Part 30
While on my recent visit to the home of Edward A. Lewis a pleasant evening was passed listening to the family telling old Indian stories which were told to them by Black Bear (Sikey-kio), an old Indian woman who lived with them for many years. One of those stories is here given. It is a legend passed from father to son in the tribes of the Blackfeet from time immemorial. The early residents of Northern Montana will remember this old Indian woman. Though time had left its imprints in countless wrinkles, and had bent her once lithe figure with a burden of one hundred and sixteen winters, it could not dim the brightness of her black eyes nor dull the vigor of her remarkable intelligence.
When the century was young, while she was in camp with her people at the mouth of the Sun river, where now the city of Great Falls is located, she saw several members of the Lewis and Clarke expedition, who were the first white men she ever saw.
As time passed Black Bear (as she was called in memory of her father, a Piegan chief), left the Indians and lived more and more with the whites. She was at Malcolm Clarke’s house the time he was murdered and was the means of preventing the Indians from killing Mrs. Clarke, and, by doing so, she came near losing her own life.
Finally Black Bear became a nurse in the family of Mr. Lewis, at whose house she died some twenty years ago. Like the ‘old woman who lived in a shoe,’ she was very fond of children and to them she told many of her Indian stories. One of the children to whom she told these weird tales of Indian folklore was Isabell, the oldest daughter of the Lewis family, now Mrs. John Taber. At my request Mrs. Taber, with the aid of her mother interpreted and reduced to writing the Indian legend referred to for publication in this book. It is as follows:
“Listen,” said Black Bear to the little ones who crowded expectant around her knee. “Listen and I will tell you how the Great Spirit gave horses to the Indians.
“It was long, long ago and the Piegans were camped on a large flat. The two daughters of the chief one evening were looking at the stars. One star was so bright that it attracted the attention of the younger daughter. As she looked a strange feeling came over her and she murmured half to herself:
“‘Were that star a young man I would marry him.’
“And she looked long at the star, marveling at its brightness. The next day the chief gave orders to hitch the dogs to the travois and move camp. On the trail the daughter, who had charge of one of the travois, had fallen behind on account of a broken travois. The rest of her people had passed out of sight, and, as she was about to start again, she looked up and, behold, before her stood a young man, beautiful in form and features. As she knelt frightened before him he said:
“‘Do not be alarmed, maiden. I am he thou wished to marry. Close your eyes and I will take you to the happy hunting grounds far away.’
“She did as she was told, and when she opened her eyes she was in her husband’s lodge, far above the stars. It was a happy life she led in that distant land. Her husband’s father was the great chief of many lodges and every one was kind to her and her people looked after her every want and desire. Her life was one of idleness and happiness until one day came a longing she could not conquer. In the wide fields of this great land grew many delicious roots, but of one of these it was forbidden to eat.
“‘Of all other roots thou mayest dig and eat, but of this root thou must neither dig nor eat.’
“And as she thought of it the desire grew and one day, being alone in the fields, she took her sharpened stick and, finding the great root on the little mound, the temptation became greater and greater. Then, after many hesitations, she began to dig. (Just as the secret longing conquered Eve and Pandora.) And as she dug, the little mound yielded and rolled away, leaving a great hole. Kneeling down she looked, and lo! she could see her father and her sister and her people coming and going in their camp far below. And as she looked she became sad and her heart ached with homesickness and she wept.
“Thus they found her--her husband and his father. And they were sad at heart, for they knew that she must leave them. In the morning they made a long rope of buffalo hides and gently lowered her through the hole in the sky to her old home. All her people were happy and made great rejoicing at the return of the long lost daughter of their chief. Soon after she gave birth to a son, and when the boy was five years old a great plague broke out and his mother died and also many of her people. The child was left to the care of his uncle, who now had become chief of the tribe. But they were very poor, for there was no one now to make moccasins or to dress buffalo hides for them, and hunger stalked through the camp and the lodges were without food and there were no dogs for the travois.
“The father of the little boy and the Great Chief and his wife, far up in the sky, saw the suffering and it made their hearts sad, and they took thought to see what they could do. Finally the Great Chief and his wife came to the earth and, finding the boy alone, told him their mission and wept with him.
“‘Now, then, my son,’ said the Great Chief, seating himself on the grass, ‘bring me some mud.’
“And the boy did as he was told and the Great Chief fashioned it in his hands, and as he did so he made strong medicine and muttered strange words as the wet clay took form under his fingers. Then the Great Chief put the thing on the grass, and as the boy looked at it he saw it grow and grow until it was large and moved with life at a word from the Great Chief.
“Then he looked at his work and was pleased and called a great council of the trees of the forest and the birds of the air and of all the beasts that roamed the plains. They all came as he called, for he ruled over them. And as they gathered around he said to them:
“‘I have made a horse for my son; an animal for him to ride and one that will carry his burdens. Now give me of your wisdom to make this horse perfect.’
“And the pine tree said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good. But the horse has no tail. From my plenty I will give it.’
“And the pine tree did as it said and the Great Chief murmured, ‘It is good.’
“Then the fir tree said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good. But the horse has no mane. From my plenty I will give it.’
“And it was so and the Great Chief murmured, ‘It is good.’
“Then the turtle said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good, but the horse has no hoofs. Out of my plenty I will give it.’
“And it was so and the Great Chief murmured: ‘It is good.’
“Then the elk said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good, but the horse is too small; I am too large. Of my plenty I will give.’
“And it was so, and the Great Chief murmured: ‘It is good.’
“Then the cottonwood said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good, but the horse has no saddle. Out of my plenty I will give it.’
“And it was so, and the Great Chief murmured: ‘It is good.’
“Then the buffalo said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good, but the saddle is bare. Out of my plenty I give to cover it.’
“And it was so, and the Great Chief murmured: ‘It is good.’
“Then the snake said, raising its head from its coil: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good, but the saddle has no straps. Out of my plenty I will give.’
“And it was so, and the Great Chief murmured: ‘It is good.’
“Then the buffalo said again: ‘There is no hair rope with which to lead the horse. Out of my abundance will I give again.’
“And it was so, and the Great Chief murmured: ‘It is good.’
“Then the wolf said: ‘Oh, Great Chief, thy work is good, but there is no soft cover for the saddle. Out of my plenty I will give.’
“And it was so, and the Great Chief murmured: ‘It is so. The horse is now complete. Take it, my son,’ and the great council was ended.
“Then the grandmother turned to the boy and gave him a sack of pemmican, saying:
“‘My son, treasure this carefully. It is a magic sack of pemmican and will never be empty, though you eat from it all the time.’
“And with this they left him wondering. Then he mounted his mare and rode to his people who marveled at the strange animal. The mare soon had a colt, and then another, and in a short time there were horses enough to pack his uncle’s lodge-skins and lodge-poles from camp to camp. Then the others became envious and the young man told the chief, his uncle, to take his tribe on the morrow to the great lake and that there he would make strong medicine and perform a miracle. And the chief did as he was told.
“In the morning all the people dug holes near the edge of the lake and waited, hiding in them, and then the young man came riding down from the hills on his mare, with her many colts following behind. Calling his uncle he said to him:
“‘I am going to leave you. You will never see me again. Here is the magic sack of pemmican. Keep it and you will never go hungry. I have made strong medicine and before I go I will make every fish in the lake turn into a horse so that there will be plenty for all your people. Tell them to watch and when the horses come rushing from the lake to catch as many of them as they can. But do you wait and catch none until my old mare comes from the water; then do you catch her and her alone. Do then as I tell you and all will be well.’
“With these words the young man mounted on his mare, rode into the lake and was soon lost to view in the deep waters. Soon the surface of the lake began to bubble and foam and the Indians were frightened and would have run away had not the old chief ordered them back to their posts. And in a little while horses’ heads could be seen on the water as the animals came swimming towards the shore. There were hundreds and hundreds of them, and as they dashed up the bank the Indians sprang out and captured many of them and many escaped, and those which got away formed the wild bands which even to-day are found on the wide plains. But the chief caught none of them until the old mare came out of the water, and the last to come out of the lake. She he caught while the people laughed, for the old mare was aged and feeble, but he answered never a word to their jeering, for he had faith in his nephew. At night he picketed the mare near his lodge, and just as the moon was coming up over the distant hills the mare neighed three times and out of the thick brush thousands of colts came running up. Soon the lodge was surrounded and the chief had hundreds and hundreds of horses and his people no longer jeered at him, for he was rich and richer than them all.
“And that was how the Great Spirit gave horses to the Indians.”
This is the tale the chief’s daughter heard as she crouched at the feet of her grandfather listening, wondering, awed as the slow words came from his lips as he sat in the dim light of a smouldering lodge fire. As Black Bear said, “it was told to my father’s father and to his father’s father hundreds of winters ago.”
Many other legends existed among the Northern tribes of Indians. They believed in good and bad spirits and that there is some kind of a hereafter. The first missionaries who visited the Flatheads for the first time said that those Indians then believed that after death the good Indians went to a country of perpetual summer and there met their relatives; and that the buffalo, elk, deer and horses were there in great numbers and in its rivers fish were in great abundance. And, on the other hand, that the bad Indians were doomed to a place covered with perpetual snow and there they would be forever shivering with cold. They would see fire a long ways off, but could not get to it; also water was in sight, but, though dying for the want of it, they could not reach it. It may be that those ideas which exist in the minds of the red people of the forest are but human instincts, but to me they seem to be the intellectual ruins of a prehistoric race that was once versed in the architecture of the universe, and believed in the Creator of all things.
ROBERT VAUGHN. Oct. 14, 1899.
THE ROUND-UP.
It will not be long before the “round-up” will be numbered among the things that are of the “then,” and the reading of this letter will be of more interest twenty-five years hence than it is now. Many do not know what is meant by “round-up;” I will try and give a brief description of it. The one that tells a story best is the one that commences at the beginning, and for me to tell how the cattle herds that are on the Western plains are conducted I must begin right.
[Illustration:
(From painting by C. M. Russell.)
ROPING A STEER TO EXAMINE THE BRAND.]
In order to distinguish one animal from another of the cattle running at large on the public domain, the owner must have them branded. In Montana, for instance, there is a state law governing brands. A record of brands, with the names of the owners attached, is kept by the secretary of the Board of Stock Commissioners.
[Illustration: SAMPLES FROM THE BRAND BOOK.]
A brand of the same resemblance can be used by other parties, but it must be placed on a different part of the animal and so described in the recorder’s book. A brand book is published by the Live Stock Association and every member of the association is furnished with a book. By this method, whenever a stray animal is found, by referring to the brand book the owner can be informed of the whereabouts of his animal. The law of Montana further provides that whenever an animal is sold the person who sells must vent, or counter-brand, such animal upon the same side as the original brand, which vent, or counter-brand, must be a fac-simile of the original brand, except that it may be reduced one-half in size; the venting of the original brand is prima facie evidence of the sale or transfer of the animal. Those herds live summer and winter without care or shelter. But, as a matter of course, during the winter months, some will wander many miles from their home range. The range, in a general way of speaking, extends, in many localities, for one hundred miles or more without a fence or any kind of barrier that will prevent stock from drifting before storms in winter when the streams are frozen over. The home range is a sectional portion that lies between streams that are partly settled by farmers and stockmen. About the latter part of April the spring round-up commences and sweeps the whole country over. This is the time the cattle that strayed off during the winter are gathered together and taken back to their home range.
[Illustration:
(From painting by C. M. Russell.)
THE ROUND-UP. TURNING OUT IN THE MORNING]
Often, on this round-up, sixty to seventy-five horsemen are at work with six to ten horses to the man; the extra horses are herded and driven with the camping outfit which consists of several covered wagons. One would at first think that an army was crossing the country when these “rough riders” turn out in the morning. It is a wonder the many miles they cover in a day; on an average they will ride seventy to eighty miles in one day during the round-up. Many of the horses may have been but partly broken the previous winter. To see these excellent horsemen mounting their bronchos, and see the bucking and the capers of those untamed steeds, is a circus in itself. Those young men who are out in the open air exercising as they do are strong and healthy; every inch of them is full of vim and nerve which makes them fearless and daring. The cowboys are not now, generally speaking, of the rough element, but are a highly intelligent class of young men; many of them are from the best families in the country, and, during the school year, are students of some of our foremost colleges and universities. Colonel Roosevelt well knew where to go to get the “rough riders” when he called for cowboys and frontiersmen to fill his regiment.
[Illustration:
(From painting by C. M. Russell.)
FIRST ATTEMPT AT ROPING]
The spring round-up lasts from three to four weeks; after that the several home range round-ups take place and branding commences. The riders will gather several thousand cattle in one bunch at a given place on the open prairie where a camp is established. Here, where they all meet, the cattle are driven into one bunch and surrounded by the riders, and this is the round-up proper. The bellowing of the cows and calves is pitiful, for at first they are constantly in commotion and many of them become separated from each other; the noise they make is so awful one can hardly hear his own voice, but it is not long before each cow discovers her calf and then all is well. A fire is built near by and branding irons of all owners of cattle on the range are heated. Then the ropers will ride into the ring, lassoo the young cattle by the hind feet and pull them by the horn of the saddle to where the fire is, and each calf is branded the same brand as the mother. An account of all calves and of each brand, separately, is kept, so that, at the end of the branding season, the owner can tell the number of calves branded. After getting through in one place the camp is moved to another part of the range, and so on, until the work is finished. It is hard work, but fascinating, and many seek to go on the round-up. In the same way the beef cattle are gathered in the fall and shipped east. The round-up, like the buffalo, will soon be a thing of the past and the Western plains will be dotted with homes occupied by actual settlers.
ROBERT VAUGHN. July 7, 1898.
TRAVELING “THEN” AND TRAVELING “NOW.”
Some one said that to many persons, especially those in the East, the country west of Chicago is still a hazy geographical proposition, and that the Twin Cities, St. Paul and Minneapolis--those posts at the gateway of an empire--seem to be on the confines of civilization, and to those less informed, the words Minnesota, Washington, Oregon and Montana, which represent new and powerful states, may mean some new patent medicine or the names of noted race horses. In fact it does seem but yesterday that west of the Mississippi was but a dimly-known region when all traveling was done by stage and on horseback; even the first locomotive that entered the state of Minnesota is now in the possession of the Great Northern Railway Company. But “now” there are within the limits of the states of Minnesota, North Dakota, South Dakota, Montana, Idaho, Oregon and Washington over 17,000 miles of railway.
As I now write the name “Great Northern” I cannot but think of the powerful agency this transcontinental road has been to bring about the “then and now” in the Rocky mountain regions, and, for that matter, from the Great Lakes to Puget Sound, its eastern terminus being Duluth, on Lake Superior, and St. Paul and Minneapolis, on the Mississippi river, and extending westward to Everett, on the Pacific coast, a distance of 1,782 miles. It crosses the main range of the Rocky mountains without a tunnel at an elevation of 5,202 feet above sea level, with a grade on the easterly slope of 1 per cent and on the westerly slope of 8 per cent. A few miles west of the main divide and but three miles from the Great Northern track, lies the famous Lake McDonald, almost concealed by remarkably high and steep mountains and thick forests. It is difficult to one that loves nature’s beauty and the wild sublimity of the mountains as I do, to pass such a vast region as this without making a passing note of it. Lake McDonald is a picture of marvelous beauty, a superb stretch of water eighteen miles long. Professor John H. Edwards, in the New York Observer, describes this beautiful lake and the regions surrounding it, as follows. He says:
“In the very heart of the Rockies in the Northern part of Montana, surrounded by mountain peaks in bewildering varieties of form, lies beautiful Lake McDonald. Not quite so large as Yellowstone Lake, it surpasses that loftiest of American mountain lakes of approximate size in grandeur of scenery. Nineteen peaks shoot skyward along its emerald shores or within easy eyeshot. Snow and glacier ice rest upon some of their summits and shoulders throughout the year. The editor of Forest and Stream says of it: ‘There is every scenic beauty here of an Alpine lake, with a far greater choice of game and fish.’ If Dr. Van Dyke, of New York, would cast his taking fly in these near-by waters, and then cast his irresistible literary book amid the endless beauties of nature in this favored region, his double catch would furnish forth a two-fold feast of choicest quality.
“It would be a hopeless task for any less gifted pen to attempt a description of the noble scenery hid away in this mountain wilderness. The profound blue of the stainless sky, the manifold green of the dense forests that environ the lake and march up the steep flank of the mountain to the vertical height of half a mile above its perfect mirror, that reflects every fine needle and also photographs on its steely plate another half mile of rock and snow towering above the forest line, and then are the rich sunset hues thrown upon peak and glacier--all these seen twice in reality and by reflection. The rare coloring lavished on heights and depths is worth a long journey to see.