Apauk, caller of buffalo

Front matter

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Chapter I

TWO of the sayings of my people are burned into my memory. One is, " Poverty is unhappiness"; the other, "Those without relatives are very poor." Both were more than true of Pitaki, my twin sister, and me, in our tenth winter, for it was then that we lost our good father and mother and all their property, and we had not one relative, man or woman.

It happened this way: We, the Pikuni, were encamped on the Two Medicine River, and our brother tribe, the Kaina, were hunting on Milk River, two days' ride away. Came from there a messenger to my father saying he could now have the medicine pipe that he had so long been trying to buy from Low Wolf. The price was one horse, three tails of eagle feathers, a pair of shell earrings, and a steel spear that my father had captured in a raid against the people of the always-summer land, far to the south.

It was a big price that Low Wolf asked for the medicine, and my father considered it for three days before he made up his mind what to do. On top of the other things, to ask a horse seemed unreasonable. Horses were rare and valuable animals in those days ; many of our people were still using dogs for carrying burdens ; our young men were just beginning to bring in big herds of horses from the far south country of the Spaniards, so very far away that the war trail thence and back was two summers and a winter in length. We had only six horses, three for packing our lodge and property, and three for riding, my sister and I riding double when camp was moved.

After all, it was my mother who settled

my father's mind. She knew how much he

wanted that pipe, because it was truly great

medicine and would cure the pain he suffered from an old wound in his side. So she said: —

" Give the horse, my man, give it. Let us have the pipe. Nearly all my life I have walked beside the dogs when camp was moving, and I can do so again."

" You are truly generous," my father told her. " As you say, so I shall do, but you shall not walk. Hereafter, when we move camp, we will mount the children behind us. And then, in the spring, I shall again go to war and do my best to capture a big herd of horses from the enemy."

Because the weather was very cold, and the trip to the Kai'na camp and back would be a short one, it was arranged that Pitaki and I should stop in the lodge of No Runner during our parents' absence. Pitaki was glad to do that, for No Runner had five little girls, all her friends, and she loved to be with them. But I pleaded to go with my father ; I wanted to see the beautiful ceremony of his taking over the medicine pipe. The ways of the gods are strange. Maybe they put it into my father's mind to tell me no, that I must remain there and take care of my sister. He and my mother hurried the next morning to make an early start. At daylight I brought in the horses. When I came in they had the lodge down, and everything ready to pack, and just at sunrise they struck out south.

" Be good children while we are gone," said my mother, as she got into the saddle.

" Yes, be good. We shall be gone only five nights," said my father. We answered that we should be good, and watched them out of sight, and then ran to No Runner's lodge for our morning meal.

The five nights passed. Came the sixth day, and at noon, as the day was sunny and warm, Pitaki and I went up from the valley to the edge of the plain to watch for our parents' coming, that we might run and greet them as soon as they were near. They did not come.

"Well, they will come to-morrow," said Pitaki, as we hurried down to camp as night shadows began to darken the valley.

"Yes, to-morrow, sure," I answered.

But they came not on that day. Nor the next day. Nor the day after that, although from sunrise to sunset we two watched from the rim of the plain for sight of them. And the longer we watched the more we worried ; it was not like my father to say five nights and not mean that number exactly. We began to fear that one or the other of them was sick, or maybe hurt from the fall of a horse.

Late in the afternoon of the sixth day of our watch, we saw with tired eyes a band of eight riders coming on the trail, one of them a woman. We were sure that she was our mother, and one of the others our father, that they were coming with some of the Kai'na people on a visit to our camp. But when they had come closer, we saw that they were all Kai'na and our hearts were like heavy stones inside us.

But we should have news of the long absent ones. We ran and met the riders, crying, "Where are our father and mother? What news of them can you tell us ? "

They just sat on their horses and stared at us, and at last the woman asked : —

"Your father — your mother. Who are they ? "

" Two Bears ! Sings Alone ! " I shouted. " You know them. They went ten days ago to your camp to buy Low Wolf's medicine pipe. You must have seen them there."

They all stared at us, and at one another a long time in silence, and one by one each shook his head ; and at last one of them said : —

" There is a mistake somewhere, children. Your father is not in our camp, nor has he been there this winter. And I know that Low Wolf still has his medicine pipe : I saw the sacred bundle of it only two nights ago."

At that Pitaki sat down and began to cry, " They are dead. My mother, my father, they are dead."

The Kai'na woman got down and tried to comfort her. " Take courage, little girl," she said. " Most likely they somewhere on the trail lost their horses, and are looking for them."

And then she took Pitaki up behind her, and we all went down the hill to camp. Pitaki did take courage ; but right then I knew that our father and mother were lost forever.

When good-hearted No Runner heard from me that the Kai'na had seen nothing of the absent ones, he went straight to the chief's lodge with the news, and the chief

ID at once sent for some of the Kai'na visitors. When he learned from their own mouths that my father and mother were not in their camp, nor had been there, he ordered out the Siezer band of the All Friends Society to search for them. They left camp that very evening, forty or fifty young men. Every one of the band that had a horse, or could borrow one, joined in the search.

They were gone five nights. Five nights of hope for my sister, of despair for me. I knew what they would say when they returned. No, perhaps I did have a little hope, a little, faint, secret hope that I would see our loved ones again, but that quickly died when I looked upon the faces of the searchers as they came riding through camp to the chief's lodge. Hand in hand Pitaki and I followed them, and heard the chief ask : —

" Well, what learned ye ? "

And the leader's answer : —

" Nothing. There is no trace of them along the trail, nor on Badger, Birch, Back Fat, and Scattering Timber Creeks. We went even to the Kai'na camp. They had not been there."

"Now, this is strange, that a man, a woman.

six horses, lodge and lodge poles and property, should cross the country and leave no trace of their passing," the chief cried. "Are you sure that you used your eyes?"

The leader was patient with the old man and softly answered : " You forget that there have been snows, and warm black-winds since Two Bears and his woman left us. These alone, to say nothing of the passing of riders, and countless herds of buffalo and antelope, were enough to wipe out the footprints of their horses."

"Then, what can have happened to them ? " the chief asked.

He received I know not how many different answers. There are a thousand ways for people to disappear. Death in many, many forms is ever lurking by the trails. My own belief is that a war party killed them, then cached their lodge and lodge poles, and rode away with their horses and property. At the time I had no thought but that we were certainly never to see father and mother again. I felt Pitaki's hand slip from mine. She fell, and for a little while was dead. No Runner picked her up and we went to his lodge. There, when life came back to her, she began to cry, to mourn for our lost ones, and for days could not be comforted. And, if I did not cry, I felt as badly as she did. For long days, and moons, for many a winter and summer, we were to know what it is to be without father's and mother's loving care — and the trail that we were to follow was to be a hard one.

Said No Runner and his woman: "Take courage, children. We are poor, but this lodge shall be your lodge. We will do all we can for you. Anyhow, there is plenty of meat ; you shall not starve."

Yes, of food there was plenty. No Runner was a good hunter. But there were so many in that lodge, he and his woman, five daughters, a grandfather and grandmother, that there was little room for us. And must I tell it? Yes. As the days passed, the five daughters of the lodge began to let us see in many ways that they did not want us there. The two oldest, when their father and mother were not around, would say mean things to us about our poverty, our poor clothes, and order us to do things as though we were slaves. Myself, I did not much mind that, but many a time I found Pitaki crying because of their arrow-sharp words, and that did hurt me. I knew that we must soon leave that lodge, and began to look about for one where we might be welcome.

Came an evening when No Runner loudly scolded his daughters because of their bad words to us. All the near lodges, all passers heard him, and when he had done and the two oldest daughters had gone out behind the lodge to cry, there came in a little, slender, old woman named Suyaki, she of pleasant voice. A beautiful, singing voice she had.

As women do, she took her seat near the doorway, and No Runner cried out: "Welcome, Suyaki. Welcome you are in this lodge. Now, what can I do for you.?'*

"Oh, chief! Good heart! You can do much for me. You can give me these two fatherless and motherless ones to be my children," she answered. " As you know, my good old man is dead. His shadow has gone to the Sand Hills. My daughters, my sons, want me to live with them, but I cannot give up my own little lodge, my little 14 properties, my habit of long years to go and come, and do always as I please. Give me the children, chief, to be company to me — to make laughter in my lodge once more. Oh, I promise you, I will be good to them."

Now, when she said that, so earnestly that her voice trembled; when, as she talked, I saw tears gather in her eyes and roll down her fine wrinkled face, why, my heart was hers at once. I looked at Pitaki. Her eyes were shining ; she was anxiously watching No Runner to hear what he would say. And he said : —

"The gods are good. My woman and I, we love these fatherless and motherless ones, and we know that they are not happy here. Our lodge is crowded — there are other things — no matter. I was just praying to be shown what to do with them — for them, and you come straight in with the answer. Take them, if they will go with you, take them."

Almost before he had said the last word, Pitaki cried out, " We will go with you, Suyaki, oh, yes, we will go with you." While saying so she was turning and beginning to gather up the buffalo robes that made her bed. Every one laughed at her haste.

The old woman looked at me. I just made the sign for yes. I could not speak. I could not tell how glad I was that she wanted us.

Said No Runner, as we were going out, " Suyaki, be not sparing with the meat. A plenty you shall have of my own killing."

As it was, we were carrying a parfleche full of fine dried meat and back fat that his good woman had given us. So it was that we left our father's band, the Small Robes, and went to live in the upper end of camp with the Lone Eaters, itself a very large band. Why the ancient ones gave the band that name I do not know. Certainly its members did not eat alone ; they gave as many feasts as any others of our tribe.

" There, my children, my children ! " said Suyaki when we were come into her lodge and she had uncovered the coals in the fireplace and laid wood upon them. "My lodge is your lodge. I will move my couch to the right of the doorway. You, my son, are the man here, so your couch shall be at the rear. And you, my daughter, make your bed there at the left of the doorway." i6

So it was that Suyaki gave us a home in her little, worn, old lodge. Except for a few parfleches containing her few clothes, her woman trinket-savings of many winters, and her tanning implements, it was quite bare, and more than large enough for the three of us. All her man's things had been buried with him, or had been taken by the three married sons. Horses she had not, but she did have eight fine, big dogs of the ancient, wolf-like breed, for packing her lodge and things when camp was moved.

True to his promise. No Runner gave us much meat of his killing, and Suyaki's sons and daughters gave us some, and all the buffalo hides and skins of the deer kind we needed for clothing and bedding. My sister had never done any tanning, but now, without being asked, she began work on the lighter skins and was soon able to make soft leather. When, with a little help, she made a pair of moccasins for me, and saw how well they fitted when I put them on, she was so pleased that she cried. After that she made all my footwear, of buffalo robe for winter, and of leather with parfleche soles for summer.

Nor was I idle. Whenever they would let me, I went hunting with No Runner and Suyaki's sons, and helped them butcher and bring in the meat. When there was nothing else to do, I practiced shooting with the bows and arrows that No Runner made for me, and oh, how good I felt when I killed my first rabbit and brought it to our lodge. Also, I joined the Mosquitoes, the boys' band of the All Friends Society, and never failed to attend the meetings which the old men called for the purpose of teaching us to become good warriors and hunters.

What did they teach us ? Well, I shall never forget an early morning when an old man named Red Crow went from lodge to lodge, calling us out to bathe in the river with him, and then led us to the rim of the valley from which we could see far up and down it, and away out on the plains in all directions. As we came near the top the old man said, " Get down on hands and knees now, all of you, and crawl the rest of the way. Only the foolish ones walk boldly to the rim of a valley, or the summit of a butte, to become a mark for the eyes of every living thing in the country. The good hunter sees the game without being seen, and looks out a way to get within short bow range of it. The successful warrior is he who discovers the enemy without being discovered, and finds a way to surprise and attack them — or safely retreat if the party be too large to attack."

We crawled after him to the top, and looked over the country from the shelter of the sagebrush, and he soon allowed us to sit up, because, he said, the country seemed to be peaceful. A war party, however, might be somewhere around. And after a time he asked, "What do you all see?"

" Buffalo."

" Antelope."

"A band of elk."

"Yes, so you do," he said; "but there is something else. Look again."

We looked and looked, all over the plains and in the valley until our eyes became tired, but could see nothing else, and when we gave up he pointed to the north where two buzzards were sailing round and round not far above the plain. "Watch the birds as well as the animals," he told us. " Were you a war party now, you would go over there and see what those two are hovering over. You would learn if the animal had been killed by a traveling war party, or by a hunter from some camp, and when and in what direction the hunter or party had gone."

So it was that the old men taught us. We learned caution; we learned that there was a meaning for everything we saw. A dust cloud, for instance, if slow moving, was caused by a moving camp. If fast, it was raised by a band of frightened game, or by riders pursuing it, or traveling rapidly over the country. Oh, I liked well those teachings in the early mornings. And just as interesting were the evenings by the lodge fire, where these same old men told us all about the gods, and dreams and strong medicines, and the war trails of great medicines.

As the old men taught me the ways of the hunter and warrior, so Suyaki and her old women friends taught my sister the ways of a woman, and she eagerly learned to cook, and sew, and make her dresses and moccasins, and to do beautiful embroidery work of colored porcupine quills. Later, she was to learn all about different roots and leaves and flowers, and become a great doctor of the sick ; but that time was still far off.

Suyaki was good to us, and always cheerful. When we mourned for our lost ones she did her best to comfort us. She made fun of her poverty, and ours, and kept talking of the things we should have when I became old enough to go to war and take horses, and to hunt and trap fur with which to buy goods from the white traders recently come into the northern part of our country. There were not yet traders on the Missouri and its streams.

Poor we were. True, we always had enough meat to eat, mostly the poorest parts of the animals. But we had no fine clothes. Beside the boys and girls of our age we were like two brown buffalo birds in a flock of hummingbirds. Worst of all, we had no horses, and were always trudging along behind with our dogs when camp was moved. Nothing hurt me so much as that, especially when some of the boys I played with would prance by on their horses and make jokes about my being on foot. At such times I would pray the gods to make me grow fast, and comfort myself by vowing that some day I would have more horses than any of them.

Passed several winters and summers and came the time when I killed my first buffalo with a real bow and real flint-pointed arrows given me by No Runner, who continued ever to be our good friend. On the morning after he made me the present, I went up the valley with Pitaki and the dogs, some saddled and some drawing travois, my mind made up not to return without meat. Game was not plentiful near camp, and it was not until midday that we sighted a small band of buffalo, standing in the creek. Above them on our side was a cutbank, and crawling to the edge of that I fired an arrow down at the small of the back of a big cow. Away she went, the others with her, splashing up the stream and then out through the brush, my arrow in her almost to the feathering. Pitaki and I followed with the dogs as fast as we could, and out on the grassy bottom found her, dead. Oh, how proud I was ! And how Pitaki danced around the big animal, and hugged me, and even the dogs, in her happiness. And then, " Brother," she cried, '*here ends our poverty. From

I FIRED AN ARROW DOWN AT THE SMALL OF THE BACK OF A BIG COW now on we shall have tongues, and boss ribs, and back fat, and all the other choice parts of meat as well as the rest of the people. Oh, let us hurry. Come. Get out your knife."

Luckily, I had a knife, a real iron knife which I had bought from the traders with three beaver skins, which were also given me by No Runner. I soon had the hide off that cow, and the dogs loaded with all the fat meat they could carry. And good old Suyaki was so surprised and so pleased, when we brought the meat to the lodge, that she cried. Ever after that day I was the provider of meat and hides, and in my fifteenth summer I was able to buy three traps from the white traders on credit, and begin trapping beavers. In the following winter Suyaki and Pitaki and I were wearing our first blankets, bought with the skins of many beavers I had caught.

The killing of that first buffalo and, later, the trapping of the beaver gave me courage. During my eighteenth winter I thought much about the future. I made up my mind to become a great warrior, so that in my old age I might be as big a chief as was

Lone Walker, chief of the Small Robes band, and head of the Pikuni. Because of his bravery, every one respected him ; and for his kind heart, his goodness to the poor, and his fairness to all, every one loved him.

For a beginning, I went as a servant to No Runner, leader of a war party, on a raid against the Crows. We started out just as the new grass was beginning to show green on the plains, and were back home late in the following moon with a fine band of horses, my share being five head. To us three, five horses were riches ; we could now ride, and no longer trail along at the tail of the column when camp was moved. But I was not satisfied with myself: I had taken no part in getting the horses out from among the lodges of the sleeping Crows ; I had only kept them together at the meeting-place as No Runner and his men gathered them, a few head at a time. I wanted to know if I had the courage to enter the camp of the enemy, and face them in battle.

So it was that, in the Berry moon, I went again on a raid, this time under the leadership of Ancient Badger, a young warrior of great promise. There were fifteen of us. 26

We crossed the Backbone-of-the-World, entered the country of the Nez Perces and found their camp. I was Ancient Badger's servant. He ordered me to stand at the meeting-place and tie up the horses as he and the others brought them in.

" Not until I have myself once entered the camp," I told him, and after much argument had my way. They thought that I was too young to undertake such dangerous work.

Chapter II

THE camp, of about a hundred lodges, was pitched on the east side of a river running through a large plain. Bordering the stream was a narrow growth of cottonwoods and brush. When night fell we left the pine timber in which we were concealed and, crossing the plain, lay down near the first of the lodges to wait until the time came to begin our work. There we were, within short bowshot of the enemy, and they all unaware of our presence. They feasted, and danced, and visited, and we thought that they would never go to sleep. 28

An all-night moon soon came up, and its light made our undertaking much more dangerous than if the night had been dark, although it would enable us to go quickly among the horses tied in among the lodges and take our choice of them.

It was late when the last one of the lodge fires died out, and later still when Ancient Badger gave the word for us to move. I had no gun. I needed both hands to untie horses and lead them, so I kept my bow and arrows in the quiver at my back, and for defense depended upon the war club swinging from my right wrist. As I passed the first of the lodges, I learned that it was one thing to talk about going into the camp of the enemy, and another thing to do it. I was afraid. Afraid of everything — the shapeless things on the dark, shadowy side of the lodges might be night watchers of the sleeping camp. At any time some one might come out and discover me. My heart beat fast as I stole on to three tethered horses, cut the ends of their tie ropes, and led them out the way I had come, and only three or four steps at a time, until safely out on the plain. People will sleep soundly 29 while tied horses all around them uneasily stamp the ground ; but the sound of just one animal walking steadily away will arouse them.

I took my three horses across the plain to the edge of the pines, and was soon joined by my companions, each bringing two or three or four animals. Said Ancient Badger : —

" You took three ? That is good. Well, stay here now and hold what we have, while the rest of us make one more entry into the camp. The night is far gone. We have time for only one more taking."

I pleaded to be allowed to go, too, arguing that every one of the horses we had was safely fastened there in the pines with its own rope, and it was not necessary to guard them. And again I got my way. I had learned that, although I feared the danger in it all, there was something — something more than the taking of the horses, that impelled me to go back. It was the danger itself — the excitement of it all, that drew me.

Big, black clouds began to drift from the west as we again came to the camp, and with the clouds came a warm wind that told of rain. We separated, and I took my first trail, and went past the place where I had found the three, and on to another bunch of staked horses. One of them was a large black horse tied all by himself. I could see several bunches of the animals a little farther on, but I said to myself that if I could only get away with that lone, big, handsome black I should be satisfied — more than satisfied with my night's work. I was sure that he was a swift runner, a real racer.

I cautiously approached the black. He did not snort, or try to edge away from me. I put out my hand and stroked his smooth neck, and he liked it; he was gentle. So then I cut his rope at the stake to which it was fastened, made two half hitches around his nose with it, and started to lead him out of the camp.

Another swift- moving cloud hid the moon. When it passed, and I had reached about the center of the camp on my way out, I came upon Ancient Badger approaching some tied horses. He motioned me to go on and I slowly passed him, keeping a good watch ahead and on all sides of me. I had not gone far when I heard a shout behind me, and upon looking around I saw a man running toward Ancient Badger, who had just cut the tie rope of a horse. The two met and Ancient Badger gave him a push that sent him flat on his back, and then he sprang onto the horse, and found that its front feet were short-hobbled. It was too late then to get down and cut the fastening, the fallen man was rising and shouting for help. So his heel thumped the animal and made it start off on the jump that a hobbled horse must make, or else shuffle along at half-length step. All this happened much more quickly than I can tell it. The whole camp was aroused; as I sprang on the black I could see men rushing from their lodges, weapons in hand, and my horse knocked one of them down as he sprang from his doorway. Several guns were fired, and I heard the swish of arrows as I cleared the camp and then looked back to see how it was with Ancient Badger. He was coming quite swiftly on his hobbled-feet horse, and leaving farther and farther behind some men who were running after him and firing arrows. But I knew that there would soon be riders after us, and I slowed up to do what I could to help him.