 | The Look in the Face |  |
3. III
"IT was very cold. The snow whined under my feet like a sick wolf, and I followed in the night. But Black Dog did not know I followed.
"I was ever near him like a shadow. I did not sleep; I watched Black Dog. I meant to see him die. I was afraid to sleep, lest he should die and I not see him. In his first sleep I crept upon him. I stole his meat, I stole his weapons; now he would die, and I would be there to see. I would be there to laugh! I would be there to sing! In the cold pale morning I lay huddled in a clump of sage, and I saw him get up, look for his meat and weapons, and stagger away into the lonesome places of the snow. And I sang a low song to myself. The time would come when I would see Black Dog die!
"I did not feel the cold. I was never weary. I was never sleepy. In the evenings I was ever near enough to hear him groan when he wrapped himself in his blankets. Often I crept up to him in his sleep and looked upon his face in the light of the stars; and I saw my time coming, for his face was thinner, and he was not so good to see as in the time when the sunflowers died. I could have killed him, but then he could not have heard me sing; he could not have heard me laugh. So I waited and followed and watched. I ate my meat raw, for I did not wish to let Black Dog see my fire. In the mornings I saw him look upon my footprints with wonder; but he could not know my footprints. Also I watched to see that he found nothing to eat; and he found nothing.
"One day I lay upon the summit of a
"'Fall, Black Dog! Even so Half-a-Day fell with weakness when Black Dog stole his meat and his pony! Do you remember?'
"And I saw Black Dog get up and stare about, for I was hidden. Then his voice came up to me over the snow. It was a thin voice:
"'I know you, Half-a-Day; come and kill me!'
"'Half-a-Day never kills sick men nor squaws!' I cried, and then I laughed — a cold, a bitter laugh.
"Black Dog shook his fists at the four corners of the sky and stumbled off into the hills. I followed. And now my time was very near, for Black Dog felt my nearness, and he knew that he would die and I would see him.
"One evening my time came. Black Dog was in the valley by a frozen stream, and he fell upon his face, sending forth a thin cry as he fell — a cry thin and ice-like. He did not get up; he lay very still. I ran down to where he lay — and I laughed, I laughed, I laughed! I heard him groan. I rolled him over on his back and looked upon his face. I wish I had not looked upon his face! He opened his eyes, and they were very dim and sunken. His face was sharp. I sat down beside him. I said:
"'Now die, and I will sing for you!'
"Then his face changed. It became a squaw's face — and it had the look! A look that was sad and weak and frightened, begging for pity! And it seemed to me that it was not the face of Black Dog any more. It had the look! I had seen it in the face of Paezha by the big spring.
"Now, since I have many winters behind me, I wonder if it was not a coward's face; but then it was not so. I grew soft. There was a great springtime in me. I wrapped my blankets about him. I gave him meat. He stared at me, and ate like a wolf. I spoke soft words. I made a fire from the brush that was by the frozen stream. All night I watched him, and in the morning I said:
"'Take my bow and arrows, Black Dog. I wish to die. Go on and live.' For my wish to kill had been my life, and now I had lost the wish to kill. I wished to die. And he said no word, only his eyes were changed.
"I staggered away on the back trail. I had no meat. I had no blankets. I had no weapons. I meant to die. But, you see, I did not die. When I lay down at night, worn out, half frozen, some one wrapped blankets about me and built a fire. In the morning I found food beside me. And so it was for many sleeps, until at last I came to the village of my people, broken, caring for nothing. I was thin, my face was sharp, my eyes were sunken, my step was very short. The people looked upon me with wonder, saying:
"'Half-a-Day has come back from killing Black Dog!'
"But the truth was different. Only my wish to kill had died."
When Half-a-Day had finished, he stared long into the fire without speaking.
"Do you think Black Dog was all a coward?" I said at length. "Perhaps he only loved too much."
"I do not know," said Half-a-Day in a low voice. "I only know sometimes I wish I had not looked upon his face."
EDITOR'S NOTE — In connection with this story of the Omaha Indians, it may be worth while to quote from a letter written by Dr. Susan La Flesche Picotte, who is a daughter of Estamaza (Iron-Eye), the last chief of the Omahas.
"As a race," Mrs. Picotte says, "we have suffered many things of many writers — writers who, with only a superficial knowledge of the Indian character, may have given to the public something 'readable,' but not true to Indian nature. Mr. Neihardt's delineation is accurate and admirable, for not only has he drawn his information from authentic Indian sources, but his sympathetic in-sight into the mysticism and spiritual nature of the race gives him a true understanding of Indian character.
"Cooper's Indian and Remington's Indian are admirable for having rendered those authors' work 'distinctive,' but their sameness becomes tiresome. As an Indian, I feel a little resentful that they should stand as representative types of all my people, when there is so much that is beau-tiful, noble, and dignified in the Indian of the past that could be given to the world instead."
| The Look in the Face | |