第17章

He was at first sad and lonely,but soon found plenty of consolation in his new home.The name of his adopted father was "Keeps-the-Spotted-Ponies."He was known to have an unusual number of the pretty calico ponies;indeed,he had a passion for accumulating prop-erty in the shape of ponies,painted tents,dec-orated saddles and all sorts of finery.He had lost his only son;but the little pale-face became the adopted brother of two handsome young women,his daughters.This made him quite popular among the young warriors.He was not slow to adopt the Indian customs,and he acquired the Sioux language in a short time.

I well remember hearing of his first experience of war.He was not more than sixteen when he joined a war-party against the Gros-Ventres and Mandans.My uncle reported that he was very brave until he was wounded in the ankle;then he begged with tears to be taken back to a safe place.

Fortunately for him,his adopted father came to the rescue,and saved him at the risk of his own life.

He was called the "pale-face Indian."His hair grew very long and he lavished paint on his face and hair so that no one might suspect that he was a white man.

One day this boy was playing a gambling game with one of the Sioux warriors.He was an ex-pert gambler,and won everything from the Indian.

At a certain point a dispute arose.The Indian was very angry,for he discovered that his fellow-player had deliberately cheated him.The Indians were strictly honest in those days,even in their gambling.

The boy declared that he had merely performed a trick for the benefit of his friend,but it nearly cost him his life.The indignant warrior had already drawn his bow-string with the intention of shooting the captive,but a third person intervened and saved the boy's life.He at once explained his trick;and in order to show himself an honorable gambler,gave back all the articles that he had won from his opponent.In the midst of the confusion,old "Keeps-the-Spotted-Ponies"came rushing through the crowd in a state of great excitement.

He thought his pale-face son had been killed.

When he saw how matters stood,he gave the ag-grieved warrior a pony,"in order,"as he said,"that there may be no shadow between him and my son."One spring my uncle took Chatanna to the Canadian trading-post on the Assiniboine river,where he went to trade off his furs for ammunition and other commodities.When he came back,my brother was not with him!

At first my fears were even worse than the re-ality.The facts were these:A Canadian with whom my uncle had traded much had six daugh-ters and no son;and when he saw this handsome and intelligent little fellow,he at once offered to adopt him.

"I have no boy in my family,"said he,"and I will deal with him as with a son.I am always in these regions trading;so you can see him two or three times in a year."He further assured my uncle that the possession of the boy would greatly strengthen their friend-ship.The matter was finally agreed upon.At first Chatanna was unwilling,but as we were taught to follow the advice of our parents and guardians,he was obliged to yield.

This was a severe blow to me,and for a long time I could not be consoled.Uncheedah was fully in sympathy with my distress.She argued that the white man's education was not desirable for her boys;in fact,she urged her son so strongly to go back after Chatanna that he promised on his next visit to the post to bring him home again.

But the trader was a shrewd man.He immediately moved to another part of the country;and Inever saw my Chatanna,the companion of my childhood,again!We learned afterward that he grew up and was married;but one day he lost his way in a blizzard and was frozen to death.

My little cousin and I went to school together in later years;but she could not endure the con-finement of the school-room.Although appar-ently very happy,she suffered greatly from the change to an indoor life,as have many of our peo-ple,and died six months after our return to the United States.

III:The Boy Hunter IT will be no exaggeration to say that the life of the Indian hunter was a life of fascination.From the moment that he lost sight of his rude home in the midst of the forest,his untutored mind lost it-self in the myriad beauties and forces of nature.

Yet he never forgot his personal danger from some lurking foe or savage beast,however absorbing was his passion for the chase.

The Indian youth was a born hunter.Every motion,every step expressed an inborn dignity and,at the same time,a depth of native caution.

His moccasined foot fell like the velvet paw of a cat--noiselessly;his glittering black eyes scanned every object that appeared within their view.Not a bird,not even a chipmunk,escaped their pierc-ing glance.

I was scarcely over three years old when I stood one morning just outside our buffalo-skin teepee,with my little bow and arrows in my hand,and gazed up among the trees.Suddenly the instinct to chase and kill seized me powerfully.Just then a bird flew over my head and then another caught my eye,as it balanced itself upon a swaying bough.Everything else was forgotten and in that moment I had taken my first step as a hunter.

There was almost as much difference between the Indian boys who were brought up on the open prairies and those of the woods,as between city and country boys.The hunting of the prairie boys was limited and their knowledge of natural history imperfect.They were,as a rule,good riders,but in all-round physical development much inferior to the red men of the forest.

Our hunting varied with the season of the year,and the nature of the country which was for the time our home.Our chief weapon was the bow and arrows,and perhaps,if we were lucky,a knife was possessed by some one in the crowd.In the olden times,knives and hatchets were made from bone and sharp stones.