The book of the American Indian

Contents

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II

Onze day they came again—these fierce, implacable white men— preceded by warriors in blue, who rode big horses—horses ten times as large as a burro, and they were all agrin like wild cats, and they camped near the Iron Khiva, and the war chief sent word to all the men of the hill to assemble, for he intended to speak to them. “Your Little Father is here also, and wishes to see you.”

All night this imperious summons was debated by the fathers, and at last it was agreed that six old men should go down—six gray grandsires—and hear what this war chief had to say.

“We can but die a few days before our time,” they said. ‘“‘If they carry us into the East to torture us—it will not be for long. Our old bones will soon fall apart.”

So while all the villagers sat on their housetops to watch in silence and dread, the aged ones wrinkled, gray, and half blind, made their sad way down toward the peace grove in which the white lodges of the warriors glittered. With unfaltering steps led by the chief priest of the Antelope Clan, they approached and stood in silence before the war chief of the bluecoats who came to meet them. Speaking through a Tinné interpreter, he said:

“The Great Father, my chief, has sent me to tell you this. You must do as this man says,” and he pointed at the man in black. ‘He is your teacher. He has come to gather your children into that Iron House and teach them the white man’s ways. If you don’t— if you make war—then I will go up against you with my warriors and my guns that go boom, boom, boom, a hundred times, and I will destroy you. These are the commands of my chief.”

When the old men returned with this direful message, despair seized upon the people. “Evil times are again upon us,” they cried. “Surely these are the iron men more terrible than before.”

They debated voluminously all night long, and at last decided to fight—but in the early morning a terrible noise was heard below on the plain, and when they rushed to see—behold the warriors in blue were rushing to and fro on their horses, shouting, firing off their appalling weapons. It was plain they were doing a war dance out of wanton strength, and so terrible did they seem that the hearts of the small people became as wax. ‘‘We can do nothing against such men; they are demons; they hold the thunder in the palms of their hands. Let us submit; perhaps they will grow weary of the heat and sand and go away. Perhaps they will long for their wives and children and leave us. We will wait.”

Others said: “‘Let us send our children—what will it matter? We can watch over them, they will be near us, and we can see that they do not forget our teachings. Our religion will not vanish out of their minds.”

So the old men went again to the war chief, and, with bowed heads and trembling voices, said: “We yield. You are mighty in necromancy and we are poor and weak. Our children shall go to the Iron Khiva.”

Then the war chief gave them his hand and smiled, and said: “I do not make war with pleasure. I am glad you have submitted to the commands of my great chief. Live in peace!”

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For two years the children went almost daily to the Iron Khiva, and they came to love one of those who taught them—a white woman with a gentle face—but the man in the black coat who told the children that the religion of their fathers was wicked and foolish—him they hated and bitterly despised. He was sour-faced and fearful of voice. He shouted so loud the children were scared— they had no breath to make reply when he addressed them.

But to even this creature they became accustomed, and the life of the village was not greatly disturbed. True, the children began to speak in a strange tongue and fell into foolish songs which did little harm—they were, in fact, amusing, and, besides, when the cattlemen came by and wished to buy baskets and blankets, these skilled children could speak their barbarous tongue—and once young Kopeli took his son who had mastered this hissing language, and went afar to trade, and brought back many things of value. He had been to the home of the Little Father, and the fort.

In short the Pueblans were getting reconciled to the Iron Khiva and the white people, and several years went by so peacefully, with so little change in their life and thought, that only the most farseeing expressed fear of coming trouble—but one night the children came home in a panic—breathless and storming with excitement.

A stranger had arrived at the Iron House, accompanied by a tall old man who claimed authority over them—the man who lived in the big white man’s town—and they had said to the teacher, ‘‘ we want six children to take away with us into the East.”

This was incredible to the people of the cliff, and they answered: “You were mistaken, you did not understand. They would not come to tear our children from our arms.”

A Cow-puncher Visiting an Indian Village

Far in advance of settlers, in those early days when every man had to fight for his right of way, the American cow-puncher used to journey along the waste hundreds of miles of the then far Western country. Like a true soldier of fortune, he adventured with bold carelessness, ever ready for war, but not love; for in the Indian villages he visited there was no woman that such a man as he was could take to his heart.

Illustration from

THE EVOLUTION OF THE COW-PUNCHER by Owen Wister

Originally published in HARPER’S MaGazine, September, 1895

An Apache Indian

In the eighties the habitat of the Apaches was in the Sierra Madre Mountains in Arizona. When pursued the Apaches always took to the mountains. They were hideously cruel. The settlers entertained a perfect dread of these marauding bands, whose onslaughts were so sudden that they were never seen. When they struck, all that would be seen was the flash of the rifle, resting with secure aim over a pile of stones or a bowlder, behind which was the red-handed murderer.

Illustration from SOME INDIAN RIDERS by Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A.

Originally published in Harprr’s Magazine, May, 1891

But the little ones were shivering with fear and would not go back to the plain. They moaned and wept all night—and at sunrise the old men went down to the Iron House, and said:

“Our little ones came home last night, crying. They said you had threatened to carry them away into the East; what does this mean?”

Then the strange men said, “This is true. We want six of your children to take away to school. We will not hurt them. They will live in a big house, they will have warm clothing, they will want for nothing. We are your friends. We want to teach your children the ways of the white man.”

Passionately the grandsires responded. ‘“‘We do not want to hear of these things. Our children are happy here, their hearts will break if you take them away. We will not submit to this. We will fight and die together.”

Then the old white man who had been speaking became furious. His voice was sharp and fierce. “If you don’t give up the children I will take them. You are all fools—your religion is wicked, and you are not fit to teach your children. My religion, my God, is the only God that is true and righteous, and I will take your children in order that you may be taught the true path and become as white men.”

Then the old men withdrew hurriedly, their lips set in a grim line. Their return—their report, froze every heart. It was true then—these merciless men of the East were planning to carry their children into captivity. Swiftly the word passed, the goats were driven into their corrals, the water bags were filled, the storehouses were replenished. ‘‘We will not go down to the plain. Our children shall go no more to the Iron House. If they take them, it will be when all our warriors are dead.”

So it was that when the agent and the missionaries climbed the mesa path they came upon a barricade of rocks, and men with bows and war clubs grimly standing guard. They made little talk— they merely said, “Go your ways, white men, and leave us alone. Go look to your own sons and daughters, and we will take care of ours. The world is wide to the East, go back to it.”

The agent said, “If you do not send your children down to school I will call my warriors, and I will kill every man with a war club in his hand.”

To this young Kopeli, the war chief, said: “‘We will die in defense of our home and our children. We were willing that our children should go down to the Iron Khiva—till now—now when you threaten to steal them and carry them afar into captivity where we can never see them again, we rebel. We will fight! Of what value is life without our children? Your great war chief will not ask this hard thing of us. If he does then he has our answer.”

Then with dark faces the white men went away and sent a messenger across the desert, and three days later the sentinels of the highest roof saw the bluecoat warriors coming again. Raising a wild song, the war song of the clan, the cliff people hastily renewed their defenses. They pried great rocks from the ledges, and set them where they could be toppled on the heads of the invaders. They built the barricades higher. They burnished their arrows and ground their sickles. Every man and boy stood ready to fight and die in defense of their right to life, and liberty, and their rocky home.