Part 6

Big Elk was not an old man, not yet sixty, but he was a story teller to whom everybody listened, for he had been an adventurous youth, impulsive and reckless, yet generous and kindly. He was a handsome old fellow natively, but he wore his cheap trousers so slouchily and his hat was so broken that at a distance in the daytime he resembled a tramp. That night as he sat bareheaded in his tepee with his blanket drawn around his loins, he was admirable. His head was large, and not unlike the pictures of Ben Franklin.

“You see, in those days,” he explained, “in the war time with the game robbers, every boy was brought up to hate the white man who came into our land to kill off our buffalo. We heard that these men killed for money like the soldiers who came to fight us, and that made our fathers despise them. I have heard that the white boys were taught to hate us in the same way, and so when we met we fought. The white man considered us a new kind of big game to hunt and we considered him a wolf paid to rob and kill us. Those were dark days.

“I was about twenty-two, it may be, when the old man agent first came to the east bank of the Canadian, and there sat down. My father went to see him, I remember, and came back laughing. He said, ‘He is a thin old man and can take his teeth out in pieces and put them back,’ and this amused us all very much. To this day, as you know, that is the sign for an agent among us—to take out the upper teeth.

“We did not care for the agent at that time for we had plenty of buffalo meat and skins. Some of the camp went over and drew rations, it is true, but others did not go. I pretended to be very indifferent, but I was crazy to go, for I had never seen a white man’s house and had never stood close to any white man. I heard the others tell of a great many wonderful things over there—and they said there were white women and children also.

“I was ambitious to do a great deed in those days and had made myself the leader of some fourteen reckless young warriors like myself. I sat around and smoked in tepee, and one night I said, ‘Brothers, let us go to the agency and steal the horses.’

“This made each one of them spring to his feet. ‘Good! Good!’ they said. ‘Lead us. We will follow. That is worth doing.’

“‘The white men are few and cowardly,’ I said. ‘We can dash in and run off the horses, and then I think the old men will no longer call us boys. They will sing of us in their songs. We shall be counted in the council thereafter.’

“They were all eager to go and that night we slipped out of camp and saddled and rode away across the prairie, which was fetlock deep in grass. Just the time for a raid. I felt like a big chief as I led my band in silence through the night. My bosom swelled with pride like a turkey cock and my heart was fierce.

“We came in sight of the white man’s village next day about noon, and veering a little to the north, I led my band into camp some miles above the agency. Here I made a talk to my band and said: ‘Now you remain here and I will go alone and spy out the enemy and count his warriors and make plans for the battle. You can rest and grow strong while I am gone.’”

Big Elk’s eyes twinkled as he resumed. “I thought I was a brave lad to do this thing and I rode away trying to look unconcerned. I was very curious to see the agency. I was like a coyote who comes into the camp to spy out the meat racks.” This remark caused a ripple of laughter, which Big Elk ignored. “As I forded the river I glanced right and left, counting the wooden tepees” (he made a sign of the roof), “and I found them not so many as I had heard. As I rode up the bank I passed near a white woman and I looked at her with sharp eyes. I had heard that all white women looked white and sicklike. This I found was true. This woman had yellow hair and was thin and pale. She was not afraid of me—she did not seem to notice me and that surprised me.

“Then I passed by a big wooden tepee which was very dirty and smoky. I could see a man, all over black, who was pounding at something. He made a sound, _clank, clank, clunk-clank_. I stood at the door and looked in. It was all very wonderful. There were horses in there and this black man was putting iron moccasins on the horses’ feet.

“An Arapahoe stood there and I said in signs, ‘What do they do that for?’

“He replied, ‘So that the horses can go over rocks without wearing off their hoofs.’

“That seemed to me a fine thing to do and I wanted my pony fixed that way. I asked where the agent was, and he pointed toward a tall pole on which fluttered a piece of red and white and blue cloth. I rode that way. There were some Cheyennes at the door, who asked me who I was and where I came from. I told them any old kind of story and said, ‘Where is the agent?’

“They showed me a door and I went in. I had never been in a white man’s tepee before and I noticed that the walls were strong and the door had iron on it. ‘Ho!’ I said, ‘This looks like a trap. Easy to go in, hard to get out. I guess I will be very peaceful while I am in here.’

“The agent was a little old man—I could have broken his back with a club as he sat with his back toward me. He paid no attention till a half-breed came up to me and said, ‘What do you want?’

“‘I want to see the agent.’

“‘There he is; look at him,’ and he laughed.

“The agent turned around and held out his hand. ‘How, how!’ he said. ‘What is your name?’

“His face was very kind, and I went to him and took his hand. His tongue I could not understand, but the half-breed helped me. We talked. I made up a story. ‘I have heard you give away things to the Cheyennes,’ I said; ‘therefore I have come for my share.’

“‘We give to good red people,’ he said. Then he talked sweetly to me. ‘My people are Quakers,’ he said. ‘We have visions like the red people—but we never go to war. Therefore has the Great Soldier, the Great Father at Washington, put me here. He does not want his children to fight. You are all brothers with different ways of life. I am here to help your people,’ he said, ‘and you must not go to war any more.’

“All that he said to me was good—it took all the fire and bitterness out of my heart and I shook hands and went away with my head bowed in thought. He was as kind as my own father.

“I had never seen such white people before; they were all kind. They fed me; they talked friendly with me. Not one was making a weapon. All were preparing to till the soil. They were kind to the beasts, and all the old Cheyennes I met said, ‘We must do as this good old man says.’

“I rode home very slowly. I strutted no more. The stuffing was gone out of my chest. I dreaded to come back into my camp where my warriors were waiting for me. I spread my blanket and sat down without speaking, and though they were all curious to hear, they waited, for I smoked a pipe in sign of thought. At last I struck the ashes from my pipe and rose and said: ‘Listen, brothers I shall not go to war against the agency.’

“They were all astonishment at this and some were instantly angry. ‘Why not? What has changed your plan so suddenly?’

“‘I have seen the agent; he is a good old man. Every one was pleasant to me. I have never seen this kind of white man. No one was thinking of war. They are all waiting to help the Cheyennes. Therefore my heart is changed—I will not go out against them.’

“My band was in a turmoil. One by one they cried out: ‘You are a girl, a coyote with the heart of a sparrow.’ Crow Kill made a long speech: ‘This is strange business. You talk us into making you chief; you lead us a long hard ride and now we are without meat, while you, having your belly full of sweet food and a few presents in your hand, want to quit and run home crying like a papoose.’”

The old story teller was pitilessly dramatic in reciting the flood of ridicule and abuse poured out upon his head.

“Well, at last I said: ‘Be silent! Perhaps you are right. Perhaps they deceived me. I will go again to-morrow and I will search closely into hidden things. Be patient until I have studied the ground once more.’

“As I thought of it all that night I came to feel again a great rage—I began to say: ‘You are a fool. You have been blinded.’ I slept uneasily that night, but I was awake early and rode away to the agency. I remained all day among them. I talked with all the Cheyennes and in signs I conversed with the Arapahoe—all said the same thing—‘The agent does not lie. He is a good man.’ Nevertheless, I looked the ground all over and at night I rode slowly back to the camp.

“Again I said, ‘I will not go to war against these people,’ and again my warriors cried out against me. They were angrier than before. They called me a coward. ‘We will go on without you. You are fitted only to carry a papoose and stir the meat in a pot,’ they said.

“This filled me with wrath and I rose and said: ‘You call me a woman! Who of you can show more skill in the trail? Who of you can draw a stronger bow or bring down bigger buffalo bulls? It is time for you to be silent. You know me—you know what I have done. Now listen: I am chief. To-morrow when the east gets light we will cross the river and attack the agency! I have spoken!’

“This pleased them very much and they listened and looked eagerly while I drew on the sand lines to show where the horse corral was and where the storehouse was. I detailed five men to go to the big fence and break the chain on the gate, while I led the rest of the band to break into the storehouse. Then I said: ‘Do not kill any one unless they come out against you with arms in their hands. Some of them gave me food; I shall be sorry if they are hurt.’

“That night I could not sleep at all, for my heart was swollen big in my bosom. I knew I was doing wrong, but I could not stand the reproach of my followers.

“When morning came, the river was very high, and we looked at it in astonishment, for no clouds were to be seen. The banks were steep and the current swift, and there was no use attempting to carry out our plan that day.

[Illustration: On an Indian Reservation

_At Fort Reno in 1890, in the then Oklahoma Territory, there was an agency for the Cheyennes and Arapahoes. In those days one might see the Indians in their fantastic mixture of colors and beads and red flannel and feathers—so theatrical in appearance that the visitor expected to see even the army officers look back over their shoulders when one of these braves rode by._

_Illustration from_ THE WEST FROM A CAR WINDOW _by_ Richard Harding Davis

_Originally published in_ HARPER’S WEEKLY, _May 14, 1892_]

[Illustration: In a Stiff Current

_Illustration from_ TALKING MUSQUASH _by_ Julian Ralph

_Originally published in_ HARPER’S MAGAZINE, _March, 1892_]

“‘We must wait,’ I said, and with black looks and aching bellies we waited all that day. ‘The river will go down to-morrow,’ I said, to comfort them.

“We had only a little dried beef to eat and the river water to drink, and my warriors were very hungry.

“That second morning I was awake before dawn, watching to see what the river had done during the night. Behold, it was an arrow’s length higher than before! Then I said: ‘Friends, I am no liar. I started on this plan with a heart to carry it out, but now I am deeply troubled. I did not sleep last night, for a pain in my breast kept me awake. I will not deceive you. I am glad the water is deeper this morning. I believe it is a sign from the Great Spirit that we are to turn back and leave these white people in peace.’

“But to this Crow Kill and most of the others would not listen. ‘If we go back now,’ said he, ‘everybody will laugh at us.’

“Quickly I turned upon him and cried out: ‘Are you the boaster who has prattled of our plans? The camp will know nothing of our designs if you have not let your long tongue rattle on the outside of your mouth.’ At this he fell silent and I went on. ‘Now I will wait one more day. If the river is high to-morrow—the third day—then it will surely be a sign, and we must all bow to the will of the Great One who is above us.’

“To this they all agreed, for the sky was still clear and blue and the river was never known to rise on three successive days. They put their weapons in order, and I recounted my words of instruction as to the battle.

“I went aside a little from the camp that night, and took my watch on a little mound. The moon rose big in the east and made a shining trail over the water. When a boy I used to think, may be that trail led to the land of the spirits—and my heart was full of peaceful thoughts that night. I had no hate of anybody.” The old man’s voice was now deep and grave and no one laughed. “I prayed to the Great Spirit to send the water so that I could go back without shame. All night I heard the water whisper, whisper in the grass. It grew broader and broader and the moon passed over my head. I slept a little, and then I woke, for something cold had touched my heel. I looked down and in the grass at my feet lay the shining edge of the river.

“I leaped up and ran and touched the others. ‘See,’ I called out, ‘the water has come to speak to you!’ and I scooped water from the river’s edge and flung it over them. ‘The Great Spirit has spoken. All night I heard it whisper in the grass. It said: “_Peace, peace! You must go to war no more._” Come. We will ride away with clean hands and glad hearts.’”

As he finished his story Big Elk put away his pipe abstractedly, as though his mind yet dwelt on the past. His hearers were silent and very serious. He had touched the deepest chord in the red man’s soul—the chord which vibrates when the Great Spirit speaks to him in dreams.

LONE WOLF’S OLD GUARD

LONE WOLF’S OLD GUARD

Now it happened that Lone Wolf’s camp was on the line between the land of the Cheyennes and the home of his own people, the Kiowas, but he did not know this. He had lived there long, and the white man’s maps were as unimportant to him as they had been to the Cheyennes. When he moved there he considered it to be his—a gift direct from the Creator—with no prior rights to be overstepped.

But the Consolidated Cattle Company, having secured the right to enclose a vast pasture, cared nothing for any red man’s claim, provided they stood in with the government. A surveying party was sent out to run lines for fences.

Lone Wolf heard of these invaders while they were at work north of him, and learned in some mysterious way that they were to come down the Elk and cut through his camp. To his friend John, the interpreter, he sent these words:

“The white man must not try to build a fence across my land. I will fight if he does. Washington is not behind this thing. He would not build a fence through my lines without talking with me. I have sent to the agent of the Kiowas, he knows nothing about it—it is all a plan of the cattlemen to steal my lands. Tell them that we have smoked over this news—we have decided. This fence will not be built.”

When “Johnny Smoker” brought this stern message to the camp of the surveyors some of them promptly threw up their hands. Jim Bellows, scout and interpreter, was among these, and his opinion had weight, for he wore his hair long and posed as an Indian fighter of large experience.

“Boys,” he began, impressively, “we got to get out o’ here as soon as darkness covers us. We’re sixty miles from the fort, and only fifteen all told, and not half-armed. Old Lone Wolf holds over us, and we might as well quit and get help.”

This verdict carried the camp, and the party precipitately returned to Darlington to confer with the managers of the company.

Pierce, the chief man, had reasons for not calling on the military authorities. His lease was as yet merely a semi-private arrangement between the Secretary of the Interior and himself, and he feared the consequences of a fight with Lone Wolf—publicity, friction, might cause the withdrawal of his lease; therefore he called in John Seger, and said:

“Jack, can you put that line through?”

“I could, but I don’t want to. Lone Wolf is a good friend of mine, and I don’t want to be mixed up in a mean job.”

“Oh, come now—you mustn’t show the white flag. I need you. I want you to pick out five or six men of grit and go along and see that this line is run. I can’t be fooling around here all summer. Here’s my lease, signed by the Secretary, as you see. It’s all straight, and this old fool of an Indian must move.”

Jack reluctantly consented, and set to work to hire a half dozen men of whose courage he had personal knowledge. Among these was a man by the name of Tom Speed, a border man of great hardihood and experience. To him he said:

“Tom, I don’t like to go into this thing; but I’m hard up, and Pierce has given me the contract to build the fence if we run the line, and it looks like we got to do it. Now I wish you’d saddle up and help me stave off trouble. How does it strike you?”

“It’s nasty business, Jack; but I reckon we might better do it than let some tenderfoot go in and start a killin’. I’m busted flat, and if the pay is good, I jest about feel obliged to take it.”

So it happened that two avowed friends of the red man led this second expedition against Lone Wolf’s camp. Pierce sent his brother as boss, and with him went the son of one of the principal owners, a Boston man, by the name of Ross. Speed always called him “the Dude,” though he dressed quite simply, as dress goes in Roxbury. He wore a light suit of gray wool, “low-quartered shoes,” and a “grape box hat.” He was armed with a pistol, which wouldn’t kill a turtledove at fifteen feet. Henry Pierce, on the contrary, was a reckless and determined man.

Moving swiftly across the Divide, they took up the line on Elk Creek, and started directly toward Lone Wolf’s camp. As they were nearing the bend in the river where Lone Wolf was camped, a couple of young warriors came riding leisurely up from the south. They were very cordial in their greeting, and after shaking hands all around pleasantly inquired:

“What are you doing here?”

“Running a line to mark out the land which the cattlemen have leased of the Cheyennes.”

“We will go along and see where you are going,” they replied.

A couple of hours later, while they were still with the camp, two others came riding quietly in from the east. They said, “We are looking for horses,” and after shaking hands and asking Seger what the white men were doing, rode forward to join their companions, who seemed deeply interested in the surveyors and their instruments. Turning to Pierce, Jack said,

“You noticed that these four men were armed, I reckon?”

“Oh, yes, but they are all right. Didn’t you see how they shook hands all round? They’re just out hunting up ponies.”

“Yes, I saw that; but I noticed they had plenty of ammunition and that their guns were bright. Indians don’t hunt horses in squads, Mr. Pierce.”

Pierce smiled, giving Seger a sidewise glance. “Are you getting nervous? If you are, you can drop to the rear.”

Now Seger had lived for the larger part of his life among the red people, and knew their ways. He answered, quietly:

“There are only four of them now; you’ll see more of them soon,” and he pointed away to the north, where the heads of three mounted men were rising into sight over a ridge. These also proved to be young Kiowas, thoroughly armed, who asked the same question of the manager, and in conclusion pleasantly said,

“We’ll just go along and see how you do it.”

As they rode forward Seger uttered a more pointed warning.

“Mr. Pierce, I reckon you’d better make some better disposition of your men. They are all strung out here, with their guns on their backs, in no kind of shape to make a defense.”

Pierce was a little impressed by the scout’s earnestness, and took trouble to point out the discrepancy between “a bunch of seven cowardly Indians” and his own band of twenty brave and experienced men.

“That’s all right,” replied Seger; “but these seven men are only spies, sent out to see what we are going to do. We’ll have to buckle up with Lone Wolf’s whole band very soon.”

A few minutes later the seven young men rode quietly by and took a stand on a ridge a little in front of the surveyors. As he approached them, Seger perceived a very great change in their demeanor. They no longer smiled; they seemed grim, resolute, and much older. From a careless, laughing group of young men they had become soldiers—determined, disciplined, and dignified. Their leader, riding forth, held up his hand, and said,

“Stop; you must wait here till Lone Wolf comes.”