822 
FOREST AND STREAM^ 
[Oct. as, 1897. 
THE NATIVE AMERICAN HUNTER. 
III.-ANTELOPE CATCHING AMONG THE 
CHEYENNES. 
As Told by White Bull. 
"When I was a young man more than forty years ago, my 
people had only a few guns. Then not many white men 
had come into the country, and we still took the animals on 
which we fed in the old ways that our people had always 
used. I have seen them catch the antelope in this old way, 
and now I will tell you how they did it. 
When they were going to catch aatelope there was always 
some one medicine man who told the people what they must 
do, and watched them to see that they did it. The man 
whom I saw do this was named Bed Lodge. He always had 
his lodges painted red, and this is why he had that name. 
When the people needed antelope to eat or needed their slcins 
for war shirts, and when the medicine was good, then Red 
Lod;;e made up his mind that antelope must be taken, and so 
he told the people what they must do. 
In a broad flat they began to build a tight brush pen 8 or 
lOft. high.. On one side it was open, and from this open- 
ing lines of brush heaps about five steps apart stretched 
away on to the flat for 400 or 500yds., constantly becoming 
further and further apart. This made two wings, thus, ^, 
but each stopped when it reached the fence of the pen. On 
the side of this pen opposite the open side from which the 
wing extended, the people dug a big hole in the ground, 
reaching from the end of one fence to the end of the other. The 
side of this hole toward the opening in the pen was straight, 
stretching from the end of one fence to the end of the other, 
and the other side was rounding — a part of a circle. They 
dug this bole about 5ft. deep and with sides straight up 
and down. On the rounding side of this hole they drove 
stakes in the ground and tied low bushes to them, but on the 
straight side they stuck bunches of grass in the ground, 
some of it standing up straight and some hanging over the 
edge of the pit so as to hide it. Outside of both the straight 
fences of the pen they dug trenches, which were deep 
enough for men and women and children to get into and to 
be hidden when they were lying down. After all this had 
been done, they made a good many clubs, and when they 
had been made, these clubs were put on the ground at each 
end of the pit close to the end of the high fence. 
When all this was nearly finished. Red Lodge had his 
lodge prepared and cleaned up. The beds were taken out, 
all the people moved out and slept somewhere else. Only 
Red Lodge remained in his lodge. If the camp was new 
and the ground was not yet worn bare, and there were still 
left some roots of grass and of weeds on the floor of the 
lodge, the women cleaned all these away, so as to leave the 
ground bare. Then they gathered white sage and the floor 
of the lodge next to the walls was covered with these stems, 
the tops of the stems pointing toward the fire. From one of 
his sacred bundles Red Lodge took a good many antelope 
feet, which had been cut off at the pastern joint, and bent 
and dried so that they would stand upright on the ground. 
One of these feet was the right forefoot of a buck, the foot 
with which he pawed the ground. This pawing foot Red 
Lodge put down on the floor of the lodge about 8ft. from 
the wall and to the left of the door and so to the right of the 
lodge man's bed. The other feet were placed on the ground, 
standing on their soles in circles all about the fire, but these 
circles did not meet in front of the door. An opening 
about 3ft. wide was left opposite the door. There were 
four circles of these feet about the fire, one inside the other. 
After the lodge had been fixed up, he went into it alone 
and made his medicine. No one knows what he did while 
he was there. For one day and one night he ate nothing, 
^nd all night long he sat in the lodge and sang. After he 
had made his medicine and was ready to call the antelope, 
he painted himself like an antelope. He painted his mouth' 
black, his back red, his belly, legs, rump and face white, and 
painted red streaks across his upper breast. On each temple, 
and running down on his cheeks, he painted an antelope 
horn — black. Then he was ready, and he came out of his 
lodge, naked except for his breech-clout and moccasins. In 
his hand he held his own medicine pipe, which was painted 
red over bowl and stem. Now he walked to the opening in 
the pen where the wings come together, and there he stopped 
and filled his pipe. After he had filled his pipe and lighted 
it, he walked between the wings out onto the prairie, and 
sung his sacred songs and held his pipe up to the Great 
Spirit, and then out toward the prairie where the antelope 
live. Then he walked back, still singing, between the wings 
and through the pen until he had reached the edge of the pit, 
and there he rested the bowl of the pipe upon the ground. 
Four times be went backward and forward and sung his an- 
telope songs. The fourth time, after he had touched the 
groimd with the pipe bowl, he went around to the back of 
the pit, and placed his pipe on the ground there. The bowl 
was toward the pit, and the stem was leaning against a sup- 
port, so that it pointed diagonally upward. 
When he had placed the pipe on the ground, two young 
men who had already been told what to do, started out to- 
ward the prairie, one on the right and one on the left, fol- 
lowing out the wings so as to come in behind the antelope, 
and all the people hid themselves in the trenches that were 
duEf outside the high walls. 
Now, after this. Red Lodge walked about in the pen and 
outside of it, holding in his hand a feather which he waved 
in the air, and as he walked and as be waved the feather, he 
was singing his sacred song. 
After a little while, the young men which had been sent 
out discovered antelope coming, and when they saw them 
they gave a loud, high-pitched call, which can be heard a 
long way. This was the signal to the people that the ante- 
lope were coming. And when the people heard it everyone 
was glad. After the antelope had passed these young men 
they turned in and ran along behind them, keeping up this 
calling until the antelope were close to the pen, and had 
come between the wings. After the young men themselves 
got within the wings they began to call differently, and imi- 
tate the hooting of an owl. 
As soon as the antelope have come to the opening of the 
pen, all the people who have been hidden in the trenches 
rush to the open side of the pen and close the opening by 
crowding into it. They run toward the antelope, and these 
are so scared and are going so fast that they caimot stop 
themselves, and they rush on and fall into the pit. Men and 
women alike then grasp the clubs, jump down into the pit 
and knock the antelope on the head. Aiter all are dead the 
people climb out of the pit again. 
New Red Lodge goes around behind the pit and takes his 
pipe and fills it, and after he has filled it he sprinkles on top 
of the tobacco a little powdered buffalo dung. Then he goes 
away thirty or forty steps from the semicircular side of the 
pit, strikes his fire and lights his pipe. He looks about on 
the ground until he finds a small flat stone. This he picks 
up and takes with him. He goes around the pen, and enter- 
ing the opening, goes close to the edge of the pit, places this 
little flat stone on the ground, sits down, and, resting the bowl 
of his pipe on the stone, he smokes there alone. No one 
smokes with him. 
As he smokes he points the stem of his pipe at the ante- 
lope, trying to point at each one, and to give to each one a 
smoke. Then he smokes to the little fiat stone. Then he 
gives four smokes to the direction from which the antelope 
came. After he has done all this then he smokes his pipe 
out. When he is about to begin to clean the pipe, he first 
points it in the direction from which the antelope came. 
Then he knocks out some of the ashes on the flat stone and 
again points the pipe toward where the antelope came from. 
JBfe knocks out more ashes and points again, and so until he 
has pointed four times and knocked out all the ashes on the 
rock. Now he takes the stone holding the ashes on it and 
INDIAN ANTELOPK PBN. 
goes down through and across the pit to the other side, where 
he climbs out, holding the stone carefully, and going slowly, 
so as not to spill the ashes, and walks away a few steps, pours 
the ashes off the stone on to the ground in four places, and 
puts the stone down and leaves it. 
After this has been done the people get into the pit and 
begin to cut up the antelope. First they pick out a young, 
fat antelope— one about tw o years old — fat and tender. That 
is taken out on to some high bill where everything can see 
it, and without being skinned, it is cut up into small pieces, 
and left there as food for the birds and for the wolves. It is 
a sacrifice. ; 
After the killing is over and these ceremonies have been 
performed and the meal has been divided, the medicine man 
lets his lodge remain as it is over the nest night. That nigiit 
he cooks and calls in his friends, and they sit around the 
lodge behicd the circles of antelope feet and eat. When the 
medicine man puts away these antelope feet he does it all 
alone. No one knows what he does. 
If after the antelope have entered the pen and before they 
reach the pit they should by any chance turn back and get 
away without falling into the hole, it is certain that someone 
of the medicine man's family or relations will die. 
"This is the way, my friend, in which we made our living 
in old times. Then the animals which we ate were plenty 
and our mai yu'n (mysterious power) was strong. Now there 
is nothing to eat on the prairie. Those were happy days. 
Ge.o. Bird Grinnell. 
A STRING OF BEADS.— JI. 
CContinued from page SOS.) 
About this time word came from Rice that he was ready 
for that hunt, and I went to Aitkin, where, together with 
Rice and the baggage agent, I took the train for Kimberly, 
twelve miles east, on our way to Rice Lake No. 2. 
There was only an Indian pack-trail leading through 
the woods from Kimberly to the lake, and taking nothing 
but our guns and ammunition we started for the lake on 
foot, intending to stop with a half-breed who lived on the 
bank of the lake. 
As we stumbled along over fallen timber and floating 
bogs and through swamps, George kept me in a fever of 
excitement (?) over the great number of ducks we were 
sure to find when we got to the lake. 
He talked encouragingly of our getting to the lake in 
time for the three of us to kill a hundred ducks yet that 
night. Of course I knew his expectations were highly 
exaggerated, being based principally on what he had 
heard of others doing, but I said nothing to discourage 
him; the confiding innocence of inexperience always did 
have a charm for me, and these two men were as inno- 
cent of what it took to kill and gather a hundred ducks as 
a new-born babe. Their talk of our returning to the rail- 
road with fifty mallards each reminded me of an account 
I once read in some sporting paper of a man starting out 
one afternoon with his boat and fifty decoys to hunt 
ducks. In the course of that one afternoon he set out 
those fifty decoys at least half a dozen times, carrying 
them from pond to pond, where the water was too (shallow 
to run his boat, together with 300 shells, his gun and, pre- 
sumably, what ducks he killed, which ranged from forty 
to sixty at each pond. In addition to this, he found time 
to attach long lines to bis decoys, by means of which he 
pulled them under wafer at intervals, in imitation of 
diving ducks, empty 300 shells and gather up, say, half 
that many ducks, many of which must have been cripples 
and hard to gather, and get home, fresh as a daisy, in 
time for an early supper, entirely unconscious of the fact 
that he had been far beyond the point of probability. I 
made a mental estimate of the hard work he must have 
done that afternoon, and concluded it would take me from 
four days to a week, and I flatter myself on standing as 
much grief as most of them, too. This man was no 
stranger to ducks and duck shooting either, as his writings 
proved; and I could only account for his wonderful feats 
by supposing he found it easy to sling things about jvith 
ink, and thus unconsciously overworked himself. 
Mr. Rice was'doing the same thing in his imagination, 
little dreaming what an awful burden even a dozen ducks 
apiece would be to return with through that swamp and 
tangle. 
But I was not worrying about any burden of ducks, for 
I knew the northern flight had not set in yet, and that, 
having no boat, we stood but little chance of getting even 
one duck apiece out of a great rice lake. 
I cared little for ducks. What I was after was a ramble in 
the wild, wild woods, and I got it, too, to my heart's con- 
tent. 
It was nearly sundown when we got to the lake, and 
dusk when we had skirted the north shore two miles to 
the Indian's cabin. He was a bachelor Indian and lived 
alone. His cabin was located in a beautiful spot in the 
forest where the underbrush had been cleared away and 
the trees neatly trimmed. The ground was carpeted with 
something very near to blue grass, though I believe it was 
not the genuine Kentucky article, but resembled it very 
closely where it was much tramped or closely cropped. 
We found the Indian, or half-breed, which he really was, 
at home, and he bade us a hearty welcome, giving us the 
freedom of his house and ground, while he prepared sup- 
per. 
Our host regretted very much not having any game for 
supper; said there were no ducks on the lakes, as there 
were dozens of canoes out every day gathering wild rice, 
it being the midst of the Indian rice harvest. 
This was discouraging to Mr. Rice and his baggageman, 
but their hopes revived on our host's assurance that we 
would find plenty of ducks by returning to Ivimberly, by 
the way of Rice River, on the morrow. This we elected 
to do, and our prospective bag was soon back in the three- 
figure column. 
An ideal place for a hunter's cabin was our host's home 
in the woods. Surrounded on all sides by a forest dotted 
with lakes and ponds; open, deep water lakes where fish 
innumerable abounded, and shallow, rush and rice lakes 
where, during the month of October, ducks congregate in 
swarms, staying, with a persistence founded on an 
abundant food supply, until the lakes were solidly frozen 
and there was no further hope of their getting at the wild 
rice on the bottom. 
This particular rice lake (there are three dozen of them 
in Minnesota) would average five miles long by two wide. 
This large scope was an unbroken field of wild rice, stand- 
ing about as thick as wheat in an ordinary wheat field in 
a good crop year. Estimating the crop from what I saw of 
it along the lake shore, I placed the average yield at from 
twenty to thirty bushels per acre. 
All this vast amount of grain (with the exception of a 
few bushels, less than a hundred, gathered by the Indians) 
falls into the lake at the first frost. 
The ducks that feed in the rice lakes do not spend the 
day there, but are up and off by sunrise, scattering among 
the open lakes and small ponds. 
If the weather is fair, they begin to reappear again 
about sundown, and from that until dark the flight is con- 
tinuous, ducks dropping, seemingly, through the arch of 
sky, and multiplying rapidly until their babble is some- 
times deafening. In stormy weather the ducks appear 
earlier at the feeding lakes, and if very stormy often 
spend the entire day wheeling and circling in the wind 
above the rice beds. 
The Indians, who are very iadifferent duck hunters, 
have two methods of hunting them: one is to seek them 
out in their day haunts and pot them as they sit strung 
along a log in the sun; and the other is to conceal them- 
selves in the rice beds and wait for the ducks to come to 
them. This is not the_ ordinary flight shooting of the 
sportsman, but pot shooting of a different stripe. 
In this style of hunting the Indian takes advantage of 
the habit of ducks of always alighting in the openings in 
rice or rushes; covering themselves and their canoes near 
some opening, or beating down the rice and making one, 
if no suitable opening offers, so effectually by weaving rice 
stems over and around them, that should ducks alight 
within 10ft. of them they would not be discovered, they 
lie in wait for hours waiting for a chance snificiently 
tempting to draw their fire. 
Singles, pairs or scattered flocks they pay no attention 
to, but wait patiently tiU the opening in front of them is a 
wriggling mass of ducks, and then discharge their musket, 
loaded with about 25drs. of powder and a couple of dozen 
BB shot, into the midst of them. Of course, a gun loaded 
thus is not very destructive, yet I heard of one fellow who 
killed twenty-one mallard at a single shot, having laid in 
his canoe for several days waiting for the chance. 
Our host had not neglected his opportunities, and the 
waUs of his neatly kept log house were lined with trophies 
of the chase. 
I think this place resembled more nearly my boyhood's 
ideal of a hunter's home than any I have ever visited. 
Early in the morning we were on our way down Rice 
River. Coming out, we followed the Indian trail, a mere 
footpath, but better than nothing; going back, we picked 
our own route, and oh! the difference was frightful to con- 
template. 
We crossed several floating bogs on our way, where it 
seemed like walking on a blanket suspended by the four 
corners, the bog bending and swaying beneath us, while 
the water bubbled up round our feet through the matting 
of roots and grass at every step. I carried a stick some 6ft. 
long to steady myself with, and also to feel for dangerous 
places. 
At one place I stopped and run the stick down to see 
how deep the water was below; when I had run the stick 
down the length of it without striking anything solid, the 
