The Silent Readers Part 13

(_c_) Transporting.

(_d_) Ending the hunt.

4. Killing buffaloes by a decoy.

5. Celebrating a successful hunt.

(_a_) The place for the ceremony.

(_b_) The hearty meal.

(_c_) The dance.

6. The return to the winter camp.

INDIAN LIFE AND CUSTOMS

This selection tells of life among the Indians of our western plains before the buffalo became almost extinct.

As you read, write topics that will enable you to recall the various things the author tells about. Your teacher will have two or three of you put your list of topics on the blackboard and will ask various members of the cla.s.s to come to the front of the room and tell the cla.s.s about one topic each. While a pupil is reciting no one should raise his hand nor interrupt. Be a good sport and give the one who is reciting a chance to make his topic as interesting as he can.

This selection can be divided into several large topics with details under each. These details may be stated as sub-topics under the large ones. Your teacher may wish you to look it over again to see if you can find the four main topics.

Nothing is more important in learning to remember what you read than the habit of organizing your material in the form of an outline. A good outline generally takes some such form as this:

Introduction

1. First main topic

(_a_) (_b_) (_c_)

Sometimes there may be two, and sometimes several sub-topics. Never use any letter if there is only one topic. When there is only one topic under any heading, you should simply write the topic out.

2. Second main topic

(_a_) (_b_) (_c_), etc.

Use as many main topics as you need to tell the story or to include the substance of what you are outlining.

One can have no appreciative idea of an Indian village, unless he has been permitted to come across the prairie through a hot summer's sun, and suddenly discovers one nestled under the broad shade trees, beside a clear running stream, in a green valley. How pleasant the gra.s.s then looks; how refreshing the bright waters, and how cozy the tall lodges, with their shaded verandas of thickly interwoven boughs!

All day long we had toiled over the scorching plain, through clouds of gra.s.shoppers that often struck us in the face with sufficient force to make the skin smart for several minutes. Once we had seen a mirage of a beautiful lake, fringed with trees and surrounded by green pastures which invited us to pursue its fleeting shadows, but we knew all about these deceptions by sad experience, and pushed steadily on over the burning sands.

These mirages often deceive the weary traveler of the desert. Suddenly the horseman sees a river or lake, apparently just ahead of him, and he rides on and on, hoping to come up to it. For hours it lies before his eyes, and then in a moment disappears, leaving him miles and miles out of his way in the midst of desert sands. Men have ridden all day striving to reach the beautiful river just before them, and then at night have turned back to plod their weary way to where they had started from in the morning.

The mirage we had seen was most delightful, representing a clear lake, with trees, meadows, and villages nestling on its sh.o.r.es, but it scarcely equalled the reality of the scene when, late in the afternoon, we ascended a rise in the prairie, and saw below us a wide stream lined with green trees, and on its banks a large Indian encampment.

The ponies p.r.i.c.ked up their ears and neighed with pleasure as they smelt the water, and our own delight was unbounded. We halted for a moment to admire the beautiful prospect. Through the majestic trees slanting rays of the sun shivered on the gra.s.s! Far away, winding like a huge silver-serpent, ran the river, while near by in a shady grove stood the village with the children at play on the green lawns not made by hands. The white sides of the teepees shone in the setting sunlight, and the smoke curled lazily upward from their dingy tops.

Bright ribbons and red gra.s.s, looking like streamers on a ship, fluttered from the lodge-poles, and gaudily dressed squaws and warriors walked about, or sat on the green sod under the trees.

Near the village were hundreds of horses and ponies, with bright feathers flaunting in their manes and tails as they cropped the rich gra.s.s of the valley.

A group of noisy children were playing at a game much resembling ten-pins; some boys were shooting at a mark with arrows, and up the stream several youths were returning home with rod and line, and fine strings of speckled trout.

Scores of men and women were swimming about in the river, now diving, and then dousing each other amid screams of laughter from the bystanders on the sh.o.r.e. Here and there a young girl darted about like a fish, her black hair streaming behind her in the water.

While we looked, the little children suddenly ceased from play and ran into the lodges; mounted men surrounded the herd of horses, and the swimmers and promenaders hastened toward the village. We had been perceived by the villagers, and the unexpected arrival of strange hors.e.m.e.n at an Indian encampment always creates great excitement. They may be friends, but they are more often enemies, so the villagers are always prepared for a surprise.

Soon men were seen running to and fro with guns and bows, and in a few minutes, some mounted warriors left the encampment and rode toward us, going first to the top of the highest mounds to see if they could discover other hors.e.m.e.n in the rear or to the right or left of us.

No sooner did they ascertain there were but three in the party, than they rode boldly up and asked us our business. I told them who we were, and where we were from, upon which they cordially invited us to the village.

As we approached, men, women, and children poured out of the encampment to look at the strangers, and having satisfied their curiosity, the sports and amus.e.m.e.nts of the evening were renewed.

I asked permission to camp of no one, for I needed none. So I marched right down to the center of the village, and finding a vacant s.p.a.ce, pitched my lodge.

A few Santee women gathered about my squaws and chatted with them, anxious to learn the news from down the river. Seeing they were interfering with the unpacking of the ponies and the erecting of the lodge, I unceremoniously ordered them to be gone, and they went quietly away. The lodge was soon up and the ponies unpacked and put out to graze. Having seen things put in order for the night, I sauntered out through the village to learn the news.

I was agreeably surprised when I learned there was a white man in the village, who had been sent out to the Indians as a missionary. All the savages spoke of him as a kind-hearted, good man, who was a great friend of the Great Spirit, and of the Big Father at Washington.

I made haste to pay my respects to my white brother and found him indeed a good Christian gentleman. He had a white wife and child, and he and they were living comfortably and pleasantly with these wild children of the desert. I talked more than an hour with the good man; it was so delightful to see and speak with one of my own blood and color. When I left him, I promised I would return the next day and dine with him. It may sound strange to hear one talk of "dining out"

in an Indian camp, but the meal was none the less wholesome or abundant on account of the place in which it was served.

I found the Santees a most excellent people. The warriors were men of great pride and bravery. The chiefs of the Santees were men of few words, but they were dignified, courteous, and truthful in all they said and did. After all my experiences and disappointments among the Indians of the plains, I could not help admiring and respecting these people, for here at last I had found a tribe such as Cooper had represented, and Longfellow had characterized in "Hiawatha".

The Santee lodges were tall conical-shaped tents, made of buffalo hide tanned with the hair off, and stretched around twelve poles. These poles are tied together at the top, and set around a circle of one hundred and eight feet. The lodge, when finished, is thirty-six feet in diameter at the ground. The skin or covering is cut bias, the small end being fastened to the top of the poles and the long end wrapped round and round the poles, and finally fastened to the ground with a wooden pin or stone. The poles are not set in the ground, but the edge of the lodge-cover is pinned down with short pegs made of hard wood.

An aperture is left at the top of the lodge for the smoke to escape, and the fire is built in the center. When the door is open it draws well, and all the smoke goes up and out at the aperture.

These lodges, although standing on the surface of the ground and apparently very fragile, will withstand the most violent wind and rain storms. I have seen them outlive the strongest modern tents, and stand up even when great trees were blown down.

During my residence in the Santee village I saw many curious things, and learned much of the mode of life and ceremonies of the Indians.

Most people have seen the bows and arrows used by boys in the eastern States, and those who have observed them know how feeble they are, not even being capable of killing the smallest animal. Do not be surprised, then, when I tell you that an Indian with his bow, will send an arrow entirely through a horse, a man, or a buffalo. The s.h.a.ggy-coated bear or Rocky Mountain lion will fall beneath a few shots from the savage's strong bow, while the fleet wild deer is not swift enough to escape the flight of his arrow. With unerring aim the hunter sends his deadly shaft, at eighty yards, into the heart or eye of his game, and with ease tips birds from the tops of the highest trees. Of course, it requires long practice to acquire such skill in the use of the bow, but the Indian will tell you that more depends upon the manufacture of the weapon than the skill of the marksman. With a good Indian bow and arrow a white man can, in a few hours, learn to shoot fairly well, while with a bow and arrow of his own manufacture he can hardly hit a tree the size of a man's body a rod off.

Let me teach you how to make a good bow and arrow. And first we will begin with the arrow. The shoots, or rods, must be cut in the arrow season; that is, when the summer's growth is ended. They must not have any branches or limbs on them, but must be straight and smooth. The Indians cut their arrows late in the fall, when the timber is hardening to withstand the blasts of winter. The sticks are not quite as thick as one's little finger, and they are sorted and tied in bundles of twenty and twenty-five. These bundles are two and two and one-half feet in length, and are wrapped tightly from end to end with strips of rawhide or elk skin. The sticks are then hung up over fire in the teepee to be smoked and dried, and the wrapping keeps them from warping or bending. When they are seasoned, which takes several weeks, the bundles are taken down, the covering removed, and the bark sc.r.a.ped off. The wood is very tough then, and of a yellowish color. The next process is to cut the arrow shafts exactly one length, and in this great care must be used; for arrows of different lengths fly differently, and, unless they are alike, the hunter's aim is destroyed. Another reason for measuring the length of arrows is to identify them; for no two warriors shoot arrows of precisely the same length. Each warrior carries a measuring, or pattern stick, and it is necessary only to compare an arrow with the stick to find out to whom it belongs. But should the arrows by chance be of one length, there are other means of identifying them; for every hunter has his own private mark in the shaft, the head, or the feather. Of many thousands I have examined, I have never found two arrows exactly alike when they were made by different warriors.

When the shafts have been made even, the next work is to form the notch for the bow-string. This is done with a sharp knife, and, when made properly, the bottom of the notch will be precisely in the center of the shaft. The arrow is then sc.r.a.ped and tapered toward the notch, leaving a round head an inch long near the notch to prevent the string from splitting the shaft, and to make a firm hold for the thumb and forefinger in drawing the bow.

All the arrows are peeled, sc.r.a.ped, and notched, and then the warrior creases them. To do this, he takes an arrow-head and scores the shaft in zigzag lines from end to end. These creases, or fluted gutters, in the shaft are to let the blood run out when an animal is struck. The blood flows along the little gutters in the wood and runs off the end of the arrow. The arrow-head is made of steel or stone. It is shaped like a heart or dart and has a stem about an inch long. The sides of the stem are nicked or filed out like saw-teeth. Nearly all the wild Indians now use steel arrow-heads, which are a great article of trade among the savages. Certain firms in the East manufacture many hundreds of thousands every year and send them to the traders who sell them to the Indians for furs.

When the shaft is ready for the head, the warrior saws a slit with a nicked knife in the end opposite the notch, and inserts the stem of the arrow-head. The slit must be exactly in the center of the shaft, and as deep as the stem is long. When properly adjusted, the teeth of the stem show themselves on each side of the slit. Buffalo, deer, or elk sinew is then softened in water, and the wood is wrapped firmly to the arrowhead, taking care to fit the sinew in the teeth of the stem to prevent the head from pulling out.

The next process is to put on the feathers. To do this properly great care must be taken. Turkey or eagle quills are soaked in warm water to make them split easily and uniformly. The feather is then stripped from the quill and put on the shaft of the arrow. Three feathers are placed on each shaft, and they are laid equi-distant along the stem. The big end of the feather is fastened near the notch of the shaft and laid six or eight inches straight along the wood. The feathers are glued to the shaft and wrapped at each end with fine sinew. The arrow is next painted, marked, dried, and is ready for use. It takes a warrior a whole day to make an arrow, for which the trader allows him ten cents.

Arrow-heads are put up in packages of a dozen each. They cost the trader half a cent, or six cents per package, and are sold to the Indians at enormous profits. Thus, twelve arrow-heads will be exchanged for a buffalo robe, worth $8 or $9, and three, for a beaver skin, worth $4. Indians often buy arrow-heads at these enormous prices, and then sell the arrow back to the trader at ten cents, in exchange for goods, beads, or knives.

Travelers on the prairie have often seen the Indians throwing up signal lights at night, and have wondered how it was done. I will tell you all about it. They take off the head of the arrow and dip the shaft in gunpowder, mixed with glue. This they call making fire-arrows. The gunpowder adheres to the wood, and coats it three or four inches from its end, to the depth of one-fourth of an inch.

Chewed bark mixed with dry gunpowder is then fastened to the stick, and the arrow is ready for use. When it is to be fired, a warrior places it on his bow-string and draws his bow ready to let it fly; the point of the arrow is then lowered; another warrior lights the dry bark, and it is shot high in the air. When it has gone up a little distance, it bursts out into flame, and burns brightly until it falls to the ground. Various meanings are attached to these fire-arrow signals. Thus, one arrow meant, among the Santees, "The enemy are about"; two arrows from the same point, "Danger"; three, "Great danger"; many, "They are too strong, or we are falling back"; two arrows sent up at the same moment, "We will attack"; three, "Soon"; four, "Now"; if shot diagonally, "In that direction." These signals are constantly changed, and are always agreed upon when the party goes out or before it separates. The Indians send their signals very intelligently, and seldom make mistakes in telegraphing each other by these silent monitors. The amount of information they can communicate, by fires and burning arrows, is perfectly wonderful.