"Now is a good time," he said, "when all the old men and chiefs are here together, to decide what the people shall do.We came over the mountain to make our lodges for next year.Our old ones are good for nothing; they are rotten and worn out.But we have been disappointed.We have killed buffalo bulls enough, but we have found no herds of cows, and the skins of bulls are too thick and heavy for our squaws to make lodges of.There must be plenty of cows about the Medicine-Bow Mountain.We ought to go there.To be sure it is farther westward than we have ever been before, and perhaps the Snakes will attack us, for those hunting-grounds belong to them.But we must have new lodges at any rate; our old ones will not serve for another year.We ought not to be afraid of the Snakes.Our warriors are brave, and they are all ready for war.Besides, we have three white men with their rifles to help us."I could not help thinking that the old man relied a little too much on the aid of allies, one of whom was a coward, another a blockhead, and the third an invalid.This speech produced a good deal of debate.As Reynal did not interpret what was said, I could only judge of the meaning by the features and gestures of the speakers.
At the end of it, however, the greater number seemed to have fallen in with Mene-Seela's opinion.A short silence followed, and then the old man struck up a discordant chant, which I was told was a song of thanks for the entertainment I had given them.
"Now," said he, "let us go and give the white men a chance to breathe."So the company all dispersed into the open air, and for some time the old chief was walking round the village, singing his song in praise of the feast, after the usual custom of the nation.
At last the day drew to a close, and as the sun went down the horses came trooping from the surrounding plains to be picketed before the dwellings of their respective masters.Soon within the great circle of lodges appeared another concentric circle of restless horses; and here and there fires were glowing and flickering amid the gloom of the dusky figures around them.I went over and sat by the lodge of Reynal.The Eagle-Feather, who was a son of Mene-Seela, and brother of my host the Big Crow, was seated there already, and I asked him if the village would move in the morning.He shook his head, and said that nobody could tell, for since old Mahto-Tatonka had died, the people had been like children that did not know their own minds.
They were no better than a body without a head.So I, as well as the Indians themselves, fell asleep that night without knowing whether we should set out in the morning toward the country of the Snakes.
At daybreak, however, as I was coming up from the river after my morning's ablutions, I saw that a movement was contemplated.Some of the lodges were reduced to nothing but bare skeletons of poles; the leather covering of others was flapping in the wind as the squaws were pulling it off.One or two chiefs of note had resolved, it seemed, on moving; and so having set their squaws at work, the example was tacitly followed by the rest of the village.One by one the lodges were sinking down in rapid succession, and where the great circle of the village had been only a moment before, nothing now remained but a ring of horses and Indians, crowded in confusion together.The ruins of the lodges were spread over the ground, together with kettles, stone mallets, great ladles of horn, buffalo robes, and cases of painted hide, filled with dried meat.Squaws bustled about in their busy preparations, the old hags screaming to one another at the stretch of their leathern lungs.The shaggy horses were patiently standing while the lodge-poles were lashed to their sides, and the baggage piled upon their backs.The dogs, with their tongues lolling out, lay lazily panting, and waiting for the time of departure.Each warrior sat on the ground by the decaying embers of his fire, unmoved amid all the confusion, while he held in his hand the long trail-rope of his horse.
As their preparations were completed, each family moved off the ground.The crowd was rapidly melting away.I could see them crossing the river, and passing in quick succession along the profile of the hill on the farther bank.When all were gone, I mounted and set out after them, followed by Raymond, and as we gained the summit, the whole village came in view at once, straggling away for a mile or more over the barren plains before us.Everywhere the iron points of lances were glittering.The sun never shone upon a more strange array.Here were the heavy-laden pack horses, some wretched old women leading them, and two or three children clinging to their backs.Here were mules or ponies covered from head to tail with gaudy trappings, and mounted by some gay young squaw, grinning bashfulness and pleasure as the Meneaska looked at her.Boys with miniature bows and arrows were wandering over the plains, little naked children were running along on foot, and numberless dogs were scampering among the feet of the horses.The young braves, gaudy with paint and feathers, were riding in groups among the crowd, and often galloping, two or three at once along the line, to try the speed of their horses.Here and there you might see a rank of sturdy pedestrians stalking along in their white buffalo robes.These were the dignitaries of the village, the old men and warriors, to whose age and experience that wandering democracy yielded a silent deference.With the rough prairie and the broken hills for its background, the restless scene was striking and picturesque beyond description.Days and weeks made me familiar with it, but never impaired its effect upon my fancy.
