﻿FLETCHER-LA 
  II.ESCHK] 
  THE 
  SACRED 
  POLE 
  245 
  

  

  passed 
  while 
  the 
  Pole 
  stood 
  untouched 
  in 
  its 
  tent, 
  dreaded 
  as 
  a 
  

   thing 
  that 
  was 
  powerful 
  for 
  harm 
  but 
  seemingly 
  powerless 
  to 
  bring 
  

   back 
  the 
  old-time 
  prosperity 
  to 
  the 
  people. 
  

  

  The 
  following 
  is 
  the 
  boy 
  memory 
  of 
  these 
  ancient 
  ceremonies 
  of 
  

   the 
  Sacred 
  Pole, 
  now 
  forever 
  gone, 
  by 
  one 
  of 
  the 
  present 
  writers, 
  the 
  

   only 
  living 
  witness 
  who 
  is 
  able 
  to 
  picture 
  in 
  English 
  those 
  far-away 
  

   scenes 
  : 
  

  

  One 
  bright 
  summer 
  afternoon 
  the 
  Omahas 
  were 
  traveling 
  along 
  the 
  valley 
  of 
  one 
  of 
  

   the 
  streams 
  of 
  western 
  Kansas 
  on 
  their 
  annual 
  buffalo 
  hunt. 
  The 
  mass 
  of 
  moving 
  

   people 
  and 
  horses 
  extended 
  for 
  nearly 
  half 
  a 
  mile 
  in 
  width 
  and 
  some 
  2 
  miles 
  in 
  length. 
  

   There 
  was 
  an 
  old 
  man 
  walking 
  in 
  a 
  space 
  in 
  the 
  midst 
  of 
  this 
  moving 
  host. 
  The 
  day 
  

   was 
  sultry 
  and 
  everybody 
  around 
  me 
  was 
  in 
  the 
  lightest 
  clothing 
  possible; 
  but 
  the 
  

   solitary 
  old 
  man 
  wore 
  a 
  heavy 
  buffalo 
  robe 
  wrapped 
  about 
  his 
  body. 
  Around 
  his 
  

   shoulders 
  was 
  a 
  leather 
  strap 
  the 
  width 
  of 
  my 
  hand, 
  to 
  the 
  ends 
  of 
  which 
  was 
  attached 
  

   a 
  dark 
  object 
  that 
  looked 
  like 
  a 
  long 
  black 
  pole. 
  From 
  one 
  end 
  hung 
  a 
  thing 
  resem- 
  

   bling 
  a 
  scalp 
  with 
  long 
  hair. 
  One 
  of 
  my 
  playmates 
  was 
  with 
  me, 
  and 
  we 
  talked 
  in 
  low 
  

   tones 
  about 
  the 
  old 
  man 
  and 
  the 
  curious 
  burden 
  on 
  his 
  back. 
  He 
  looked 
  weary, 
  and 
  

   the 
  perspiration 
  dropped 
  in 
  profusion 
  from 
  his 
  face, 
  as 
  with 
  measured 
  steps 
  he 
  kept 
  

   apace 
  with 
  the 
  cavalcade. 
  

  

  The 
  horses 
  that 
  I 
  was 
  driving 
  stopped 
  to 
  nibble 
  the 
  grass, 
  when, 
  partly 
  from 
  impa- 
  

   tience 
  and 
  partly 
  out 
  of 
  mischief, 
  I 
  jerked 
  the 
  lariat 
  I 
  was 
  dragging 
  with 
  all 
  the 
  force 
  

   I 
  could 
  muster 
  in 
  the 
  direction 
  of 
  the 
  horses, 
  and 
  the 
  end 
  of 
  it 
  came 
  with 
  a 
  resounding 
  

   whack 
  against 
  the 
  sleek 
  side 
  of 
  the 
  gray. 
  Startled 
  at 
  the 
  sound, 
  all 
  of 
  the 
  five 
  horses 
  

   broke 
  into 
  a 
  swift 
  gallop 
  through 
  the 
  open 
  space, 
  and 
  the 
  gray 
  and 
  the 
  black, 
  one 
  after 
  

   the 
  other, 
  ran 
  against 
  the 
  old 
  man, 
  nearly 
  knocking 
  him 
  over. 
  My 
  friend 
  turned 
  pale; 
  

   suddenly 
  he 
  became 
  anxious 
  to 
  leave 
  me, 
  but 
  I 
  finally 
  persuaded 
  him 
  to 
  remain 
  with 
  

   me 
  until 
  camp 
  was 
  pitched. 
  He 
  stayed 
  to 
  help 
  me 
  to 
  water 
  the 
  horses 
  and 
  drive 
  them 
  

   to 
  pasture 
  and 
  I 
  invited 
  him 
  to 
  dinner, 
  which 
  he 
  seemed 
  to 
  expect. 
  

  

  While 
  we 
  were 
  eating, 
  the 
  boy 
  asked 
  me 
  if 
  he 
  should 
  tell 
  my 
  father 
  of 
  the 
  incident. 
  

   I 
  consented, 
  for 
  I 
  thought 
  that 
  would 
  relieve 
  him 
  from 
  any 
  fears 
  of 
  the 
  consequences. 
  

   As 
  he 
  was 
  telling 
  of 
  what 
  happened 
  I 
  watched 
  the 
  expression 
  of 
  my 
  father's 
  face 
  with 
  

   some 
  trepidation, 
  and 
  felt 
  greatly 
  relieved 
  when 
  he 
  smiled. 
  We 
  finished 
  our 
  dinner, 
  

   but 
  as 
  we 
  started 
  to 
  go 
  out 
  my 
  father 
  stopped 
  us 
  and 
  said: 
  "Now, 
  boys, 
  you 
  must 
  go 
  

   to 
  the 
  Sacred 
  Tent. 
  Take 
  both 
  horses 
  with 
  you, 
  the 
  gray 
  and 
  the 
  black, 
  and 
  this 
  

   piece 
  of 
  scarlet 
  cloth; 
  when 
  you 
  reach 
  the 
  entrance 
  you 
  must 
  say, 
  'Venerable 
  man! 
  

   we 
  have, 
  without 
  any 
  intention 
  of 
  disrespect, 
  touched 
  you 
  and 
  we 
  have 
  come 
  to 
  ask 
  

   to 
  be 
  cleansed 
  from 
  the 
  wrong 
  that 
  we 
  have 
  done.' 
  " 
  

  

  We 
  did 
  as 
  we 
  were 
  instructed 
  and 
  appeared 
  before 
  the 
  Sacred 
  Tent 
  in 
  which 
  was 
  

   kept 
  the 
  "Venerable 
  Man," 
  as 
  the 
  Sacred 
  Pole 
  was 
  called, 
  and 
  repeated 
  our 
  prayer. 
  

   The 
  old 
  man 
  who 
  had 
  been 
  so 
  rudely 
  jostled 
  by 
  our 
  horses 
  came 
  out 
  in 
  response 
  to 
  our 
  

   entreaty. 
  He 
  took 
  from 
  me 
  the 
  scarlet 
  cloth, 
  said 
  a 
  few 
  words 
  of 
  thanks, 
  and 
  reentered 
  

   the 
  tent; 
  soon 
  he 
  returned 
  carrying 
  in 
  his 
  hand 
  a 
  wooden 
  bowl 
  filled 
  with 
  warm 
  water. 
  

   He 
  lifted 
  his 
  right 
  hand 
  to 
  the 
  sky 
  and 
  wept, 
  then 
  sprinkled 
  us 
  and 
  the 
  horses 
  with 
  the 
  

   water, 
  using 
  a 
  spray 
  of 
  artemisia. 
  This 
  act 
  washed 
  away 
  the 
  anger 
  of 
  the 
  "Venerable 
  

   Man," 
  which 
  we 
  had 
  brought 
  down 
  upon 
  ourselves. 
  

  

  A 
  few 
  weeks 
  later 
  we 
  were 
  moving 
  from 
  the 
  high 
  hills 
  down 
  to 
  the 
  valley 
  of 
  the 
  

   Platte 
  river, 
  returning 
  from 
  the 
  hunt, 
  our 
  horses 
  heavily 
  laden 
  with 
  buffalo 
  skins 
  and 
  

   dried 
  meat 
  ; 
  A 
  beautiful 
  spot 
  was 
  selected 
  for 
  our 
  camp, 
  and 
  the 
  crier 
  gave 
  in 
  a 
  loud 
  

   voice 
  (he 
  order 
  of 
  the 
  chiefs 
  that 
  the 
  camp 
  be 
  pitched 
  in 
  ceremonial 
  form. 
  This 
  was. 
  

   done. 
  

  

  