{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_35021/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_35021","id":"gutenberg_35021","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35021","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Indian children -- North America","Indians of North America"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nINDIAN STORIES\n\n\n\n\nHISTORICAL STORIES RETOLD FROM ST. NICHOLAS MAGAZINE IN FIVE VOLUMES\n\n\n          INDIAN STORIES\n          A mirror of Indian ideas, customs, and\n          adventures.\n\n          COLONIAL STORIES\n          Stirring tales of the rude frontier life of\n          early times.\n\n          REVOLUTIONARY STORIES\n          Heroic deeds, and especially children's\n          part in them.\n\n          CIVIL WAR STORIES\n          Thrilling stories of the great struggle,\n          both on land and sea.\n\n          OUR HOLIDAYS\n          Something of their meaning and spirit.\n\nEach about 200 pages. Full cloth, 12mo.\n\nTHE CENTURY CO.\n\n[Illustration: AN INDIAN HORSE-RACE--COMING OVER THE SCRATCH\n\n_Drawing by Frederic Remington_]\n\n\n\n\nINDIAN STORIES\n\nRETOLD FROM ST. NICHOLAS\n\n[Illustration]\n\n          PUBLISHED BY THE CENTURY CO.\n          NEW YORK     MCMVII\n\n\n\n\n  Copyright, 1877, 1878, 1879, by\n  SCRIBNER & CO.\n\n  Copyright, 1884, 1888, 1889, 1893, 1894, 1896, 1899, 1900, 1904, by\n  THE CENTURY CO.\n\n  THE DEVINNE PRESS\n\n\n\n\nPUBLISHER'S NOTE\n\n\nTHIS collection of Indian stories is the first in a series of volumes of\nhistoric tales retold from \"St. Nicholas.\"\n\nThe books do not pretend to give anything like connected history, but by\nmeans of the story that thrills and interests they impart the real\nspirit of the times they depict in a way no youthful reader will be\nlikely to forget.\n\nMost of the stories in this book a boy of eight or nine can read for\nhimself, and these are the years of his school life when he is being\ntaught something of our colonial history and of the myths and legends of\nprimitive man. Thus these stories, while delighting many children and\ntempting them to read \"out of hours,\" will serve a very useful\npurpose.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                            PAGE\n\n  ONATOGA'S SACRIFICE                        _John Dimitry_    1\n\n  WAUKEWA'S EAGLE                           _James Buckham_   10\n\n  A FOURTH OF JULY AMONG THE INDIANS         _W. P. Hooper_   22\n\n  A BOY'S VISIT TO CHIEF JOSEPH              _Erskine Wood_   43\n\n  LITTLE MOCCASIN'S RIDE ON THE THUNDER-HORSE                 54\n                                      _Colonel Guido Ilges_\n\n  THE LITTLE FIRST MAN AND THE LITTLE FIRST WOMAN             74\n                                          _William M. Cary_\n\n  FUN AMONG THE RED BOYS                     _Julian Ralph_   87\n\n  THE CHILDREN OF ZUNI                _Maria Brace Kimball_  100\n\n  THE INDIAN GIRL AND HER MESSENGER-BIRD  _George W. Ranck_  112\n\n  HOW THE STONE-AGE CHILDREN PLAYED     _Charles C. Abbott_  115\n\n  GAMES AND SPORTS OF THE INDIAN BOY                         123\n                            _Dr. Charles Alexander Eastman_\n\n  AN OLD-TIME THANKSGIVING               _M. Eloise Talbot_  136\n\n  SOME INDIAN DOLLS                   _Olive Thorne Miller_  155\n\n  THE WALKING PURCHASE                     _George Wheeler_  159\n\n  THE FIRST AMERICANS                   _F. S. Dellenbaugh_  171\n\n\n\n\nINDIAN STORIES\n\n\n\n\nINDIAN LULLABY\n\n\n    Sleep, sleep, my boy; the Chippewas\n      Are far away--are far away.\n    Sleep, sleep, my boy; prepare to meet\n      The foe by day--the foe by day!\n    The cowards will not dare to fight\n      Till morning break--till morning break.\n    Sleep, sleep, my child, while still 'tis night;\n      Then bravely wake--then bravely wake!\n\n\n\n\nINDIAN STORIES\n\n\n\n\nONATOGA'S SACRIFICE\n\nBY JOHN DIMITRY\n\n\nONCE, in the long ago, before the white man had heard of the continent\non which we live, red men, who were brave and knew not what fear was in\nbattle, trembled at the mention of a great man-eating bird that had\nlived before the time told of in the traditions known of their oldest\nchiefs.\n\nThis bird, which, according to the Indian legends, ate men, was known as\nthe PIASAU.\n\nThe favorite haunt of this terrible bird was a bluff on the Mississippi\nRiver, a short distance above the site of the present city of Alton,\nIllinois. There it was said to lie in wait, and to keep watch over the\nbroad, open prairies. Whenever some rash Indian ventured out alone to\nhunt upon this fatal ground, he became the monster's prey. The legend\nsays that the bird, swooping down with the fierce swiftness of a hawk,\nseized upon its victim and bore him to a gloomy cave wherein it made its\nhorrid feasts. The monster must have had an insatiable appetite or a\nprolonged existence, for tradition declares that it depopulated whole\nvillages. Then it was that the wise men began to see visions and to\nprophesy the speedy extinction of the tribe. Years of its ravages\nfollowed one upon another, until at length, according to the legend, was\nlost all reckoning of the time when first that strange, foul creature\ncame to scourge their sunny plains. The aged men, whose youth was but a\ndim memory, could say only that the bird was as it had always been. None\nlike it had ever been heard of save in vague traditions.\n\nThere was one, Onatoga, who began to ponder.\n\n[Illustration: ONATOGA IN THE FOREST]\n\nNow, Onatoga was the great leader of the Illini; one whose name was\nspoken with awe even in the distant wigwams north of the Great Lake.\nLong had he grieved and wondered over the will of the Great Spirit; that\nhe should look upon the men of the Western prairies, not as warriors,\nbut as deer or bison, only fit to fill the maw of so pestilent a thing\nas this monstrous bird! Before the new moon began to grow upon the\nface of the sky, Onatoga's resolve was taken. He would go to some spot\ndeep in the forest where by fasting and prayer his spirit would become\nso pure that the Great Master of Life would hear him and once again be\nkind and turn His face back, in light, upon the Illini.\n\nStealing away from his tribe in the night, he plunged far into the\ntrackless forest. Then, blackening his face, for a whole moon he fasted.\nThe moon waxed full and then waned; but no vision came to assure him\nthat the Great Spirit had heard his prayers. Only one more night\nremained. Wearied and sorrow-worn, he closed his eyes. But, through the\ndeep sleep that fell upon him, came the voice of the Great Spirit. And\nthis is the message that came to Onatoga, as he lay sleeping in body\nbut, in his soul, awake:\n\n\"Arise, Chief of the Illini! Thou shalt save thy race. Choose thou\ntwenty of thy warriors; noble-hearted, strong-armed, eagle-eyed. Put in\neach warrior's hand a bow. Give to each an arrow dipped in the venom of\nthe snake. Seek then the man whose heart loveth the Great Spirit. Let\nhim not fear to look the Piasau in the face; but see that the warriors,\nwith ready bows, stand near in the shadow of the trees.\"\n\nOnatoga awoke; strong, though he had fasted a month; happy, though he\nknew he was soon to die! Who, but he, the Great Chief of the Illini,\nshould die for his people--for was it not death to look on the face of\nthe Piasau?\n\nBinding his moccasins firmly upon his feet, he washed the marks of grief\nfrom his face, and painted it with the brightest vermilion and blue.\nThus, in the splendid colors of a triumphant warrior, he returned\nhomeward. All was silent in the village when, in the gray light of early\nday, he entered his lodge. Soon the joyful news was known. From lodge to\nlodge it spread until the last wigwam was reached. Onatoga's quest was\nsuccessful!\n\nThen the warriors began to gather. Furtively, even in their gladness,\nthey sought his lodge, for the fear of the Piasau was over all. A solemn\nawe fell upon them as they gathered around the chief, who, it was\nwhispered, had heard the voice of the Great Spirit. Without, on that\nhigh bluff, they knew that the fiend-bird crouched, waiting for the\nmorning light to reveal its prey. Within, in sorrowing silence, they\nheard how the people could be saved; but the hearts of the warriors were\nheavy. All knew the sacrifice demanded--their bravest and their best!\n\n[Illustration: \"ONATOGA, NEVER CEASING HIS CHANT, FACED THE PIASAU\nFEARLESSLY\"]\n\nOnatoga chose his twenty warriors and appointed them their place, where\nthe rolling prairie was broken by the edge of the forest. Then, when the\nsun shot its first long shafts of light across the level grasses, the\nchief walked slowly forth and stood alone upon the prairie. The world in\nthe morning light was beautiful to Onatoga's eyes. The flowers beneath\nhis feet seemed to smile, and poured forth richest perfumes; the sun was\nglorious in its golden breast-plate, to do him honor; while the lark and\nthe mock-bird sang his praise in joyous songs.\n\nHe had not long to wait. Soon, afar off, the dreaded Piasau was seen\nmoving heavily through the clear morning air. Onatoga, drawing himself\nto the full measure of his lofty height, raised his death-song. The dull\nflutter of huge wings came nearer, and a great shadow came rushing over\nthe sunlit fields. Onatoga, never ceasing his chant, faced the Piasau\nfearlessly. A sudden fierce swoop downward! In that very moment, twenty\npoisoned arrows, loosed by twenty faithful hands, sped true to their\naim. With a scream that the bluffs sent rolling back in sharp and\ndeafening echoes, the foul monster dropped dead! The Great Spirit loved\nthe man who had been willing to sacrifice his life for his people. In\nthe very instant when death seemed sure, he covered the heart of Onatoga\nwith a shield; and he suffered not the wind to blow aside a single arrow\nfrom its mark,--the body of the fated Piasau.\n\n[Illustration: \"CUNNING CARVERS CUT DEEP INTO THE ROCK THE FORM OF THE\nPIASAU\"]\n\nGreat were the rejoicings that followed and rich were the feasts that\nwere held in honor of Onatoga. The Illini resolved that the story of the\ngreat deliverance and of the courageous love of Onatoga should not die,\nthough they themselves should pass away. The cunning carvers of the\ntribe cut deep into the living rock of the bluff the terrible form of\nthe Piasau. And, in later years, when young children asked the meaning\nof this great figure, so unlike any of the birds that they knew upon\ntheir rivers and their prairies, then the fathers would tell them the\nstory of the Piasau, and how the Great Spirit had found, in Onatoga, a\nwarrior who loved his fellow-men better than he loved his own life.\n\n\n\n\nWAUKEWA'S EAGLE\n\nBY JAMES BUCKHAM\n\n\nONE day, when the Indian boy Waukewa was hunting along the\nmountain-side, he found a young eagle with a broken wing, lying at the\nbase of a cliff. The bird had fallen from an aery on a ledge high above,\nand being too young to fly, had fluttered down the cliff and injured\nitself so severely that it was likely to die. When Waukewa saw it he was\nabout to drive one of his sharp arrows through its body, for the passion\nof the hunter was strong in him, and the eagle plunders many a fine fish\nfrom the Indian's drying-frame. But a gentler impulse came to him as he\nsaw the young bird quivering with pain and fright at his feet, and he\nslowly unbent his bow, put the arrow in his quiver, and stooped over the\npanting eaglet. For fully a minute the wild eyes of the wounded bird and\nthe eyes of the Indian boy, growing gentler and softer as he gazed,\nlooked into one another. Then the struggling and panting of the young\neagle ceased; the wild, frightened look passed out of its eyes, and it\nsuffered Waukewa to pass his hand gently over its ruffled and draggled\nfeathers. The fierce instinct to fight, to defend its threatened life,\nyielded to the charm of the tenderness and pity expressed in the boy's\neyes; and from that moment Waukewa and the eagle were friends.\n\nWaukewa went slowly home to his father's lodge, bearing the wounded\neaglet in his arms. He carried it so gently that the broken wing gave no\ntwinge of pain, and the bird lay perfectly still, never offering to\nstrike with its sharp beak the hands that clasped it.\n\nWarming some water over the fire at the lodge, Waukewa bathed the broken\nwing of the eagle and bound it up with soft strips of skin. Then he made\na nest of ferns and grass inside the lodge, and laid the bird in it. The\nboy's mother looked on with shining eyes. Her heart was very tender.\nFrom girlhood she had loved all the creatures of the woods, and it\npleased her to see some of her own gentle spirit waking in the boy.\n\nWhen Waukewa's father returned from hunting, he would have caught up the\nyoung eagle and wrung its neck. But the boy pleaded with him so\neagerly, stooping over the captive and defending it with his small\nhands, that the stern warrior laughed and called him his \"little\nsquaw-heart.\" \"Keep it, then,\" he said, \"and nurse it until it is well.\nBut then you must let it go, for we will not raise up a thief in the\nlodges.\" So Waukewa promised that when the eagle's wing was healed and\ngrown so that it could fly, he would carry it forth and give it its\nfreedom.\n\nIt was a month--or, as the Indians say, a moon--before the young eagle's\nwing had fully mended and the bird was old enough and strong enough to\nfly. And in the meantime Waukewa cared for it and fed it daily, and the\nfriendship between the boy and the bird grew very strong.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE YOUNG EAGLE ROSE TOWARD THE SKY\"]\n\nBut at last the time came when the willing captive must be freed. So\nWaukewa carried it far away from the Indian lodges, where none of the\nyoung braves might see it hovering over and be tempted to shoot their\narrows at it, and there he let it go. The young eagle rose toward the\nsky in great circles, rejoicing in its freedom and its strange, new\npower of flight. But when Waukewa began to move away from the spot, it\ncame swooping down again; and all day long it followed him through the\nwoods as he hunted. At dusk, when Waukewa shaped his course for the\nIndian lodges, the eagle would have accompanied him. But the boy\nsuddenly slipped into a hollow tree and hid, and after a long time the\neagle stopped sweeping about in search of him and flew slowly and sadly\naway.\n\nSummer passed, and then winter; and spring came again, with its flowers\nand birds and swarming fish in the lakes and streams. Then it was that\nall the Indians, old and young, braves and squaws, pushed their light\ncanoes out from shore and with spear and hook waged pleasant war against\nthe salmon and the red-spotted trout. After winter's long imprisonment,\nit was such joy to toss in the sunshine and the warm wind and catch\nsavory fish to take the place of dried meats and corn!\n\nAbove the great falls of the Apahoqui the salmon sported in the cool,\nswinging current, darting under the lee of the rocks and leaping full\nlength in the clear spring air. Nowhere else were such salmon to be\nspeared as those which lay among the riffles at the head of the Apahoqui\nrapids. But only the most daring braves ventured to seek them there, for\nthe current was strong, and should a light canoe once pass the\ndanger-point and get caught in the rush of the rapids, nothing could\nsave it from going over the roaring falls.\n\nVery early in the morning of a clear April day, just as the sun was\nrising splendidly over the mountains, Waukewa launched his canoe a\nhalf-mile above the rapids of the Apahoqui, and floated downward, spear\nin hand, among the salmon-riffles. He was the only one of the Indian\nlads who dared fish above the falls. But he had been there often, and\nnever yet had his watchful eye and his strong paddle suffered the\ncurrent to carry his canoe beyond the danger-point. This morning he was\nalone on the river, having risen long before daylight to be first at the\nsport.\n\nThe riffles were full of salmon, big, lusty fellows, who glided about\nthe canoe on every side in an endless silver stream. Waukewa plunged his\nspear right and left, and tossed one glittering victim after another\ninto the bark canoe. So absorbed in the sport was he that for once he\ndid not notice when the head of the rapids was reached and the canoe\nbegan to glide more swiftly among the rocks. But suddenly he looked up,\ncaught his paddle, and dipped it wildly in the swirling water. The canoe\nswung sidewise, shivered, held its own against the torrent, and then\nslowly, inch by inch, began to creep upstream toward the shore. But\nsuddenly there was a loud, cruel snap, and the paddle parted in the\nboy's hands, broken just above the blade! Waukewa gave a cry of\ndespairing agony. Then he bent to the gunwale of his canoe and with the\nshattered blade fought desperately against the current. But it was\nuseless. The racing torrent swept him downward; the hungry falls roared\ntauntingly in his ears.\n\nThen the Indian boy knelt calmly upright in the canoe, facing the mist\nof the falls, and folded his arms. His young face was stern and lofty.\nHe had lived like a brave hitherto--now he would die like one.\n\nFaster and faster sped the doomed canoe toward the great cataract. The\nblack rocks glided away on either side like phantoms. The roar of the\nterrible waters became like thunder in the boy's ears. But still he\ngazed calmly and sternly ahead, facing his fate as a brave Indian\nshould. At last he began to chant the death-song, which he had learned\nfrom the older braves. In a few moments all would be over. But he would\ncome before the Great Spirit with a fearless hymn upon his lips.\n\nSuddenly a shadow fell across the canoe. Waukewa lifted his eyes and\nsaw a great eagle hovering over, with dangling legs, and a spread of\nwings that blotted out the sun. Once more the eyes of the Indian boy and\nthe eagle met; and now it was the eagle who was master!\n\n[Illustration: \"HE AND THE STRUGGLING EAGLE WERE FLOATING OUTWARD AND\nDOWNWARD\"]\n\nWith a glad cry the Indian boy stood up in his canoe, and the eagle\nhovered lower. Now the canoe tossed up on that great swelling wave that\nclimbs to the cataract's edge, and the boy lifted his hands and caught\nthe legs of the eagle. The next moment he looked down into the awful\ngulf of waters from its very verge. The canoe was snatched from beneath\nhim and plunged down the black wall of the cataract; but he and the\nstruggling eagle were floating outward and downward through the cloud of\nmist. The cataract roared terribly, like a wild beast robbed of its\nprey. The spray beat and blinded, the air rushed upward as they fell.\nBut the eagle struggled on with his burden. He fought his way out of the\nmist and the flying spray. His great wings threshed the air with a\nwhistling sound. Down, down they sank, the boy and the eagle, but ever\nfarther from the precipice of water and the boiling whirlpool below. At\nlength, with a fluttering plunge, the eagle dropped on a sand-bar below\nthe whirlpool, and he and the Indian boy lay there a minute,\nbreathless and exhausted. Then the eagle slowly lifted himself, took the\nair under his free wings, and soared away, while the Indian boy knelt on\nthe sand, with shining eyes following the great bird till he faded into\nthe gray of the cliffs.\n\n\n\n\nA FOURTH OF JULY AMONG THE INDIANS\n\nBY W. P. HOOPER\n\n\nINDIANS--real Indians--real, live Indians--were what we, like all boys,\nwanted to see; and this was why, after leaving the railroad on which we\nhad been traveling for several days and nights, we found ourselves at\nlast in a big canvas-covered wagon lumbering across the monotonous\nprairie.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWe were on our way to see a celebration of the Fourth of July at a\nDakota Indian agency.\n\nIt was late in the afternoon of a hot summer's day. We had been riding\nsince early morning, and had not met a living creature--not even a bird\nor a snake. Only those who have experienced it know how wearying to the\neyes it is to gaze all day long, and see nothing but the sky and the\ngrass.\n\nHowever, an hour before sunset we _did_ see something. At first, it\nlooked like a mere speck against the sky; then it seemed like a bush or\na shrub; but it rapidly increased in size as we approached. Then, with\nthe aid of our field-glass, we saw it was a man on horseback. No, not\nexactly that, either; it was an Indian chief riding an Indian pony. Now,\nI have seen Indians in the East--\"Dime Museum Indians.\" I have seen the\nIndians who travel with the circus--yes, and I have seen the untutored\nsavages who sell bead-work at Niagara Falls; but this one was\ndifferent--he was quite different. I felt sure that he was a genuine\nIndian. He was unlike the Indians I had seen in the East. The most\nstriking difference was that this one presented a grand unwashed effect.\nIt must have required years of patient industry in avoiding the\nwash-bowl, and great good luck in dodging the passing showers, for him\nto acquire the rich effect of color which he displayed. Though it was\none of July's hottest days, he had on his head an arrangement made of\nfur, with head trimmings and four black-tipped feathers; a long braid of\nhis hair, wound with strips of fur, hung down in front of each ear, and\nstrings of beads ornamented his neck. He wore a calico shirt, with tin\nbands on his arms above the elbow; a blanket was wrapped around his\nwaist; his leggings had strips of beautiful bright bead-work, and his\nmoccasins were ornamented in the same style. But in his right hand he\nwas holding a most murderous-looking instrument. It was a long wooden\nclub, into one end of which three sharp, shining steel knife-blades were\nset. Though I had been complaining of the heat, still I now felt chilly\nas I looked at the weapon, and saw how well it matched the expression of\nhis cruel mouth and piercing eyes.\n\nHe passed on while we were trying to make a sketch of him. However, the\nnext day, an interpreter brought him around, and, for a small piece of\ntobacco, he was glad to pose while the sketch was being finished. We\nlearned his name was \"Can-h-des-ka-wan-ji-dan\" (One Hoop).\n\n[Illustration: \"ONE HOOP\" IN HIS SUMMER COSTUME]\n\nA few moments later, we passed an iron post set firmly into the ground.\nIt marked one of the boundaries of the Indian Reservation. We were now\non a tract of land set aside by the United States Government as the\nliving-ground of sixteen hundred \"Santee\" Sioux Indians. We soon saw\nmore Indians, who, like us, seemed to be moving toward the little\nvillage at the Indian agency. Each group had put their belongings into a\nbig bundle, and strapped it upon long poles, which were fastened at one\nend to the back of a pony. In this bundle the little papooses rode in\ngreat comfort, looking like blackbirds peering from a nest. In some\ncases, an older child would be riding in great glee on the pony's back\namong the poles. The family baggage seemed about equally distributed\nbetween the pony and the squaw who led him. She was preceded by her lord\nand master, the noble red Indian, who carried no load except his long\npipe.\n\nThe next thing of interest was what is called a Red River wagon. It was\nsimply a cart with two large wheels, the whole vehicle made of wood. As\nthe axles are never oiled, the Red River carry-all keeps up a most\nterrible squeaking. This charming music-box was drawn by one ox, and\ncontained an Indian, who was driving with a whip. His wife and children\nwere seated on the bottom of this jolting and shrieking cart.\n\n[Illustration: AN INDIAN ENCAMPMENT FOR THE NIGHT]\n\nAs we neared the agency buildings, we passed many Indians who had\nsettled for the night. They chose the wooded ravines, near streams, by\nwhich to put up their tents, or \"tepees,\" which consisted of long poles\ncovered with patched and smoke-stained canvas, with two openings, one\nat the top for a \"smoke-hole\" and the other for a door, through which\nany one must crawl in order to enter the domestic circle of the gentle\nsavage. We entered several tepees, making ourselves welcome by gifts of\ntobacco to every member of the family. That night, after reaching the\nagency and retiring to our beds, we dreamed of smoking great big pipes,\nwith stems a mile long, which were passed to us by horrible-looking\nblack witches. But morning came at last,--and _such_ a morning!\n\nThat Fourth of July morning I shall never forget. We were awakened by\nthe most blood-curdling yells that ever pierced the ears of three white\nboys. It was the Indian war-whoop. I found myself instinctively feeling\nfor my back hair, and regretting the distance to the railroad. We\nlingered indoors in a rather terrified condition, until we found out\nthat this was simply the beginning of the day's celebration. It was the\n\"sham-fight,\" but it looked real enough when the Indians came tearing\nby, their ponies seeming to enter into the excitement as thoroughly as\ntheir riders. There were some five hundred, in full frills and\nwar-paint, and all giving those terrible yells.\n\nTheir costumes were simple, but gay in color--paint, feathers, and more\npaint, with an occasional shirt.\n\nFor weapons they carried guns, rifles, and long spears. Bows and arrows\nseemed to be out of style. A few had round shields on their left arms.\n\nMost of the tepees had been collected together and pitched so as to form\na large circle, and their wagons were placed outside this circle so as\nto make a sort of protection for the defending party. The attacking\nparty, brandishing their weapons in the air with increased yells, rushed\ntheir excited and panting ponies up the slope toward the tepees, where\nthey were met by a rapid discharge of blank cartridges and powder. Some\nof the ponies became frightened and unmanageable, several riders were\nunhorsed, and general confusion prevailed. The intrenched party, in the\nmeantime, rushed out from behind their defenses, climbing on top of\ntheir wagons, yelling and dancing around like demons. Added to this, the\nsight of several riderless ponies flying wildly from the tumult made the\nsham-fight have a terribly realistic look.\n\nAfter the excitement was over, the regular games which had been arranged\nfor the day began.\n\n[Illustration: THE SHAM-FIGHT]\n\nIn the foot-races, the costumes were so slight that there was nothing to\ndescribe--simply paint in fancy patterns, moccasins, and a girdle of red\nflannel. But how they could run! I did not suppose anything on two legs\ncould go so fast. The lacrosse costumes were bright and attractive. The\nleader of one side wore a shirt of soft, tanned buck-skin, bead-work and\nembroidery on the front, long fringe on the shoulders, bands around the\narms, and deep fringe on the bottom of the skirt. The legs were bare to\nthe knee, and from there down to the toes was one mass of fine\nglittering bead-work. In the game, there were a hundred Indians engaged\non each side. The game was long, but exciting, being skilfully played.\nThe grounds extended about a mile in length. The ball was the size of a\ncommon baseball, and felt almost as solid as a rock, the center being of\nlead. The shape of the Indian lacrosse stick is shown in the sketch.\n\nThen came games on horseback. But the most interesting performance of\nthe whole day, and one in which they all manifested an absorbing\ninterest, was the dinner.\n\nAt 3 A.M. several oxen had been butchered, and from that time till the\ndinner was served all the old squaws had their hands full. Fires were\nmade in long lines, poles placed over them, and high black pots,\nkettles, and zinc pails filled with a combination of things, including\nbeef and water, were suspended there and carefully tended by ancient\nIndian ladies in picturesque, witch-like costumes, who gently stirred\nthe boiling bouillion with pieces of wood, while other seemingly more\nancient and worn-out-looking squaws brought great bundles of wood from\nthe ravines, tied up in blankets and swung over their shoulders. Think\nof a dinner for sixteen hundred noble chiefs and braves, stalwart\nhead-men, young bucks, old squaws, girls, and children! And such\nqueer-looking children--some dressed in full war costume, some in the\nmost approved dancing dresses.\n\n[Illustration: SHA-KE-TO-PA, A YOUNG BRAVE]\n\n[Illustration: \"TAKING A SPOONFUL OF THE SOUP, HE POURED IT UPON THE\nGROUND.\"]\n\nOne little boy, whose name was Sha-ke-to-pa (Four Nails), had five\nfeathers--big ones, too--in his hair. His face was painted; he wore\ngreat round ear-rings, and rows of beads and claws around his neck;\nbands of beads on his little bare brown arms; embroidered leggings and\nbeautiful moccasins, and a long piece of red cloth hanging from his\nwaist. In fact, he was as gaily dressed as a grown-up Indian man, and he\nhad a cunning little war-club, all ornamented and painted. When the\ndinner was nearly ready, the men began to seat themselves in a long\ncurved line. Behind them, the women and children were gathered. When\neverything was ready, a chief wearing a long arrangement of feathers\nhanging from his back hair and several bead pouches across his\nshoulders, with a long staff in his left hand, walked into the center of\nthe circle. Taking a spoonful of the soup, he held it high in the air,\nand then, turning slowly around, chanting a song, he poured the contents\nof the spoon upon the ground. This, an interpreter explained to us, was\ndone to appease the spirits of the air. After this, the old squaws\nlimped nimbly around with the pails of soup and other food, serving the\nmen. After they were all bountifully and repeatedly helped, the women\nand children, who had been patiently waiting, were allowed to gather\nabout the fragments and half-empty pots and finish the repast, which\nthey did with neatness and despatch.\n\n[Illustration: A WAITRESS]\n\nThen the warriors lay around and smoked their long-stem pipes, while the\nyoung men prepared for the pony races.\n\nThe first of the races was \"open to all,\" and more than a hundred ponies\nand their riders were arranged in a row. Some of the ponies were very\nspirited, and seemed fully to realize what was going to take place, and\nthey would persist in pushing ahead of the line. Then the other riders\nwould start their ponies; then the whole line would have to be reformed.\nBut finally they were all started, and such shouting, and such waving of\nwhips in the air!--and how the little ponies did jump! When the race was\nover, how we all crowded around the winner, and how proud the pony as\nwell as the rider seemed to feel! Now we had a better chance to examine\nthe ponies than ever before, and some were very handsome. And such\nprices! Think of buying a beautiful three-year-old cream-colored pony\nfor twenty dollars!\n\nBut as the hour of sunset approached, the interest in the races\nvanished, and so did most of the braves. They sought the seclusion of\ntheir bowers, to adorn themselves for the grand \"grass dance,\" which was\nto begin at sunset.\n\nWhat a contrast between their every-day dress and their dancing\ncostumes! The former consists of a blanket more or less tattered and\ntorn, while the gorgeousness of the latter discourages a description in\nwords; so I refer you to the pictures. Of course, we were eager to\npurchase some of the Indian finery, but it was a bad time to trade\nsuccessfully with the Indians. They were too much taken up with the\npleasures of the day to care to turn an honest penny by parting with any\nof their ornaments. However, we succeeded in buying a big war-club set\nwith knives, some pipes with carved stems a yard long, a few\nknife-sheaths and pouches, glittering with beads, and several pairs of\nbeautiful moccasins,--most of which now adorn a New York studio.\n\n[Illustration: HOLIDAY CLOTHES AND EVERY-DAY CLOTHES]\n\nSoon the highly decorated red men silently assembled inside a large\nspace inclosed by bushes stuck into the ground. This was their\ndance-hall. The squaws were again shut out, as, according to Santee\nSioux custom, they are not allowed to join in the dances with the men.\nThe Indians, as they came in, sat quietly down around the sides of the\ninclosure. The musicians were gathered around a big drum, on which they\npounded with short sticks, while they sang a sort of wild, weird chant.\nThe effect, to an uneducated white man's ear, was rather depressing, but\nit seemed very pleasing to the Indians.\n\nThe ball was opened by an old chief, who, rising slowly, beckoned the\nothers to follow him. In his right hand the leader carried a wooden gun,\nornamented with eagles' feathers; in the left he held a short stick,\nwith bells attached to it. He wore a cap of otter skin, from which hung\na long train. His face was carefully painted in stripes of blue and\nyellow.\n\n[Illustration: THE DANCE]\n\nAt first, they all moved slowly, jumping twice on each foot; then, as\nthe musicians struck up a more lively pounding and a more inspiring\nsong, the dancers moved with more rapidity, giving an occasional shout\nand waving their arms in the air. As they grew warmer and more excited,\nthe musicians redoubled their exertions on the drum and changed their\nsinging into prolonged howls; then one of them, dropping his drumsticks,\nsprang to his feet, and, waving his hands over his head, he yelled till\nhe was breathless, urging on the dancers. This seemed to be the\nfinishing touch. The orchestra and dancers seemed to vie with each other\nas to who should make the greater noise. Their yells were deafening,\nand, brandishing their knives and tomahawks, they sprang around with\nwonderful agility. Of course, this intense excitement could last but a\nshort time; the voices of the musicians began to fail, and, finally,\nwith one last grand effort, they all gave a terrible shout, and then all\nwas silence. The dancers crawled back to their places around the\ninclosure, and sank exhausted on the grass. But soon some supple brave\nregained enough strength to rise. The musicians slowly recommenced,\nother dancers came forward, and the \"mad dance\" was again in full blast.\nAnd thus the revels went on, hour after hour, all night, and continued\neven through the following day. But there was a curious fascination\nabout it, and, tired as we were after the long day, we stood there\nlooking on hour after hour. Finally, after midnight had passed, we\ngathered our Indian purchases about us, including two beautiful ponies,\nand began our return trip toward the railroad and civilization. But\nthe monotonous sound of the Indian drum followed us mile after mile over\nthe prairie; in fact, it followed us much better than my new spotted\npony.\n\nMy arm aches now, as I remember how that pony hung back.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n[Illustration: CHIEF JOSEPH]\n\n\n\n\nA BOY'S VISIT TO CHIEF JOSEPH\n\nBY ERSKINE WOOD\n\n          [NOTE: The author of the sketch \"A Boy's Visit to\n          Chief Joseph\" was Erskine Wood, a boy thirteen\n          years old. He was then an expert shot with the\n          rifle, and had brought down not only small game,\n          but bear, wolves, and deer. A true woodsman, he\n          was also a skilled archer and angler, having\n          camped alone in the woods, and lived upon the game\n          secured by shooting and fishing.\n\n          When Chief Joseph, of the Nez Perce Indians, went\n          to the national capital, he met Erskine, and\n          invited the young hunter to visit his camp some\n          summer. So in July, 1892, the boy started alone\n          from Portland, Oregon, carrying his guns, bows,\n          rods, and blanket, and made his own way to Chief\n          Joseph's camp on the Nespilem River.\n\n          The Indians received him hospitably, and he took\n          part in their annual fall hunt. He was even\n          adopted into the tribe by the chief, and,\n          according to their custom, received an Indian\n          name, _Ishem-tux-il-pilp_,--\"Red Moon.\"\n\n          Chief Joseph's band was the remnant of the tribe\n          which, under his leadership, fought the United\n          States army so gallantly in 1877; they carried on\n          a running fight of about eleven hundred miles in\n          one summer.\n\n          When Erskine visited him, the chief was in every\n          way most kind and hospitable to his young guest.\n\n                                            C. E. S. WOOD.]\n\n\nI LEFT Portland on the third of July, 1892, to visit Chief Joseph, who\nwas chief of the Nez Perce Indians. They lived on the Colville Agency,\ntwo or three hundred miles north of the city of Spokane, in the State of\nWashington.\n\nI arrived at Davenport, Washington, on the fourth of July. There was no\nstage, so I had to stay all night. I left for Fort Spokane next day,\narriving at about seven in the evening. As we did not start for Nespilem\nuntil the seventh, I went and visited Colonel Cook, commanding officer\nat the fort. I stayed all night, and next morning I helped the soldiers\nload cartridges at the magazine. That afternoon I watched the soldiers\nshooting volleys at the target range. We started for Nespilem in a wagon\nat three o'clock in the morning.\n\nThe next day I went fishing in the morning, and in the afternoon I went\nup the creek again, fishing with Doctor Latham. He was doctor at the\nIndian agency. The next day I went down to Joseph's camp, where I stayed\nthe rest of the time--about five months--alone with the Indians. The\ndoctor and the teamster returned to the agency. During my first day in\nthe camp, I wrote a letter to my mother, and bought a beaded leather\nbelt from one of the squaws. I stayed about camp most of the first day;\nbut in the afternoon I went fishing, and caught a nice string of trout.\n\nThe Indian camp is usually in two or more long rows of tepees. Sometimes\ntwo or three families occupy one lodge. When they are hunting and drying\nmeat for their winter supply, several lodges are put together, making\none big lodge about thirty feet long, in which are two or three fires\ninstead of one. They say that it dries the meat better.\n\nWhen game gets scarce, camp is broken and moved to a different place.\nThe men and boys catch the horses, and then the squaws have to put on\nthe pack-saddles (made of bone and covered with untanned deer-hide) and\npack them. The men sit around smoking and talking. When all is ready,\nthe different families set out, driving their spare horses and\npack-horses in front of them. The men generally hunt in the early\nmorning; they get up at about two o'clock, take a vapor bath, get\nbreakfast, and start to hunt at about three. Sometimes they hunt on\nhorseback, and sometimes on foot. They come back at about ten or eleven\no'clock, and if they have been on foot and have been successful they\ntake a horse and go and bring in the game. The meat is always divided.\nIf Chief Joseph is there, he divides it; and if he is not there,\nsomebody is chosen to fill his place. They believe that if the heads or\nhorns of the slain deer are left on the ground, the other deer feel\ninsulted and will go away, and that would spoil the hunting in that\nneighborhood. So the heads and horns are hung up in trees. They think,\ntoo, that when anybody dies, his spirit hovers around the spot for\nseveral days afterward, and so they always move the lodge. I was sitting\nwith Joseph in the tepee once, when a lizard crawled in. I discovered\nit, and showed it to Joseph. He was very solemn, and I asked him what\nwas the matter. \"A medicine-man sent it here to do me harm. You have\nvery good eyes to discover the tricks of the medicine-men.\" I was going\nto throw it into the fire, but he stopped me, saying: \"If you burn it,\nit will make the medicine-men angry. You must kill it some other way.\"\n\nThe Indians' calendars are little square sticks of wood about eight\ninches long. Every day they file a little notch, and on Sunday a little\nhole is made. When any one dies, the notch is painted red or black. When\nthey are home at Nespilem, they all meet out on the prairie on certain\ndays, and have horse-racing. They run for about two miles. When they are\non the home-stretch, about half a mile from the goal, a lot of men get\nbehind them and fire pistols and whip the horses.\n\nI was out grouse-hunting with Niky Mowitz, my Indian companion, and we\nstarted a deer. We were near the camp, and he proposed to run around in\nfront of the deer and head it for camp. So we started, and the way he\ngot over those rocks was a wonder! If we had not had the dogs, we might\nhave succeeded; but as soon as they caught sight of the deer, they went\nafter it like mad, and we did not see it again. Niky Mowitz is a nephew\nand adopted son of Chief Joseph; his father was killed in the Nez Perce\nwar of 1877. In the fall hunt the boys are not allowed to go grouse- or\npheasant-hunting without first getting permission of the chief in\ncommand. And it is never granted to them until the boys have driven the\nhorses to water and counted them to see if any are missing.\n\nThe game that the boys play most has to be played out in open country,\nwhere there are no sticks or underbrush. They get a little hoop, or some\nof them have a little iron ring, about two inches across. Then they\nrange themselves in rows, and one rolls the ring on the ground, and the\nothers try to throw spears through it. The spears are straight sticks\nabout three feet and a half long, with two or three little branches cut\nshort at the end, to keep the spear from going clear through the ring.\n\nThe Indians take \"Turkish,\" or vapor, baths. They have a little house in\nthe shape of a half globe, made of willow sticks, covered with sods and\ndirt until it is about a foot thick and perfectly tight. A hole is dug\nin the house and filled with hot rocks. The Indians (usually about four)\ncrowd in, and then one pours hot water on the hot rocks, making a lot of\nsteam. They keep this up until one's back commences to burn, and then he\ngives a little yell, and somebody outside tilts up the door (a blanket),\nand they all come out and jump at once into the cold mountain-stream.\nThis bath is taken just before going hunting, as they think that the\ndeer cannot scent them after it.\n\nOnly the boys indulge in wrestling. They fold their hands behind each\nother's backs, and try to throw each other by force, or by bending the\nback backward. Tripping is unfair, in their opinion.\n\nThe country is full of game, and we killed many deer and a cinnamon\nbear. In the evening, when they come home, they talk about the day's\nhunt, and what they saw and did. The one that killed the bear said that\nwhen he first saw the bear it was about fifteen yards off, and coming\nfor him with open jaws, and growling and roaring like everything. He\nfired and wounded it. It stopped and stood on its hind legs, roaring\nworse than ever. While this was going on, the Indian slipped around and\nshot it through the heart. I cut off the claws and made a necklace out\nof them. The next day they dug a hole nine feet in diameter and built a\nbig fire in it, and piled rocks all over the fire to heat them. In the\nmeantime the squaws had cut a lot of fir-boughs and brought the\nbear-meat. When the fire had burned down, and the rocks were red hot,\nall the coals and things that would smoke were raked out, and sticks\nlaid across the hole (it was about three feet deep). Then the fir-boughs\nwere dipped in water and laid over the sticks. And then meat was laid\non, and then more fir-boughs, and then the fat (the fat between the hide\nand flesh of a bear is taken off whole) is laid on, and then more\nfir-boughs dipped and sprinkled with water. Then come two or three\nblankets, and, last of all, the whole thing is covered with earth until\nit is perfectly tight. After about two hours everything is removed, and\nthe water that has been put on the boughs has steamed the meat\nthoroughly. Then Chief Joseph comes and cuts it up, and every family\ngets a portion. I helped the squaws cook some wild carrots once (they\ncook them just as they do the bear, except that they let them cook all\nnight), and Joseph said that I must not do squaws' work: that a brave\nmust hunt, fish, fight, and take care of the horses; but a squaw must\nput up the tepees, cook, sew, make moccasins and clothes, tan the hides,\nand take care of the household goods.\n\nThe boys take care of the horses. They catch them and drive them to and\nfrom their watering-places; and the rest of the time they hunt with bows\nand arrows (the boys don't have guns), and fish and play games. The\nIndian dogs are fine grouse- and pheasant-hunters, scenting the game\nfrom a long distance, and going and treeing them; and they will stay\nthere and bark until the men come. The dogs are exactly like coyotes,\nexcept that they are smaller.\n\n[Illustration: ERSKINE WOOD--NAMED BY CHIEF JOSEPH \"ISHEM-TUX-IL-PILP\"\nOR \"RED MOON\"]\n\nMany people have said that the Indian is lazy. In the summer he takes\ncare of his horses, hunts enough to keep fresh meat, fishes, and plays\ngames. But in the fall, when they are getting their winter meat, they\nget up regularly every morning at two o'clock and start to hunt. And if\nthe Indian has been successful, as he usually is, he seldom gets home\nbefore five o'clock. And the next morning it is the same thing, while\nhoar-frost is all over the ground. In the Fall Hunt, I was out in the\nmountains with them seventy-five miles from Nespilem (where Joseph's\ncamp was, and about one hundred and fifty miles from the agency), and it\nwas about the 15th of November; and if I had not gone home then, I would\nnot have been able to go until spring. So Niky Mowitz brought me in to\nNespilem, and we made the trip (seventy-six miles) in one day. We\nstarted at about eight o'clock in the morning, on our ponies. We had not\nbeen gone more than an hour when the dogs started a deer; we rode very\nfast, and tried to get a sight of it, but we couldn't.\n\nChief Joseph did not go to the mountains with us on this hunt, and we\nreached his tent in Nespilem at about ten o'clock. When we got to the\ntent, one of Joseph's squaws cooked us some supper; and on the third day\nafter that, I went to Wilbur, a little town on the railroad, and from\nthere to Portland, where papa met me at the train.\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE MOCCASIN'S RIDE ON THE THUNDER-HORSE\n\nBY COLONEL GUIDO ILGES\n\n\n\"LITTLE MOCCASIN\" was, at the time we speak of, fourteen years old, and\nabout as mischievous a boy as could be found anywhere in the Big Horn\nmountains. Unlike his comrades of the same age, who had already killed\nbuffaloes and stolen horses from the white men and the Crow Indians,\nwith whom Moccasin's tribe, the Uncapapas, were at war, he preferred to\nlie under a shady tree in the summer, or around the campfire in winter,\nlistening to the conversation of the old men and women, instead of going\nupon expeditions with the warriors and the hunters.\n\nThe Uncapapas are a very powerful and numerous tribe of the great Sioux\nNation, and before Uncle Sam's soldiers captured and removed them, and\nbefore the Northern Pacific Railroad entered the territory of Montana,\nthey occupied the beautiful valleys of the Rosebud, Big and Little Horn,\nPowder and Redstone rivers, all of which empty into the grand\nYellowstone Valley. In those days, before the white man had set foot\nupon these grounds, there was plenty of game, such as buffalo, elk,\nantelope, deer, and bear; and, as the Uncapapas were great hunters and\ngood shots, the camp of Indians to which Little Moccasin belonged always\nhad plenty of meat to eat and plenty of robes and hides to sell and\ntrade for horses and guns, for powder and ball, for sugar and coffee,\nand for paint and flour. Little Moccasin showed more appetite than any\nother Indian in camp. In fact, he was always hungry, and used to eat at\nall hours, day and night. Buffalo meat he liked the best, particularly\nthe part taken from the hump, which is so tender that it almost melts in\nthe mouth.\n\nWhen Indian boys have had a hearty dinner of good meat, they generally\nfeel very happy and very lively. When hungry, they are sad and dull.\n\nThis was probably the reason why Little Moccasin was always so full of\nmischief, and always inventing tricks to play upon the other boys. He\nwas a precocious and observing youngster, full of quaint and original\nideas--never at a loss for expedients.\n\nBut he was once made to feel very sorry for having played a trick, and I\nmust tell my young readers how it happened.\n\n\"Running Antelope,\" one of the great warriors and the most noted orator\nof the tribe, had returned from a hunt, and Mrs. Antelope was frying for\nhim a nice buffalo steak--about as large as two big fists--over the\ncoals. Little Moccasin, who lived in the next street of tents, smelled\nthe feast, and concluded that he would have some of it. In the darkness\nof the night he slowly and carefully crawled toward the spot where\nMistress Antelope sat holding in one hand a long stick, at the end of\nwhich the steak was frying. Little Moccasin watched her closely, and,\nseeing that she frequently placed her other hand upon the ground beside\nher and leaned upon it for support, he soon formed a plan for making her\ndrop the steak.\n\nHe had once or twice in his life seen a pin, but he had never owned one,\nand he could not have known what use is sometimes made of them by bad\nwhite boys. He had noticed, however, that some of the leaves of the\nlarger varieties of the prickly-pear cactus-plant are covered with many\nthorns, as long and as sharp as an ordinary pin.\n\nSo when Mrs. Antelope again sat down and looked at the meat to see if it\nwas done, he slyly placed half-a-dozen of the cactus leaves upon the\nvery spot of ground upon which Mrs. Antelope had before rested her left\nhand.\n\nThen the young mischief crawled noiselessly into the shade and waited\nfor his opportunity, which came immediately.\n\nWhen the unsuspecting Mrs. Antelope again leaned upon the ground, and\nfelt the sharp points of the cactus leaves, she uttered a scream, and\ndropped from her other hand the stick and the steak, thinking only of\nrelief from the sharp pain.\n\nThen, on the instant, the young rascal seized the stick and tried to run\naway with it. But Running Antelope caught him by his long hair, and gave\nhim a severe whipping, declaring that he was a good-for-nothing boy, and\ncalling him a \"coffee-cooler\" and a \"squaw.\"\n\nThe other boys, hearing the rumpus, came running up to see the fun, and\nthey laughed and danced over poor Little Moccasin's distress. Often\nafterward they called him \"coffee-cooler\"; which meant that he was\ncowardly and faint-hearted, and that he preferred staying in camp\naround the fire, drinking coffee, to taking part in the manly sports of\nhunting and stealing expeditions.\n\nThe night after the whipping, Little Moccasin could not sleep. The\ndisgrace of the whipping and the name applied to him were too much for\nhis vanity. He even lost his appetite, and refused some very nice\nprairie-dog stew which his mother offered him.\n\nHe was thinking of something else. He must do something brave--perform\nsome great deed which no other Indian had ever performed--in order to\nremove this stain upon his character.\n\nBut what should it be? Should he go out alone and kill a bear? He had\nnever fired a gun, and was afraid that the bear might eat him. Should he\nattack the Crow camp single-handed? No, no--not he; they would catch him\nand scalp him alive.\n\nAll night long he was thinking and planning; but when daylight came, he\nhad reached no conclusion. He must wait for the Great Spirit to give him\nsome ideas.\n\nDuring the following day he refused all food and kept drawing his belt\ntighter and tighter around his waist every hour, till, by evening, he\nhad reached the last notch. This method of appeasing the pangs of\nhunger, adopted by the Indians when they have nothing to eat, is said to\nbe very effective.\n\nIn a week's time Little Moccasin had grown almost as thin as a\nbean-pole, but no inspiration had yet revealed what he could do to\nredeem himself.\n\nAbout this time a roving band of Cheyennes, who had been down to the\nmouth of the Little Missouri, and beyond, entered the camp upon a\nfriendly visit. Feasting and dancing were kept up day and night, in\nhonor of the guests; but Little Moccasin lay hidden in the woods nearly\nall the time.\n\nDuring the night of the second day of their stay, he quietly stole to\nthe rear of the great council-tepee, to listen to the pow-wow then going\non. Perhaps he would there learn some words of wisdom which would give\nhim an idea how to carry out his great undertaking.\n\nAfter \"Black Catfish,\" the great Cheyenne warrior, had related in the\nflowery language of his tribe some reminiscences of his many fights and\nbrave deeds, \"Strong Heart\" spoke. Then there was silence for many\nminutes, during which the pipe of peace made the rounds, each warrior\ntaking two or three puffs, blowing the smoke through the nose, pointing\ntoward heaven, and then handing the pipe to his left-hand neighbor.\n\n\"Strong Heart,\" \"Crazy Dog,\" \"Bow-String,\" \"Dog-Fox,\" and \"Smooth\nElkhorn\" spoke of the country they had just passed through.\n\nThen again the pipe of peace was handed round, amid profound silence.\n\n\"Black Pipe,\" who was bent and withered with the wear and exposure of\nseventy-nine winters, and who trembled like some leafless tree shaken by\nthe wind, but who was sound in mind and memory, then told the Uncapapas,\nfor the first time, of the approach of a great number of white men, who\nwere measuring the ground with long chains, and who were being followed\nby \"Thundering Horses\" and \"Houses on Wheels.\" (He was referring to the\nsurveying parties of the Northern Pacific Railway Company, who were just\nthen at work on the crossing of the Little Missouri.)\n\nWith heart beating wildly, Little Moccasin listened to this strange\nstory and then retired to his own blankets in his father's tepee.\n\nNow he had found the opportunity he so long had sought! He would go\nacross the mountains, all by himself, look at the thundering horses and\nthe houses on wheels. He then would know more than any one in the tribe,\nand return to the camp,--a hero!\n\nAt early morn, having provided himself with a bow and a quiver full of\narrows, without informing any one of his plan he stole out of camp, and,\nrunning at full speed, crossed the nearest mountain to the East.\n\nAllowing himself little time for rest, pushing forward by day and night,\nand after fording many of the smaller mountain-streams, on the evening\nof the third day of his travel he came upon what he believed to be a\nwell-traveled road. But--how strange!--there were two endless iron rails\nlying side by side upon the ground. Such a curious sight he had never\nbeheld. There were also large poles, with glass caps, and connected by\nwire, standing along the roadside. What could all this mean?\n\nPoor Little Moccasin's brain became so bewildered that he hardly noticed\nthe approach of a freight-train drawn by the \"Thundering Horse.\"\n\nThere was a shrill, long-drawn whistle, and immense clouds of black\nsmoke; and the Thundering Horse was sniffing and snorting at a great\nrate, emitting from its nostrils large streams of steaming vapor.\nBesides all this, the earth, in the neighborhood of where Little\nMoccasin stood, shook and trembled as if in great fear; and to him the\nterrible noises the horse made were perfectly appalling.\n\nGradually the snorts, and the puffing, and the terrible noise lessened,\nuntil, all at once, they entirely ceased. The train had come to a\nstand-still at a watering tank, where the Thundering Horse was given its\ndrink.\n\nThe rear car, or \"House on Wheels,\" as old Black Pipe had called it,\nstood in close proximity to Little Moccasin,--who, in his bewilderment\nand fright at the sight of these strange moving houses, had been unable\nto move a step.\n\nBut as no harm had come to him from the terrible monster, Moccasin's\nheart, which had sunk down to the region of his toes, began to rise\nagain; and the curiosity inherent in every Indian boy mastered fear.\n\nHe moved up, and down, and around the great House on Wheels; then he\ntouched it in many places, first with the tip-end of one finger, and\nfinally with both hands. If he could only detach a small piece from the\nhouse to take back to camp with him as a trophy and as a proof of his\ndaring achievement! But it was too solid, and all made of heavy wood and\niron.\n\nAt the rear end of the train there was a ladder, which the now brave\nLittle Moccasin ascended with the quickness of a squirrel to see what\nthere was on top.\n\nIt was gradually growing dark, and suddenly he saw (as he really\nbelieved) the full moon approaching him. He did not know that it was the\nheadlight of a locomotive coming from the opposite direction.\n\nAbsorbed in this new and glorious sight, he did not notice the starting\nof his own car, until it was too late, for, while the car moved, he\ndared not let go his hold upon the brake-wheel.\n\nThere he was, being carried with lightning speed into a far-off, unknown\ncountry, over bridges, by the sides of deep ravines, and along the\nslopes of steep mountains.\n\nBut the Thundering Horse never tired nor grew thirsty again during the\nentire night.\n\nAt last, soon after the break of day, there came the same shrill whistle\nwhich had frightened him so much on the previous day; and, soon after,\nthe train stopped at Miles City.\n\nBut, unfortunately for our little hero, there were a great many white\npeople in sight; and he was compelled to lie flat upon the roof of his\ncar, in order to escape notice. He had heard so much of the cruelty of\nthe white men that he dared not trust himself among them.\n\nSoon they started again, and Little Moccasin was compelled to proceed on\nhis involuntary journey, which took him away from home and into unknown\ndangers.\n\nAt noon, the cars stopped on the open prairie to let Thundering Horse\ndrink again. Quickly, and without being detected by any of the trainmen,\nhe dropped to the ground from his high and perilous position. Then the\ntrain left him--all alone in an unknown country.\n\nAlone? Not exactly; for, within a few minutes, half a dozen Crow\nIndians, mounted on swift ponies, are by his side, and are lashing him\nwith whips and lassoes.\n\nHe has fallen into the hands of the deadliest enemies of his tribe, and\nhas been recognized by the cut of his hair and the shape of his\nmoccasins.\n\nWhen they tired of their sport in beating poor Little Moccasin so\ncruelly, they dismounted and tied his hands behind his back.\n\nThen they sat down upon the ground to have a smoke and to deliberate\nabout the treatment of the captive.\n\nDuring the very severe whipping, and while they were tying his hands,\nthough it gave him great pain, Little Moccasin never uttered a groan.\nIndian-like, he had made up his mind to \"die game,\" and not to give his\nenemies the satisfaction of gloating over his sufferings. This, as will\nbe seen, saved his life.\n\nThe leader of the Crows, \"Iron Bull,\" was in favor of burning the hated\nUncapapa at a stake, then and there; but \"Spotted Eagle,\" \"Blind Owl,\"\nand \"Hungry Wolf\" called attention to the youth and bravery of the\ncaptive, who had endured the lashing without any sign of fear. Then the\ntwo other Crows took the same view. This decided poor Moccasin's fate;\nand he understood it all, although he did not speak the Crow language,\nfor he was a great sign-talker, and had watched them very closely during\ntheir council.\n\nBlind Owl, who seemed the most kind-hearted of the party, lifted the boy\nupon his pony, Blind Owl himself getting up in front, and they rode at\nfull speed westward to their large encampment, where they arrived after\nsunset.\n\nLittle Moccasin was then relieved of his bonds, which had benumbed his\nhands during the long ride, and a large dish of boiled meat was given to\nhim. This, in his famished condition, he relished very much. An old\nsquaw, one of the wives of Blind Owl, and a Sioux captive, took pity on\nhim, and gave him a warm place with plenty of blankets in her own tepee,\nwhere he enjoyed a good rest.\n\nDuring his stay with the Crows, Little Moccasin was made to do the work,\nwhich usually falls to the lot of the squaws; and which was imposed upon\nhim as a punishment upon a brave enemy, designed to break his proud\nspirit. He was treated as a slave, made to haul wood and draw water, do\nthe cooking, and clean game. Many of the Crow boys wanted to kill him,\nbut his foster-mother, \"Old Looking-Glass,\" protected him; and, besides,\nthey feared that the soldiers of Fort Custer might hear of it, if he was\nkilled, and punish them.\n\nMany weeks thus passed, and the poor little captive grew more despondent\nand weaker in body every day. Often his foster-mother would talk to him\nin his own language, and tell him to be of good cheer; but he was\nterribly homesick and longed to get back to the mountains on the\nRosebud, to tell the story of his daring and become the hero which he\nhad started out to be.\n\nOne night, after everybody had gone to sleep in camp, and the fires had\ngone out, Old Looking-Glass, who had seemed to be soundly sleeping,\napproached his bed and gently touched his face. Looking up, he saw that\nshe held a forefinger pressed against her lips, intimating that he must\nkeep silence, and that she was beckoning him to go outside.\n\nThere she soon joined him; then, putting her arm around his neck, she\nhastened out of the camp and across the nearest hills.\n\nWhen they had gone about five miles away from camp, they came upon a\npretty little mouse-colored pony, which Old Looking-Glass had hidden\nthere for Little Moccasin on the previous day.\n\nShe made him mount the pony, which she called \"Blue Wing,\" and bade him\nfly toward the rising sun, where he would find white people who would\nprotect and take care of him.\n\n[Illustration: \"THEY CAME UPON A PRETTY LITTLE MOUSE-COLORED PONY\"]\n\nOld Looking-Glass then kissed Little Moccasin upon both cheeks and the\nforehead, while the tears ran down her wrinkled face; she also folded\nher hands upon her breast and, looking up to the heavens, said a prayer,\nin which she asked the Great Spirit to protect and save the poor boy in\nhis flight.\n\nAfter she had whispered some indistinct words into the ear of Blue Wing\n(who seemed to understand her, for he nodded his head approvingly), she\nbade Little Moccasin be off, and advised him not to rest this side of\nthe white man's settlement, as the Crows would soon discover his\nabsence, and would follow him on their fleetest ponies.\n\n\"But Blue Wing will save you! He can outrun them all!\"\n\nThese were her parting words, as he galloped away.\n\nIn a short time the sun rose over the nearest hill, and Little Moccasin\nthen knew that he was going in the right direction. He felt very happy\nto be free again, although sorry to leave behind his kind-hearted\nfoster-mother, Looking-Glass. He made up his mind that after a few\nyears, when he had grown big and become a warrior, he would go and\ncapture her from the hated Crows and take her to his own tepee.\n\nHe was so happy in this thought that he had not noticed how swiftly\ntime passed, and that already the sun stood over his head; neither had\nhe urged Blue Wing to run his swiftest; but that good little animal kept\nup a steady dog-trot, without, as yet, showing the least sign of being\ntired.\n\nBut what was the sudden noise which was heard behind him? Quickly he\nturned his head, and, to his horror, he beheld about fifty mounted Crows\ncoming toward him at a run, and swinging in their hands guns, pistols,\nclubs, and knives!\n\nHis old enemy, Iron Bull, was in advance, and under his right arm he\ncarried a long lance, with which he intended to spear Little Moccasin.\n\nMoccasin's heart stood still for a moment with fear; he knew that this\ntime they would surely kill him if caught. He seemed to have lost all\npower of action.\n\nNearer and nearer came Iron Bull, shouting at the top of his voice.\n\nBut Blue Wing now seemed to understand the danger of Moccasin's\nsituation; he pricked up his ears, snorted a few times, made several\nshort jumps, fully to arouse Moccasin, who remained paralyzed with fear,\nand then, like a bird, fairly flew over the prairie, as if his little\nhoofs were not touching the ground.\n\nLittle Moccasin, too, was now awakened to his peril, and he patted and\nencouraged Blue Wing; while, from time to time, he looked back over his\nshoulder to watch the approach of Iron Bull.\n\nThus they went, on and on; over ditches and streams, rocks and hills,\nthrough gulches and valleys. Blue Wing was doing nobly, but the pace\ncould not last forever.\n\nIron Bull was now only about five hundred yards behind and gaining on\nhim.\n\nLittle Moccasin felt the cold sweat pouring down his face. He had no\nfirearm, or he would have stopped to shoot at Iron Bull.\n\nBlue Wing's whole body seemed to tremble beneath his young rider, as if\nthe pony was making a last desperate effort, before giving up from\nexhaustion.\n\nUnfortunately, Little Moccasin did not know how to pray, or he might\nhave found some comfort and help thereby; but in those moments, when a\nterrible death was so near to him, he did the next best thing: he\nthought of his mother and his father, of his little sisters and\nbrothers, and also of Looking-Glass, his kind old foster-mother.\n\nThen he felt better and was imbued with fresh courage. He again looked\nback, gave one loud, defiant yell at Iron Bull, and then went out of\nsight over some high ground.\n\nKi-yi-yi-yi! There is the railroad station just in front, only about\nthree hundred yards away. He sees white men around the buildings, who\nwill protect him.\n\nAt this moment Blue Wing utters one deep groan, stumbles, and falls to\nthe ground. Fortunately, though, Little Moccasin has received no hurt.\nHe jumps up, and runs toward the station as fast as his weary legs can\ncarry him.\n\nAt this very moment Iron Bull with several of his braves came in sight\nagain, and, realizing the helpless condition of the boy, they all gave a\nshout of joy, thinking that in a few minutes they would capture and kill\nhim.\n\nBut their shouting had been heard by some of the white men, who at once\nconcluded to protect the boy, if he deserved aid.\n\nLittle Moccasin and Iron Bull reached the door of the station-building\nat nearly the same moment; but the former had time enough to dart inside\nand hide under the table of the telegraph operator.\n\nWhen Iron Bull and several other Crows rushed in to pull the boy from\nunderneath the table, the operator quickly took from the table drawer a\nrevolver, and with it drove the murderous Crows from the premises.\n\nThen the boy had to tell his story, and he was believed. All took pity\nupon his forlorn condition, and his brave flight made them his friends.\n\nIn the evening Blue Wing came up to where Little Moccasin was resting\nand awaiting the arrival of the next train, which was to take him back\nto his own home.\n\nThen they both were put aboard a lightning-express train, which took\nthem to within a short distance of the old camp on the Rosebud.\n\nWhen Little Moccasin arrived at his father's tepee, riding beautiful\nBlue Wing, now rested and frisky, the whole camp flocked around him; and\nwhen he told them of his great daring, of his capture and his escape,\nRunning Antelope, the big warrior of the Uncapapas and the most noted\norator of the tribe, proclaimed him a true hero, and then and there\nbegged his pardon for having called him a \"coffee-cooler.\" In the\nevening Little Moccasin was honored by a great feast, and the name of\n\"Rushing Lightning,\" _Wakee-wata-keepee_, was bestowed upon him--and by\nthat name he is known to this day.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE FIRST MAN AND THE LITTLE FIRST WOMAN\n\nAN INDIAN LEGEND\n\nBY WILLIAM M. CARY\n\n          [This story has been told to the children of the\n          Dacotah Indians for very many years, having been\n          handed down from generation to generation; and it\n          is now listened to by Indian children with as much\n          interest as it excited in the red-skinned boys and\n          girls of a thousand years ago.]\n\n\nON the bank of one of the many branches of the Missouri River--or \"Big\nMuddy,\" as it is called by the Indians on account of the color of its\nwaters--there lived a little boy and a little girl. These children were\nvery small indeed, being no bigger than a man's finger, but very\nhandsome, well formed, and also quite strong, considering their size.\nThere were no men and women in the world at that time, and none of the\npeople who told the story knew how these two small folk came to be\nliving on the banks of the river. Some persons thought that they might\nhave been little beavers, or little turtles, who were so smart that\nthey turned into a boy and a girl; but nothing about this is known for\ncertain. These small people lived in a tiny lodge near the river,\nfeeding upon the berries that grew along the shore. These were of great\nvariety and many delicious flavors. There were wild currants,\nraspberries, gooseberries, service-berries, wild plums and grapes; and\nof most of these, one was sufficient to make a meal for both of the\nchildren.\n\nThe little girl was very fond of the boy, and watched over and tended\nhim with great care. She made him a tiny bow from a blade of grass, with\narrows to match, and he hunted grasshoppers, crickets, butterflies, and\nmany other small creatures. She then made him a hunting-shirt, or coat,\nfrom the skin of a humming-bird, ornamented with brilliant little stones\nand tiny shells found in the sand. She loved him so dearly that no work\nwas too much when done for him.\n\n[Illustration: TELLING THE STORY OF THE LITTLE FIRST MAN AND THE LITTLE\nFIRST WOMAN]\n\nOne day he was out hunting on the prairie; and, feeling tired from an\nunusually long tramp, he lay down to rest and soon fell fast asleep. The\nwind began to rise, after the heat of the day; but this made him sleep\nthe sounder, and he knew nothing of the storm that was threatening. The\nclouds rolled over from the northwestern horizon, like an army of\nblankets torn and ragged. With flashing lightning, the thunder-god let\nloose his powers, and peal after peal went echoing loudly through the\ncanyons, up over the hills, and down into prairies where the quaking-asp\nshivered, the willows waved, and the tall blue-grass rolled, as the\nwind passed over, like a tempest-tossed sea. Only the stubborn aloes,\nthe Spanish-bayonet, and the prickly-pears kept their position. But the\nstorm was as brief as it was violent; and, gradually subsiding, it\npassed to the southeast, leaving nothing but a bank of clouds behind the\nhorizon. Everything was drenched by the heavy rain. The flowers hung\ntheir heads, or lay crushed from the weight of water on their tender\npetals, vainly struggling to rise and rejoice that the storm had passed\naway. The sage-brush looked more silvery than ever, clothed with myriads\nof rain-drops, which beaded its tiny leaves. Through all the storm our\nlittle hero slept, the feathers of his hunting-coat wet and flattened by\nthe rain. When the sun came out again and shone upon him, it dried and\nshriveled this little coat until it cracked and fell off him like the\nshell of an egg from a newly hatched chicken. He soon began to feel\nuncomfortable, and woke up. Evening was fast approaching; the blue-jay\nchattered, the prairie-chicken was calling its young brood to rest under\nits wings for the night, the cricket had at last sung himself to sleep,\nand all nature seemed to be getting ready for a long rest. Our boy,\nhowever, had no thought of further sleep. His active mind was thinking\nhow he could revenge himself upon the sun for his treatment of him, in\nthus ruining his coat. The shadows on the plains deepened into gloom and\ndarkness, but still he thought and planned out his revenge. Early in the\nmorning he started for home. The little girl had been anxiously watching\nfor him all night, and came out to meet him, much rejoiced at his safe\nreturn; but when she saw the condition of his coat, on which she had\nlabored with so much care and love, she was very much grieved. Her tears\nonly made him more angry with the sun, and he set himself to planning\nwith greater determination by what means he could annoy this enemy. At\nlast a bright idea struck him, and he at once told it to the girl. She\nwas delighted, and admired him the more for his shrewdness. They soon\nput their plans into practice, and began plaiting a rope of grasses.\n\nThis was a great undertaking, as the rope had to be very long. Many\nmoons came and went before this rope was finished, and, when the task\nwas completed, the next thing to be considered was, how they should\ncarry or transport it to the place where the sun rises in the morning.\nThis question puzzled them greatly, for the rope was very large and\nheavy, and the distance was very great.\n\n[Illustration: \"HE HUNTED GRASSHOPPERS\"]\n\nAll the animals at that time were very small tween compared to the\nfield-mouse, which was then the largest quadruped in the whole world,\ntwice the size of any buffalo. The horse, or, as the Indians call it,\n\"shungatonga,\" meaning elk-dog, did not then exist. It was a long time\nbefore the children could find a field-mouse to whom they could appeal\nfor aid. At last they found one at home, sitting comfortably under an\nimmense fern.\n\n[Illustration: \"AT HOME, UNDER AN IMMENSE FERN\"]\n\nThe little boy then went up to him, and, after relating his troubles,\nasked if he would assist in carrying the rope. Mountains had to be\ncrossed, rivers swum or forded, according to their depth, wide expanses\nof prairie to be passed over, forests skirted, swamps waded, and lakes\ncircled before the rope and its makers could reach the place where the\nsun rises. The field-mouse, after much consideration, agreed to help the\npair, and they began their preparations by winding the rope into a great\ncoil, which they packed on the back of the field-mouse. On the top of\nthis the boy and girl seated themselves, and the journey began. When\nthey came to a river which must be crossed by swimming, the rope was\ntaken off the mouse and unwound; then he would take one end in his\nmouth, and swim to the other side, letting it trail out after him as he\nswam. This performance had to be repeated many times before the whole\nrope was landed on the opposite bank. When this was done, he had to swim\nacross again and fetch the little pair, seating them on his forehead.\n\n[Illustration: ON THE JOURNEY]\n\nIt was hard work for the mouse, but the little boy encouraged him to his\nwork by promises of reward and compliments on his extraordinary\nstrength. The high mountains were crossed with great toil, and while\nthey were on the dry plains the travelers suffered for want of water.\nThe sun had dried up everything, and it almost seemed as if he\nunderstood their object, for he poured down upon them his hottest rays.\nSeveral changes of the seasons, and many moons, had come and gone before\nthey reached the dense forest from behind which the sun was accustomed\nto rise. They managed to arrive at this big forest at night, so that the\nsun should not see them, and then they screened themselves in the woods,\nresting there for several days. When, at last, they felt rested and\nrefreshed, they began their work at nightfall, and the first thing they\ndid was to uncoil the rope. The little boy then took one end of it in\nhis teeth, and climbed up one of the trees at the extreme edge of the\nwoods, where he spread it out in the branches, making loops and\nslip-knots here and there all over, from one tree to another, until the\nrope looked like an immense net. Then the mouse, finding his services no\nlonger needed, left them and wandered far away.\n\n[Illustration: THE FIELD-MOUSE CARRYING THE LITTLE PAIR ACROSS A RIVER]\n\nAs morning approached, the two children quitted the wood, everything\nbeing in readiness, and retired to a distance to watch the result of\ntheir work. Soon they espied a pale light gleaming behind the forest and\ngradually becoming brighter and brighter. On came the sun, rolling up in\nall his grandeur and fast approaching the rope, while the two little\nhearts were beating quickly down below. In a moment he had reached the\nnetwork of rope, and then, before he knew it, he was entangled in its\nmeshes, and found himself thoroughly entrapped! What a proud moment for\nour hero! He compared his own size with that of the sun, and his delight\nseemed beyond bounds as he and the little girl watched the sun\nstruggling to free himself, getting red with fury and rage, and pouring\nout his burning heat on all surrounding things. The leaves shriveled and\ndropped from the trees, the branches could be seen to smoke, the grass\ncurled up and withered, and at last the forest began to burn as the heat\nbecame more intense. It seemed as if all nature was on fire. The joy of\nthe children now turned into fear. The elk, deer, and buffalo came\nrushing out of the woods. The birds circled, shrieking and crying, and\nall living things seemed wild with fear.\n\n[Illustration: THE CONSULTATION]\n\nAt last the field-mouse called the animals together for a consultation\nas to what was best to be done. They held a brief council, for no time\ncould be lost. The elk spoke up and said that as the mouse had gone to\nso much trouble to carry the rope to entrap the sun, he was the one who\nought to set him free from his entanglement. This was generally agreed\nto, and, besides, the field-mouse was the largest animal, and had such\nsharp and strong teeth that it would be easy for him to gnaw through any\nrope.\n\nIt was getting hotter and hotter: something must be done quickly. The\nsun was blazing with rage! The field-mouse finally yielded to the wishes\nof his fellow-animals; and, rushing into the wood, through the terrible\nheat and smoke, he gnawed the rope, but in doing so was melted down to\nhis present size. The sun then rapidly arose, and everything soon became\nall right again.\n\nThe fact of the little man trapping the sun and causing so much mischief\nproved his superiority over the other animals, and they have feared him\never since. And, according to the Indian belief, this little man and\nlittle woman were the father and mother of all the tribes of men.\n\n\n\n\nFUN AMONG THE RED BOYS\n\nBY JULIAN RALPH\n\n\nVARIOUS as are the customs of the Indians, it is their savage, warlike\nnatures that we are most apt to remember. Few of us, in fact, ever think\nof Indian children at all, except at the sight of a picture of them.\nLittle has been told or written about the boy and girl red folk, and it\nwould puzzle most of my readers to say what they suppose these children\nof nature look like, or do to amuse themselves, or how they are brought\nup. It will astonish most city people to hear that red children are very\nlike white children, just as a lady who was out on the plains a few\nyears ago was astonished to find that they had skins as smooth and soft\nas any lady's--no, smoother and softer than that: as delicate and lovely\nas any dear little baby's here in New York. This lady was visiting the\nBlackfeet in my company, and she was so surprised, when she happened to\ntouch one little red boy's bare arm, that she went about pinching a\ndozen chubby-faced boys and girls to make herself sure that all their\nskins were like the coats of ripe peaches to the touch.\n\nWhether the Indians really love their children, or know what genuine\nlove or affection is, I cannot say; but they are so proud and careful of\ntheir little ones that it amounts to the same thing so far as the\nyoungsters are concerned. Boy babies are always most highly prized,\nbecause they will grow up into warriors.\n\nThe little that is taught to Indian boys must seem to them much more\nlike fun than instruction. They must hear the fairy stories and the\ngabble of the medicine-men or conjurers, and the tales of bloody fights\nand brave and cunning deeds which make the histories of their tribes.\nThey learn not to take what does not belong to them unless it belongs to\nan enemy. They learn not to be impudent to any one stronger and bigger\nthan themselves; they learn how to track animals and men, how to go\nwithout food when there is not any, how to eat up all there is _at once_\nwhen any food is to be had, how to ride and shoot and run and paddle,\nand smoke very mild tobacco. As for the rest, they \"just grow,\" like\nTopsy, and are as emotional and fanciful and wilful as any very little\nwhite child ever was. They never get over being so. The older they grow\nto be, the older children they become, for they are all very much like\nspoiled children as long as they live.\n\nThe first Indians I ever saw, outside of a show, were boys at play. They\nwere Onondagas, on their reservation near Syracuse, New York. They were\nbig boys of from sixteen to twenty years old, and the game they were\nplaying was \"snow-snakes.\" The earth was covered with snow, and by\ndragging a stout log through this covering they had made a narrow gutter\nor trough about 500 or 700 feet long. Each youth had his snow-snake,\nwhich is a stick about eight feet long, and shaped something like a\nspear. All the snow-snakes were alike, less than an inch wide, half an\ninch thick, flat on the under side, rounded on top, and with a very\nslight turn upward at the point to suggest a serpent's head. The\n\"snakes\" were all smoothed and of heavy hard wood. The game was to see\nwho could send his the farthest along the gutter in the snow. The young\nmen grasped their snakes at the very end, ran a few steps, and shot the\nsticks along the trough. As one after another sped along the snow, the\nserpent-like heads kept bobbing up and down over the rough surface of\nthe gutter precisely like so many snakes. I bought a snow-snake, but,\nthough I have tried again and again, I cannot get the knack of throwing\nit.\n\n[Illustration: ONONDAGA INDIAN BOYS PLAYING AT \"SNOW-SNAKES\"]\n\nBut I have since seen Indian boys of many tribes at play, and one time I\nsaw more than a hundred and fifty \"let loose,\" as our own children are\nin a country school-yard at recess. To be sure, theirs is a perpetual\nrecess, and they were at home among the tents of their people, the\nCanada Blackfeet, on the plains, within sight of the Rocky Mountains.\nThe smoke-browned tepees, crowned with projecting pole-ends, and painted\nwith figures of animals and with gaudy patterns, were set around in a\ngreat circle, and the children were playing in the open, grassy space in\nthe center. Their fathers and mothers were as wild as any Indians,\nexcept one or two tribes, on the continent, but nothing of their savage\nnatures showed in these merry, lively, laughing, bright-faced little\nragamuffins. At their play they laughed and screamed and hallooed. Some\nwere running foot-races, some were wrestling, some were on the backs of\nscampering ponies; for they are sometimes put on horseback when they are\nno more than three years old. Such were their sports, for Indian boys\nplay games to make them sure of aim, certain of foot, quick in motion,\nand supple in body, so that they can shoot and fight and ride and hunt\nand run well. To be able to run fast is a necessary accomplishment for\nan Indian. What they call \"runners\" are important men in every tribe.\nThey are the messenger men, and many a one among them has run a hundred\nmiles in a day. They cultivate running by means of foot-races. In war\nthey agree with the poet who sang:\n\n          \"For he who fights and runs away\n           May live to fight another day\";\n\nand afterward, if they were taken prisoners, they had a chance for life,\nin the old days, if they could run fast enough to escape their captors\nand the spears and bullets of their pursuers.\n\nA very popular game that attracted most of the Blackfeet boys was the\nthrowing of darts, or little white hand-arrows, along the grass. The\ngame was to see who could throw his arrow farthest in a straight line.\nAt times the air was full of the white missiles where the boys were\nplaying, and they fell like rain upon the grass.\n\nIn another part of the field were some larger boys with rude bows with\nwhich to shoot these same darts. These boys were playing a favorite\nBlackfeet game. Each one had a disk or solid wheel of sheet-iron or\nlead, and the game was to see who could roll his disk the farthest,\nwhile all the others shot at it to tip it over and bring it to a stop.\nThe boys made splendid shots at the swift-moving little wheels, and from\ngreater distances than you would imagine.\n\nThey play with arrows so frequently that it is no wonder they are good\nmarksmen; yet you would be surprised to see how frequently they bring\ndown the birds, rabbits, and gophers which abound on the plains. The\nhouses of these plump little drab-colored creatures are holes in the\nturf, and as you ride along the plains you will see them everywhere\naround, sitting up on their haunches with their tiny fore paws held idle\nand limp before them, and their bead-like, bright eyes looking at you\nmost trustingly--until you come just so near, when pop! suddenly down\ngoes little Mr. Gopher in his hole. You may be sure the Indian boys find\ngreat sport in shooting at these comical little creatures. But the boys\ntake a mean advantage of the fact that the restless gophers cannot stay\nstill in one place any great length of time. When one pops into a hole\nit is only for a minute, and during that minute the Indian boy softly\nand deftly arranges a snare around the hole, so that when the gopher\npops up again the snare can be jerked and the animal captured.\n\nWe gave the boys in the Blackfeet camp great sport by standing at a\ndistance of a hundred yards from all of them and offering a silver\nquarter to whichever boy got to us first. You should have seen the\nstampede that followed the signal, \"Go!\" Blankets were dropped,\nmoccasins fell off, boys stumbled and others fell atop of them, their\nblack locks flew in the breeze, and the air was noisy with yelling and\nlaughter.\n\nThese boys spin tops, but their \"top-time\" is the winter, when snow is\non the ground and is crusted hard. Their tops are made of lead or some\nother metal, and are mere little circular plates which they cover with\nred flannel and ornament with tiny knots or wisps of cord all around the\nedges. These are spun with whips and look very pretty on the icy white\nplaygrounds. Nearly all Indian boys play ball, but not as we do, for\ntheir only idea of the game is the girlish one of pitching and catching.\nAll their games are the simplest, and lack the rules which we lay down\nto make our sports difficult and exciting.\n\nThe boys of the Papago tribe in the Southwest have a game which the\nfellows in Harvard and Yale would form rules about, if they played it,\nuntil it became very lively indeed. These Indian boys make dumb-bells of\nwoven buckskin or rawhide. They weave them tight and stiff, and then\nsoak them in a sort of red mud which sticks like paint. They dry them,\nand then the queer toys are ready for use. To play the game they mark\noff goals, one for each band or \"side\" of players. The object of each\nside is to send its dumb-bells over to the goal of the enemy. The\ndumb-bells are tossed with sticks that are thrust under them as they lie\non the ground. The perverse things will not go straight or far, and a\nrod is a pretty good throw for one. The sport quickly grows exciting,\nand the players are soon battling in a heap, almost as if they were\nplaying at foot-ball.\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE STAMPEDE THAT FOLLOWED THE\nSIGNAL, 'GO!'\"]\n\nThese are games that will not wear out while there are Indian boys to\nplay them. On the oldest reservations, where even the grandfathers of\nthe Indians now alive were shut up and fed by their government, the boys\nstill play the old games. But wherever one travels to-day, even among\nthe wildest tribes, a new era is seen to have begun as the result of\nthe Indian schools, and Indian boys are being taught things more useful\nthan any they ever knew before. The brightest boys in the various tribes\nare selected to be sent to these schools, and it is hoped that what they\nlearn will make all the others anxious to imitate white men's ways.\n\n[Illustration: COPY IN BLACK AND WHITE OF A COLOR-DRAWING BY AN INDIAN\nBOY]\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHILDREN OF ZUNI\n\nBY MARIA BRACE KIMBALL\n\n          \"Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,\n           Little frosty Eskimo,\n           Little Turk or Japanee,\n           Oh, don't you wish that you were me?\"\n\n\nSO says the well-fed, well-dressed, well-housed little Scotchman in\nRobert Louis Stevenson's rhyme. But I don't believe that the small\nIndians of Zuni would care at all to change places with the little \"me\"\nof Edinburgh or New York. In their village of mud and stone, on the\nsunny plains of New Mexico, they have lived for centuries in perfect\ncontentment. Fine houses, green parks, and merry streets would be\nnothing to them; hats and parasols, candies and ice-cream would make\nthem stare; and mere cleanliness would only astonish them. Indeed, if\nthey saw us washing our faces and brushing our hair every day, they\nwould probably one and all cry out in Zuni words:\n\n          \"Oh, don't you wish that you were _me_?\"\n\nThe little half-civilized children of Zuni so aroused our curiosity that\nwe drove through forty miles of sand and sage-brush, from the railroad\nat Fort Wingate, to pay them a visit. As the Indians do not provide for\ntravelers, we took our hotel with us--tents, beds, and food--and camped\njust outside their village. The village looks like a huge beehive made\nof clay and stuck fast to the top of a sandy knoll. The hive is filled\nwith a mass of cells--three hundred single rooms, placed side by side\nand piled in rows one on top of another. In each of these rooms lives a\nZuni family. There are no inside stairways leading from story to story,\nbut if the boys and girls living in one row wish to pay a visit to a\nhouse above them, they must go outdoors and climb a ladder. On the slope\nbetween the village and the Zuni River are a number of small\nvegetable-gardens, each one inclosed by a mud wall. Zuni has no inns, no\nshops, no saloons, not even proper streets, but only narrow alleys that\nthread their way through the strange town. As we walked through the\nvillage, all the world came out to see us. Girls and boys clustered on\nthe roofs or sat on the ovens,--queer little cones of mud which seem to\ngrow up out of the house-tops,--while fathers, mothers, and babies\npeered out from dark doorways, to stare at the visitors. When we had\nfinished our tour of the roofs and alleys, we were hospitably invited\nindoors; even there the children followed us, and as we glanced up to a\nhole in the ceiling which served as a window, a girl's laughing face\nfilled the opening. We must have looked strange enough in our hats and\ngloves and long skirts.\n\nThe Zuni child spends his early days in a cradle. But a cradle in\nZuni-land does not mean down pillows, silken coverlets, and fluffy\nlaces; it is only a flat board, just the length of the baby, with a hood\nlike a doll's buggy-top over the head. Upon this hard bed the baby is\nbound like a mummy--the coverings wound round and round him until the\nlittle fellow cannot move except to open his mouth and eyes. Sometimes\nhe is unrolled, and looks out into the bare whitewashed room, blinks at\nthe fire burning on the hearth, and fixes his eyes earnestly on the wolf\nand cougar skins that serve as chairs and beds and carpets in the Zuni\nhome.\n\n[Illustration: A ZUNI FAMILY ON THE MARCH]\n\nBy the time he is two or three years old, he has grown into a plump\nlittle bronze creature, with the straightest of coarse black hair and\nthe biggest and roundest of black eyes. He is now out of the cradle, and\ntrots about the house and the village. When the weather is bad he wears\na small coarse shirt, and always a necklace of beads or turquoise.\n\nAs he grows older, he adds a pair of loose cotton trousers to his\ncostume, and, if anything more is needed to keep him warm, he girds on\nhis blanket, just as his forefathers have done in all the three hundred\nyears since white men first knew the Zunis. His long hair, either flying\nloosely in the wind or tied back with a band of some red stuff, serves\nhim both as hair and as hat.\n\nHis little sister, however, has a more elaborate dress. Her mama weaves\nit for her, as she does her own, in a rude loom. She makes two square\nblankets of black cotton, finishes them neatly across top and bottom,\nsews them together at the sides with red yarn, and the dress is ready to\ntry on. It always fits perfectly, as the part which forms the skirt is\nsimply held in place by a sash, and the waist is made by drawing two\ncorners of the blankets up over the left shoulder. The sash, woven in\ngay colors, is also the work of Mama Zuni. A long, narrow piece of\ncotton cloth is draped from the other shoulder, and swings easily about,\nserving as pocket, shawl, or pinafore. In cold weather, moccasins,\nleggings, and blankets are also worn. These articles, too, are made at\nhome. While the mother is the dressmaker and tailor, the father is the\nfamily shoemaker. A few of the Zuni girls have dresses like those of\nAmerican girls. These clothes have come to them through the\nmission-school which adjoins the village.\n\nThe Zunis have a language of their own--no very easy one for boys and\ngirls to learn, judging from its many-syllabled, harsh-sounding words.\nThey also speak a little Spanish, as does nearly everybody in New\nMexico.\n\nThe little Zunis amuse themselves with running, wrestling, jumping, and\nplaying at grown folks, just as civilized children do. They have their\nbows and arrows, their rag-dolls,--strapped like real babies to\ncradles,--and their shinny sticks and balls. The children also make\nthemselves useful at home. The older girls take care of their younger\nbrothers and sisters, and the boys tend the goats. There are large herds\nof goats belonging to the village, and they must be taken every morning\nto graze on the plain, and brought home at night to be shut up in the\ncorrals, or folds, safe from prowling wolves.\n\nThe little children often go with their mothers to draw water from the\nvillage well, about a hundred yards from the houses. At the top of a\nflight of stone steps they wait, playing about in the sand, while their\nmothers go down to the spring. There the women fill the jars, then,\npoising them on their heads, climb the hill and mount the ladders to\ntheir homes. As all the water used by the village has to be brought to\nit in these _ollas_ (water-jars), carried on the women's heads, it is\nnot surprising that the boys' clothes are grimy and the girls have\napparently never known what it is to wash their faces.\n\nThe _ollas_, which answer the purpose of family china and of\nkitchen-ware, are made by the Zuni women from the clay of the\nriver-bank. The wet earth is shaped by hand into jars of all sorts and\nsizes; the jars are then painted with gay colors, in queer patterns, and\nburned. It is a pretty sight, of an evening, to see the fires of the\nkilns dotted all over the terraces of the village. Each piece of pottery\nis shut up inside a little wall of chips, which are set on fire; when\nthe chips are burned up, the article is baked and ready for use. The\nZuni mamas make not only the jars for family use, but also clay toys for\nthe children, curious rattles, dolls' moccasins, owls, eagles, horses,\nand other childish treasures.\n\n[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO FORT WINGATE]\n\nThe Zuni has learned that American coffee and tobacco are better than\nIndian herb tea and willow bark. As he must have ready money in order to\nbuy such articles, he has contrived various ways of earning a few\n_reales_ (Spanish for shillings). When spring comes and the snows have\nmelted, he collects the jars and bowls and trinkets that have been made\nduring the winter, ties them up in the several corners of his blanket,\nand trudges off to market at Fort Wingate, forty miles away. Bows and\narrows, and canes made from a singular cactus which grows near Zuni, are\nalso added to the stock in trade. If the Indian is lucky enough to own a\nburro, he and one of the boys mount the patient creature, while the\nfamily, big and little, with some of the neighbors, complete the party.\nOnce in the garrison, the Zuni family need only walk up and down to\nadvertise their wares; the boys and girls help to carry the jars, while\nthe babies follow. The group, with its bright blankets and gay\npottery, soon attracts attention and sales begin on the sidewalks and\nverandas. Little is said by the Zuni merchants, but when the bargaining\nis finished, they stand silent, waiting with a hungry look for the usual\ninvitation to the kitchen. There, seated in a circle on the floor, they\ngratefully eat and drink whatever is set before them. Their store of\nwords does not include \"Thank you,\" but their faces brighten, and the\nolder people politely shake hands with a \"Bueno, bueno, senora\" (\"Good,\ngood, madame\"), while the babies munch and crumble their cake and cry\nfor more, just as our own white babies do. The thoughtful mamas do not\nforget the miles of \"home stretch\" before the family, and wisely tuck\naway in their blankets the last bits of cheese and crackers.\n\nWhen they have looked over the fort, tasted its bread and coffee, and\nsold their cargo, they cheerfully go home to their mud village and\nIndian habits. Old and young, they all are children, easily pleased,\ncontented with things as they are, and quite certain in their own minds\nthat the Zuni way is the right way to live.\n\n\n\n\nTHE INDIAN GIRL AND HER MESSENGER-BIRD\n\nBY GEORGE W. RANCK\n\n\nONCE upon a time, there was an Indian who lived in a big wood on the\nbanks of a beautiful river, and he did nothing all day long but catch\nfish and hunt wild deer. Well, this Indian had two lovely little\ndaughters, and he named one Sunbeam, because she was so bright and\ncheerful, and the other he called Starlight, because, he said, her sweet\neyes twinkled like the stars.\n\nSunbeam and Starlight were as gay as butterflies, and as busy as bees,\nfrom morning till night. They ran races under the shady trees, made\nbouquets of wild flowers, swung on grape-vine swings, turned berries and\nacorns into beads, and dressed their glossy black hair with bright\nfeathers that beautiful birds had dropped. They loved each other so\nmuch, and were so happy together, that they never knew what trouble\nmeant until, one day, Starlight got very sick, and before the big moon\ncame over the tree-tops the sweet Indian child had closed her starry\neyes in death, and rested for the last time upon her soft, little\ndeerskin bed. And now, for the first time, Sunbeam's heart was full of\ngrief. She could not play, for Starlight was gone, she knew not where;\nso she took the bright feathers out of her hair, and sat down by the\nriver and cried and cried for Starlight to come back to her. But when\nher father told her that Starlight was gone to the Spirit-land of love\nand beauty, and would be happy for ever and ever, Sunbeam was comforted.\n\n\"Now,\" said she, \"I know where darling Starlight is, and I can kiss her\nand talk to her again.\"\n\nSunbeam had heard her people say that the birds were messengers from the\nSpirit-land. So she hunted through the woods until she found a little\nsong-bird, that was too young to fly, fast asleep in its nest. She\ncarried it gently home, put it into a cage, and watched over it and fed\nit tenderly day after day until its wings grew strong and it filled the\nwoods with its music. Then she carried it in her soft little hands to\nStarlight's grave; and after she had loaded it with kisses and messages\nof love for Starlight, she told it never to cease its sweetest song or\nfold its shining wings until it had flown to the Spirit-land. She let it\ngo, and the glad bird, as it rose above the tall green trees, poured\nforth a song more joyful than any that Sunbeam had ever heard. Higher\nand higher it flew, and sweeter and sweeter grew its song, until at last\nboth its form and its music were lost in the floating summer clouds.\n\nThen Sunbeam ran swiftly over the soft grass to her father, and told\nhim, with a bright smile and a light heart, that she had talked with\ndear Starlight, and had kissed her sweet rosy mouth again; and Sunbeam\nwas once more her father's bright and happy little Indian girl.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE STONE-AGE CHILDREN PLAYED\n\nBY CHARLES C. ABBOTT\n\n\nNOT long since I wandered along a pretty brook that rippled through a\nnarrow valley. I was on the lookout for whatever birds might be\nwandering that way, but saw nothing of special interest. So, to while\naway the time, I commenced geologizing; and, as I plodded along my\nlonely way, I saw everywhere traces of an older time, when the sparkling\nrivulet that now only harbors pretty salamanders was a deep creek,\ntenanted by many of our larger fishes.\n\nHow fast the earth from the valley's slopes may have been loosened by\nfrost and washed by freshet, and carried down to fill up the old bed of\nthe stream, we will not stop to inquire; for other traces of this older\ntime were also met with here. As I turned over the loose earth by the\nbrook-side, and gathered here and there a pretty pebble, I chanced upon\na little arrow-point.\n\nWhoever has made a collection, be it of postage stamps or birds' eggs,\nknows full well how securing one coveted specimen but increases\neagerness for others; and so was it with me that pleasant afternoon.\nJust one pretty arrow-point cured me of my laziness, banished every\ntrace of fatigue, and filled me with the interest of eager search; and I\ndug and sifted and washed the sandy soil for yards along the brook-side,\nuntil I had gathered at least a score of curious relics of the\nlong-departed red men, or rather of the games and sports and pastimes of\nthe red men's hardy and active children.\n\n[Illustration: THE HATCHET]\n\nFor centuries before Columbus discovered San Salvador, the red men (or\nIndians, as they are usually called) roamed over all the great continent\nof North America, and having no knowledge of iron as a metal, they were\nforced to make of stone or bone all their weapons, hunting and\nhousehold implements. From this fact they are called, when referring to\nthose early times, a stone-age people, and so, of course, the boys and\ngirls of that time were stone-age children.\n\nBut it is not to be supposed that, because the children of savages, they\nwere altogether unlike the youngsters of to-day. In one respect, at\nleast, they were quite the same--they were very fond of play.\n\nTheir play, however, was not like the games of to-day, as you may see by\nthe pictures of their toys. We might, perhaps, call the principal game\nof the boys \"Playing Man,\" for the little stone implements, here\npictured, are only miniatures of the great stone axes and long\nspear-points of their fathers.\n\nIn one particular these old-time children were really in advance of the\nyoungsters of to-day; they not only did, in play, what their parents did\nin earnest, but they realized, in part, the results of their playful\nlabor. A good old Moravian missionary says: \"Little boys are frequently\nseen wading in shallow brooks, shooting small fishes with their bows and\narrows.\" Going a-fishing, then, as now, was good fun; but to shoot\nfishes with a bow and arrow is not an easy thing to do, and this is one\nway these stone-age children played, and played to better advantage than\nmost of my young readers can.\n\nAmong the stone-age children's toys that I gathered that afternoon, were\nthose of which we have pictures. The first is a very pretty stone\nhatchet, very carefully shaped, and still quite sharp. It has been\nworked out from a porphyry pebble, and in every way, except size, it is\nthe same as hundreds that still are to be found lying about the fields.\n\nNo red man would ever deign to use such an insignificant-looking ax, and\nso we must suppose it to have been a toy hatchet for some little fellow\nthat chopped away at saplings, or, perhaps, knocked over some poor\nsquirrel or rabbit; for our good old Moravian friend, the missionary,\nalso tells us that \"the boys learn to climb trees when very young, both\nto catch birds and to exercise their sight, which, by this method, is\nrendered so quick that in hunting they see objects at an amazing\ndistance.\" Their play, then, became an excellent schooling for them; and\nif they did nothing but play it was not a loss of time.\n\nThe five little arrow-points figured in the second picture are among\nthose I found in the valley. The ax was not far away, and both it and\nthey may have belonged to the same bold and active young hunter. All of\nthese arrow-points are very neatly made.\n\n[Illustration: ARROW-HEADS]\n\nThe same missionary tells us that these young red men of the forest\n\"exercise themselves very early with bows and arrows, and in shooting at\na mark. As they grow up, they acquire a remarkable dexterity in shooting\nbirds, squirrels, and small game.\"\n\nEvery boy remembers his first penknife, and, whether it had one or three\nblades, was proud enough of it; but how different the fortune of the\nstone-age children, in this matter of a pocket-knife! In the third\npicture is shown a piece of flint that was doubtless chipped into this\nshape that it might be used as a knife.\n\nI have found scores of such knives in the fields that extend along the\nlittle valley, and a few came to light in my search that afternoon in\nthe brook-side sands and gravel. So, if this chipped flint is a knife,\nthen, as in modern times, the children were whittlers.\n\n[Illustration: FLINT KNIFE]\n\nOf course, our boys nowadays would be puzzled to cut a willow whistle or\nmend the baby's go-cart with such a knife as this; but still, it will\nnot do to despise stone cutlery. The big canoe at the Centennial, that\ntook up so much room in the Government Building,--a boat sixty feet\nlong,--was made in quite recent times, and only stone knives and\nhatchets were used in the process.\n\nI found too, in that afternoon walk, some curiously shaped splinters of\njasper, which at first did not seem very well adapted to any purpose;\nand yet, although mere fragments, they had every appearance of having\nbeen purposely shaped, and not of accidental resemblances to a hook or\nsickle blade. When I got home, I read that perfect specimens, mine being\ncertainly pieces of the same form, had been found away off in Norway;\nand Professor Nilsson, who has carefully studied the whole subject, says\nthey are fish-hooks.\n\nInstead of my broken ones, we have in the fourth illustration some\nuninjured specimens of these fish-hooks from Norway. Two are made of\nflint, the largest one being bone; and hooks of exactly the same\npatterns really have been found within half a mile of the little valley\nI worked in that afternoon.\n\nThe fish-hooks shown in our picture have been thought to be best adapted\nfor, and really used in, capturing cod-fish in salt water, and perch and\npike in inland lakes. The broken hooks I found were fully as large; and\nso the little brook that now ripples down the valley, when a large\nstream, must have had a good many big fishes in it, or the stone-age\nfishermen would not have brought their fishing-hooks, and have lost\nthem, along this remnant of a larger stream.\n\nBut it must not be supposed that only children in this bygone era did\nthe fishing for their tribe. Just as the men captured the larger game,\nso they took the bigger fishes; but it is scarcely probable that the\nboys who waded the little brooks with bows and arrows would remain\ncontent with that, and, long before they were men, doubtless they were\nadepts in catching the more valuable fishes that abounded, in Indian\ntimes, in all our rivers.\n\nSo, fishing, I think, was another way in which the stone-age children\nplayed.\n\n[Illustration: FISH-HOOKS]\n\n\n\n\nGAMES AND SPORTS OF THE INDIAN BOY\n\nBY DR. CHARLES ALEXANDER EASTMAN\n\n          [These are actual recollections of the wild life.\n          The Indian boy whose experiences are described\n          wrote them out himself many years afterward when,\n          having graduated at Dartmouth College and the\n          Boston University School of Medicine, he had\n          become an educated man, and a physician among his\n          own people.]\n\n\nTHE Indian boy was a prince of the wilderness. He had but very little\nwork to do during the period of his boyhood. His principal occupation\nwas the practising of a few simple but rigid rules in the arts of\nwarfare and the chase. Aside from this, he was master of his time.\n\nWhatever was required of us boys was quickly performed; then the field\nwas clear for our games and plays. There was always keen competition\nbetween us. We felt very much as our fathers did in hunting and\nwar--each one strove to excel all the others. It is true that our savage\nlife was a precarious one, and full of dreadful catastrophes; however,\nthis never prevented us from enjoying our sports to the fullest extent.\nAs we left our tepees in the morning, we were never sure that our scalps\nwould not dangle from a pole in the afternoon! It was an uncertain life,\nto be sure. Yet we observed that the fawns skipped and played happily\nwhile the gray wolves might be peeping forth from behind the hills,\nready to tear them limb from limb.\n\nOur sports were molded by the life and customs of our people--indeed, we\npractised only what we expected to do when grown. Our games were feats\nwith the bow and arrow, foot and pony races, wrestling, swimming, and\nimitations of the customs and habits of our fathers. We had sham fights\nwith mud balls and willow wands, we played lacrosse, made war upon bees,\nshot winter arrows (which were used only in that season), and coasted\nupon ribs of animals and buffalo-robes.\n\nOur games with bow and arrow were usually combined with hunting; but as\nI shall take hunting for the subject of another letter, I will speak\nonly of such as were purely plays.\n\nNo sooner did the boys get together than they divided into squads, and\nchose sides; then a leading arrow was shot at random into the air.\nBefore it fell to the ground, a volley from the bows of the\nparticipants followed. Each player was quick to see the direction and\nspeed of the leading arrow, and he tried to send his own with the same\nspeed and at an equal height, so that when it fell it would be closer\nthan any of the others to the first.\n\nIt was considered out of place to shoot an arrow by first sighting the\nobject aimed at. This was usually impracticable, because the object was\nalmost always in motion, while the hunter himself was often on the back\nof a pony in full gallop. Therefore, it was the offhand shot that the\nIndian boy sought to master. There was another game with arrows which\nwas characterized by gambling, and was generally confined to the men.\n\nThe races were an every-day occurrence. At noon the boys were usually\ngathered by some pleasant sheet of water, and as soon as the ponies were\nwatered, they were allowed to graze for an hour or two, while the boys\nstripped for their noonday sports. A boy might say, \"I can't run, but I\nchallenge you for fifty paces,\" to some other whom he considered his\nequal. A former hero, when beaten, would often explain his defeat by\nsaying, \"I had drunk too much water!\" Boys of all ages were paired for\na \"spin,\" and the little red men cheered on their favorites with spirit!\nAs soon as this was ended, the pony races followed. All the speedy\nponies were picked out, and riders chosen. If a boy said, \"I cannot\nride,\" what a shout went up! Such derision!\n\nLast of all came the swimming. A little urchin would hang to his pony's\nlong tail, while the latter held only his head above water and glided\nsportively along. Finally the animals were driven into a fine field of\ngrass, and we turned our attention to other games.\n\nLacrosse was an older game, and was confined entirely to the Sisseton\nand Santee Sioux. Shinny, such as is enjoyed by white boys on ice, is\nnow played by the western Sioux. The \"moccasin-game,\" although sometimes\nplayed by the boys, was intended mainly for adults.\n\nThe \"mud-and-willow\" fight was rather a severe and dangerous sport. A\nlump of soft clay was stuck on one end of a limber and springy willow\nwand, to be thrown with considerable force--as boys throw apples from\nsticks. When there were fifty or a hundred on each side, the battle\nbecame warm; but anything to arouse the bravery of Indian boys seemed to\nthem a good and wholesome sport.\n\nWrestling was largely indulged in by all of us. It may seem odd, but the\nwrestling was by a great number of boys at once--from ten to any number\non a side. It was really a battle, but each one chose his own opponent.\nThe rule was that if a boy sat down, he was let alone; but as long as he\nremained standing within the field he was open to an attack. No one\nstruck with the hand, but all manner of tripping with legs and feet and\nhurting with the knees was allowed; altogether it was an exhausting\npastime--fully equal to the American game of foot-ball. Only the boy who\nwas an athlete could really enjoy it.\n\nOne of our most curious sports was a war upon the nests of wild bees. We\nimagined ourselves about to make an attack upon the Chippewas or some\nother tribal foe. We all painted and stole cautiously upon the nest;\nthen, with a rush and a war-whoop, sprang upon the object of our attack\nand endeavored to destroy it. But it seemed that the bees were always on\nthe alert, and never entirely surprised; for they always raised quite as\nmany scalps as did their bold assailants! After the onslaught upon the\nbees was ended, we usually followed it by a pretended scalp-dance.\n\nOn the occasion of my first experience in this mode of warfare, there\nwere two other little boys who also were novices. One of them,\nparticularly, was too young to indulge in such an exploit. As it was the\ncustom of the Indians, when they killed or wounded an enemy on the\nbattle-field, to announce the act in a loud voice, we did the same. My\nfriend Little Wound (as I will call him, for I do not remember his\nname), being quite small, was unable to reach the nest until it had been\nwell trampled upon and broken, and the insects had made a counter charge\nwith such vigor as to repulse and scatter our numbers in every\ndirection. However, he evidently did not want to retreat without any\nhonors; so he bravely jumped upon the nest and yelled:\n\n\"I, brave Little Wound, to-day kill the only fierce enemy!\"\n\nScarcely was the last word uttered when he screamed as if stabbed to the\nheart. One of his older companions shouted:\n\n\"Dive into the water! Run! Dive into the water!\" for there was a lake\nnear by. This advice he obeyed.\n\n[Illustration: INDIAN BOYS PLAYING \"FOLLOW MY LEADER\"]\n\nWhen we had reassembled and were indulging in our mimic dance, Little\nWound was not allowed to dance. He was considered not to be in\nexistence--he had been \"killed\" by our enemies, the Bee tribe. Poor\nlittle fellow! His tear-stained face was sad and ashamed, as he sat on a\nfallen log and watched the dance. Although he might well have styled\nhimself one of the noble dead who had died for their country, yet he was\nnot unmindful that he had _screamed_, and that this weakness would be\napt to recur to him many times in the future.\n\nWe had some quiet plays which we alternated with the more severe and\nwarlike ones. Among them were throwing wands and snow-arrows. In the\nwinter we coasted much. We had no \"double-rippers\" nor toboggans, but\nsix or seven of the long ribs of a buffalo, fastened together at the\nlarger end, answered all practical purposes. Sometimes a strip of\nbass-wood bark, four feet long and half a foot wide, was used with much\nskill. We stood on one end and held the other, using the inside of the\nbark for the outside, and thus coasted down long hills with remarkable\nspeed.\n\nSometimes we played \"Medicine Dance.\" This to us was almost what\n\"playing church\" is among white children. Our people seem to think it an\nact of irreverence to imitate these dances, but we children thought\notherwise; therefore we quite frequently enjoyed in secret one of these\nperformances. We used to observe all the important ceremonies and\ncustoms attending it, and it required something of an actor to reproduce\nthe dramatic features of the dance. The real dances usually occupied a\nday and a night, and the program was long and varied, so that it was not\neasy to execute all the details perfectly; but the Indian children are\nborn imitators.\n\nI was often selected as choirmaster on these occasions, for I had\nhappened to learn many of the medicine songs, and was quite an apt\nmimic. My grandmother, who was a noted medicine woman, on hearing of\nthese sacrilegious acts (as she called them), warned me that if any of\nthe medicine men should learn of my conduct, they would punish me\nterribly by shriveling my limbs with slow disease.\n\nOccasionally we also played \"white man.\" Our knowledge of the pale-face\nwas limited, but we had learned that he brought goods whenever he came,\nand that our people exchanged furs for his merchandise. We also knew,\nsomehow, that his complexion was white, that he wore short hair on his\nhead and long hair on his face, and that he had coat, trousers, and\nhat, and did not patronize blankets in the daytime. This was the picture\nwe had formed of the white man. So we painted two or three of our number\nwith white clay, and put on them birchen hats, which we sewed up for the\noccasion, fastened a piece of fur to their chins for a beard, and\naltered their costume as much as lay within our power. The white of the\nbirch-bark was made to answer for their white shirts. Their merchandise\nconsisted of sand for sugar, wild beans for coffee, dried leaves for\ntea, pulverized earth for gunpowder, pebbles for bullets, and clear\nwater for dangerous \"fire-water.\" We traded for these goods with skins\nof squirrels, rabbits, and small birds.\n\nWhen we played \"hunting buffalo\" we would send a few good runners off on\nthe open prairie with meat and other edibles; then start a few of our\nswiftest runners to chase them and capture the food. Once we were\nengaged in this sport when a real hunt by the men was going on near by;\nyet we did not realize that it was so close until, in the midst of our\nplay, an immense buffalo appeared, coming at full speed directly toward\nus. Our mimic buffalo hunt turned into a very real \"buffalo scare\"! As\nit was near the edge of a forest, we soon disappeared among the leaves\nlike a covey of young prairie-chickens, and some hid in the bushes while\nothers took refuge in tall trees.\n\nIn the water we always had fun. When we had no ponies, we often had\nswimming-matches of our own, and we sometimes made rafts with which we\ncrossed lakes and rivers. It was a common thing to \"duck\" a young or\ntimid boy, or to carry him into deep water to struggle as best he might.\n\nI remember a perilous ride with a companion on an unmanageable log, when\nwe both were less than seven years old. The older boys had put us on\nthis uncertain bark and pushed us out into the swift current of the\nriver. I cannot speak for my comrade in distress, but I can say now that\nI would rather ride on a wild bronco any day than try to stay on and\nsteady a short log in a river. I never knew how we managed to prevent a\nshipwreck on that voyage, and to reach the shore!\n\nWe had many curious wild pets. There were young foxes, bears, wolves,\nfawns, raccoons, buffalo calves, and birds of all kinds, tamed by\nvarious boys. My pets were different at different times, but I\nparticularly remember one. I once had a grizzly cub for a pet, and so\nfar as he and I were concerned our relations were charming and very\nclose. But I hardly know whether he made more enemies for me or I for\nhim. It was his custom to treat unmercifully every boy who injured me.\nHe was despised for his conduct in my interest, and I was hated on\naccount of his interference.\n\n[Illustration: COPY IN BLACK AND WHITE OF A COLOR-DRAWING BY AN INDIAN\nBOY]\n\n\n\n\nAN OLD-TIME THANKSGIVING\n\nBY M. ELOISE TALBOT\n\n\nLITTLE PRUDENCE stood by the window, with her face pressed hard against\nit. She was not looking out; she could not do that, for the\nwindow-frame, instead of being filled with clear panes of glass, had\noiled paper stretched tightly across it.\n\nIt was a very curious window, indeed, and it transmitted a dull light\ninto a very curious room. The floor was of uncovered boards; the walls\nwere built of logs of wood with the bark still clinging to them in\nplaces, and overhead were great rafters from which hung suspended many\nthings--swords and corselets, coats, bundles of dried herbs, pots and\npans.\n\nThe furniture was very simple. In the center of the room was a wooden\ntable, scoured to whiteness, stiff-backed chairs were ranged against the\nwall, and a dresser, where pewter cups and platters stood in shining\nrows, adorned the farther corner. In a wide chimney-place a royal fire\nwas blazing, and before it stood Prudence's mother, carefully stirring\nsome mixture in an iron pot which hung upon a crane. Within the circle\nof the firelight, which played upon her yellow hair and turned it to\nruddy gold, Mehitable, Prudence's sister, stepped rapidly to and fro,\nher spinning-wheel making a humming accompaniment to the crackling of\nthe blaze.\n\nPrudence turned to watch her, pushing farther back a little white cap\nwhich pressed upon her short curls; for she was a little Puritan maiden,\nliving in the town of Plymouth, and it was not the present year of our\nLord, but about two hundred and eighty-four years ago. She was a very\ndifferent Prudence from what she would have been if she had been living\nnow, and it was a very different Plymouth from the pleasant town we know\nto-day, with its many houses climbing up the hill, and the busy people\nin its streets. There were only seven houses then, and they stood in one\nline leading to the water, and there was but one building besides--a\nsquare wooden affair with palisades, which served as a church on\nSundays, a fort when enemies were feared, and a storehouse all the\ntime. Beyond these nothing could be seen but woods--trackless, unknown\nforests--and, away to the east, the ocean, where the waves were booming\nwith a lonesome sound.\n\nIt was not quite a year before that Prudence's father had stood with the\nother brave colonists on the deck of the _Mayflower_, and had looked\nwith eager eyes upon the shore of the New World. This first year in\nMassachusetts had on the whole been a happy one for Prudence. During the\ncold winter which followed their landing, she had indeed cast longing\nthoughts toward the home in Holland which they had left; and especially\ndid she long for the Dutch home when she was hungry, and the provisions\nwhich had been brought on the ship were scanty; but she had forgotten\nall such longings in the bounty given by the summer, and now it seemed\nto her there was no more beautiful place in the world than this New\nEngland.\n\nIt was Prudence's father who opened the door and came in, carrying on\nhis shoulder an ax with which he had been felling trees for the winter's\nfuel. Prudence never could get over the queer feeling it gave her to see\nher father thus employed. When they lived in Holland, he was always\nwriting and studying in books of many languages, but here he did little\nelse than work in the fields, for it was only so that the early settlers\nobtained their daily bread. He leaned his ax in a corner, and came\ntoward the fire, rubbing his hands to get out the cold.\n\n\"I have news for you, dear heart, to-night,\" he said to his wife. \"I\nhave just come from the granary, and indeed there is goodly store laid\nup of corn and rye, and game that has been shot in the forest. The\nchildren's mouths will not hunger this winter.\"\n\n\"Praised be the Lord!\" replied his wife, fervently. \"But what is your\nnews?\"\n\n\"The governor hath decided to hold a thanksgiving for the bountiful\nharvest, and on the appointed day is a great feast to be spread; and he\nhath sent a messenger to bid Massasoit to break bread with us.\"\n\n\"Massasoit the Indian?\"\n\n\"Ay; but a friendly Indian. He will come, and many of his braves with\nhim. You will be kept busy, my heart, with the other housewives to bake\nsufficient food for this company.\"\n\n\"Oh, mother, _may_ I go?\" cried Prudence, her eyes dancing with\nexcitement, clutching at her mother's skirts; but her father continued:\n\n\"How now, Mehitable? The news of a coming feast does not seem to make\nyou merry as it was wont to do in Holland.\"\n\nMehitable was grave, and there was even a tear in her eye.\n\n\"I know,\" cried Joel, who was two years older than Prudence; \"she is\nthinking of John Andrews, who is across the sea.\"\n\nBut the father frowned, and the mother said, \"Peace, foolish children!\"\nas she placed the porridge on the table.\n\nSo Prudence and Joel drew up their benches, and said no more. Chairs and\nconversation did not belong to children in those days; they sat on\nlittle stools and kept silence. That did not keep them from thinking. A\nthanksgiving feast! What could it be? The only thanksgiving they knew\nabout meant such long prayers in church that the little people grew very\ntired before the end--but a feast!--that would be something new and\ninteresting.\n\nThe feast was to be held on the following Thursday; so, during all the\ndays between, the house was full of the stir of brewing and baking.\nPrudence polished the apples, and Joel pounded the corn, in eager\nanticipation; but when the day arrived a disappointment awaited them,\nfor their father decreed that they should remain at home.\n\n\"You are over-young, my little Prudence, and Joel is over-bold; besides\nwhich, he must stay and care for you.\"\n\n\"And do neither of you leave the house while your father and I are\naway,\" added the mother. \"I shall not have a moment's peace of mind, if\nI think you are wandering outside alone.\"\n\n\"I will bring you back a Dutch cake, my little sister,\" whispered\nMehitable, who looked sweeter than ever in her best attire of black silk\nand a lace kerchief, which with an unwilling heart she had put on in\nobedience to her mother's command.\n\nBut when the elders were gone the disappointment and loneliness were too\nmuch for the children. Prudence, being a girl, sat down in a corner and\ncried; while Joel, being a boy, got angry, and strode up and down the\nroom with his hands in his pockets.\n\n\"It is too bad!\" he burst out suddenly. \"The greedy, grown-up people, I\nbelieve they want all the food themselves! It's a downright shame to\nkeep us at home!\"\n\n\"Joel!\" gasped Prudence, horrified--\"father and mother!\"\n\n\"Well, I know,\" admitted Joel, more mildly; \"but they need not have shut\nus up in the house as if we were babies. Prudence, let's go out in the\nyard and play, if we can't do anything else.\"\n\n\"But mother forbade us,\" said Prudence.\n\n\"I know. But then, of course, she only meant we must not go into the\nwoods for fear of wild beasts. There is no danger here by the doorsteps,\nand father won't care; _he's_ not afraid!\"\n\n\"I--don't--know,\" faltered Prudence.\n\n\"Well, _I'm_ going, anyway,\" said Joel, resolutely, taking his hat from\nthe peg. \"Ah, do come too, Prudence!\" he added persuasively.\n\nSo Prudence, though she knew in her heart it was a naughty thing to do,\ntook off her cap, and tying her little Puritan bonnet under her chin,\nfollowed Joel through the door.\n\nOnce outside, I am afraid their scruples were soon forgotten. All the\nsunshine of the summer and the sparkling air of the winter were fused\ntogether to make a wonderful November day. The children felt like colts\njust loosed, and ran and shouted together till, if there had not been a\ngood deal of noise also at the stone house where the feast was being\nspread, their shrill little voices must surely have been heard there.\n\nAll at once Joel caught Prudence by the arm.\n\n\"Hush!\" he exclaimed. \"Look!\"\n\nA beautiful gray squirrel ran across the grass in front of them. It\nstopped, poising its little head and intently listening.\n\n\"I'm going to catch him,\" whispered Joel, excitedly. \"Father said if I\ncould catch one, he would make me a cage for it. Come along.\"\n\nHe tiptoed softly forward, but the squirrel heard and was up and away in\nan instant. Joel pursued, and Prudence ran after him. Such a chase as\nthe little creature gave them--up on the fence, under the stones, across\nthe fields, and finally straight to the woods, with the children panting\nand stumbling after, still keeping him in sight. Breath and patience\ngave out at last; but when they stopped, where were they? In the very\nheart of the forest, where the dead leaves rustled, and the sunlight\nslanted down upon them, and the squirrel, safe in the top of a tree,\nchattered angrily.\n\n\"Never saw--anything run--so fast,\" panted Joel in disgust.\n\"I--give--him up. We had better go back, Prudence. Why--but--I don't\nthink I know the way!\"\n\nPrudence's lip quivered, and her eyes filled.\n\n\"That's just like a girl!\" said Joel, harshly, \"to go and cry the first\nthing.\"\n\n\"I don't care,\" cried Prudence, indignation burning away her tears; \"you\nbrought me into this, anyhow, Joel, and now you ought to get me out.\"\n\nThis was so obviously true that Joel had no retort at hand. Besides, he\ndid not like to see Prudence unhappy. So, after a moment, he put his arm\naround her.\n\n\"Never mind, Prue,\" he said; \"I think if we try together, we can find\nthe way home.\"\n\nBut though they walked until their feet were weary, they could find no\nfamiliar spot.\n\nWhen they came out of the woods at last, it was only to find themselves\nunexpectedly on the sandy beach of the ocean. They sat down on two\nstones, and looked at each other in silence. Joel began to feel even his\nbravery giving way. All at once they heard a sound of soft feet, and a\nlow, sweet voice said:\n\n\"How do, English!\"\n\nA little Indian boy stood before them. He wore a garment of skins, and a\ntiny bow and quiver hung upon his back. His feet were bare, and he\nwalked so lightly that the children could hardly hear his tread.\nPrudence, in fright, shrank close to her brother; but Joel had seen many\nIndians during their year in the New World, and the stranger's eyes were\nso bright and soft that the white boy returned the Indian's salutation.\nThen, plunging his hand into his pocket, Joel brought forth a handful of\nnut-meats, and held them out for an offering.\n\n[Illustration: \"'HOW DO, ENGLISH!'\"]\n\nThe little Indian smiled delightedly, and politely took a few--not all.\nHaving munched the kernels gravely, the new-comer began to dance.\n\nIt was a most remarkable dance. It was first a stately measure,\naccompanied by many poisings on his toes, and liftings of his head, from\nwhich the wind blew back his straight black hair; but gradually his\nmotions grew faster and more furious, his slow steps changed to running,\nhe turned, he twisted his lithe body into all possible contorted shapes,\nhe threw his arms high above his head, waving them wildly, he took great\nleaps into the air, and finally, when his dance had lasted about fifteen\nminutes, several amazing somersaults brought him breathless, but still\nsmiling, to the children's feet.\n\nHis spectators had been shouting with delight during the whole\nperformance, and now asked him eager questions. What was his name? How\ndid he learn to dance? Could he not speak any more English? But to all\ntheir inquiries he only shook his head, and at last sat down beside\nthem, motionless now as any little bronze statue, and looked steadily\nout to sea.\n\nPrudence's head drooped upon her brother's shoulder.\n\n\"I'm rather tired, Joel,\" she said wistfully; \"don't you think we could\nget to Plymouth pretty soon?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Joel, despondently.\n\nAt the words the Indian boy sprang to his feet. He ran toward the woods,\nthen stopped, and beckoned them to follow.\n\n\"He is going in the wrong direction, I am sure,\" said Joel, shaking his\nhead.\n\nThe boy stamped on the ground with impatience, and, running back, seized\nPrudence's hand, and gently pulled her forward.\n\n\"Plymout'!\" he said, in his strange accent.\n\nThe children looked at each other.\n\n\"We might as well try him,\" said Joel.\n\nThe boy clapped his hands together, and ran on before them into the\nforest. It was a weary journey, over bogs and fallen trees, and seemed\nthree times as long as when they had come. A wasp once stung Prudence on\nthe cheek, making her cry out with pain; but quick as thought the little\nIndian caught up a pellet of clay, and plastered it upon the wound, and,\nmarvelous to relate, before many minutes the sharp pain had quite gone\naway.\n\nThe woods seemed gradually to grow a little more open, and pretty soon\nthey heard the distant tinkle of a cow-bell. At last (Prudence held her\nbreath for fear it might not be true) they emerged suddenly into the\nclearing, and home lay before them.\n\nThey found they had made a complete circle since they started.\n\nTheir little guide stooped and picked up a gaudy-colored feather from\nthe ground. He examined it closely, and then he shouted aloud, and began\nto run toward the storehouse as fast as his sturdy legs could carry him.\n\n\"I want to see mother,\" said Prudence, half crying with fatigue; so they\nran all together across the clearing.\n\nAll this while the feast had been progressing. About noontime the great\nMassasoit, chief of the Indian tribe called the Wampanoags, had emerged\nfrom the forest with all his tallest braves in single file behind him.\nThey wore their best beaver-skins, and their heads were gay with nodding\nfeathers. They were received at the door of the storehouse by their\nEnglish entertainers, who also wore the bravest attire that Puritan\ncustom allowed. They gave the braves a hearty welcome.\n\nWithin, the long table fairly groaned with abundance of good cheer; for\nthe housewives had vied with one another to provide the fattest game and\nthe daintiest dishes that Dutch or English housewifery had taught them.\n\nAfter asking a blessing, they all sat down, the stalwart colonists and\ntheir fair-haired women side by side with the taciturn Indians. The\nwhite men felt that the best way to thank God for the harvest was to\nshare it with their dark-skinned brethren, who had first taught them to\nplant and raise the maize which now furnished the table.\n\nGovernor Bradford sat at the head of the table. He hoped much from this\nfeast; first, that it might cement the friendship between the colonists\nand their Indian neighbors, the Wampanoags; and, second, that the news\nof it might induce the neighboring tribes, which were still partly\nhostile, to live in peace with the settlers. But though food and talk\npassed blithely round among the other guests, the governor saw, with\ngrowing dismay, that the great Massasoit sat frowning and depressed. The\ngovernor was not long in learning the cause. The interpreter, observing\nthe governor's uneasiness, whispered in his ear that in a recent war\nwith the Narragansetts, Massasoit's only child, a boy, was missed and\nwas thought to have been taken prisoner, and of course put to death,\nafter the cruel savage custom.\n\nToward the end of the feast, drink was served to every guest. For the\nfirst time Massasoit showed animation. He seized his cup, and lifted it\nin the air, and cried aloud in his native tongue, as he sprang to his\nfeet:\n\n          \"May plague and famine seize the Narragansetts!\"\n\nAt that very moment the house-door opened, and a pretty group appeared\nupon the threshold. Two English children stood there, as fair and rosy\nas the May-time, and between them a dark, lithe little Indian with\nsparkling eyes.\n\nPrudence ran straight to her mother.\n\nMassasoit paused and trembled; then, as his cup fell and shivered upon\nthe ground, he crossed the room in one stride, and caught the Indian boy\nin his arms, looking at him as if he could never see enough.\n\nGovernor Bradford knew in an instant that the lost child had been\nrestored, even without the Indian warrior's shout of triumph, and\nMassasoit's passionate exclamation: \"Light of my eyes--staff of my\nfootsteps!--thou art come back to me--the warmth of my heart, the\nsunlight of my wigwam!\"\n\n[Illustration: \"'THOU ART COME BACK TO ME--THE WARMTH OF MY HEART, THE\nSUNLIGHT OF MY WIGWAM!' EXCLAIMED MASSASOIT\"]\n\nThe rejoicing was so great that no one thought of chiding Joel and\nPrudence for their disobedience. The governor himself gave Joel a\nlarge slice of pudding, and Prudence told all her adventures, throned\nupon her father's knee, wearing around her neck a string of wampum which\nthe grateful Massasoit had hung there.\n\n\"And, oh!\" she exclaimed, \"while the Indian boy was dancing for Joel and\nme, I looked out to sea, and I saw such a wonderful bird--a great white\nbird, flying along close to the water, and rising up and down. It was\nmany times greater than the swans in Amsterdam!\"\n\n\"Was it, my little maid?\" said the good governor, laying his hand on her\nhead, and then he exchanged a keen look with Prudence's father, saying\nnothing more. But when the guests had departed, bearing home the Indian\nboy in triumph, none was so early as the governor to reach the seashore;\nand it was his call that brought the colonists to see the good ship\n_Fortune_ (Prudence's \"great white bird\") already rounding the point,\nand making ready to cast anchor in Plymouth harbor.\n\nAh, then indeed the great guns rang out from the shore to hail the ship,\nand the ship's cannon boomed a quick reply, and the whole little town\nwas full and running over with glad welcome for the second English\nvessel to land upon our Massachusetts coast.\n\nIn the evening a happy circle gathered round the fire in the house of\nPrudence's father, and there was eager talk, for all had much to learn\nand to tell.\n\n\"I know now,\" said Joel to Prudence, as they sat side by side--\"I know\nnow what Thanksgiving means. It means plenty to eat.\"\n\nPrudence looked at the dear faces around her, at Mehitable's sweet\nsmile, and at the shining eyes of John Andrews, for he had been a\npassenger by the _Fortune_.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" she replied; \"but I think, Joel, that we have Thanksgiving\nbecause we are so glad to be all together once more.\"\n\nThis first Thanksgiving happened long ago, but out of it all our later\nones have grown; and when we think of the glad meetings of long-parted\nparents and sons and daughters, of the merry frolics with brothers and\nsisters and cousins, which come upon Thanksgiving Day, in spite of our\nbountiful dinner-tables we shall agree with Prudence that it is the\nhappy family party which makes the pleasure, after all.\n\n\n\n\nSOME INDIAN DOLLS\n\nBY OLIVE THORNE MILLER\n\n\nAMONG the wild Indians of our country is surely the last place one would\nlook for toys, and travelers have said they had none; but a closer look\nbrings some to light. On the desk before me sit two dear creatures, just\narrived from Dakota Territory. They were made by some loving mother of\nthe Gros Ventre tribe of Indians. But the unfortunate little redskin\ngirl for whom they were intended never received them after all, for they\nwere bought by a white man, and sent to New York to sit for their\npicture for you.\n\nThey are a queer-looking pair, dressed in the most elegant Gros Ventre\nstyle. They are eighteen inches tall, made of cloth, with their noses\nsewed on, and their faces well colored; not only made red, like the\nskin, but with painted features. The Indian doll has a gentle\nexpression, with mild eyes, but the squaw has a wild look, as though\nshe were very much scared to find herself in a white man's tepee. Both\nhave long hair in a braid over each ear, but the brave has also a\nquantity hanging down his back, and a crest standing up on top--perhaps\nas \"scalp-lock.\"\n\n[Illustration: DOLLS FROM DAKOTA TERRITORY]\n\nThe dress of the lady resembles, in style and material, a bathing-suit.\nIt is of blue flannel, trimmed with red braid, a long blouse and\nleggings of the same. She has also moccasins, and a string of blue beads\naround her neck, besides little dots of beads all over her waist. The\nsuit of the warrior is similar in style, but the blouse is of unbleached\nmuslin, daubed with streaks of red paint, and trimmed with braid, also\nred. Across his breast he wears an elaborate ornament of white beads,\ngorgeous to behold.\n\nBeside these Gros Ventre dolls stand another pair, from a Canada tribe;\nthe squaw dragging a six-inch-long toboggan loaded with tent and poles,\nwhile the warrior carries his snow-shoes. She is dressed in red and\nblack flannel, with calico blouse and cloth hood; tin bracelets are on\nher arms, and her breast bears an ornament like a dinner-plate, also of\ntin. Her lord and master wears a dandyish suit of white canton-flannel,\nfuzzy side out, a calico shirt, red necktie, and likewise a hood and tin\ndinner-plate. They are made of wood, with joints at hip and shoulder,\nand the faces are carved and painted. Wild dolls are curious and\ninteresting. Let me tell you of a few others I have seen.\n\nThe little Moquis girls have wooden dolls of different sizes and\ndegrees. The best have arms and legs, are dressed in one garment of\ncoarse cotton, and instead of hair have feathers sticking out of their\nheads, like the ends of a feather duster.\n\nA lower grade of Moquis doll has no limbs, but is gaily painted in\nstripes, and wears beads as big as its fist would be, if it had one.\nThis looks as you would with a string of oranges around your neck. The\npoorest of all, which has evidently been loved by some poor little\nIndian girl, has in place of a head a sprig of evergreen. How did the\nwhite man get hold of a treasure like this? Is the little owner grown\nup? Is she laid to sleep under the daisies? Or was this doll left behind\nin a hurried flight of the Moquis village before an enemy?\n\nIt isn't an Edison doll; it can't talk,--so we shall never know.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WALKING PURCHASE\n\nBY GEORGE WHEELER\n\n\nIN the early twilight of a September morning, more than one hundred and\nsixty years ago, a remarkable company might have been seen gathering\nabout a large chestnut-tree at the cross-roads near the Friends'\nmeeting-house in Wrightstown, Pennsylvania. It is doubtful whether any\none of us could have guessed what the meeting meant. Most of the party\nwere Quakers in wide-brimmed hats and plain dress, and if it had been\nFirst-day instead of Third-day, we might have thought they were\ngathering under the well-known tree for a neighborly chat before\n\"meeting.\" Nor was it a warlike rendezvous; for the war-cry of the\nLenni-Lenape had never yet been raised against the \"Children of Mignon\"\n(Elder Brother), as the followers of William Penn were called; and in a\nlittle group somewhat apart were a few athletic Indians in peaceful\ngarb and friendly attitude. But it evidently was an important meeting,\nfor here were several prominent officials, including even so notable a\nperson as Proprietor Thomas Penn.\n\nIn 1686, fifty-one years before this, William Penn bought from the\nLenni-Lenape, or Delaware Indians, a section bounded on the east by the\nDelaware, on the west by the Neshaminy, and extending to the north from\nhis previous purchases \"as far as a man can go in a day and a half.\" No\neffort was made to fix the northern boundary until the Indians, becoming\nuneasy at the encroachments of the settlers, asked to have the line\ndefinitely marked. On August 25, 1737, after several conferences between\nthe Delawares and William Penn's sons, John and Thomas, who, after their\nfather's death, became proprietors of Pennsylvania, the treaty of 1686\nwas confirmed, and a day was appointed for beginning the walk. This\nexplains why the crowd was gathering about the old chestnut-tree in the\nearly dawn of that day, September 19, 1737.\n\n\"Ready!\" called out Sheriff Smith.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE THREE MEN STEPPED FROM THE CROWD AND PLACED THEIR\nRIGHT HANDS UPON THE TREE\"]\n\nAt the word, James Yeates, a native of New England, \"tall, slim, of much\nability and speed of foot,\" Solomon Jennings, \"a remarkably stout and\nstrong man,\" and Edward Marshall, a well-known hunter, over six feet\ntall, and noted as a walker, stepped from the crowd and placed their\nright hands upon the tree.\n\nThomas Penn had promised five pounds in money and five hundred acres of\nland to the walker who covered the greatest distance; and these three\nmen were to contest for the prize. Just as the edge of the sun showed\nabove the horizon, Sheriff Smith gave the word, and the race began.\n\nYeates quickly took up the lead, stepping lightly. Then came Jennings,\naccompanied by two Indians, who were there to see that the walking was\nfairly done. Closely following them were men on horseback, including the\nsheriff and the surveyor-general. Thomas Penn himself followed the party\nfor some distance. Far in the rear came Marshall, walking in a careless\nmanner, swinging a hatchet in one hand, \"to balance himself,\" and at\nintervals munching a dry biscuit, of which he carried a small supply. He\nseemed to have forgotten a resolution he had made to \"win the prize of\nfive hundred acres of land, or lose his life in the attempt.\"\n\nThomas Penn had secretly sent out a preliminary party to blaze the\ntrees along the line of the walk for as great a distance as it was\nthought possible for a man to walk in eighteen hours. So, when the\nwilderness was reached, the walkers still had the best and most direct\ncourse clearly marked out for them. The Indians soon protested against\nthe speed, saying over and over: \"That's not fair. You run. You were to\nwalk.\" But the treaty said, \"As far as a man can _go_,\" and the walkers\nwere following it in letter, if not in spirit, as they hurried along.\nTheir protests being disregarded, the Indians endeavored to delay the\nprogress by stopping to rest; but the white men dismounted, and allowed\nthe Indians to ride, and thus pushed on as rapidly as ever. At last the\nIndians refused to go any farther, and left the party.\n\nBefore Lehigh River was reached Jennings was exhausted, gave up the\nrace, and lagged behind in the company of followers. His health was\nshattered, and he lived only a few years.\n\nThat night the party slept on the north side of the Lehigh Mountains,\nhalf a mile from the Indian village of Hokendauqua. Next morning, while\nsome of the party searched for the horses which had strayed away during\nthe night, others went to the village to request Lappawinzoe, the\nchief, to send other Indians to accompany the walkers. He angrily\nreplied: \"You have all the good land now, and you may as well take the\nbad, too.\" One old Indian, indignant at the stories of how the white men\nrushed along in their greed to get as much land as possible, remarked in\na tone of deep disgust: \"No sit down to smoke; no shoot squirrel; but\nlun, lun, lun, all day long.\"\n\nScarcely had the last half-day's walk begun before Yeates, who was a\ndrinking man, was overcome by the tremendous exertions and intemperance\nof the previous day. He stumbled at the edge of Big Creek, and rolled,\nhelpless, down the bank into the water. When rescued he was entirely\nblind, and his death followed within three days.\n\nMarshall still pressed on. Passing the last of the blazed trees which\nhad hitherto guided him, he seized a compass offered by Surveyor-General\nEastburn, and by its aid still continued his onward course. At last,\nSheriff Smith, who for some time had frequently looked at his watch,\ncalled, \"Halt!\" Marshall instantly threw himself at full length, and\ngrasped a sapling. Here was the starting-point for the northern boundary\nof the purchase of 1686, sixty-eight miles from the old chestnut-tree\nat Wrightstown, and very close to where Mauch Chunk stands to-day. The\nwalk was twice as long as the Indians expected it to be.\n\nUnfortunately for the Delawares, they knew too little of legal\ntechnicalities to notice that the deed did not state in what direction\nthe northern boundary was to be drawn. They naturally expected it to be\ndrawn to the nearest point on the Delaware. But the surveyor-general, to\nplease Penn, decided that the line should run at right angles to the\ndirection of the walk, which was almost exactly northwest. Draw a line\nfrom Mauch Chunk to the Delaware so that if extended it would pass\nthrough New York city, and another to the point where New York, New\nJersey, and Pennsylvania meet. The first is the Indian's idea of the\njust way to lay out the northern boundary; the second is the line which\nSurveyor-General Eastburn actually finished marking out in four days\nafter Marshall's walk ended.\n\nAnd so the three hundred thousand acres which the Indians would have\ngiven to the Penns as the result of Marshall's walk were increased to\nhalf a million by taking selfish advantage of a flaw in the deed.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE INDIANS PROTESTED AGAINST THE SPEED\"]\n\nThe Lenni-Lenape had loved and trusted William Penn because he always\ndealt openly and fairly with them. \"We will live in love with William\nPenn and his children,\" said they, \"as long as the sun and moon shall\nshine.\" But the wrongs inflicted on them in the \"walking purchase\"\naroused the deepest indignation. \"Next May,\" said Lappawinzoe, \"we will\ngo to Philadelphia, each one with a buckskin to repay the presents and\ntake back our land again.\" It was too late, however, for this to be\ndone.\n\nAt last, in 1741, the Indians determined to resort to arms to secure\njustice. But the Iroquois, to whom the Delawares had long been subject,\ncame to the aid of the Penns, and the last hope of righting the wrong\nwas gone forever.\n\nThere seems a sort of poetic justice in the later experiences of the\nprincipal men in the affair. Marshall never got his five hundred acres\nof land, and his wife was killed in an attack by the Indians. Eastburn\nwas repudiated by Thomas Penn, and his heirs were notified that they\n\"need not expect the least favor.\" Penn himself was brought before the\nking and forced to disown many of his acts and agents in a most\nhumiliating manner.\n\nBut all this did not repair the injury to the Delawares, and they never\nagain owned, as a tribe, a single inch along the river from which they\ntook their name.\n\nA small monument, erected by the Bucks County Historical Society, marks\nthe spot where the old chestnut-tree formerly stood. In order that this\nmight not seem to condone an unworthy deed, the monument was dedicated,\nnot to those who made or conducted the walk, but to the Lenni-Lenape\nIndians--\"not to the wrong, but to the persons wronged.\"\n\nThe inscription on the stone reads:\n\n          TO THE MEMORY OF THE LENNI-LENAPE INDIANS,\n               ANCIENT OWNERS OF THIS REGION,\n                 THESE STONES ARE PLACED AT\n                   THIS SPOT, THE STARTING-POINT\n                              OF THE\n\n                          \"INDIAN WALK,\"\n\n                        September 19, 1737.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST AMERICANS\n\nBY F. S. DELLENBAUGH\n\n\nIN the middle of the sixteenth century, when the Spaniards who had\nfollowed Columbus and Cortes to the New World worked their way northward\ninto the region that is now New Mexico and Arizona, they found to their\nsurprise a people dwelling there in well-constructed, flat-roofed houses\nof stone. They gave to these people the name of _Pueblos_, or villagers,\nto distinguish them from the wild tribes; and by this name they have\nbeen known in general ever since, though each village and cluster of\nvillages has its distinctive title.\n\nThe Pueblos, instead of roaming about, subsisting on chance game,\ncultivated Indian corn so largely that they ordinarily were able to\nstore a supply to provide against the possibility of future famine; and\nsuch is still their custom. Not only had they made this progress in\nagriculture and architecture, but they had also done something in the\nway of manufacturing, especially in the making of pottery and weaving of\nblankets. Their pottery was varied in shape and ornamentation and\nskilfully modeled without the aid of a wheel. Of the potter's wheel they\nare ignorant to this day, still following the practice of their\nforefathers in this matter as in many others. Their blankets of cotton\nwere unique in their designs; and these designs are perpetuated to-day\nin woolen material, as well as in cotton, though the latter is now used\nprincipally in the sacred ceremonies.\n\nThose towns nearest to Santa Fe (which itself was originally a Pueblo\nvillage and is, probably, the oldest town inhabited by white people in\nthe United States) came most directly under the influence of the\nSpaniards. They made Santa Fe their seat of government, and gradually\nmany Spanish customs prevailed among the natives in this part of the\ncountry. The Spanish priests, following the army of invasion, soon made\nconverts, and eventually the barbarous rites of the people in the towns\nnear Santa Fe were abolished in favor of Christianity. Churches of\nadobe, or sun-dried brick, were erected, and the Christian religion was\nin time accepted by numerous communities.\n\nThe towns at a distance were not so easy of access, and hence longer\nmaintained their independence, supporting and favoring the smoldering\ndiscontent of those in other localities whose prejudices or patriotism\nresented the Spanish dominion. These native patriots believed the\nsalvation of their country demanded the expulsion of these domineering\nforeigners from their land. We cannot blame them for thus regarding the\nSpaniards, for we should certainly resent any interference by foreign\npowers with our affairs, and the Pueblos were, in many respects, a\ncivilized people and had governed themselves for centuries before the\nSpaniards appeared in their territories. Secretly, these patriots worked\nto arouse their fellow-countrymen against the intruders, hoping to\nsucceed in a revolution which should annihilate the Spanish power and\nrestore the ancient rites and customs. Several of these conspiracies\nwere discovered by the Spanish Governor-General, and the conspirators\npaid for their patriotism with their lives; but, in a few years, others\ntook their places, and while peace seemed to smile on all the land, a\nvolcano was seething under the very feet of the invaders.\n\nThere had been so much internal dissension among the Pueblos over\nreligion and over water-privileges (often a matter of the utmost\nimportance in those arid lands) before the arrival of the Spaniards,\nthat concerted action must have been difficult to bring about; but at\nlast, near the end of the seventeenth century, there was a mighty\nuprising, the foreigners were driven out of the country, and retreated\ninto Mexico, and those villages which had been under the Spanish yoke\nrevived their native ceremonies, which had been in disuse for a full\ncentury.\n\nMeanwhile the Spaniards were not content to let slip so easily this\naccession to their king's domain. Collecting a stronger army, General\nVargas returned, and conquered village after village, until the\nrebellion was extinguished for all time. Never since that day have the\nPueblos shown a warlike spirit, having accepted their subjugation as\ninevitable. They were made citizens by Spain, but since their territory\nbecame a portion of the United States they have ranked politically with\nthe other Indians. The last locality to be brought under subjection was\nthe Province of Tusayan, the home of the Mokis.\n\n[Illustration: A PUEBLO INDIAN BESIDE AN EAGLE-CAGE]\n\nAt that time this province was so difficult to reach, that the horses\nof the Spanish general's troops were completely demoralized, and he was\ntherefore obliged to omit a visit to Oraibi, the largest and furthest\nremoved of the villages. He had, however, met with little resistance\nfrom the inhabitants, and, doubtless, did not deem the Mokis a warlike\nrace. After the departure of Vargas, the Mokis continued their old ways\nand were seldom visited, so that even now, three and a half centuries\nafter the first visit of the Spaniards, they remain nearly in their\noriginal condition.\n\nNext to the Moki towns, the Pueblo of Zuni maintained its primitive\ncustoms to the greatest extent, and from similar causes.\n\nThe illustration is from a photograph made in Zuni by Mr. Hillers,\nphotographer of the Bureau of Ethnology, and shows one of the natives,\ndressed in the costume of to-day, beside an eagle-cage. The costume is\ncomposed of simple materials, the trousers being of unbleached cotton,\nthe shirt of calico, and the turban generally of some soft red cloth.\nThe Mokis wear their hair cut straight across the eyebrows in a sort of\n\"bang,\" then straight back even with the bottom of the ear, the rest\nbeing made up into a knob behind. All are particular about their\nornaments, caring little for any common sorts of beads, but treasuring\ncoral, turquoise, and silver.\n\nThe eagle is sacred among Pueblos who have not abandoned their native\nreligion, and the feathers are used in religious ceremonies. For this\nreason the eagle is protected and every feather preserved. His\nnesting-places are carefully watched, and often visited, so that a\nsupply of feathers, from little downy ones no larger than a twenty-five\ncent piece to the stiff and long ones from the wing and tail, are\npreserved in every family,--the first, or downy ones, to breathe their\nprayers upon; the larger ones for other sacred uses. Sometimes several\n\"prayers\" are fastened to one little twig that all may proceed together\nto their destination. There is something very poetic in this breathing\nof a prayer upon a feather from the breast of an eagle--in flight the\nking of birds, familiar with regions which man can know only through\nsight.\n\nThe Navajos have no reverence for the bird. They make raids upon the\nnesting-places where for centuries the Mokis have obtained feathers, and\nthese raids are a common source of trouble between the two tribes.\n\nNone of the present buildings of the Pueblos are equal in masonry to the\nruins common throughout the region. These were ruins even when the\nSpaniards arrived, and, consequently, it is supposed that a superior\npeople once occupied the country, who may, however, have been either\nancestors or kindred to the Pueblos. In time the question may be solved\nthrough the numerous legends illustrated in pottery decoration, for all\nthe decorations have a meaning, and the legends are handed down by word\nof mouth from father to son. Once when the legends were being discussed,\nPow-it-iwa, an old Moki, poetically remarked to a friend of mine, \"Many\nhave passed by the house of my fathers, and none has stopped to ask\nwhere they have gone; but we of our family live to-day to teach our\nchildren concerning the past.\"\n\n\n\n\nANIMAL STORIES\n\nRETOLD FROM\n\nST. NICHOLAS MAGAZINE\n\nIN SIX VOLUMES. EDITED BY M. H. CARTER, DEPARTMENT OF SCIENCE, NEW YORK\nTRAINING SCHOOL FOR TEACHERS\n\n  ABOUT ANIMALS\n    Interesting facts about animals in general.\n\n  BEAR STORIES\n    Information and adventure.\n\n  CAT STORIES\n    Dealing with the cat as a pet.\n\n  STORIES OF BRAVE DOGS\n    Showing the dog's love and devotion to man.\n\n  LION AND TIGER STORIES\n    Stories of adventure.\n\n  PANTHER STORIES\n    Stories of adventure.\n\n          EACH ABOUT 200 PAGES, FULL CLOTH, 12MO\n          THE CENTURY CO.\n\n\n\n\nGEOGRAPHICAL STORIES RETOLD FROM ST. NICHOLAS MAGAZINE IN SIX VOLUMES\n\nA Series of Books of Adventure, Travel and Description, chiefly in the\nGreat Sections of the United States\n\n  WESTERN FRONTIER STORIES\n    Stories of the early West, full of adventure.\n\n  STORIES OF THE GREAT LAKES\n    Niagara and our great chain of Inland Seas.\n\n  ISLAND STORIES\n    Stories of our island dependencies and of many other islands.\n\n  STORIES OF STRANGE SIGHTS\n    Descriptions of natural wonders, curious places and unusual sights.\n\n  SEA STORIES\n    Tales of shipwreck and adventures at sea.\n\n  SOUTHERN STORIES\n    Pictures, scenes and stories of our Sunny South.\n\n          Each about 200 pages. 50 illustrations.\n          Full cloth, 12mo.\n          THE CENTURY CO.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\nPage 134, \"racoons\" changed to \"raccoons\" (fawns, raccoons, buffalo)","title":"Indian Stories Retold From St. Nicholas","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":28129}