and the sameness
of their occupations, limit the Savage within a narrow sphere of
thought and action. Without commerce, agriculture, learning, or
the arts, and confined to the employments of war and hunting,
the general tenour of his life must be monotonous. His journies
through the unpeopled wilderness, furnish him with no information
as to the modes of existence of other nations, nor any subjects
for reflection, but those which nature supplies, and with
which he has been familiar from childhood. Beyond his own
tribe, his intercourse extends only to savages as ignorant as himself,
and to traders but little elevated above his own moral standard.
But there are, even in savage life, seasons of great excitement,
and instances often occur in which individuals are drawn into
adventures of the most singular and perilous description. The
state of war is prolific of those chances and changes which call
forth the energies of individual character; and the chase, when
pursued not merely for spot, but as a serious occupation, in wilds
frequented for the same purpose by hostile bands, becomes really
what the poet has described it,
“Mimicry of noble war.”
The following legend exemplifies some of the accidents of this
singular mode of existence, and shows the training, by which the
Indian youth are prepared to encounter dangers, and achieve exploits,
which would seem incredible to those who are unacquainted
with the habits of that remarkable race.
Our scene lies in a region seldom visited by civilized men, and
only known to us through the reports of the adventurous trappers
who seek there the solitary haunts of the beaver, and of a few
travellers of the more intelligent class, who have been led thither
by scientific curiosity or missionary zeal. We stand upon the
Eastern declivity of the Rocky Mountains, and see stretched before
us the Great Plain, which extends thence to the frontier settlements
of the United States. Around us are immense bulwarks
of rock, towering towards the sky in all the gigantic magnificence
of mountain scenery, while we see below us, in beautiful contrast,
an interminable carpet of verdure, extending to the distant horizon.
The rays of the morning sun have lighted up the mountain
sides, and are reflected from peaks covered with snow, while the
mists of the dawn are reposing upon the prairie, whose rich pastures
display the luxuriance of the summer vegetation.
The Flatheads of the Rocky Mountains were encamped in
one of the gorges of the Eastern declivity of that Ridge. The
spot was wild and secluded, indicating the cautious habits of the
people who had thus concealed their temporary residence in one
of the most inaccessible spots of that inhospitable wilderness. It
was a deep ravine, bounded on either side by parapets of solid
rock, whose rugged peaks towering upward to an immense height,
concealed and shaded the narrow glen, so as to wrap it in perpetual
gloom. A strip of ground margining a small rivulet that
leaped in a succession of cascades down the gorge, afforded a
pathway accessible in most places for but a single horseman,
but sometimes spreading out to a width sufficient to accommodate
a small encampment.
In one of those nooks, which might have suited the ascetic
fancy of a misanthrope who desired to separate himself from his
species, the Flatheads had pitched the skin lodges, that formed
their only habitation throughout the year. It was the village
of a migratory people, habituated to sudden changes of residence,
population and property. Their horses, whose rough coats showed
continual exposure to the weather, were browsing upon the
scanty herbage that grew along the banks of the rivulet; sentinels
were posted in the defiles leading to the village and by which
alone it could be approached, while a watchman perched like an
eagle upon one of the tallest peaks, but concealed in the shadows
of the grey rock, looked abroad upon the neighbouring plain, and
upon the mountain passes, to give due notice of any approaching
danger. Even the children, as they dabbled in the brook or
climbed the precipices, seemed instinctively jealous of danger,
throwing up their dark eyes, and silently exchanging glances, if
an owl hooted, or a vulture sailing aloft threw his shadow in the
glen; and the dogs, with slouched tails, pointed ears, and wild
eyes, skulked about with the stealthy pace of the wolf.
These appearances, indicating a quick sense of surrounding
danger, were characteristic of the habitual watchfulness of this
band, who lived in continual terror of the Blackfeet, a tribe much
more numerous than themselves, and noted as well for their predatory
habits, as for the ruthless ferocity which marked their conduct
towards their enemies. To the Flatheads especially they
bore an irreconcilable hatred, which was indulged in an unremitting
and unsparing warfare. There was a great disparity in
numbers between the two tribes, the Flatheads being a very small
band, while the Blackfeet were numerous, so that they never met
on equal terms, and although their battles were often desperate,
they were usually unsought by the weaker party. Both were
wandering tribes, having no fixed boundaries or settled habitations,
and deriving a precarious subsistence from the chase; but the
Blackfeet were the banditti of the mountain country, a fighting,
thieving, cut-throat nation, who made themselves formidable to all
who fell in their way, and observed no rule of justice unless it
was that of plundering alike the white man and the Indian, and
being terrible equally to friend and foe—while the Flatheads
were a fugitive people, pursued continually by their relentless
enemies, whom they had no hope of escaping but by cunning and
swiftness of foot.
The Flatheads are in many respects an interesting people.
the arts of war and the chase, and when compelled to turn upon
their enemies, they fight with the desperation of men who expect
no quarter, and often succeed in beating off a force greatly superior
to their own. Few of the savage tribes exhibit such simplicity
of character. Wretchedly poor—with no property but
their horses and their arms, both of which are often lost in their
sudden flights—and having no means of subsistence but the chase,
which, precarious as it always is, is rendered more so, by the
persecutions of their enemies, they are yet a hospitable people.
The stranger always finds a welcome in their camp, and a share of
their pittance of food. They are considered honest and inoffensive.
The grasp of poverty, which often renders the heart callous,
not only to the generous sympathies of our nature, but also
to the simple obligations of good faith, has exerted no sinister influence
upon the character of this tribe; nor has their unhappy
state of peril, and watchfulness, and flight, rendered them mean
or cruel. In all the moral qualities they rather excel than fall
below the standard of savage character, and compare well with
the tribes around them, in every thing but power. Perhaps if
they were stronger they might be less virtuous.
The Arab and his graceful courser, are not more constant companions
than the Flathead and his steed, in whose services he
finds safety as well as convenience. “Snuffing the approach of
danger in every tainted breeze,” he throws himself upon the back
of his horse, on the slightest alarm, and flies with the speed of the
wild antelope of the prairies. He is fearless in his horsemanship,
and manages that noble animal with surpassing grace and skill,
even without the aid of rein or saddle, which he uses for convenience
rather than necessity.
Among the exercises with which these Indians while away the
few and far distant intervals of security, which may be devoted
to manly sports, feats of horsemanship hold the highest rank. On
such occasions it is not uncommon for a young Indian to exhibit
his address, by mounting an untamed steed, just captured upon
the plains where these noble animals run wild. The horse, perhaps
the noble-spirited leader of a herd, whose strength and speed
has long enabled him to set all pursuit at defiance, is brought to
The rider mounts upon the bare smooth back of the sleek and
nervous animal, holding in one hand a small flag attached to a
short staff, and in the other a hoop covered with a dried skin,
somewhat in the fashion of a tamborine. When firmly seated,
the animal is turned loose, and dashing off, endeavours, by desperate
plunges, to disengage himself from the resolute savage, who,
clinging by his legs to the furious steed, retains his place in spite
of every effort of the enraged animal to dislodge him. If in this
contest of physical activity, the horse seems likely to gain the advantage,
the rider throws the flag over his eyes, and tames his
spirit by depriving him of light, at the same time terrifying the
blinded animal, by striking him on the head with the sonorous
hoop. With the latter also he changes the course of the horse
by striking one side of the head or the other, and by a skilful
use of both these simple aids, the subdued animal is brought back
to the starting place, and again made to traverse the plain in any
desired direction, until, worn down by fatigue and terror, he submits
to the weaker but more intelligent being, who is destined to
become his master.
Such is the tribe to whom the pale-faced stranger, in his pride,
has given a name, not known to those who bear it, nor descriptive
of any personal peculiarity existing among them, for the heads of
the Flatheads are not flatter than those of their neighbours;
neither have the Blackfeet, blacker feet than other Indians. We
use these names, however, as we find them.
On the morning to which we have alluded, a party composed
of the most effective men of the Flatheads, were preparing to hunt
the buffalo upon the prairies. Their best horses having been selected,
they were getting every thing in readiness for an expedition
which might be extended to several weeks. The remainder
of the band, with all the women and children, were in the meanwhile
to retire still further into the recesses of the mountain, to
remain concealed in its solitary glens, subsisting upon roots and
herbage, and such small game as chance might throw in their
way.
A curious observer of the workings of the human mind might
have found rich materials for reflection, in the cheerfulness with
separation. It was probable that many of those who thus parted
would meet no more. The noble sport of hunting the buffalo is
not a thing to be done in a corner. The herd must be sought in the
broad pastures, where the game is won by the fleet-footed horse,
and the swift arrow. All concealment was to be thrown aside;
the secret paths of the mountain, its nooks and hiding places, were
to be abandoned, and the hunters were to ride forth in the light of
day, upon a plain broad and level as the ocean. Like a little
fleet of defenceless merchantmen, venturing upon a sea swarming
with hostile cruisers, their best chance of escape lay in the possibility
of passing unnoticed. Should they meet any of the numerous
bands of the Blackfeet, who roved over the same plains, they
must fly with scarcely a hope that all would escape, or fight with
the certainty of being overmatched by superior numbers.
Nor was there more safety for those who remained in the
mountains. Although so poor as to possess nothing to tempt the
spoiler, their enemies pursued them with an eagerness for which
it would be difficult to assign an adequate motive, to those who
are unacquainted with the savage character, and who could
scarcely understand how the mere lust of carnage, whetted by
continual indulgence, becomes a master passion of the soul, irrespective
of any desire for plunder or conquest, or of any present
or prospective advantage. Neither infancy, nor imbecility, nor
sex, affords any protection; as man bruises the head of the serpent,
so does the Indian crush the offspring of his enemy; and the
absence of the warrior only entices the brutal destroyer to seek
his prey with redoubled diligence.
Yet with such perils lowering on every side, the Flatheads
were apparently free from care. If they thought of the casualties
which might sever the dearest ties, the reflection had lost the
freshness, which gives poignancy to sorrow, and had become familiar
by frequent contemplation. The men were pointing their
arrows, or decorating their persons with paints and feathers; and
the women were attending to their domestic employments, with
as much tranquillity as if they, with their sons and husbands, had
already passed through the dark valley of the shadow of death,
land.
Having made these explanations for the benefit of such of our
readers as may not be familiar with the society and manners of
the Aborigines, we proceed to the business of our story. At a
spot where the waters of the rivulet had collected into a transparent
pool, stood a young girl, who had just filled a skin with water,
and was about to return with her burthen—for the young females
of this nation, like the Hebrew maids of old, are employed
in all the various offices of domestic labour, and strange as it may
seem, to introduce a heroine thus engaged, our regard for the sacred
obligations of truth, obliges us to state the fact, as we find it.
It was Bachitucky, or the White Cherry Blossom, the daughter
of the Peace Chief, the personage having the highest place of authority
within the precincts of the village, and she excelled all the
maidens of the village in stature and beauty. The superiority
of her charms were universally admitted, and what was equally
remarkable she understood her own advantages quite as well as
others, and improved them by an attention to neatness and costume
which was not usual even in the best circles of the Flatheads.
As she turned from the pool, a youth stood before her,
armed, but not painted, nor wearing any of the ornaments appropriate
to the Indian warrior. He evidently sought an interview,
which the girl did not seem to avoid, and both stood for a moment
in silence. It was an awkward situation, as any gentleman will
testify, who has found himself in the presence of his lady love,
having something special to say, but wanting boldness to say it.
She was the first to break silence, and laughed coquettishly, as
she inquired:
“Why does Ishtakka stand in the way—has he anything to
say to the White Cherry Blossom?”
“Not much,” replied the youth, in the brief and pointed style
of his people. “I have sought you in marriage and have been
refused. For three days I hunted on the great plain, and at last
killed a fine antelope, which I carried last night, as soon as it was
dark, to the lodge of the Peace Chief. I laid it on the ground before
the lodge, and retired a short distance, and seated myself on
the ground, to watch whether my present would be accepted.
no notice of the antelope. Then I knew that Ishtakka was considered
as a dog, who was not worthy to marry the daughter of
the Peace Chief.”
“The Peace Chief does not know Ishtakka,” rejoined the girl.
“He has never seen him among the braves in the buffalo hunt,
nor heard him recount his deeds at the war pole.”
“I understand,” replied the youth sarcastically—“Bachitucky
is very beautiful, and her mother would marry her to a great
chief. She is a wise mother.”
“Ishtakka is a fool,” said the girl; “every mother wishes her
daughter to marry a man who can protect her, and hunt for her.”
“I am as able to hunt as others,” exclaimed Ishtakka vehemently.
“There is not a brave in the nation that can ride better
than I, unless it be Incillo, the war chief, who surpasses all men.
I am not a coward. Whose fault is it that I have not struck an
enemy? They say I am too young, and will not let me ride with
the braves.”
“If Ishtakka is too young to go to war, he is not old enough to
marry.”
“Very well; I will go to war. I will hang the scalp of a
Blackfoot upon the war pole in the village. I will kill a buffalo,
and bring the meat and the skin to the lodge of the Peace Chief.
Then I will ask him again for his daughter.”
“Now you speak wisely,” replied the girl. “When you are
mounted on a fine horse, with your face painted, your neck hung
with the claws of the grisly bear, and your head dressed with the
feathers of the war eagle, then the White Cherry Blossom will be
glad. She will say the Master of Life has given Ishtakka a bold
heart.”
“And will you listen to me when I am counted among the
braves?”
“I have no ears to listen to young men, when they speak of
marriage,” said the maiden, and then taking the knife from the
belt of her suitor, she plucked a lock of her raven hair, and tying
it firmly round the hilt, added, “When Ishtakka goes into battle,
let him look at that lock of hair, and it will make him strong.
The White Cherry Blossom cannot promise to be his wife, because
he pleases, but she will not marry willingly, until Ishtakka
comes to claim her.”
So saying, the maiden passed on, and Ishtakka went to seek
the chief, Incillo. Now Incillo was the general, or war chief, of
his nation, and in consequence of his abilities, and popularity, was
in fact the ruler, whose word was law, though the Peace Chief,
who was an old man, presided in the council, and was also called
Father.
This leader having ascended to a commanding eminence, stood
gazing over the plain that lay extended to the eastward of his retreat,
scanning with practised eye, every dark spot, and every object
that seemed to move upon the verdant surface. He was a
man whose appearance would have pointed him out to a casual
observer, as a ruling chief. Not tall, but muscular, his round
compact form, and well-shaped limbs, exhibited those just proportions
which combine strength with activity, and his bearing was
that of the warrior. His countenance wore that expression of
simplicity and benevolence, that so often characterizes the physiognomy
of a man of superior intelligence, whose sagacity has elevated
him above the prejudices of his time and country. Neither
fear, nor hatred, nor any bad passion, was depicted upon his features,
whose frank, but sedate and quiet character, was touched
with a reflective cast, that indicated habits of thought, and the
consciousness of responsibility. However reckless his followers
might be, he was evidently one whose well-balanced mind was
awake to the duties and circumstances of his station. The patriarch
of his people, he discharged the office with the kindness and
vigilance of the parent, tempered with the severe authority of the
chief. He was a hospitable man, and such was the frankness of
his manners, that the stranger was at once impressed with confidence
in his good faith; while his cheerfulness, his fondness for
the athletic sports of his people, and his intelligence, made him an
agreeable companion.
Retired from his people, the chief was reconnoitering the surrounding
country, and revolving in his mind the plan of the projected
march, when Ishtakka stood before him—a tall lad who
were those of the boy.
The chief briefly asked the purport of his visit.
“I am no longer a boy,” was the reply, “I wish to go with the
braves to hunt the buffalo.”
“Those who go to hunt on the great plain,” replied the chief,
“may chance to fall in with the Blackfeet, and instead of killing
buffalo, will be obliged to fight in defence of their lives.”
“It is well,” replied the youth, “Ishtakka is not afraid.”
“I should hope that Ishtakka does not know what it is to be
afraid. But there is something more than courage required, to
make a hunter and a brave.”
“I can ride the wild horse that has just been caught,” replied
the youth, “and when at full speed I can hit the antelope with my
arrow.”
“That is well,” said the chief, “but the brave who follows Incillo,
must be wise and very prudent. He must be cunning and
quick-sighted, expert in watching the arts of the enemy, and skilful
in devising schemes to defeat them.”
Ishtakka remained silent for a moment, and then said modestly,
“These things I expect to learn from seeing them practised.
If I follow the Great Chief, will I not be instructed by his example—for
who is so wise as Incillo?”
The chief replied, “My son speaks wisely; it is a good way for
the young men to learn by observing their elder brothers; but we
do not trust any one to take upon himself the character of a brave
until he has proved himself worthy. What has Ishtakka ever
done? Has he ever struck a Blackfoot? Has he taken their
horses? Have their women, when busied about the camp fire,
heard his war-whoop breaking suddenly upon their ears, like the
thunder of the great Manito?”
Ishtakka was abashed, and knew not what to reply to the great
chief. After a pause, he said, “It is this that makes me ashamed.
I have hitherto been a boy, and have associated only with children
and women; I now feel strong, and wish to earn a name.
I am willing to be tried. If my father will allow me to follow
the braves to the great plain, he shall see whether I can use my
arms like a man.”
“It is well,” replied the chief: “go, young man, and get
ready.”
Two days afterwards, the band of hunters, led by Incillo, were
encamped upon the prairie, far from the place at which they had
left their tribe, who had also removed in an opposite direction.
The spot chosen for their hunting camp had little to recommend
it. A small stream trickling along a ravine, and a copse, scarcely
visible above the level of the plain, furnished water for the
jaded horses, and a covert for temporary concealment, should
danger appear in the distant perspective. At present, not an object
was seen moving on the broad expanse—neither buffalo nor
Blackfeet Indians. The hunters were occupied much after the
fashion of any party of sportsmen, who find a poor lodging after a
hard day's travel: some snored on the grass, some were examining
the galled backs of their steeds, some repairing their weapons,
a few were chewing some wretched remnants of jerked meat, and
the remainder, though they uttered no complaints, exhibited in
their looks the impatience and dejection of hungry men.
The chief, calling Ishtakka to him, walked apart from the band,
and then addressed him as follows:[1]
“It is necessary for a youth to prove his manhood, before he
can be permitted to associate with braves. He must show that
he may be trusted, and that he is wise to contrive the means to
do things that are difficult. I require of you a small matter; see
that it be well done. To-night, when all are sleeping, separate
yourself from the band, and return to the camp of our people.
Enter it secretly, so that no one shall discover you. In the lodge
of the Peace Chief, directly over the entrance, hangs a knife which
he values highly as a present from Sublette, the great white
trader; at the other end of the lodge is usually placed the pipe
which the Peace Chief uses, when he invites his friends to a feast.
Bring the knife and the pipe to me; and remember that all this
must be done so secretly, that even the owl who looks out from
his hiding place in the night, shall not see a form move, nor hear
the sound of a footstep.”
“But if I should be discovered—”
“Then you will have failed in what you undertook. The
braves, if they suspect the truth, will laugh at you for attempting
the exploit of a man, while you are yet a boy; if they do not find
out that you returned by my permission, they will despise you as
one who deserted a hunting party, that he might return home to
steal—the Peace Chief will beat you for seeking to rob his lodge,
the women will call upon you to carry their burthens, and the
boys will say, there is one who is too lazy to hunt, and not smart
enough to steal.”
“And this my father calls a small matter.”
“It is so, for one who has a bold heart, and a light foot.”
“I will bring the knife and the pipe,” said Ishtakka, “or else
the great chief shall never see me again.”
That night Ishtakka left the camp secretly, and took up his
solitary journey towards the mountains. When he arrived within
a few miles of the place where the tribe had been encamped, he
abandoned his horse, and went forward with stealthy steps towards
the camp ground, thinking it possible that their departure might
have been delayed. As he approached the spot with cautious
steps, warily listening to catch any sound that might float on the
air, and throwing watchful glances in every direction, he espied
the fresh mark of a horse's foot upon the ground. He stopped,
and looked around with intense anxiety, not daring to move lest
the echo of his own footstep should betray him. All was still.
He advanced a few steps, carefully examining the ground, which
was hard and stony, and was enabled by his native cunning and
keen eye, to ascertain that several horses had passed recently towards
the place of encampment. Uncertain what course to pursue,
he paused to consider. The tracks might be those of stray
animals seeking their former home, or of stragglers from his own
tribe, or of enemies pursuing the Flatheads to their new retreat.
In the latter case there was danger to the tribe, while he stood
personally in immediate and imminent peril. Even at that moment,
the keen eye of a Blackfoot scout might be resting upon
him, the bow might be bent to send an arrow to his heart; whichever
way he turned, he might step into an ambush prepared for
him. But he scorned to retreat, and the idea of abandoning the
adventure entered not his head. Another step brought him to a
camp, and peeping cautiously from behind this buttress, he discovered
that his people had deserted the spot. Not a vestige of the village
remained; but as his eye scanned the scene, in search of some
object which might convey intelligence on the subject now uppermost
in his thoughts, it fell suddenly on a group whose appearance
chilled him to the heart. Under the shadow of the same
projection against which he leaned, and but a few yards distant
from him, sat half a dozen Blackfoot warriors, decorated with war
paint, and fully armed, while their jaded horses, with heads and
tails drooped, stood panting around them. They looked like men
who had performed a forced march, upon some secret enterprise,
and whose thoughts were even now intent upon striking a sudden
blow.
One glance satisfied the shuddering youth, who shrunk back,
and began to retire silently from a spot fraught with dangers so
appalling. Regulating his flight with caution and presence of
mind, he stepped so lightly that not an echo rose from his stealthy
tread. He soon began to breathe more freely. His courage rose,
and while he reflected upon the most prudent means to avoid the
danger that threatened himself, he began also to think whether
he might not turn this accident to advantage, by averting the
blow which threatened his tribe. He resolved to make the attempt,
and being intimately acquainted with the passes of the
mountain, in that neighbourhood, began to ascend the precipice.
It was not difficult for one so young and active, to gain the height,
and he soon was perched upon an overhanging crag, immediately
over the spot where the Blackfeet were seated, watching their
motions, and longing with all the avidity of his race for some
means to annoy or alarm them. While thus situated, he chanced
to place his foot upon a large fragment of rock, which yielded to
the pressure; a sudden thought struck him, and stooping down,
he succeeded in shoving it from its place. Down went the mass,
rebounding from crag to crag, crushing the bushes that impeded
its way, and falling in the valley with a loud crash. Upon the
first alarm, the Indian warriors started up, and sprung upon their
horses; at the same instant, terrific yells assailed their ears, from
various directions, for Ishtakka had no sooner despatched his missile,
repeated by a hundred echos, fell upon the valley like the battle
cry of a host. The enemy waited not to ascertain the cause, or
the magnitude of the danger, but urging their horses to full speed,
scampered down the valley in the greatest panic.
Ish-tak-ka laughed at the discomfiture of the Blackfoot warriors,
and considered this happy relief from a danger so threatening,
an omen of the most auspicious promise; for the Indian believes
the result of every adventure to depend as much on good fortune,
as on good conduct, and is applauded for success, without much
regard to the means by which it is obtained. And he went forward
rejoicing in the conviction that he was a lucky man.
Again he resumed his solitary way up the glen, in search of his
people, seeking for their trail upon the ground, and using every possible
vigilance to conceal himself from any stragglers who might be
loitering in the valley, as well as from the watchmen that should
be posted on the heights. His progress was slow and painful, but
patience and perseverance are cardinal virtues in the Indian
code of honour, and he felt while thus creeping stealthily upon
the haunt of his people, an assurance of the distinction that
awaited his success, as firm as that of the warrior when preparing
for battle, and that gave a pleasing glow of excitement to his toil.
After several days of weary travel, and nights of brief slumber,
he found himself in the neighbourhood of the camp, about
which he hovered while daylight lasted, making such observations
as might be necessary for his purpose, and when night threw
over the wilderness, the curtain which usually affords security to
guilt, while it sometimes lends a shield to valour, the young Indian
prepared to intrude himself by stealth into the guarded retreat
of his own people. Having ascertained, during the day, the
positions of the watchmen, it was not difficult for the active and
ardent youth to avoid them; and at the midnight hour he stood in
the midst of the camp.
Wayworn and hungry, a less determined individual might have
lingered to repose, or to procure the means of satisfying the painful
cravings of appetite. But Ishtakka dared not yield to the
temptation. All his hopes of success and reputation were at
stake; every thing he held dear in life depended on the steadiness
thus far with vigour. He had doubtless received previous
lessons in the art of self-denial, for the earliest maxims inculcated
upon the Indian mind are those which teach implicit obedience
to their superiors, and to the laws of the tribe, and a rigid subjection
of their passions. It is this discipline which produces the
forbearance that passes with casual observers for apathy of temperament;
for when the restraints which cause it are removed,
the savage gives way to rage, to appetite, or to indolence, not
only like other men, but often to a degree unknown in other forms
of society. Ishtakka, therefore, like the Spartan boy who carried
the fox in his bosom, bore the gnawings of hunger and the pangs
of fatigue, without a murmur, and moved steadily on to the
achievement of his purpose.
He stood in the camp of a fierce clan, who were surrounded
by all the guards that experience and caution could suggest, and
who slept with arms upon their persons, ready to start up on the
slightest alarm. Accustomed to frequent and sudden attacks,
they slept lightly. The bark of a dog, the neigh of a horse, the
cracking of a dried twig, under the foot of the intruder, reaching
some watchful ear, would startle the whole band, and expose him
either to instant death, or a disgraceful discovery. Darkness
and the silence of the grave were around him, and as he stole
with noiseless steps, from lodge to lodge, more than one watch-dog
crept stealthily towards him, and then scenting a friend, returned
to his lair.
It was not long before he discovered the lodge of the Peace
Chief, and after pausing a moment to satisfy himself that the inmates
slumbered, he entered it. All was dark and silent. By
the faint light of a few expiring embers, that glimmered in the
fire-place in the centre of the lodge, he discovered the Peace
Chief and his family, lying with their feet towards the fire, all
buried in slumber. The chief roused himself for a moment, and
turned his face towards the intruder, who carelessly threw himself
on the ground, as if to sleep, and was taken for one of the
family. While thus reclining, the youth surveyed the interior of
the lodge, and marked the exact position of the articles he was
seeking to purloin, and then again approached the fire, which he
he accidentally touched the foot of the chief's daughter—the very
one whose hand he sought in marriage—and she, not dreaming
that any other than one of her own family had thus trespassed on
her repose, gave unconsciously a slight kick,—we will not say a
graceful one,—which lighted full upon the shoulder of the intruder,
as he stooped over the embers, and almost threw him off of
his centre; indeed, it well nigh upset his gravity in more than
one sense, for he could with difficulty restrain himself from bursting
into a paroxysm of laughter. Resolving to take advantage
of this incident, and, as our party politicians say, make capital
out of it, he gently seized the foot of the sleeping girl, and drew
from it the moccasin, which he secured in his girdle. Pausing
again until all was quiet, he then stepped lightly but quickly to
the spots where the articles he sought were deposited, and having
secured them, made his escape.
A week afterwards Ishtakka, having returned to the spot where
he had left the Flathead band of hunters, and thence followed
the trail of their subsequent wanderings, presented himself before
Incillo. He modestly recounted his adventures, and in confirmation
of his success, produced the knife and the pipe of the Peace
Chief, which he delivered to his leader.
“I will take them and return them to the Peace Chief,” said
Incillo. “He will be glad that one of our young men has shown
himself so worthy.”
“I have done something more,” added the youth, smiling archly,
and showing the girl's moccasin, “I took this from the foot of
the Peace Chief's daughter, as she slept, and brought it with me,
to show my father that he had given me an easy task, and that
I was willing to do more than he commanded.”
“My son has done well,” rejoined the chief. “He speaks wisely
also when he says he has done but little. But I am satisfied,
for he who does small things well, may be trusted with greater
matters. Go now and rest until to-morrow; I will then employ
you in something that will require more manhood, than taking a
pipe from the lodge of a peaceable old man, or a moccasin from
the foot of a sleeping girl.”
Ishtakka felt somewhat humbled, at the slight commendation
the repose which he needed, pondered on the words of his chief.
Being now in the neighbourhood of large herds of buffalo, the
whole band rode forth early the next morning upon a grand hunt.
They soon reached a commanding point, from whence they could
see the plain covered for miles with these animals, thousands and
tens of thousands of which grazed quietly upon the vast natural
meadow. The Indians had been careful to approach from the
leeward, so that the sagacious herd had not scented them upon
the tainted breeze; and they now sat upon their horses gazing upon
the rich scene, for a brief space, while they divided their force to
attack the game to the best advantage. Ishtakka looked upon
the inspiring prospect with delight, and longed for the commencement
of the sport, when the hunters who were now silently surrounding
a portion of the herd, would be seen rushing upon them at full
speed, from various directions, when all the energy and action of
man and horse would be exerted, and the most prodigious feats of
horsemanship and archery would be displayed by these eager
sportsmen. He panted to be among them, and was wondering to
which of the various parties that were filing off, he would be assigned,
when Incillo, who, having given his orders, was quietly
looking on, called him to him, and turning his back on the scene
of the proposed hunt, rode slowly off in the opposite direction.
“Let Ishtakka listen,” said the chief, as they rode side by
side.
The youth signified attention, by the utterance of a single syllable,
well known to those who have mingled in the society of the
Rocky Mountains.
“Many days journey from here, and in that direction,” continued
the chief, pointing with his hand, “there is a camp of our
mortal enemies the Blackfeet. Among them is a war chief, who
is called the `Killer of men,' on account of his numerous victories,
and his own personal success in battle. He is also celebrated
as the owner of the `Black Steed of the Prairies,[2]
a remarkably
fleet, strong and beautiful horse, of a deep sable, without
spot or blemish. This noble animal was taken wild upon the
and carriage had attracted the attention of all the hunters. There
was not a brave who did not long to possess this fine steed, who,
as he swept gracefully over the plain, outstripped his fellows in
swiftness, as much as he excelled them in beauty; and many
attempts were made to catch him, but all in vain, until he fell into
the hands of his present master, who soon rendered him perfectly
manageable.”
“Ishtakka has an eye, and knows a good horse when he sees
him. He cannot mistake any other for the Black Steed of the
Prairies. Should he see him among a thousand, he will remark
his small head carried high above all others, his slender ear pointed
forwards, his large eye full of fire and courage, his fine limbs,
and a tail that trails like that of the fox. Now listen to my
words: Ishtakka would be ranked among the braves. Let him
show that his heart is bold, that his hand is quick, and that his
foot is so light that even the dry leaves do not rustle as he walks.
My son must bring me the horse of the Blackfoot chief. I have
no more to say.”
“Incillo has spoken,” was the brief reply of the youth, who,
perplexed by the difficulty of the enterprise allotted him, remained
lost in reflection, while the chief dashed off at full speed towards
his people, and was soon engaged in the animating chase of the
buffaloes, who were now flying in every direction.[3]
No light adventure was that which our young hero had undertaken.
It was not merely the fire of youthful courage, burning
for distinction, nor the audacity of inexperienced valour, underrating
the danger of the enterprise, nor yet the brazen front that
would look down opposition by seeming to despise it, that could
ensure success in such an exploit. The sage Incillo knew well
that courage is the common possession of all who are bred in the
habits of a military people, and that the more valuable qualities
of coolness and sagacity, are to be implanted and cultivated by
discipline—by that experience and self-reliance, which renders
the warrior alert, vigilant, and fertile of expedient. He imposed,
therefore, upon the youth, a task which would bring into exercise
play to an impetuous courage, would require caution, patience,
and self-control. The adventurer must travel alone over
a vast tract of wilderness, providing subsistence for himself and
his horse without unnecessary exposure, and eluding any parties
of the enemy he might chance to meet. He must find the village
of the Blackfeet, and if that tribe should have moved, or the chief
he sought to despoil be absent, must follow their trail over the
boundless prairie, or through the defiles of the mountain, exposed
continually to capture and death. He must enter by stealth the
well-guarded camp of a hostile people, seize and remove his intended
prize, and at last, effect his escape from the inevitable pursuit
of a numerous and well-mounted band, expert in all the
strategy of savage warfare.
The motives of human action, and all the springs of thought,
are so dependent upon the modifications of society, that it is
scarcely possible to reason confidently upon the one, where we
are not familiar with the other. It would be difficult therefore to
convey to any sentimental or romantic reader,—supposing that
reader to be a civilized man or maiden,—any adequate idea of
the feelings of a young savage, pricking forth like an errant
knight upon his first adventure, with a vast field of unknown
perils before him, and lady-love at home, who was waiting to be
made happy by his success, or wretched by his failure.
We may suppose, however, that Ishtakka went forward upon
his almost hopeless journey, with feelings such as usually accompany
the youth upon his first battle-field—with a trepidation allayed
by the reflection, that as thousands have passed harmless
through the same danger, he would probably be equally fortunate,
though he could scarcely imagine the possibility of escaping the
natural result of such perils—with a hope, that as laurels had
been gathered upon such fields, he too would gain the proudest
honours, though wholly ignorant how they should be won. Thus
are the visions of youth gladdened by the happy faculty of turning
the eye from gloomy realities to bright illusions—of fixing the
gaze upon a distant and alluring object, while the obstacles that
lie near are overlooked. And thus Ishtakka went boldly forward,
hoping and believing he should win, though he scarcely
to guide his steps. He depended on his luck, and where is the
light-hearted youth, who ever doubted his own good fortune?
Passing over many long days of tedious travel, and nights of
solitary repose, varied chiefly by storm and sunshine, by hunger
and repletion, behold our hero in the vicinity of the enemy's
camp. He has abandoned his horse, and is lurking about in
holes and hiding places, watching the Blackfeet, who are riding
to and fro over the plain. When they approach him he creeps
into a ravine, or conceals himself in a thicket until they pass,—
then he looks out again and watches every passer with a keen and
anxious eye. Happily their dogs have not scented him, for if discovered,
speedy and sorrowful would be the end of his adventure.
Among those who rode near the place of his concealment, was
the owner of the Black Steed, and Ishtakka trembled with excitement
as he beheld the object for which he had made so bold a
venture. He marked the noble animal, graceful and full of fire,
whose hoofs seemed to rebound with an elastic spring, as they
touched the ground, and the rider, a fine warlike man, of large
frame and stern countenance, whose bearing was that of a mighty
chief. Great would seem the disparity between that proud warrior,
and the weary and squalid boy, who dared to come as a
spoiler to his dwelling.
That night as Ishtakka sat, viewing the expiring fires of the
camp, and pondering in his mind how to effect an entrance, a
number of women, carrying burthens, passed along the path near
which he was sitting. Instantly forming his plan, he seized a
small log that lay near, wrapped it in his blanket, and threw it
over his back, in a manner to resemble the loads borne by the
women. Bending his body forward, he slyly joined the company;
the tired and heavy-laden women not noticing the addition to their
numbers. Adroitly placing himself in the rear, where he would
attract least notice, he entered the village with them, and as they
separated to go to their respective lodges, he went apart, and sat
down by the trunk of a large tree.
Soon all was silent, and he began to wander about the village
in search of the Black Steed. Here and there he met persons,
wrapped in their blankets, and moving with noiseless steps: he
manners, or equally willing to avoid recognition, suffered him to
pass unchallenged. He found several places where groups of
horses were secured, but without discovering the one he sought;
and fearing to excite attention by too minute a scrutiny, he was
about to abandon the village for the night, when he perceived a
horse standing before one of the lodges. Walking boldly up, he
discovered, to his great joy, that it was the one he was seeking;
the colour, as nearly as he could tell by the murky starlight, was
black, the hair, unlike that of most of the Indian horses, was
smooth and silky to the touch, and the form was not to be mistaken.
The entrance of the lodge was unclosed, and as he stooped
down to seek the end of the halter for the purpose of unloosing it,
he discovered, to his surprise, that it was held in the hand of a
sleeping man.
It was no doubt the bold and wary chief, the Killer of many
men, who, in consequence of previous attempts to steal so valuable
an animal, had adopted this singular plan of securing him.
He paused to consider how he should separate the halter from the
hand that grasped it firmly even in sleep; and now when about
to succeed or to fail, in the scheme which had been prosecuted
through such peril and fatigue, and when a single movement of
his body, would consign him to immediate death, or gain a trophy
which would place him high in honour among the braves of his
nation, a nervous tremour shook his frame, and for a moment
rendered him incapable of action. As he paused, to regain composure,
the tempting thought occurred, of enhancing the brilliancy
of the exploit, by the death of the chief. A new vigour braced
his nerves. He grasped his knife; his finger touched the lock
of hair placed there to remind him of the prize he sought; a step
brought him within striking distance; he stooped over the tall
form of the slumberer, and with a rapid blow buried his knife in
the heart of his victim. Thrice did he repeat the blow, in quick
succession, while he grasped the dying man so as to suppress the
sound of his voice. In a moment all was over. He took the
scalp from the slaughtered chief, and disengaging the halter from the
now powerless hand, led away his prize. There was less difficulty
and these made no question of one passing outwards.
When Ishtakka returned to his people, several weeks had elapsed
since his departure, and the place of encampment had again
been changed. But he traced them from place to place, and
when he rode into the village mounted on the Black Steed, many
looked at him, and exchanged glances, but no one asked him any
question. He alighted at the lodge of his mother, who, without
speaking, led away the horse. Entering the lodge, he sat down,
without noticing any one, threw aside his arms and remained silent
until his mother placed food before him, which he devoured
greedily, for he had not eaten any thing for several days. Then
raising his head, he spoke to one and another of the family, as if
he had been absent but a few hours, and then, gradually, in reply
to their questions, detailed some of the prominent events that had
occurred to him. Such is the custom of the American Indian.
Presently he saw that the chiefs and principal men had seated
themselves round the war pole, and he went and took his seat
among them. Incillo lighted a pipe, and it was passed round.
Then the chief said,
“Ishtakka has taken the Black Steed of the Prairies.”
“He has also struck the Killer of Men,” added the youth, displaying
the scalp.
He then narrated his adventures, which so delighted his auditors,
that they danced the war dance, and Ishtakka was declared
worthy to go to war with the braves. He offered the black horse
to Incillo, but the chief insisted on his retaining the steed, which
he had won with such persevering courage.
And now Ishtakka, mounted on the Black Steed of the Prairies,
rode gallantly among the braves of his nation, exciting universal
envy and admiration, for no man was so well mounted, and the
grace and dexterity of his horsemanship could not be excelled.
It was a noble sight to see him in the chase, overtaking the buffalo
with perfect ease, and riding fearlessly abreast of the fiercest
bull, guiding his horse by the inclination of his own body, and the
pressure of his heel, and discharging his arrows with fatal certainty.
In vain did the enraged animal turn suddenly upon his
pursuer, with a fury that in most cases would have hurled horse
equal to his spirit, would evade the attack by nimbly springing
aside, and by a few vigorous bounds would again place himself
in a position from which Ishtakka could discharge his arrows.
In the pursuit of an enemy, in battle or in flight, the young
warrior was equally fortunate; his sagacious steed seemed on
every occasion to catch the spirit of his rider, or to possess a native
sagacity and courage, which bore him into the thickest of the
battle and carried him triumphantly through every danger;
showing, in servitude, the same pride, which had marked him as
the noblest of his race, when he roved through his native pastures
as the leader of his herd.
After several successful expeditions, Ishtakka returned to the
village with his head ornamented by three feathers of the war
eagle, indicating the number of foes he had slain. So greatly
did the Flatheads pride themselves upon the precocious destructiveness
of the young brave, that Incillo, the war chief, caused
several of his fattest dogs to be killed, and made a great feast, at
which they gave Ishtakka a new name of no less than fifty syllables,
which signified, when interpreted, “He that stole the horse
of horses, and killed the killer of many men”—which name, however,
on account of its inconvenient length, we shall not attempt
to use in this narrative, but adhere to that with which the reader
has become familiar.
These fine doings made a wonderful stir in the Flathead village,
and were not unobserved by the Peace Chief and his wife.
“We were very foolish,” said she, “in not giving our daughter
to Ishtakka. He is a fine young man; what were you thinking
of not to see it? I always thought well of him.”
“It was very foolish of you, sure enough,” replied the husband,
“to refuse so good an offer. You know you always have
your own way.”
So they both were satisfied with their own sagacity, and each
was vexed that the other had not been gifted with the power of
foreknowledge. But although the course of true love had, as
usual, not run smooth, the stream was neither exhausted nor diverted
from its destined channel, but was now rippling gayly along,
margined by flowers, and sparkling in the sunbeams of success.
accepted, and the marriage was solemnized immediately.
At a feast given on that occasion, several of the warriors related
anecdotes of their adventures. Among others an old man
rose, and delivered a speech to the following effect:[4]
“Chiefs and braves! I am an old man—my head is white—
I am like a tree blasted by lightning from the hand of the Master
of Life. But I was not always withered as I am now. Young
sprouts were nourished under my protection—they will show what
I was. It is not of myself that I am going to speak, but of one
that I nourished when he was a little child.
“Chiefs and brothers, listen! Here stands our brother that
stole the horse of horses, and killed the killer of many men.
Listen!
“He that speaks to you was once a young brave. He could
strike the enemy—the scalps of the Blackfeet were hung up in his
lodge—but his heart was soft—he had pity on a little boy. The
Master of Life put it in his heart to spare a small child from
death. Listen!
“Fathers and brothers, listen! We had struck the Blackfeet,
and they were not able to stand against us. We rushed into their
camp, in the night, and they fled. One bold woman having dropped
her child, turned back, and fought over it like a she-wolf.
She was knocked down, and left among the dead. I seized the
child, and was about to bury my knife in his body, when a good
bird whispered in my ear not to kill him. The good bird said,
He will surely become a great brave—the Great Spirit loves him,
and will make him an honour to the Flatheads. Then I listened
to that good bird, and brought the boy home, and gave him to our
brother the Arrow, who had lost a son.
“Fathers and brothers, I have not much more to say—listen!
He that speaks to you told the Arrow what the good bird said; so
he adopted the boy and brought him up as his own. The Arrow
is no more. His bones are white—his spirit is gone to the happy
land. His widow is alone, but the Great Spirit took pity on her.
That little boy that she took to be her son, has grown up to be a
great brave. There he stands!
“Grey-headed fathers, and you too, my brothers, listen! That
good bird did not lie. The boy has become a man. The Blackfeet
have felt the weight of his war-club—his war-whoop has
made them tremble. He has taken the horse of horses from the
hand of their chief, and killed the killer of many men. I have
no more to say.”
So it appeared that Ishtakka was by birth a Blackfoot. This
fact had been well known to all the Flatheads, yet they neither
loved nor trusted him the less; nor was there any reason for want
of confidence, for he was as faithful to them as if he had been a
native. There is no feature in the savage character more singular
than this. Hostile tribes hate each other with an excessive
rancour, which is cherished and handed down from one generation
to another. Every art is used by the leaders to increase and
perpetuate this aversion; and such is the antipathy existing between
many tribes, that individuals have professed to know an
enemy in the dark, by the scent, or the touch, and to shrink from
each other's presence with a loathing, like that which some persons
feel towards a noxious reptile. They murder women and
children as men crush serpents, not from a sense of present danger,
but out of hatred for the race. But if in a moment of caprice
they resolve to spare the detested offspring of an enemy, it
becomes at once an object of fondness. The stain of birth is instantly
removed. The young stranger is so unreservedly adopted,
as to become completely identified with the stock into which
he is engrafted. If Ishtakka knew his own origin, it is not probable
that the knowledge ever cost him a moment of uneasiness,
nor perhaps a moment of serious thought.
A few months only had elapsed after the events last narrated,
when the Flathead village was thrown into a panic, one morning,
by the news that the Black Steed was missing. He had been
secured in the very centre of the village, around which sentinels
watched in every direction; yet he had been taken away, and no
trail was found to indicate the direction pursued by the spoiler.
Some shook their heads mysteriously, and whispered to each other
their suspicions that the Black Steed was a medicine—a spirit—
a manito, who had tarried with the Flatheads just as long as was
perfectly convenient and agreeable to himself, and had then vanished,
be lurking near, in some den, in the form of a great rattlesnake,
or hovering over their heads in that of a vulture, or grinning at
them through the teeth of a raccoon, from an overhanging ledge
of rock. The old women thought it prudent to speak of him but
briefly, and in terms of marked respect. Several braves were
now ready to testify what had not been suggested before—that
they had often, when following the Black Steed, looked for his
tracks, but had uniformly been disappointed; this wonderful
horse having the faculty of passing over the ground with the
swiftness of the wind, without leaving the print of his footsteps.
There were some veteran warriors, who could have told, had they
chosen, how horses had been taken with such adroitness as to
leave no mark nor sign to betray the hand of the marauder; and
Ishtakka himself had no doubt that the Blackfeet, mortified by
the disgrace of having so noted an animal taken audaciously from
the midst of their encampment, had redeemed the character of
their nation by a recapture equally expert. But the medicine
men, and all the women, hooted at the idea of any human agency
in so mysterious an event, and the braves, whether convinced or
not, acquiesced in silence, as the men usually do every where
when the doctors and the women unite in opinion.
Ishtakka was a sorry man. He had lost the trophy of a valorous
exploit—the talisman of a brilliant career. He was like the
shorn Sampson, who went to sleep a man of mighty strength, and
awoke from the lap of Delilah to a sense of comparative insignificance.
He wandered about moodily for several days. He had
the best reasons in the world for believing the horse to be flesh
and blood, for he had fed and rode him, and almost lived in his
company, for several months, and he knew that the events which
had placed the animal in his possession, were quite as singular as
that which had caused so much wonder. But Indians are prone
to superstition, and when he recalled all the circumstances, his
convictions at times became unsettled, and he doubted whether he
might not have been the sport of some mischievous manito.
Finally he resolved to go in pursuit of the Black Steed; and as
he was impressed with the idea that the proposed enterprise would
the Great Spirit by prayer and abstinence.
Having admonished his wife of his intention, he laid aside all
his ornaments, blacked his face as one mourning under calamity,
and retired to a solitary place, where he remained three days
without food. A part of this time he spent in prayer to the Master
of Life, and in various incantations to disarm the malice of
evil manitos, and during the intervals between these exercises he
sate in silence, banishing sleep by torturing his flesh with thorns,
and by other cruel devices. Morning and evening he bathed, and
afterwards blacked his face, smeared his body with earth, placed
earth upon his head, and called upon the Master of Life to take
pity on him, and to drive away the bad manitos who had planned
his destruction.
On the morning of the fourth day he washed himself, and having
returned to his lodge, directed his wife to kill a dog and invite
his friends to a feast. A crier was accordingly sent out into
the village, who proclaimed that certain persons, whom he named,
were invited to the lodge of Ishtakka to partake of a feast which was
now ready, and advising them to come soon, and to bring their own
bowls and spoons. The guests were quickly assembled, and Ishtakka
appeared before them with a cheerful countenance, freshly
anointed with bear's oil, painted with vermilion, and adorned
with war feathers and trinkets. The canine feast was consumed,
but the entertainer said nothing of his design; and when they had
smoked, the guests thanked him for the comfortable cheer they
had enjoyed, wished him good luck, and all dispersed to their own
lodges. The next morning Ishtakka was absent; no one knew
whither he had gone, but all guessed that he was upon some dangerous
adventure.
Various are the perils that beset the solitary traveller in the
wilderness, and many there are who perish in the great forests
and upon the vast plains of Western America, though the greater
number of those who traverse them, avoid or escape the dangers
which would seem insurmountable to civilized men. When the
earth is covered with snow, or parched by drought, those animals
which furnish game to the hunter are no longer to be seen;
while at other times, even when surrounded by plenty, the loss
the lone traveller of the wilderness of the means of subsistence.
Ishtakka had his full share of difficulties. There were some
evil spirits who delighted to torment him, and at every step he experienced
their malign influence. After travelling a few days
over verdant prairies, he came to a region of parched sand, that
was destitute of herbage, affording no food for man or beast. Two
vultures, who were probably malignant spirits in that shape, pursued
him for several days, hovering in the air above him by day,
and perching near him at night, awaiting the hour when they
might gorge themselves with the flesh of the worn-out traveller.
When he slept, these horrid creatures flapped their wings over
his head, and when he awoke it was to see their eyes gloating
upon him in hungry desire. His mouth was parched by thirst,
and his limbs emaciated by want of sustenance. His starved
horse became lame and galled, and at last sunk under him, and
then, leaving the expiring beast a prey to the vultures, Ishtakka
tottered along on foot.
Worn down and famished, the youth arrives at last at the
former camping ground of the Blackfeet, and finds the place deserted.
He crawls about in search of some cast-off fragment of
food, or of some living or creeping thing that might be devoured,
and sustain for the present the life that was fast ebbing, but without
success. A gaunt dog, that ran howling away at the sight
of a rival tenant of the solitude, had gleaned the miserable leavings
of the departed horde.
At a distance he perceived a pole standing upright, with a
bunch of feathers waving at the top; and creeping towards it, he
found it to be erected on a small, newly-made mound of earth,
indicating the grave of some distinguished person. He could go
no further; and retiring into a thicket which might shelter him
from the night breeze, he laid down to sleep, and perhaps to die.
The sun had gone down, and the mellowed hues of twilight
were gathered over the landscape;—the wind was hushed—not
a foot nor a wing stirred on the broad prairie, and all was still.
The tramp of men was heard—a party of Blackfoot braves slowly
approached, and arranging themselves around the grave, stood in
tree, began to pour out the rich and full melody of his song; and
they who stood about the sepulchre listened in sadness, as if they
recognised a voice that sympathized in their grief. Then Ishtakka
knew that the grave was that of a great warrior; that
the braves who had followed him in battle were gathered around
the spot where his remains were deposited, to do honour to his
memory, and that his spirit, in the shape of a bird, was speaking
to them, and showing how grateful was that homage from his
friends, and telling them he was happy in the land of the blessed.[5]
The mourners retired. One figure only remained; it was a
woman who sate by the grave and wept bitterly. Ishtakka, refreshed
a little by the cool breeze of the evening, crawled from
his hiding-place and sat down near her. Bodily anguish had
softened his heart, and he was touched by the sorrows of this poor
woman. She raised her head and looked for a moment towards
the intruder, and then resumed her wailing. After a while she said,
“Why do you sit there watching me? Is it strange to see a
woman mourning by the grave of her husband?”
“I am a stranger—a poor famished traveller—the sun and the
moon have risen and gone down several times since I have tasted
food—I am dying of thirst, and am too much exhausted to seek
for water.”
“I pity you, but I cannot help you. I have crawled here to
die by the bones of the great chief, the Killer of many men.”
“What name was that?” inquired the youth with a broken
voice.
“Are you a Flathead, that his name makes you tremble?”
“I am a Flathead; but the name you mention does not scare
me. I never feared a Blackfoot, living or dead. If I had the
strength which once belonged to me, I would dance over the
bones of the Killer of Men, and laugh at the anger of his spirit;
but it is not with me now as it once was, and I desire to lie down
in peace by the bones of my enemy.”
“Vagabond and outcast! how dare you speak thus of the
dead! Get thee away from this place—hide thyself in the bushes,
not afraid, villain of a Flathead, that his spirit will rise up and
crush you?”
“Why should I fear him?” retorted the youth; “is a spirit to
be feared more than a living man? Did he not fall by the hand
of a Flathead?”
“No one knows by whose hand he fell,” said the woman angrily;
“some thieves crawled into our camp at night, stole away
his horse, and murdered the great chief. They were not men,
not braves, but cowardly thieves. They stabbed him while he
slept. But it was like the Flatheads—they do not face men in
open day. Once before—many years ago—they broke into our
hunting camp and seized upon my child—I had only one, a little
boy—I snatched up a club and fought by the side of my husband—
there were but us two, and they were many; but the Killer of
Men was very strong and beat them off—they ran away like
cowards, carrying our child, to murder him in cold blood, at
their leisure.”
“And you never heard any more of the child?”
“No, never.”
A pause ensued. The woman again spoke,
“They were not allowed to keep the Black Steed—that is some
comfort—our young men pursued the thieves, and brought back
the horse. It was determined that no one else should ever ride
him. He was killed and buried here[6]
—the bones of the chief
were deposited in the same place—and this mound was raised over
them. The horse and ride are now together in the happy hunting
grounds.”
The woman ceased speaking.
After a pause the youth inquired,
“Had that child a remarkable scar on the left foot?”
“Yes, he was badly scalded on that foot.”
Then Ishtakka said, “Listen to me, I have something to say
before I die. It almost kills me to say it. I am too young to remember
it, but this is what the Flatheads say.—Twenty years ago,
a Blackfoot woman stood over her child, with a war-club in her
struck down and left for dead, and the little boy was taken prisoner.
A Flathead woman put him to her breast, and he knew no
other mother. He grew up among them, and became a brave. I
am that boy.”
The woman started. Her eyes were riveted on the expiring
youth, in an eager effort to ascertain the truth of his disclosure,
by tracing out on his features some mark of the lineage he asserted.
“Do not claim me as your son,” continued the young man,
“until you hear the name I hear among the Flatheads. Would
that the Great Spirit had crushed me under his heel, before I won
that dreadful name! They call me, Him who stole the horse of
horses and killed the killer of many men.”
“Dog of a Flathead!” exclaimed the woman, springing at him
with the ferocity of an enraged wolf, “do you dare to acknowledge
yourself as the murderer of him, and claim to be his son!”
The hapless Ishtakka spoke no more. His head was sunk
upon his father's grave, and he was breathing his last.
The wretched mother gazed upon her expiring son with mingled
emotions of wonder, resentment, and pity. The long smothered
fire of maternal love burst out anew. “Who shall blame
him?” she exclaimed. “He was nursed in a den of serpents, who
gave him the poison that stung his father. I will go with my son
to the land of spirits, and ask his father to forgive him!”
They who came to visit the grave the next day found the dead
bodies of the mother and son clasped together, and although none
knew why they should be thus united in death, a suspicion of the
truth, induced the surviving relatives of the deceased to bury the
bones of the deceased in the mound they had reared over the warlike
chief. It was observed that the bird sang no more over that
lone grave in the wilderness.
| THE BLACK STEED OF THE PRAIRIES.
A TALE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. The wilderness and the war path | |