There was once a man who had but one wife. He was not a chief, but a very
brave warrior. He was rich, too, so he could have had plenty of wives if he
wished; but he loved his wife very much, and did not want any more. He was very
good to this woman. She always wore the best clothes that could be found. If any
other woman had a fine buckskin dress, or something very pretty, the man would
buy it for her.
It was summer. The berries were ripe, and the woman
kept saying to her husband, "Let us go and pick some berries for
winter." "No," replied the man. "It is dangerous now. The
enemy is travelling all around." But still the woman kept teasing him to
go. So one day he told her to get ready. Some other women went, too. They all
went on horseback, for the berries were a long way from camp. When they got to
the place, the man told the women to keep near their horses all the time. He
would go up on a butte near by and watch. "Be careful," he said.
"Keep by your horses, and if you see me signal, throw away your berries,
get on your horses and ride towards camp as fast as you can."
They had not picked many berries before the man saw a
war party coming. He signaled the women, and got on his horse and rode towards
them. It happened that this man and his wife both had good horses, but the
others, all old women, rode slow old travois horses, and the enemy soon overtook
and killed them. Many kept on after the two on good horses, and after a while
the woman's horse began to get tired; so she asked her husband to let her ride
on his horse with him. The woman got up behind him, and they went on again. The
horse was a very powerful one, and for a while went very fast; but two persons
make a heavy load, and soon the enemy began to gain on them. The man was now in
a bad plight; the enemy were overtaking him, and the woman holding him bound his
arms so that he could not use his bow.
"Get off," he said to her. "The enemy
will not kill you. You are too young and pretty. Some one of them will take you,
and I will get a big party of our people and rescue you."
"No, no," cried the woman; "let us die
here together."
"Why die?" cried the man. "We are yet
young, and may live a long time together. If you don't get off, they will soon
catch us and kill me, and then they will take you anyhow. Get off, and in only a
short time I will get you back."
"No, no," again cried the woman; "I will
die here with you."
"Crazy person!" cried the man, and with a
quick jerk he threw the woman off.
As he said, the enemy did not kill her. The first one
who came up counted _coup_ and took her. The man, now that his horse was
lightened, easily ran away from the war party, and got safe to camp.
Then there was great mourning. The relatives of the old
women who had been killed, cut their hair and cried. The man, too, cut off his
hair and mourned. He knew that his wife was not killed, but he felt very badly
because he was separated from her. He painted himself black, and walked all
through the camp, crying. His wife had many relations, and some of them went to
the man and said: "We pity you very much. We mourn, too, for our sister.
But come. Take courage. We will go with you, and try to get her back."
"It is good," replied the man. "I feel
as if I should die, stopping uselessly here. Let us start soon."
That evening they got ready, and at daylight started
out on foot. There were seven of them in all. The husband, five middle-aged men,
the woman's relations, and a young man, her own young brother. He was a very
pretty boy. His hair was longer than any other person's in camp.
They soon found the trail of the war party, and
followed it for some days. At last they came to the Big River,1 and there, on
the other side, they saw many lodges. They crept down a coulee into the valley,
and hid in a small piece of timber just opposite the camp. Toward evening the
man said: "Kyi, my brothers. Tonight I will swim across and look all
through the camp for my wife. If I do not find her, I will cache and look again
tomorrow evening. But if I do not return before daylight of the second night,
then you will know I am killed. Then you will do as you think best. Maybe you
will want to take revenge. Maybe you will go right back home. That will be as
your hearts feel."
As soon as it was dark, he swam across the river and
went all about through the camp, peeping in through the doorways of the lodges,
but he did not see his wife. Still, he knew she must be there. He had followed
the trail of the party to this place. They had not killed her on the way. He
kept looking in at the lodges until it was late, and the people let the fires go
out and went to bed. Then the man went down to where the women got their water
from the river. Everywhere along the stream was a cut bank, but in one place a
path of steps had been made down to the water's edge. Near this path, he dug a
hole in the bank and crawled into it, closing up the entrance, except one small
hole, through which he could look, and watch the people who came to the river.
As soon as it was daylight, the women began to come for
water. Tum, tum, tum, tum, he could hear their footsteps as they came down the
path, and he looked eagerly at every one. All day long the people came and went,
the young and old; and the children played about near him. He saw many strange
people that day. It was now almost sunset, and he began to think that he would
not see his wife there. Tum, tum, tum, tum, another woman came down the steps,
and stopped at the water's edge. Her dress was strange, but he thought he knew
the form. She turned her head and looked down the river, and he saw her face. It
was his wife. He pushed away the dirt, crawled out, went to her and kissed her.
"Kyi," he said, "hurry, and let us swim across the river. Five of
your relations and your own young brother are waiting for us in that piece of
timber."
"Wait," replied his wife. "These people
have given me a great many pretty things. Let me go back. When it is night I
will gather them up, steal a horse, and cross over to you."
"No, no," cried the man. "Let the pretty
things go; come, let us cross at once."
"Pity me," said the woman. "Let me go
and get my things. I will surely come tonight. I speak the truth."
"How do you speak the truth?"2 asked her
husband.
"That my relations there across the river may be
safe and live long, I speak the truth."
"Go then," said the man, "and get your
things. I will cross the river now." He went up on the bank and walked down
the river, keeping his face hidden. No one noticed him, or if they did, they
thought he belonged to the camp. As soon as he had passed the first bend, he
swam across the river, and soon joined his relations.
"I have seen my wife," he said to them.
"She will come over as soon as it is dark. I let her go back to get some
things that were given her."
"You are crazy," said one of the men,
"very crazy. She already loves this new man she has, or she would not have
wanted to go back."
"Stop that," said the husband; "do not
talk bad of her. She will surely come."
The woman went back to her lodge with the water, and,
sitting down near the fireplace, she began to act very strangely. She took up
pieces of charred wood, dirt, and ashes in her hands and ate them, and made
queer noises.
"What is it?" asked the man who had taken her
for a wife. "What is the matter with you?" He spoke in signs.
The woman also spoke in signs. She answered him:
"The Sun told me that there are seven persons across the river in that
piece of timber. Five of them are middle-aged, another is a young boy with very
long hair, another is a man who mourns. His hair is cut short."
The Snake did not know what to do, so he called in some
chiefs and old men to advise with him. They thought that the woman might be very
strong medicine. At all events, it would be a good thing to go and look. So the
news was shouted out, and in a short time all the warriors had mounted their
best horses, and started across the river. It was then almost dark, so they
surrounded the piece of timber, and waited for morning to begin the search.
"Kyi," said one of the woman's relations to
her husband. "Did I not speak the truth? You see now what that woman has
done for us."
At daylight the poor husband strung his bow, took a
handful of arrows from his quiver, and said: "This is my fault. I have
brought you to this. It is right that I should die first," and he started
to go out of the timber.
"Wait," said the eldest relative. "It
shall not be so. I am the first to go. I cannot stay back to see my brother die.
You shall go out last." So he jumped out of the brush, and began shooting
his arrows, but was soon killed.
"My brother is too far on the road alone,"3
cried another relation, and he jumped out and fought, too. What use, one against
so many? The Snakes soon had his scalp.
So they went out, one after another, and at last the
husband was alone. He rushed out very brave, and shot his arrows as fast as he
could. "Hold!" cried the Snake man to his people. "Do not kill
him; catch him. This is the one my wife said to bring back alive. See! his hair
is cut short." So, when the man had shot away all his arrows, they seized
and tied him, and, taking the scalps of the others, returned to camp.
They took the prisoner into the lodge where his wife
was. His hands were tied behind his back, and they tied his feet, too. He could
not move.
As soon as the man saw his wife, he cried. He was not
afraid. He did not care now how soon he died. He cried because he was thinking
of all the trouble and death this woman had caused. "What have I done to
you," he asked his wife, "that you should treat me this way? Did I not
always use you well? I never struck you. I never made you work hard."
"What does he say?" asked the Snake man.
"He says," replied the woman, "that when
you are done smoking, you must knock the ashes and fire out of your pipe on his
breast."
The Snake was not a bad-hearted man, but he thought now
that this woman had strong medicine, that she had Sun power; so he thought that
everything must be done as she said. When the man had finished smoking, he
emptied the pipe on the Piegan's breast, and the fire burned him badly.
Then the poor man cried again, not from the pain, but
to think what a bad heart this woman had. Again he spoke to her. "You
cannot be a person," he said. "I think you are some fearful animal,
changed to look like a woman."
"What is he saying now?" asked the Snake.
"He wants some boiling water poured on his
head," replied the woman.
"It shall be as he says," said the Snake; and
he had his women heat some water. When it was ready, one of them poured a little
of it here and there on the captive's head and shoulders. Wherever the hot water
touched, the hair came out and the skin peeled off. The pain was so bad that the
Piegan nearly fainted. When he revived, he said to his wife: "Pity me. I
have suffered enough. Let them kill me now. Let me hurry to join those who are
already travelling to the Sand Hills."
The woman turned to the Snake chief, and said,
"The man says that he wants you to give him to the Sun."
"It is good," said the Snake. "Tomorrow
we move camp. Before we leave here, we will give him to the Sun."
There was an old woman in this camp who lived all
alone, in a little lodge of her own. She had some friends and relations, but she
said she liked to live by herself. She had heard that a Piegan had been
captured, and went to the lodge where he was. When she saw them pour the boiling
water on him, she cried and felt badly. This old woman had a very good heart.
She went home and lay down by her dog, and kept crying, she felt so sorry for
this poor man. Pretty soon she heard people shouting out the orders of the
chief. They said: "Listen! listen! Tomorrow we move camp. Get ready now and
pack up everything. Before we go, the Piegan man will be given to the Sun."
Then the old woman knew what to do. She tied a piece of
buckskin around her dog's mouth, so he could not bark, and then she took him way
out in the timber and tied him where he could not be seen. She also filled a
small sack with pemmican, dried meat, and berries, and put it near the dog.
In the morning the people rose early. They smoothed a
cotton-wood tree, by taking off the bark, and painted it black. Then they stood
the Piegan up against it, and fastened him there with a great many ropes. When
they had tied him so he could not move, they painted his face black, and the
chief Snake made a prayer, and gave him to the Sun.
Every one was now busy getting ready to move camp. This
old woman had lost her dog, and kept calling out for him and looking all around.
"Tsis'-i!" she cried. "Tsis'-i! Come here. Knock the dog on the
head!4 Wait till I find him, and I'll break his neck."
The people were now all packed up, and some had already
started on the trail. "Don't wait for me," the old woman said.
"Go on, I'll look again for my dog, and catch up with you."
When all were gone, the old woman went and untied her
dog, and then, going up to where the Piegan was tied, she cut the ropes, and he
was free. But already the man was very weak, and he fell down on the ground. She
rubbed his limbs, and pretty soon he felt better. The old woman was so sorry for
him that she cried again, and kissed him. Then the man cried, too. He was so
glad that some one pitied him. By and by he ate some of the food the old woman
had given him, and felt strong again. He said to her in signs: "I am not
done. I shall go back home now, but I will come again. I will bring all the
Piegans with me, and we will have revenge."
"You say well," signed the old woman.
"Help me," again said the man. "If, on
the road you are travelling, this camp should separate, mark the trail my wife
takes with a stick. You, too, follow the party she goes with, and always put
your lodge at the far end of the village. When I return with my people, I will
enter your lodge, and tell you what to do."
"I take your speech," replied the old woman.
"As you say, so it shall be." Then she kissed him again, and started
on after her people. The man went to the river, swam across, and started for the
North.
Why are the people crying? Why is all this mourning?
Ah! the poor man has returned home, and told how those who went with him were
killed. He has told them the whole story. They are getting ready for war. Every
one able to fight is going with this man back to the Snakes. Only a few will be
left to guard the camp. The mother of that bad woman is going, too. She has
sharpened her axe, and told what she will do when she sees her daughter. All are
ready. The best horses have been caught up and saddled, and the war party has
started, hundreds and hundreds of warriors. They are strung out over the prairie
as far as you can see.
When they got to the Missouri River, the poor man
showed them where the lodge in which they had tortured him had stood. He took
them to see the tree, where he had been bound. The black paint was still on it.
From here, they went slowly. Some young men were sent
far ahead to scout. The second day, they came back to the main body, and said
they had found a camping place just deserted, and that there the trail forked.
The poor man then went ahead, and at the forks he found a willow twig stuck in
the ground, pointing to the left hand trail. When the others came up, he said to
them: "Take care of my horse now, and travel slowly. I will go ahead on
foot and find the camp. It must be close. I will go and see that old woman, and
find out how things are."
Some men did not want him to do this; they said that
the old woman might tell about him, and then they could not surprise the camp.
"No," replied the man. "It will not be
so. That old woman is almost the same as my mother. I know she will help
us."
He went ahead carefully, and near sunset saw the camp.
When it was dark, he crept near it and entered the old woman's lodge. She had
placed it behind, and a little way off from, the others. When he went in the old
woman was asleep, but the fire was still burning a little. He touched her, and
she jumped up and started to scream; but he put his hand on her mouth, and when
she saw who it was she laughed and kissed him. "The Piegans have
come," he told her. "We are going to have revenge on this camp
tonight. Is my wife here?"
"Still here," replied the old woman.
"She is chief now. They think her medicine very strong."
"Tell your friends and relations," said the
Piegan, "that you have had a dream, and that they must move into the brush
yonder. Have them stay there with you, and they will not be hurt. I am going now
to get my people."
It was very late in the night. Most of the Snakes were
in bed and asleep. All at once the camp was surrounded with warriors, shouting
the war cry and shooting, stabbing, and knocking people on the head as fast as
they came out of the lodges.
That Piegan woman cried out: "Don't hurt me. I am
a Piegan. Are any of my people here?"
"Many of your relations are here," some one
said. "They will protect you."
Some young men seized and tied her, as her husband had
said to do. They had hard work to keep her mother from killing her. "Hai
yah!" the old woman cried. "There is my Snake woman daughter. Let me
split her head open."
The fight was soon over. The Piegans killed the people
almost as fast as they came out of their lodges. Some few escaped in the
darkness. When the fight was over, the young warriors gathered up a great pile
of lodge poles and brush, and set fire to it. Then the poor man tore the dress
off his bad wife, tied the scalp of her dead Snake man around her neck, and told
her to dance the scalp dance in the fire. She cried and hung back, calling out
for pity. The people only laughed and pushed her into the fire. She would run
through it, and then those on the other side would push her back. So they kept
her running through the fire, until she fell down and died.
The old Snake woman had come out of the brush with her
relations. Because she had been so good, the Piegans gave her, and those with
her, one-half of all the horses and valuable things they had taken. "Kyi!"
said the Piegan chief. "That is all for you, because you helped this poor
man. Tomorrow morning we start back North. If your heart is that way, go too and
live with us." So these Snakes joined the Piegans and lived with them until
they died, and their children married with the Piegans, and at last they were no
longer Snake people.