Pawnee Customs
I. Early Days
Pawnee history goes back to a time when the tribe knew nothing of horses. In those early days they went on foot, and depended for animal food on their bows and arrows. At that time their bows did not differ from those recently in use, but the heads of their arrows were made of stone, and their knives were of flint. With this simple equipment they set out on the hunt.
Choosing a still day, they would surround a small bunch of buffalo, stretching out in a long line whose extremities would gradually draw together, as the hunters, perhaps disguised as wolves, stole from hill to hill, around the unconscious prey. When the circle was complete, some one man would shout and startle the buffalo, and then as they turned to run, another man would show himself before them, and call out, and turn them, and whichever way they ran, some one would appear before them, and turn them back. The buffalo, becoming each moment more frightened, would run now this way, now that, and gradually the Pawnees would close in on them, but would still keep the buffalo from breaking through the line by yelling, and by tossing their robes in the air. As the prey became more and more terror-stricken and confused, they would run here and there, and round and round within the ring of men; and as they grew more tired, the men would close in on them still more, and first one, and then another, would shoot an arrow, until at last the arrows were flying fast, and some of the great beasts were down, and others were staggering along with the blood pouring from their mouths; and soon the buffalo were so worn out that they could run no longer, and it was an easy matter for the Indians to dispatch them. Even those which were only slightly wounded were secured, for it is said that when the animals were hit by the arrows, even if it were only in the leg, they would soon swell up and die. This statement refers to a belief, which I find quite widespread among plains Indians, that the ancient stone arrow heads were peculiarly deadly, and possessed this property, that even a slight touch with them made a wound which was likely to be fatal. The Blackfeet Indians have often told me the same thing about the stone arrow heads which they used in early times.
Game, which inhabited the underbrush or the forest, was captured by a method similar to that employed to secure the buffalo. If the Pawnees discovered that deer or elk were in a piece of timber, they would surround it, and then alarm the game, and keep them from breaking through the line of men. The animals, frightened and confused, would run round and round in a circle until exhausted, when the Pawnees would close in, and kill them with their arrows.
It must be remembered in this connection, that in those days game animals were enormously abundant and comparatively tame, and also, that the Pawnees, from the necessities of their lives, were tremendously active, very swift runners, and as tireless as the wolves from which they took their name. Their endurance was something astonishing. In their long journeys on the warpath they often traversed on foot six or eight hundred miles of country, carrying, during a part of the time, very heavy loads. Instances are not uncommon where runners have traveled one hundred miles in twenty-four hours. I myself know of a case where two men ran over seventy miles in eleven hours. We may imagine that in the old days when the Pawnees made all their journeys on foot, and were thus constantly exercising, their speed and activity were greater, and their powers of endurance still more remarkable.
Although their ancient arrows were usually headed with flint, they sometimes used bone or the sharpened tine of a deer’s horn. No one now alive can remember when these were in common use, but there are men who have heard their fathers and their grandfathers tell of them, and who say that these arrows were good for war and for the chase. “You could drive them through a thick shield,” said Bear Chief. As soon as they began to trade with the whites, arrow heads of sheet-iron came into use. They say that, so long as the Pawnees used flint for making arrow heads, they used to find plenty of these stones lying on the prairie, but that when the whites brought them iron, Ti-ra´-wa said to himself, “The Pawnees no longer need these flint stones; I will make no more of them.” This shows an odd confusion of ideas, for, of course, the reason that they did not find the stones was that they no longer looked for them, their use having been abandoned.
Although these stone arrow heads must have passed out of general use toward the end of the last century, yet some of them were preserved much later, and it is possible that there may even now be some among the Pawnees, hidden away in the sacred bundles. After they ceased to be used for general purposes, they took on a sacred character and were employed to slay the sacrifices; among the Skidi to kill the captive, and in the Lower Village tribes the buffalo and deer, for sacrifice. There was a time when it was deemed essential that the animals to be sacrificed to Ti-ra´-wa, should be killed by one of these ancient—and so sacred—arrows.
In the early days the Pawnees did not depend for food wholly—perhaps not even largely—on the flesh of the animals which they killed by hunting. They have always been an agricultural people, cultivating the ground, and raising corn, beans, pumpkins, and squashes. They also dug up many edible roots, and collected and dried various berries and other fruits. Besides this, they captured birds and smaller mammals by means of snares and traps. It is said that before they obtained horses, they killed but few buffalo, only enough to provide themselves with clothing and with sinew for sewing, backing bows, and other uses.
The Pawnees aver that they have cultivated the corn as far back as they can remember. They say also that this is their corn, that it is not the corn of the whites, but is different from it—which is true—and that they did not get it from the whites. It is their own. On this they insist strenuously. I have found it impossible to obtain any clue as to where the corn came from or how they obtained it. To all inquiries on this point, they reply that it must have been “handed down from above;” that it was given them by “the Ruler.” Various stories are told about it, but none of them are very pointed or satisfactory.
They call the corn a-ti´ra, “mother.” It has a sacred character, and plays an important part in many of their religious ceremonies. This name which they give it, the mother corn, no doubt refers to the fact that it nourishes and supports them; that by it they are made strong. I have also heard it said that it is called mother because it produces others; it has young ones like a woman; “you put it in the ground and it brings forth others.”
The Pawnees cultivated their fields with hoes made from the shoulder blade of the buffalo. Taking the ligament from the back of a buffalo’s neck, they lashed a stick firmly to the articulation of the shoulder blade, nearly at right angles to the plane of the bone and to its length. Then, dipping the joint into hot water, the ligament would shrink, and bind the bone and the handle together as firmly as iron.
Years ago, on the sites of abandoned Pawnee villages, on the Loup Fork and on the Platte, fragments of pottery used to be found among the débris of the fallen lodges. The manufacture of this pottery was no doubt abandoned long ago, and has probably not been practiced to any considerable extent since they met the whites. A man about fifty years of age stated to me that he had never seen these pots in use, but that his grandmother had told him that in her days they made and used them. He said that they were accustomed to smooth off the end of a tree for a mould. A hot fire was then built, in which stones were roasted, which were afterward pounded into fine powder or sand. This pounded stone they mixed with fine clay, and when the material was of the proper consistency, they smeared it over the rounded mould, which was perhaps first well greased with buffalo tallow. After the clay had been made of even thickness throughout, and smooth on the outside, they took a small, sharp stone, and made marks on the outside to ornament it. When the material was sufficiently dry, they lifted it from the mould and burned it in the fire, and while it was baking, “put corn in the pot and stirred it about, and this made it hard as iron.” This may mean that it gave the pot a glaze on the inside. In these pots they boiled food of all kinds. Mr. Dunbar informs me that these pots were also made in later times within a frame-work of willow twigs. The clay, made very stiff, was smeared on this frame, the inside being repeatedly smoothed with the moistened hand, and but little attention being given to the appearance of the outside. After they had been sun-dried, such pots were baked without removing the frame, which burned away in the fire, leaving the marks of the twigs visible on the outside of the pot.
Corn was, and is still, crushed in wooden mortars, hollowed out by fire, and the pestle is also of wood, about four feet long, with an enlargement at the upper end to give added weight.
Dishes and bowls were made of wood, or of large gourds; spoons and ladles were fashioned from the horns of the buffalo; mats were woven of rushes, ropes of buffalo hair, and lariats of rawhide.
Fire in the early days was obtained by means of fire sticks, the point of one being twirled on a hollow in the other, until the charred dust at first smoked and then ignited. It is said that sometimes it would take four men to make a fire, one relieving another as they grew tired. It was hard, slow work, but sometimes one man, if he was stout, could make a fire alone. The use of fire sticks on war parties has continued till within a short time, perhaps within twenty years.
As their clothing was manufactured wholly from skins, sewing occupied a considerable part of the time of the women. This was done by means of a bone needle—often the metacarpal or metatarsal bone supporting the accessory hooflets on the deer—and a thread twisted of sinews. Such sewing was extremely durable.
The other implements and utensils of the Pawnees did not differ materially from those of other plains Indians.
It is a long time since they first began to use articles and implements manufactured by the whites. Curly Chief related to me the story of what was perhaps the first official visits from the whites ever received by the Pawnees. He said:
“I heard that long ago there was a time when there were no people in this country except Indians. After that the people began to hear of men that had white skins; they had been seen far to the east. Before I was born they came out to our country and visited us. The man who came was from the Government. He wanted to make a treaty with us, and to give us presents, blankets and guns, and flint and steel, and knives.
“The Head Chief told him that we needed none of these things. He said, ‘We have our buffalo and our corn. These things the Ruler gave to us, and they are all that we need. See this robe. This keeps me warm in winter. I need no blanket.’
“The white men had with them some cattle, and the Pawnee Chief said, ‘Lead out a heifer here on the prairie.’ They led her out, and the Chief, stepping up to her, shot her through behind the shoulder with his arrow, and she fell down and died. Then the Chief said, ‘Will not my arrow kill? I do not need your guns.’ Then he took his stone knife and skinned the heifer, and cut off a piece of fat meat. When he had done this he said, ‘Why should I take your knives? The Ruler has given me something to cut with.’
“Then taking the fire sticks, he kindled a fire to roast the meat, and while it was cooking, he spoke again and said, ‘You see, my brother, that the Ruler has given us all that we need; the buffalo for food and clothing; the corn to eat with our dried meat; bows, arrows, knives and hoes; all the implements which we need for killing meat, or for cultivating the ground. Now go back to the country from whence you came. We do not want your presents, and we do not want you to come into our country.’
“Afterward, however, a treaty was made. The first treaties were not to purchase land. The Government made presents, and bought the right to pass through the country. Roads were made up the Republican, the Platte and the Solomon rivers.”
II. Every-Day Life
In these hasty remarks upon the ways of the Pawnees, which are in fact no more than a series of rough notes supplementary to Mr. Dunbar’s fuller history of this people, I shall not attempt to give any general account of their habits. These can be learned by reference to the papers, so often quoted. My object is to give a picture of the Pawnee ways of thought rather than of their material life.
Their government was semi-republican. They were ruled by a head chief, in later times always the head chief of the Chau-i band; and this title was hereditary, but the chief, if he had not the requisite strength of character, might lose all his influence, and his position be practically, though not in name, held by a sub-chief or even warrior of his own or another band. As has been well said, “The office itself was hereditary, but authority could be gained only by acknowledged personal accomplishments.” Each band was ruled as to its own affairs by four chiefs—a head chief, second chief, third and fourth chiefs—but often some warrior who held no office, and bore no title, might wield more power and influence than any of these. In minor matters, the chief gave his orders without consultation with any one, but more important affairs were usually discussed in council by chiefs, head men and warriors, and the opinion of the assemblage prevailed, even if it were opposed to the opinion of the chief. Among the Pawnees, as elsewhere, a man’s personal character determined the position he should occupy and the influence he should wield. Bravery, wisdom, and personal popularity were the important factors in acquiring and retaining influence and authority.
Mr. Dunbar alludes to one matter which is little understood in general; that is the existence among the Pawnees of a class of servants. These were for the most part young men, or boys growing up, who had not yet acquired any special standing. They lived in the family of men of position and influence, from whom they received support, and for whom they performed many offices, which were almost menial. The relation which they held to the head of the family was not altogether unlike that of a page or a squire to his knight in mediæval times. These young men drove in and saddled the horses, made the fires, ran errands, and carried messages for the leaders whom they followed. The same menial offices were often performed by other, older men, who were too lazy and too worthless to make positions for themselves, and who were willing to continue to serve for their support. This relation of servant persisted even among the Pawnee Scouts after their enlistment, and, while among the privates in this body all were of course equal in name, it was yet common, as the camp prepared to start in the morning, to see the younger men saddling up the horses, and performing other duties for the chiefs and the proved warriors, whose military standing was no higher than those who were serving them.
The dress of the old-time Pawnee male consisted of a breech clout, leggings, fringed at the side, and reaching from ankle to thigh, and moccasins. Over all this, when the weather demanded it, was worn the buffalo robe, the hair side being turned in. The dress of the women consisted of a sort of sleeveless shirt, and a skirt of dressed buffalo cow skin, reaching to below the knee, with leggings of cloth or buckskin, laced above the knee, and moccasins. They also wore the robe or blanket. No head covering was used, though in war and on great occasions the men wore bonnets or chaplets of eagle feathers, and sometimes both men and women wove wreaths out of cottonwood or willow twigs, with the green leaves left on, to shade their eyes from the fierce rays of the sun. The children were at first scantily clad. The boy, after he was released from his board, went naked, except perhaps for a string of beads around his neck, until he was ten or twelve years old, though usually he assumed the breech clout before that age. Girls were clad in a shirt or smock almost as soon as they could walk.
At the present time but few of the Pawnees wear their hair cut in the ancient fashion, but twenty years ago a large proportion of the older men had the whole head shaved, except a narrow roach which ran from the forehead to the back of the head. This roach, on which the hair was usually left less than an inch long, was sometimes stiffened at the sides with grease and paint to make it stand up well. From this roach the scalp lock fell back in its natural position. At the present day many of the men cut their hair short, like the whites. The women usually wore their hair in two braids, one on each side, falling behind the ears, and the younger ones were careful in tending it.
All hair upon the face and on other parts of the body was usually plucked out, but I have seen a Pawnee with a heavy beard under his chin.
Paint was freely used in ornamentation, especially on the face and breast. Black, as is the case with most tribes, was the color for war. Red, white and yellow, were used merely for ornament.
As already indicated, the arms of the Pawnees were the bow and arrow, the lance, the club, and the hatchet. The bow was almost invariably made of the bois d’arc, and was backed with sinew, and had a string of the same material. The arrows were made with the greatest labor, care and exactness, and those manufactured by each individual were so marked that they could at once be distinguished from those of every other maker. It is well known that the arrows of each Indian tribe differed from those of every other tribe, but besides this, each man’s arrows bore his private mark. The manufacture of the bow and arrows was a long, slow process, and after they had been completed they were carefully guarded and protected from injury. Although the Pawnees have long been accustomed to use firearms in war, yet the use of the bow and arrow in hunting persisted up to quite recent times, in fact up to the date of the disappearance of the buffalo. A reason for this is readily found in the fact that an arrow cost only time to manufacture, and the Indian has an abundance of time. For cartridges, or for powder and lead, he must pay money, or trade some of his possessions. An arrow, too, may be used over and over again, and may thus account for many head of game, whereas a cartridge can be used but once. In their secret war expeditions, too, the bow was a favorite weapon, because it was noiseless. An enemy found at a little distance from his camp, could be stealthily approached and silently shot down, without necessarily alarming persons in the neighborhood, when a rifle shot, ringing over the prairie and echoing among the bluffs, would call out every warrior in the village, to learn whence it came. I have been told, by warriors, that on their war parties, they left their rifles at home and carried only their bows, so that they might not be tempted by the sight of an enemy to fire a shot, which might bring themselves and their companions into danger.
The Pawnees were superb horsemen and owned many ponies. I can learn nothing definite as to when they first obtained these animals, nor from what source. A tradition exists, that up to the time of the tribe’s advent into the northern country, their only beast of burden was the dog, which then carried their packs and hauled their travois. The story goes that the Pawnees obtained their first horses soon after their separation from the Wichitas. The three bands were traveling north together, when the scouts who had been sent ahead to overlook the country, hastened back and announced to the chiefs that they had discovered a camp of Indians. A council was at once held to determine whether they should attack this unknown village as enemies, or should approach them as friends. The majority declared for an attack, and it was so decided. Approaching under cover as near as possible, the horde of dusky footmen poured over the hills and down into the valley where stood the doomed village. The attack was sudden, fierce, and successful. They killed and captured many of the enemy, and took the camp, while the survivors fled in hopeless confusion. Among the plunder taken were a lot of horses; strange beasts then to the rude Pawnees, and at which they wondered greatly. A captive woman explained to the conquerors that these creatures were good to ride, and useful to pack on. Old men still tell, with a smile, of the ludicrous first attempts of the warriors to ride the horses. This occurrence is said to have taken place on the Smoky Hill River, in what is now Kansas, and the Indians from whom the horses were captured, are understood to have been Cheyennes.
The permanent habitations of the Pawnees were dirt or sod houses, often of very considerable size. The remains of the old medicine lodge of the Skidi, on the Loup, show it to have been two hundred and ten feet in diameter. The lodges were circular in form, with walls seven or eight feet high, and the roof rose from these walls to the apex above the center of the lodge, where was the hole for the escape of smoke from the fire, which burned on the floor below. A covered passageway led to the entrance. Around the walls the inmates slept, the beds being partitioned off, and protected in front as well, by a curtain which might be a skin, or a mat woven of reeds or coarse grass. The cooking was all done over the fire in the middle of the lodge. Possessions were stowed away behind the beds, or hung up on the posts which supported the roof.
On their hunts or when traveling, the Pawnees used the ordinary cow skin lodge of the plains Indians. This was composed of neatly dressed buffalo hides, from which the hair had been removed, set up over a frame-work, made up, usually, of sixteen long slender poles. An opening at the top gave exit to the smoke; and wings, projecting at either side of the smoke hole, and so arranged that their positions could be changed by moving two additional poles on the outside of the lodge, served to regulate the draft, and keep the lodge free from smoke. The inmates slept close to the walls, and the fire, with the inevitable pot hanging over it, burned in the middle. These lodges were warm, and usually dry, and made good shelters. They were occupied for the greater part of the year, for the Pawnees, after the spring planting was fairly over, usually started at once on their summer hunt, from which they only returned in time to harvest their crops. At the beginning of winter, when the robes were at their best, they made the winter hunt, from which they did not return until toward spring. The planting over, they set out again on the hunt.
In their personal intercourse with each other, and with strangers, the Pawnees were kindly and accommodating. I have had little kindnesses unostentatiously done me by Pawnee men, such as I should never expect to receive from white persons not connected with me by ties of blood. In the village, the well-to-do gave freely to those who were poor, and all were very hospitable. They were a light-hearted, merry race, keenly alive to the ridiculous, and very fond of a joke. They were great chatterers, and had about them nothing of the supposed taciturnity of the Indian. Of modesty or delicacy in conversation, as we know it, they had none. Both sexes spoke freely to each other of matters which are never mentioned in civilized society, and much of their conversation, as well as many of their stories, could not well be printed.
III. A Summer Hunt
It was in the month of July, 1872. The Pawnees were preparing to start on their semi-annual buffalo hunt, and only the last religious rites remained to be performed before the nation should leave the village for the buffalo range.
“Eh, idadi, whoop,” came from without the lodge; and as I replied, “Ehya, whoop,” the sturdy figure of Le-ta-kats-ta´-ka appeared in the doorway.
“Lau, idad, tŭt-tū-ta-rik ti-rah-rēk—Come, brother, they are going to dance,” he said, and then he turned and went out.
I rose from the pile of robes on which I had been dozing, and, after rolling them up, strolled out after him. The village seemed deserted, but off toward the medicine lodge, which stood upon its outskirts, I could see a throng of Indians; and a low murmur of voices and of footsteps, the hum which always accompanies any large assemblage, was borne to my ears on the evening breeze. The ceremonies, which comprised the consecration of the buffalo staves and the buffalo dance, were about to begin. The great dirt lodge was crowded. I pushed my way through the throng of women and boys, who made up the outer circle of spectators, and soon found myself among the men, who made way for me, until I reached a position from which I could see all that was going on within the circle about which they stood.
For several days the priests and the doctors had been preparing for this solemn religious ceremonial. They had fasted long; earnest prayers had been made to Ti-ra´-wa, and sacrifices had been offered. Now the twelve buffalo skulls had been arranged on the ground in a half-circle, and near them stood the chiefs and doctors, reverently holding in their hands the buffalo staves and sacred bows and arrows, and other implements of the chase. For a little while they stood silent, with bowed heads, but presently one and then another began to murmur their petitions to A-ti-us Ti-ra´-wa, the Spirit Father. At first their voices were low and mumbling, but gradually they became more earnest and lifted their eyes toward heaven. It was impossible to distinguish what each one said, but now and then disjointed sentences reached me. “Father, you are the Ruler—We are poor—Take pity on us—Send us plenty of buffalo, plenty of fat cows—Father, we are your children—help the people—send us plenty of meat, so that we may be strong, and our bodies may increase and our flesh grow hard—Father, you see us, listen.” As they prayed they moved their hands backward and forward over the implements which they held, and at length reverently deposited them on the ground within the line of buffalo skulls, and then stepped back, still continuing their prayers.
It was a touching sight to witness these men calling upon their God for help. All of them had passed middle life, and some were gray-haired, blind and tottering; but they prayed with a fervor and earnestness that compelled respect. They threw their souls into their prayers, and as a son might entreat his earthly father for some great gift, so they plead with Ti-ra´-wa. Their bodies quivered with emotion, and great drops of sweat stood upon their brows. They were thoroughly sincere.
After the last of the articles had been placed upon the ground, their voices grew lower and at length died away. A moment later a drum sounded, and a dozen or twenty young warriors sprang into the circle and began the buffalo dance. This was kept up without intermission for three days, and as soon as it was over, the tribe moved out of the village on the hunt.
From the village on the Loup, we traveled southward; for in those days the region between the Platte and the Smoky rivers swarmed with buffalo. With the Pawnees were a few Poncas, Omahas and Otoes, so that there were about four thousand Indians in the camp. It was the summer hunt of the tribe. Twice each year the agent permitted them to visit the buffalo range. The meat which they killed and dried on these hunts, the corn and squashes which they grew on their farms, and the small annuities received from the Government, were all they had to subsist on from season to season. Thus the occasion was one of importance to the Indians. Perhaps only the older heads among them fully appreciated its economic interest; but for all it was a holiday time; a temporary escape from confinement. Life on the reservation was monotonous. There was nothing to do except to sit in the sun and smoke, and tell stories of the former glories of the nation; of successful fights with the Sioux and Cheyennes, and of horse stealing expeditions, from which the heroes had returned with great herds of ponies and much glory. Now, for a little while, they returned to the old free life of earlier years, when the land had been all their own, and they had wandered at will over the broad expanse of the rolling prairie. Now, for a time, it was as it had been before the cornfields of the white man had begun to dot their river bottoms, before the sound of his rifle had made wild their game, before the locomotive’s whistle had shrieked through the still, hot summer air. Half a year’s provision was now to be secured. The comfort—almost the existence—of the tribe for the next six months depended on the accumulation of an abundant supply of dried buffalo meat, and no precaution was omitted to make the hunt successful. It would not do to permit each individual to hunt independently. Indiscriminate buffalo running by six or eight hundred men scattered over the prairie, each one working for himself alone, would result in the killing of some few buffalo, but would terrify and drive away all the others in the neighborhood. This matter was too important to be trusted to chance. The hunting was systematized.
The government of the hunt was intrusted to the Pawnee soldiers. These were twenty-four warriors of mature age, not so old as to be unfitted for active work, yet with the fires of early youth somewhat tempered by years of experience; men whose judgment and discretion could at all times be relied on. These soldiers acted under the chiefs, but the practical guidance of the hunt was wholly in their hands. They determined the direction and length of each day’s march, and the spot for camping. They selected the young men who should act as scouts, and arranged all the details of the approach and the charge when a herd of buffalo was discovered large enough to call for a general surround. All the men were under their control, and amenable to their discipline. They did not hesitate to exercise their authority, nor to severely punish any one who committed an act by which the success of the hunt might be imperilled.
The scouts sent out by the soldiers were chosen from among the younger men. They acted merely as spies, their office was to find the buffalo. They moved rapidly along, far in advance of the marching column, and from the tops of the highest hills carefully scanned the country before them in search of buffalo. If a herd was discerned, they were not to show themselves, nor in any way to alarm it. Having found the game, their duty was to observe its movement, learn where it was likely to be for the next few hours, and then to report as quickly as possible to the camp. The soldiers then determined what action should be taken. If the news was received late in the day, and the buffalo were at some distance, the camp would probably be moved as near as practicable to where the herd was feeding, and the chase would take place in the early morning. If, on the other hand, the scouts found the herd in the morning, the men would start off at once for the surround, leaving the women to follow, and make camp as near as possible to where the dead buffalo lay.
Day after day we traveled southward, crossing the Platte River, and then the Republican about due south of the present flourishing town of Kearney. South of the Platte a few scattering buffalo were found, but no large herds had been met with—nothing that called for a surround. At length we camped one night on the Beaver, a small affluent of the Republican, emptying into it from the south.
With the gray dawn of morning, the camp, as usual, is astir. By the time our little party have turned out of our blankets, some of the Indians have already finished eating, and are catching up their horses and preparing to ride off over the bluffs, leaving the squaws to take down the lodges, pack the ponies, and pursue the designated line of march. Before we are ready to “pull out,” most of the ponies have been packed, and a long, irregular line of Indians is creeping across the level valley, and beginning to wind up the face of the bluffs. The procession moves slowly, proceeding at a walk. Most of those who remain with the column are on foot, the squaws leading the ponies, and many of the men, wrapped in their blankets, and with only their bows and arrows on their backs, walking briskly over the prairie, a little to one side. These last are the poorer Indians—those who have but few horses. They travel on foot, letting their horses run without burdens, so that they may be fresh and strong, whenever they shall be needed for running the buffalo.
Side by side, at the head of the column, walk eight men who carry the buffalo staves. These are slender spruce poles, like a short lodge-pole, wrapped with blue and red cloth, and elaborately ornamented with bead work, and with the feathers of hawks, and of the war eagle. These sticks are carried by men selected by the chiefs and doctors in private council, and are religiously guarded. Upon the care of these emblems, and the respect paid to them, depends, in a great measure, the success of the hunt. While borne before the moving column, no one is permitted to cross the line of march in front of them.
Close behind the staff bearers follow a number of the principal men of the tribe; the head chief, old Pi´ta Le-shar, and a dozen or fifteen sub-chiefs or head men, all mounted on superb horses. Behind them comes the camp at large, a fantastically mingled multitude, marching without any appearance of order. Here most of the individuals are women, young girls and children, for the men who accompany the camp usually march singly, or by twos and threes, a little apart from the mob. Most of those rich enough in horses to be able to ride at all times, are scattered over the prairie for miles in every direction, picking up the small bands of buffalo, which have been passed by the scouts as not large enough to call for a general surround. The hunters are careful, however, not to follow too close upon the advance line, whose movements they can readily observe upon the bare bluffs far ahead of them.
At the time of which I am writing, the Pawnees had no wagons, all their possessions being transported on pack horses. The Indian pack pony is apt to be old and sedate, requiring no special guidance nor control. A strip of rawhide, knotted about the lower jaw, serves as a bridle, and is either tied up to the saddle or held in the rider’s hand. In packing the animals a bundle of lodge-poles is tied on either side of the saddle, one end projecting forward toward the horse’s head, the other dragging on the ground behind. This is the travois. Cross poles are often tied between these two dragging bundles, and on these are carried packages of meat and robes. Often, too, on a robe stretched between them, a sick or wounded Indian, unable to ride, is transported. The lodge-poles having been fastened to the saddle, the lodge is folded up and placed on it between them, and blankets, robes, and other articles are piled on top of this, until the horse has on its back what appears to be about as much as it can carry. The pack is then lashed firmly in position, and pots, buckets and other utensils are tied about it wherever there is room.
On top of the load so arranged one or two women, or three or four children, clamber and settle themselves comfortably there, and the old horse is turned loose. Each rider carries in her hand a whip, with which she strikes the horse at every step, not cruelly at all, but just from force of habit. If the pack is low, so that her feet reach down to the animal’s sides, she keeps up also a constant drumming on his ribs with her heels. The old horse pays not the slightest attention to any of these demonstrations of impatience, but plods steadily along at a quiet walk, his eyes half closed and his ears nodding at each step. If the riders are women, each one holds a child or two in her arms, or on her back, or perhaps the baby board is hung over the end of a lodge-pole, and swings free. If the living load consists of children, they have in their arms a lot of puppies; for puppies occupy with relation to the small Indian girls the place which dolls hold among the white children. Many of the pack animals are mares with young colts, and these last, instead of following quietly at their mothers’ heels, range here and there, sometimes before and sometimes behind, their dams. They are thus constantly getting lost in the crowd, and then they charge backward and forward in wild affright, neighing shrilly, until they have again found their proper place in the line of march. Many of the yearling colts have very small and light packs tied on their backs, while the two-year-olds are often ridden by the tiniest of Indian boys, who are now giving them their first lesson in weight-carrying. Loose horses of all ages roam about at will, and their continual cries mingle with the barking of dogs, the calls of women and the yells of boys, and make an unceasing noise.
The boys are boiling over with animal spirits, and, like their civilized brothers of the same age, are continually running about, chasing each other, wrestling, shooting arrows and playing games, of which the familiar stick game seems the favorite.
Whenever the column draws near any cover, which may shelter game, such as a few bushes in a ravine, or the fringe of low willows along some little watercourse, the younger men and boys scatter out and surround it. They beat it in the most thorough manner, and any game which it contains is driven out on the prairie, surrounded and killed. The appearance even of a jackass rabbit throws the boys into a fever of excitement, and causes them to shriek and yell as if in a frenzy.
All the morning I rode with the Indians, either at the head of the column, chatting as best I could with Pi´ta Le-shar and other chiefs, or falling back and riding among the women and children, whom I never tired of watching. Frequently during the day I saw at a distance, on the prairie, small bunches of buffalo in full flight, hotly pursued by dark-skinned riders, and occasionally two or three men would ride up to the marching columns with heavy loads of freshly-killed meat. The quick-heaving, wet flanks of the ponies told a story of sharp, rapid chases, and their tossing heads and eager, excited looks showed how much interest they took in the hunt.
The report of firearms was seldom heard. Most of the Indians hunted with the primitive weapon of their forefathers—the bow and arrow. For buffalo running an arrow is nearly as effective as lead. The power of the bow in expert hands is tremendous. Riding within half a dozen yards of the victim’s side, the practiced bowman will drive the dart so far through the body of the buffalo that its shaft may project a foot or more from the opposite side—sometimes indeed may pass quite through. Besides, the bow can be used very rapidly and accurately. I have seen an Indian take a sheaf of six arrows in his hand, and discharge them at a mark more rapidly and with more certainty of hitting his target than I could fire the six barrels of a revolver.
It was nearly noon, and I was riding along at the head of the column. I had but one horse, and did not care to wear him out by chasing around over the prairie, preferring to save him for some great effort. We were traveling along a smooth divide between two sets of ravines, which ran off, one to the east and the other to the west. Pi´ta Le-shar had just informed me by signs that we should make camp about two miles further on, by a stream whose course we could trace from where we then were. Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the huge dark bodies of half a dozen buffalo sprang into view, rising out of a ravine on our left not a hundred yards distant. When they saw the multitude before them, they stopped and stared at us.
They were too close for me to resist the temptation to pursue. As I lifted the reins from my pony’s neck and bent forward, the little animal sprang into a sharp gallop toward the game, and as he did so I saw half a dozen Indians shoot out from the column and follow me. The buffalo wheeled, and in an instant were out of sight, but when I reached the edge of the bank down which they had plunged, I could see through the cloud of dust, which they left behind them, their uncouth forms dashing down the ravine. My nimble pony, as eager for the race as his rider, hurled himself down the steep pitch, and sped along the narrow broken bed of the gully. I could feel that sometimes he would lengthen his stride to leap wide ditches, where the water from some side ravine had cut away the ground, but I never knew of these until they were passed. My eyes were fixed on the fleeing herd; my ears were intent on the pursuing horsemen. Close behind me I could hear the quick pounding of many hoofs, and could feel that one of the horses, nearer than the rest, was steadily drawing up to me—but I was gaining on the buffalo. Already the confused rumble of their hoof-beats almost drowned those of the horses behind me, and the air was full of the dust and small pebbles thrown up by their hurrying feet. But they were still ahead of me, and the gulch was so narrow that I could not shoot. The leading horseman drew nearer and nearer, and was now almost at my side. I could see the lean head and long, slim neck of his pony under my right arm, and could hear the rider speak to his horse and urge him forward in the race. My horse did his best, but the other had the most speed. He shot by me, and a moment later was alongside the last buffalo.
As he passed me the young Indian made a laughing gesture of triumph, slipped an arrow on his bowstring, and drew it to its head; but just as he was about to let it fly, his horse, which was but a colt, took fright at the huge animal which it had overtaken, and shied violently to the right, almost unseating its rider. At the same moment the buffalo swerved a little to the left, and thus lost a few feet. Truly, the race is not always to the swift. As I passed the Indian, I could not restrain a little whoop of satisfaction, and then swinging my rifle around, I fired. The buffalo fell in its stride, tossing up a mighty cloud of the soft yellow earth, and my pony ran by him fifty yards before he could be checked. Then I turned and rode back to look at the game. The other Indians had passed me like a whirlwind, and, close at the heels of the herd, had swept around a point of bluff and out of sight. Only my rival remained, and he was excitedly arguing with his horse. The logic of a whip-handle, applied with vigor about the creature’s ears, convinced it that it must approach the dead buffalo; and then the rider dismounting, and passing his lariat about the animal’s horns, drew the pony’s head to within a few feet of the terrifying mass, and fastened the rope. When he had accomplished this, he grinned pleasantly at me, and I responded in kind, and in dumb show transferred to him all my right and title in the dead buffalo. At this he smiled still more cheerfully, and set to work “butchering.”
The animal was a superb specimen, just entering his prime, and was fat, round and sleek. His horns were symmetrically curved and beautifully polished. Not a scratch marred their shining surfaces, nor a splinter was frayed from their sharp points. The sweeping black beard was long and full, and the thick curls upon his hump and massive shoulders were soft and deep, while the short hair of his sides and hips was smooth as the coat of a horse. His size was enormous. It seemed that he would have turned the scale at quite two thousand pounds. Certainly his weight exceeded that of both the fifteen-hand ponies that stood beside him.
A few moments later, I was again in the saddle, and riding on along the course taken by the remaining buffalo, for I was anxious to see what had become of them. On rounding the point of the bluff, where I had last seen them, my curiosity was satisfied. The valley here widened out until it was perhaps sixty yards across, and on either side rose vertical bluffs of yellow chalk to a height of forty feet. Scattered about over the little plain, lay half a dozen buffalo, over each of which bent one or two Indians busily plying the knife. At the foot of the bluff at one side of the valley stood four or five others, looking at a cow, perched on a narrow shelf ten feet below the top. I shall never understand how that animal reached the position it occupied. There was evidently no way of getting to it except by jumping up from below, which was obviously impossible—or down from above, which seemed out of the question. The shelf was so short that the animal could move neither backward nor forward, and was just wide enough for it to stand on. As I rode up and joined the little group below it, the head and shoulders of a middle-aged Indian appeared over the top of the bluff, above the cow. He lay down flat on his breast, and holding in both hands an old-fashioned muzzle-loading pistol, attempted to shoot the cow from above, but his old arm would not go off. He snapped it half a dozen times, and then, discouraged, called out something to us below. One of the boys turned to me, and said very slowly and distinctly, “He say, you shoot.” I therefore dismounted, and fired at the cow, which responded by shaking her head angrily, and whisking her short tail. Another call came from the old fellow on top of the bluff, and the young man said to me, “He say, you hit her; right spot.” A moment later, the cow bent forward and fell on her knees, and the Indian above dropped down on her back.
Turning my horse’s head in the direction from which I had come, I rode up through a side ravine on to the high prairie. A mile away I could see the column of marching Indians, plodding along at their old slow pace. Here and there, over the rolling hills, dark forms were visible, some of them in rapid motion, others apparently stationary. Often it was impossible to determine whether these figures were horsemen or buffalo, but sometimes, far away, I could see a mimic chase in which pursuer and pursued appeared no larger than ants.
As I came up with the Indians, they were just descending into the stream bottom, where camp was to be made. The small boys had, as usual, dispersed themselves over the valley and among the underbrush. Many of the squaws, leaving the ponies and packs to their sister-wives or children, were hurrying up or down the stream to gather wood. Already the leading ponies were being relieved of their loads. Suddenly, from the mouth of a little ravine coming down into the stream bottom, rose a chorus of shrill yelps and shrieks from childish throats, and a gang of wild turkeys were seen, running rapidly through the high grass toward the hills. A moment later, with a loud quit-quit of alarm, they took wing, but not before several of their number had fallen before the missiles of the boys. Most of them went up or down the creek, but one inexperienced bird took its course directly over our heads.
Those who have seen the Indian only on dress parade, talk of his stolidity, impassiveness, and his marvelous control over his countenance and his emotions. This demeanor he can and does assume, and when he is with white men, or among strangers, he is usually all that he has been pictured; but take him by himself, and he expresses his feelings with as little restraint as a child. So it was now. No grave chief, nor battle-scarred warrior, nor mighty worker of ti-war´-uks-ti (magic) was too dignified to express his interest at the appearance of this great bird sailing laboriously along, thirty or forty feet above him. It was as if the turkey had flown over a great company of schoolboys, and the utter abandonment of the excited multitude, the entire absence of restraint, the perfect naturalness of the expression of feeling, had in them something very delightful and infectious. Every Indian, who held in his hand anything that was light enough to throw, hurled it at the bird, and a cloud of whips, sticks, hatchets, fleshers, and arrows, rose to meet it as it passed along. One missile knocked from its tail a few long feathers, which drifted slowly down on the heads of the people. It kept on, but before it had passed beyond the long line of Indians extending back over the plain, its strength became exhausted, it came to the ground, and was at once dispatched by those nearest to it.
Almost before the turkey’s fate had been decided, many of the lodges had been pitched, and now the slender gray columns from a hundred camp-fires began to climb up through the still air toward the blue above. The women were hard at work cooking, or spreading out freshly killed robes, or putting up drying scaffolds, while the men lounged in the shade and smoked or chatted. Our wagon was halted at one side of the camp, and the tired horses and mules stripped of saddles and harness, and picketed near at hand. The Indian pack ponies were collected and driven off on the upland in charge of several boys.
We had invitations to eat meat at several lodges that day. Usually we did not accept these freely proffered hospitalities, because we had no means of returning them, but one of these invitations came from a particular friend, and to-day we broke through our rule. We feasted on roast ribs, ka´wis, and dried meat, and really had a delightful time. It was about three o’clock when we finished the meal, and we were lounging about the lodge, smoking and chatting, in lazy after-dinner fashion, when we were startled by a series of yells and shouts, among which I distinguished the words “Cha´-ra-rat wa-ta´—The Sioux are coming.” Our Indian companions snatched up their arms, and rushed out of the lodge, and we were not slow in following. “Sūks-e-kitta-wit wĭs-kūts—Get on your horses quick,” shouted our host. The camp was in a state of wild excitement. Naked men were running to their horses, and jerking their lariats from the picket pins, sprang on their backs and rode hard for the hills; while women and boys rushed about, catching horses, and bringing them in among the lodges, where they were securely fastened. Less than a mile away, we saw the horse herd dashing along at top speed, and a little to one side of it a horseman riding in circles, and waving his blanket before him. It was evident that the Sioux were trying to run off the herd. We ran as hard as we could to the wagon, caught up rifles and cartridge belts, and buckling on the latter as we ran, kept on to the horses. There was no time to saddle up. We looped the ropes around their jaws, sprang on their naked backs, and were off. As we rode up on the prairie, the herd of ponies thundered by, and swept down the bluffs to the camp. The rolling expanse before us was dotted with Indians, each one urging forward his horse to its utmost speed. Many of them were already a long way in advance, and were passing over the furthest high bluff, which seemed to rise up and meet the sky. Hard as we might push our ponies, there was little hope that we would be in time to have any hand in the encounter—if one took place—between the Pawnees and their hereditary foes.
We kept on until we reached the crest of the high bluff. From here we could see far off over the plain, dozens of black dots strung out after one another. Nearer at hand, other Indians, whose steeds, like ours, had proved too slow for the swift pursuit, were riding back toward us, showing in their faces the disappointment which they felt at being left behind. With these we turned about, and rode toward the camp. Among them was one of the herd boys, for the moment a hero, who had to repeat his story again and again. He had been sitting on top of a hill, not far from the horses, when he discovered several Sioux stealing toward them through a ravine. Signaling his comrades, they succeeded in getting the herd in motion before the robbers had approached very close to them. Eight of the slowest horses had dropped behind during the flight, and had no doubt fallen into the hands of the enemy.
One by one, the Indians came straggling back to camp during the afternoon and evening, but it was not until late that night that the main body of the pursuers came in. They had ten extra horses, two of which they had taken in turn from the Sioux. They had no scalps, however, for they had been unable to overtake the enemy.
Long we sat that night by the fire in Pi´ta Le-shar’s lodge, talking over the exciting event of the afternoon; and as we rose to go to our wagons, and said good night, the old man, who had been silently gazing into the coals for some time, looked up at me and smiled, saying, “Wa-ti-hes ti-kōt-it ti-ra-hah—To-morrow we will kill buffalo.”
When we turned out of our blankets the next morning, a heavy mist hung over the prairie. This was unfortunate, for so long as the fog lasted it would be impossible for the scouts to see far enough to discover the buffalo. The first few hours of the march were uneventful. Once or twice the huge bodies of a small band of buffalo loomed up through the white mist about us, their size and shape greatly exaggerated and distorted by its deceptive effect. As the sun climbed toward the zenith, the air grew brighter, and by mid-day the fog had risen from the ground, and though still clinging in white cottony wreaths about the tops of the higher bluffs near us, we now could see for quite a long distance over the prairie. A little later the sun burst forth, and the sky became clear. Soon after noon we went into camp.
We had but just begun our dinner, when a runner was seen coming at full gallop down the bluffs. It was one of the scouts. He dashed through the village, and did not check his pony’s speed until he had reached old Pi´ta Le-shar’s lodge. Here he stopped, and bending from his horse spoke a few words very earnestly, gesticulating and pointing back over the prairie in the direction whence he had come. As he rode on and past us, he called out, “Te-co´di tŭt-tu-ta-rik ti-ra-hah—I saw many buffalo,” and we shouted back to him, “Tū-ra-heh—It is good.”
At once the women began to take down the lodges and pack the ponies. Buffalo had been discovered about fifteen miles to the southwest, and orders had been issued to move the village to the creek on which they were feeding, while the men should go on at once and make the surround. Our teamster, to whom the Indians had already, from his occupation, given the name “Jackass Chief,” was directed to move with the camp; and leaving everything save guns and ammunition belts in the wagons, we joined the crowd of men who were riding out of the village.
The scene that we now beheld was such as might have been witnessed here a hundred years ago. It is one that can never be seen again. Here were eight hundred warriors, stark naked, and mounted on naked animals. A strip of rawhide, or a lariat, knotted about the lower jaw, was all their horses’ furniture. Among all these men there was not a gun nor a pistol, nor any indication that they had ever met with the white men. For the moment they had put aside whatever they had learned of civilization. Their bows and arrows they held in their hands. Armed with these ancestral weapons, they had become once more the simple children of the plains, about to slay the wild cattle that Ti-ra´-wa had given them for food. Here was barbarism pure and simple. Here was nature.
A brief halt was made on the upper prairie, until all the riders had come up, and then, at a moderate gallop, we set off. A few yards in advance rode the twenty-four soldiers, at first curbing in their spirited little steeds, till the horses’ chins almost touched their chests, and occasionally, by a simple motion of the hand, waving back some impetuous boy, who pressed too close upon them. Many of the Indians led a spare horse, still riding the one that had carried them through the day. Often two men would be seen mounted on the same animal, the one behind having the lariats of two led horses wound about his arm. Here and there a man, with his arm over the horse’s neck, would run along on foot by the side of the animal which was to serve him in the charge.
As we proceeded, the pace became gradually a little more rapid. The horses went along easily and without effort. Each naked Indian seemed a part of his steed, and rose and fell with it in the rhythmic swing of its stride. The plain was peopled with Centaurs. Out over each horse’s croup floated the long black hair of his rider, spread out on the wings of the breeze. Gradually the slow gallop became a fast one. The flanks of the horses showed here and there patches of wet, which glistened in the slanting rays of the westering sun. Eight, ten, a dozen miles had been left behind us, and we were approaching the top of a high bluff, when the signal was given to halt. In a moment every man was off his horse, but not a pony of them all showed any sign of distress, nor gave any evidence of the work he had done, except by his wet flanks and his slightly accelerated breathing. Two or three of the soldiers rode up nearly to the top of the hill, dismounted and then peered over, and a moment later, at another signal, all mounted and the swift gallop began again. Over the ridge we passed, down the smooth slope, and across a wide level plain, where the prairie dogs and the owls and the rattlesnakes had their home. Through the dog town we hurried on thundering hoofs, no doubt amazing the dogs, and perhaps even arousing some slight interest in the sluggish, stupid snakes. Bad places these to ride through at such a pace, for a little carelessness on your horse’s part might cost him a broken leg and you an ugly tumble. But no one took much thought of dog town or horse or possible accident, for the minds of all were upon the next high ridge, behind which we felt sure that the buffalo would be found.
And so it proved. Just before reaching it we were again halted. Two of the soldiers reconnoitered, and then signaled that the buffalo were in sight. The tired horses were now turned loose and the extra ones mounted. As we rode slowly up over the ridge, we saw spread out before us a wide valley black with buffalo. Two miles away, on the other side, rose steep ragged bluffs, up which the clumsy buffalo would make but slow progress, while the ponies could run there nearly as fast as on level ground. It was the very place that would have been chosen for a surround.
At least a thousand buffalo were lying down in the midst of this amphitheater. Here and there, away from the main herd on the lower hills, were old bulls, singly and by twos and threes, some of them quietly chewing the cud, others sullenly pawing up the dust, or grinding their battered horns into the yellow dirt of the hillsides. Not the slightest notice was taken of us as we rode down the slope at a pace that was almost a run, but still held in check by the soldiers. The orders for the charge had not yet been given. Our line was now much more extended than it had been; each man pressing as far forward as he dared, and those on either flank being so far ahead of the center that they were almost on a line with the soldiers. We had covered perhaps half the distance between the hilltop and the buffalo, when some of the outlying bulls seemed to observe us, and after looking for a moment or two, these started in rapid flight. This attracted the attention of the herd, and when we were yet half a mile from them, they took the alarm. At once all were on their feet. For a moment they gazed bewildered at the dark line that was sweeping toward them, and then, down went every huge head and up flew every little tail, and the herd was off in a headlong stampede for the opposite hills. As they sprang to their feet, the oldest man of the soldiers, who was riding in the center of the line, turned back toward us, and uttered a shrill Loo´-ah! It was the word we had waited for.
Like an arrow from a bow each horse darted forward. Now all restraint was removed, and each man might do his best. What had been only a wild gallop became a mad race. Each rider hoped to be the first to reach the top of the opposite ridge, and to turn the buffalo back into the valley, so that the surround might be completely successful. How swift those little ponies were, and how admirably the Indians managed to get out of them all their speed! I had not gone much more than half-way across the valley when I saw the leading Indians pass the head of the herd, and begin to turn the buffalo. This was the first object of the chase, for in a stampede, the cows and young are always in the lead, the bulls bringing up the rear. This position is not taken from chivalric motives on the part of the males, but simply because they cannot run so fast as their wives and children. Bulls are never killed when cows and heifers can be had.
Back came the herd, and I soon found myself in the midst of a throng of buffalo, horses and Indians. There was no yelling nor shouting on the part of the men, but their stern set faces, and the fierce gleam of their eyes, told of the fires of excitement that were burning within them. Three or four times my rifle spoke out, and to some purpose; and one shot, placed too far back, drew on me a quick savage charge from a vicious young cow. My pony, while a good cattle horse, was new at buffalo running, and his deliberation in the matter of dodging caused me an anxious second or two, as I saw the cow’s head sweep close to his flank. It was far more interesting to watch the scene than to take part in it, and I soon rode to a little knoll from which I could overlook the whole plain. Many brown bodies lay stretched upon the ground, and many more were dashing here and there, closely attended by relentless pursuers. It was sad to see so much death, but the people must have food, and none of this meat would be wasted.
Before I turned my horse’s head toward the camp, the broad disk of the setting sun had rested on the tops of the western bluffs, and tipped their crests with fire. His horizontal beams lit up with a picturesque redness the dusky forms which moved about over the valley. Up the ravines and over the hills were stringing long lines of squaws, leading patient ponies, whose backs were piled high with dark dripping meat, and with soft shaggy skins. Late into the night the work continued and the loads kept coming into the camp. About the flickering fires in and before the lodges there was feasting and merriment. Marrow bones were tossed among the red embers, calf’s head was baked in the hot earth, fat ribs were roasted, ka´wis boiled, and boudins eaten raw. With laughter and singing and story telling and dance the night wore away.
Over the plain where the buffalo had fallen, the gray wolf was prowling, and, with the coyote, the fox and the badger, tore at the bones of the slain. When day came, the golden eagle and the buzzard perched upon the naked red skeletons, and took their toll. And far away to the southward, a few frightened buffalo, some of which had arrows sticking in their sore sides, were cropping the short grass of the prairie.