Lone Bull's Mistake: A Lodge Pole Chief Story E-Book

James Willard Schultz

• Herausgeber: Enhanced Media Publishing
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Lone Bull's Mistake: A Lodge Pole Chief Story, is the account of Black Otter, a Pikuni (or ‘Blackfoot’) Indian cast out from his tribe for breaking the hunting rules and forced to wander the wilderness in search of redemption.

Leseprobe

Lone Bull's Mistake

A Lodge Pole Chief Story

By James Willard Schultz

Table of Contents

Title Page

Lone Bull's Mistake

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

Further Reading: Apauk, Caller of Buffalo

Lone Bull's Mistake: A Lodge Pole Chief Story by James Willard Schultz. First published in 1918. This edition published in 2017 by Enhanced Media. All rights reserved.

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ISBN:  978-1-387-07677-2.

CHAPTER I

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I HAD seen my fourteenth, and my sister Nitaki her twelfth, summer, when it happened. That was a bad medicine day for all of us; we little knew what trouble, what suffering was coming to us because of my father's pride and anger and unforgiving heart. And it was all his fault, as you shall learn.

In the New Grass Moon of that summer, we, the Pikuni, or, as you white people call us, the South Blackfeet, were encamped on the Teton River, close to the buttes we call the Four Persons. We were a numerous people in those days: the camp numbered about eight hundred lodges, or, all told, about forty hundred men, women, and children.

Now, because we were so many our wise forefathers had counseled together and made certain rules regarding hunting, which had ever since been in force. One of the rules was that whenever the tribe wanted to make a big killing of buffaloes quickly, for the purpose of obtaining many hides for tanning into leather for new lodges, or for other purposes, then no hunter should go out by himself, lest he frighten the game out of the vicinity of the camp and deprive other hunters of the chance to kill what they also required. At such times it was the custom of the chiefs to have certain young men watch the great herds of buffaloes, and notify them when one came near. They would then have the camp-crier go all among the lodges to tell the hunters to mount their fast runners and assemble at the head chief’s lodge. And when all had gathered there, he himself would lead them out, and decide the point of attack, and there would ensue a swift, long chase; and when it was over, the plain would be strewn with hundreds of the big animals. There was a severe penalty for any who broke this rule. The head chief would order the Seizer Band of the All Friends Society to punish the man, and they would fall upon him, and rend his clothes, and whip him, and sometimes destroy his lodge and kill his fast buffalo-running horses. All this was perfectly just and fair: the very life of the people depended upon the successful hunting of the buffaloes. These animals have ever been our food, our shelter, and our clothing.

On a day of this New Grass Moon of my fourteenth summer, some unfortunate hunters made complaint to the chiefs that continuous, each-man-for-himself hunting had so scattered and driven off the buffaloes that they were unable to get the number of hides they needed for the making of new lodges. The chiefs heeded their words, and at once ordered the camp-crier to notify the people that no hunting was to be done until further notice. At the same time they ordered members of the Raven Carrier Band of the All Friends Society to watch the surrounding plains and report daily the movements and size of the herds upon them. My father was sitting in our lodge as the camper rode by, shouting the warning of the chiefs to the people, and reminding them that they well knew what would happen to any who should break the rule.

"Ha! Those chiefs order us to do this and that as though we were so many children!" my father exclaimed. "I shall go hunting if I want to for all of their orders and threats!"

We thought that he spoke idly; but two days later he suddenly asked: "Sisaki, how much meat have we?"

"We used the last of the fresh meat this morning. There is enough dry meat to last another day," my mother answered.

"Very well! Very well! We will remain idle until it is all used, and then go kill some. My woman and my children shall have fresh meat and plenty of it, though I break every one of the hunting rules."

"Oh, but father! Oh, my man! Think what the Seizers will do to you if you disobey the order of the chiefs. You must not break it. There is plenty of fresh meat in camp. I will go at once and ask one or another of our relatives or friends for some."

"Ha! Those Seizers would not dare touch me!" my father exclaimed. "I shall go hunting day after tomorrow morning. Meantime, I forbid you to ask anyone for meat. We have never asked for food, and we never shall."

"But think how many people have come to us for meat, for marrow grease, back fat, and even pemmican. It is but fair that they should supply us in this, our very first time of need."

"I would rather that we all starve than break my record as an ever provident hunter," my father declared. "Since the day we first set up a lodge together we have always had plenty of meat of my own killing. I have been proud of that; I have, perhaps, boasted of my skill and success in hunting, but everyone knows that there is not my equal in all the camp. No, my woman, we will not, after all these winters together, begin now to ask favors — no, not even from your own brothers, nor mine. I tell you again that, unless the chiefs give the call for a general buffalo run, I shall anyhow go hunting day after tomorrow morning. There! I have said it."

Of course, this decision of my father's made my mother and my sister and me very uneasy. When he went out to round up our horses and water them, my mother cried a long time, telling us again and again that trouble was in store for us. We prayed the sun to bring in a great herd of buffalo, so that a chase would be ordered. The next morning the watchers reported a very large herd far out on the plains south of the river, but in such a wide, level flat that they could not be approached. Oh, how we hoped that during the coming night the herd would move northward to the breaks of the river! But that was not to be: soon after the light of the new day came, the camp-crier shouted the news. The big herd was still in the center of the wide flat. And again he shouted the chiefs' order, and told the people that they must be patient.

After he had passed our lodge, my father laughed a long, deep, bad sounding laugh. And then: "Ha! And they continue to forbid us to hunt, — we who have not a mouthful of meat in the lodge!" he exclaimed. "Yes, and they tell us to starve and be patient! Well, the rest may do as the chiefs order, but here is one man who is going out for fresh meat. Now, as soon as he can get ready, Lone Bull is going out. And you, Black Otter, shall go with me."

This last was to me. Black Otter was the name given me when I was born. I did not earn my present name, Lodge Pole Chief, until long after this bad medicine day.

"Oh, my man, pity me!" my mother pleaded. "As you love your children, as you love me, I beg you not to go hunting. Remain here with us until the call is given for the big chase."

"Yes. And either starve or beg food. I shall do neither," my father answered. "It is because I love you all so much that I am going out. Black Otter, my son, go bring in the horses."

I looked at my mother, hoping that she would take my part and keep me from going on the hunt; but she had covered her head with her robe and was crying. Well she knew that neither pleading nor argument would turn my father once he had made up his mind to do something. So, picking up my rope, I went out of the lodge and up on the plain back of camp, and found and drove in our herd, which numbered something more than a hundred head. My father was waiting for me at the river-edge, where I watered them, and he caught out two, his swiftest buffalo-runner, and a fast, gentle animal for me. We were soon saddled up and mounted, and riding westward out of camp. As we passed the lodge of White Antelope, chief of the Seizers, he came outside and asked us where we were going. My father never answered him, and kept looking straight ahead as though he had not seen or heard the man. Turning in my saddle several times as we went on, I noticed that the chief kept staring after us as long as we were in sight; and I said to myself that he would surely make it his business to find out where we rode, and why.

After leaving camp we rode southwest out on the plain, and toward the foothills of the Backbone-of-the-World; and passing close under the westernmost of the Four Persons buttes we saw on its summit one of the members of the Raven Carriers Band watching the country. He signaled to us many times to turn and go back to camp, but my father paid no more attention to him than he had to the chief of the Seizers. On and on we rode, now at a swift lope, and again at a trot, and a little before midday we came to the border of the hills. Here and there in the distance we had seen a few old buffalo bulls, and once a lone three-year-old, that looked sleek and fat, started out from under a ridge that we topped: "Oh!" I cried out, "kill him, father. You can easily overtake him."

"He is fair meat, but there is better afoot; we will have a fat dry cow before the day ends," was the answer I got, and I made no more suggestions about the hunt.

Riding to the top of the first of the foothills, we dismounted and had a look at the great plains stretching away to the eastern sky-line. Not very far out was the great herd of buffaloes, thirty or forty hundred head, that the Raven Carriers had been watching for several days. The animals were still in the center of a big level flat, and the glimmer of shallow lakes of rain and snow-water here and there in the rich grazing-ground showed the reason why they had not moved into the river for water. The watchers were right: in their present position they could not be approached near enough for a successful chase.

We watched the big herd while my father smoked a pipeful of tobacco, and then rode to the next foothill to the south; and as we slowly and cautiously made its summit and looked down the other side, we discovered a band of forty or fifty cows and some calves in the coulée between it and the next hill. They were close under us; no more than the distance of two bow-shots, and one of the number was a very big, wide and rounding-hipped cow; undoubtedly a dry cow, and very fat.

Said my father: "You see, my son, that it is right that we did not kill the young bull back there. The sun is good: he has guided us straight to the very animal we want."

I made no answer; my thoughts were all upon what would happen to us when we returned to camp in the evening. I did not believe, with my father, that the Seizers would not dare attempt to punish him for breaking the hunting rule.

After looking over the ground my father told me to remain where I was until he should have time to circle around down to the mouth of the coulée. I was then to circle up to its head, and ride down and frighten the buffaloes, when they would naturally rush past him and out on the plain. Everything worked just as he had planned. As soon as the buffaloes saw me they threw up their tails and went down the wide coulée with tremendous leaps. At the mouth of it my father cut in right among them, rode up beside the dry cow, and shot an arrow in between her short ribs clear to the feathering. The one was enough. Blood gushed in a big red stream from her mouth and nostrils, she stopped and swayed on her fast weakening legs, and suddenly toppled over, dead. And at that we sprang from our horses and began butchering. She was a fat cow; all of three fingers of snow-white back fat covered her boss ribs, and even on the hind quarters it was more than a finger thick.

My father was more than pleased with the kill. He sang the coyote or hunter song as we worked, and when we had taken the tongue, and all the choice meat our horses could carry, he rubbed his hands together and smiled, and said: "There, son, we have some very rich meat. I think that you and your mother and sister will enjoy it. Ha! And the chiefs ordered us to remain in camp and starve. Well, Lone Bull's family shall not starve so long as he has strength to bend a bow."

When the cow dropped, we neither of us paid any more attention to her mates as they rushed straight out on the plain. But now, just as we were about to load the horses with the meat, we noticed a great cloud of dust away off to the east, and suspected what had happened. But neither of us spoke. My father sprung on to his horse and started up the slope of the nearest foothill; I got into my saddle and followed him, and at a fair elevation we drew rein and looked out upon the plain. Sure enough, the band from which my father had taken the cow had rushed straight to the great herd and frightened it, and it was running southward straight away from our camp. All the watching and waiting for it to move to broken country had been for nothing, and upon my father alone rested the blame for the failure of the plan of the chiefs for a great killing of the animals. Because of his pride, his disregard of what was for the welfare of the whole people, the much-needed animals were rushing like a great black river south across the plain, probably never to stop this side of the breaks of the Missouri.

I looked at my father. The contented smile was gone from his face and into his eyes had come a worried expression. But it did not last long; he soon resumed his natural cold, proud bearing, and said, more to himself than to me: "Well, what of it? I have certainly stampeded the herd, but whose is the blame? Not mine. My children must eat, though I break all the hunting laws that were ever made."

I made no answer to that, of course, and presently we went back to the meat, loaded it on the horses, and rode homeward. The sun went down before we came in sight of the camp, and as we wended our way in among the lodges in the gathering darkness the people stood and stared at us, and gave us no greeting nor even spoke to one another. A great silence — a strange, a menacing silence —seemed to be ever spreading out before us, and following in our rear. We came to the doorway of our lodge and dismounted. My mother stood outside awaiting us, and even she spoke no word as in duty bound she lifted the meat from one horse and then the other, and carried it inside. If my father was uneasy, — if he sensed, as I did, the hostile feeling of the people toward him, — he did not show it.

Leaving me to unsaddle and turn loose the horses, he entered the lodge and said: "Well, mother, well, little daughter, you see that I have brought you some very fine fat meat. Hurry and cook some of it: I know that you are very hungry."

I went inside and sat down on my couch as he finished speaking. My mother did not answer him. I noticed that her hands trembled as she carved the buffalo tongue into a wide, thin sheet, and placed it and some boss ribs upon the red coals of the little cottonwood fire.

My father laid aside his bow, picked up from the head of his couch the Hudson's Bay Company flintlock gun he had purchased the summer before, examined it carefully and lovingly, and set it against the back rest at his end of the couch he and my mother shared. He had fired the gun only a few times. Powder and balls were scarce. A bow and arrows were effective enough for running buffalo; the white man's weapon was reserved for a time of war. Already, with the few guns obtained from the white traders of the North, our Blackfeet warriors had driven the Crow tribes from the tributaries of the Missouri to the Yellowstone; they had lost forever the rich hunting-ground north of that river.

The tongue and the rib meat were soon broiled and my mother passed us generous portions of it. She did not herself take any and my father asked the reason — if she was ill?

"I am sick at heart," she answered. "Be sure what we must pay for what you have done this day."

"Ha! Take now the weight from that afraid heart of yours," he exclaimed. "What! Do you think that the Seizers would dare do anything to me? Am I not the greatest warrior of this tribe? Have I not counted more coups than any of them? Have I not more than once taken the lead and saved them from defeat in battle with our enemies? Why, I could be, if I wished, the head chief of our people. Come, now, eat some of this fine meat and cease worrying: all is and shall be well with us."

My father really believed what he said: that he could, if he wished, be the head chief of the tribe. But, young as I was, I knew differently. Running here and there among the lodges with my playmates, I had often heard talk about my father, and in particular I remembered what old Low Bear, a wise medicine man, had said of him, not knowing that I was near.

"To become a chief," he told his visitors, "one must be brave and generous, and above all, of kind and even temper. Lone Bull is brave; he is our greatest warrior, and he is very generous: many a widow and orphan just about live upon the meat he kills. But he has a far too proud and fiery heart; he gets terribly angry about nothing. Yes, and he plainly shows by the way he speaks to people, or listens impatiently to their talk, that he thinks himself far better in every way than anyone else. Therefore I say that he can never become a chief."

I went home and told my mother what I had heard. When I had finished she was silent for a long time, and then said: "Whatever his faults, your father is good to us. Always remember that."

And now I noticed that my sister also was not eating, and that she and my mother kept looking with afraid eyes at the doorway of the lodge and flinching in their seats at every little noise outside. Their fear became mine; my food tasted bad in my mouth; I pretended to eat the rib I held, and with them kept my eyes on the doorway.

Thus it was that we did not see the rumpling of the lodge skin at the back of the lodge as many hands noiselessly raised it in order to attain firm grip of the ends of the lodge poles; nor could my father see it as he sat with his back to it, slowly eating a portion of the tongue, and between bites humming the coyote song. And suddenly, as some of the Seizers tilted the lodge up over our heads and completely overthrew it, others sprang upon my father and grasped his arms before he could use the knife with which he had been cutting his food.

He gave a terrible roar of anger and struggled furiously with his captors. My mother sprang to his aid, crying out: "Let go of him! Let him go, I say!" My sister ran shrieking away in the darkness, and I stood still, undecided what to do. A great crowd of people, muffled to the eyes with their robes, gathered quickly around us and spoke no word. There was something terrible, something heart-stifling in their silence; it showed that all approved the punishment about to be given my father.

Eight of the Seizers firmly held him while others hurried to get possession of his weapons, and still others took up every piece of the fat meat we had brought in. As soon as this was done the chief of the Seizers advanced and struck my father upon the back with a riding-quirt. It was not a hard blow, but the broad rawhide lashes made a loud spat when they hit the soft and tightly stretched leather shirt he wore. Some of the people groaned at the sound of it. My mother gave a loud shriek and struggled to get free. I made a dash at the chief, and was quickly seized and held. Again and again, six strokes in all, the quirt lashes spatted against my father's back, but he did not flinch and made no outcry.

Then said the chief: "You people, all of you here around standing, you have seen with your own eyes what is done to one who breaks the hunting laws. Be wise; obey the orders of the chiefs—orders for the good of us all, or what has been done to this man tonight will also be done to you."

And with that the Seizers released the three of us and quietly went away, most of the crowd following them, or scattering to their homes.

My father sat down on his couch and covered his face with his hands. My sister returned, still crying, and put her hand in mine. The few people who remained, our relatives mostly, came forward and helped my mother reset the lodge and rebuild the little fire; then, with a few words of sympathy and offers of dry meat and pemmican, they too went away and left us to ourselves.

Once, twice, three times my mother replenished the fire, but my father did not remove his hands from his face or speak. His had been a terrible punishment. Not that the lashes of the quirt had hurt — a child could have borne the sting of them. It was the act itself that hurt; according to our way of thinking, you know, the humiliation in being struck, or whipped, can be wiped out only by the death of the striker. Therefore, we scold our children, but never whip them. To strike a youth is to break his spirit.

Well, the third fire burned low, and again and again my mother spoke softly to my father, telling him to lie down and sleep. He never once replied nor moved, and so, in the dim light of the fading coals, the three of us crept quietly to rest and left him sitting there. And oh, how our hearts did yearn to comfort him! Over and over I said to myself before I slept: "It was his fault; he brought it upon himself." But for all that I felt more devoted to him than I had before in all my life. And wondering and worrying about what he would do with the coming of a new day, I at last fell into restless sleep.

More than once during the night I heard my father groan, and my mother say to him: "Oh, my man, my man! What can I do to ease your aching heart?"

CHAPTER II

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WHEN I awoke at daylight I saw my father sitting on his couch and staring at the fire my mother had just built. He looked very grave and sad and tired. I think that he had sat up all night.

My mother presently spoke to him: "My man, we have not a mouthful of food in the lodge. May I at least get from my brothers enough meat for the children's early meal?" she asked.

"Yes, go ge [...]