826 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Dec. 30, 1905. 
In the Lodges of the Blackfeet. 
The Story of a Crow Woman, 
Is-sap-ah'-ki— Crow Woman — as the Blackfeet named 
her, was an Arickaree, of a tribe which, in the days of 
Catlin, who visited the tribes in 1832, lived some distance 
below the Mandans, on the banks of the Missouri. Like 
the Mandans, they lived in a village of mound-like earth- 
covered lodges, surrounded by a strong and high palisade 
of cottonwood logs stuck endwise into the ground. They 
were members of the widely scattered Pawnee, or Cad- 
doan family, but they had been long separated from the 
parent stock. They could converse with the Crows, who 
are related to the Gros Ventres of the village. Their own 
language — like the Mandan — was an extremely difficult 
one for an outlander to learn. The Crows and Arickarees 
were at times on terms of friendship, and again there 
were long periods when they were at war with each other. 
The Crow Woman married early. She must have been 
a very handsome girl, for even in her old age, when I 
knew her, although wrinkled and gray-haired, she was 
still good looking. She had lovely eyes, sparkling and 
mischievous, and her temperament was a most happy one. 
After many and bitter experiences she had at last found, 
with her good friend Mrs. Berry, a haven of peace and 
plenty which was assured to her so long as she lived. This 
is the story she told me as we sat before the fire-place, 
that winter night so many years ago : 
“We. were very happy, my young husband and I, for we 
truly loved each other. He was a good hunter, always 
keeping our lodge well supplied with meat and skins, and 
I, too, worked hard in the surnmer planting, and watering 
as they grew, a nice patch of beans, and corn, and pump- 
kins; in the winter I tanned many robes and many buck- 
skins for our use. We had been married two winters, 
summer came, and for some reason the buffalo left the 
river, all except a few old bulls, and remained away out 
on the plains. My people did not like to hunt out there, 
for we were only a small tribe; our men were brave, but 
what could a few of them do against a great band of our 
many enemies? So some were content to remain safely 
at home and eat the tough meat of the straggling bulls ; 
but others, more ‘ brave, made up a party to go out where 
the great herds were. My husband and I went with 
them ; he did not want me to go, but I insisted upon it. 
Since we had been married we had not been separated 
even for one night ; where he went I had sworn to go 
also. Our party traveled southward all day over the 
green grassed plain ; along tow'ard evening we saw many 
bands of buffalo, so many that the country was dark with 
them; we rode down into a little valley, and made camp 
by a stream bordered by cottonwoods and willows. 
“Our horses were not very strong, for always at night 
they were driven inside the stockade of our village, and, 
feeding daily over the same ground outside, they soon 
tramped and ate off the grass; they had no chance to be- 
come fat. Some enemy or other was always prowling 
around our village at night, and we could not let them 
remain outside and wander to where the feed was good. 
From our camp by the creek we started out every morn- 
ing, the women following the men, who carefully^ looked 
over the country and then went after that band of buffalo 
which could be most surely approached. Then, when 
they had made the run, we rode out to where the great 
animals lay and helped skin and cut up the meat. When 
we got back to camp we were busy until evening cutting 
the meat into thin sh'eets and hanging it up to dry in the 
wind and the sun. Thus for three mornings we went out, 
and our camp began to look red; you could see the red 
from afar, the red meat drying. We were very happy. 
“I was proud of my husband. He was always in the 
lead, the first to reach the buffalo, the last one to quit the 
chase and he killed more of them— always fine fat animals 
—than any other one of the party. And he was so gener- 
ous ; did anyone fail to make a kill he would call to. him 
and give him one, sometimes two, of his own kill. 
“On the fourth morning we went out soon after sun- 
rise, and only a little way from camp the men made a 
run and killed many buffalo. My husband shot down 
nine. ' We were all hard at work skinning them and get- 
ting the meat in shape to pack home, when we saw those 
who were at the far end of the funning ground hurriedly 
mount their horses and ride swiftly toward us with cries 
of ‘The enemy! the enemy!’ Then we also saw them, 
man men on swift horses riding down upon us, their long 
war bonnets fluttering in the wind ; and they were singing 
the war song; it sounded terrible in our ears. They were 
so many, our men so few, there was no use in trying to 
make a stand against them. We all mounted our horses, 
our leader shouting: ‘Ride for the timber at the camp; 
it is our only chance. Take courage; ride, ride fast.’ 
“I whipped my horse as hard as I could and pounded 
his sides with my heels ; my husband rode close beside 
me also whipping him, but the poor thing could go only 
so fast, the enemy were getting nearer and nearer all the 
time. And then, suddenly, my husband gave a little cry of 
pain, threw up his hands, and tumbled off on to the 
ground. When I saw that I stopped my horse, got down 
and ran to him and lifted his, head and shoulders into my 
lap. He was dying ; blood was running from his mouth 
in a stream; yet, he made out to say: ‘Take my horse; 
go quick; you can outride them.’ 
“I would not do that. If he died I wanted to die also; 
the enemy could kill me there beside him. I heard the 
thunder of their horses' feet as they came on, and cover- 
ing iny head with my robe I bent over my husband, who 
was now dead. T expected to be shot or struck with a 
war club, and I was glad , for whither my dear one’s 
shadow went there I would follow. But no ; they passed 
swiftly by us and I could hear shots and cries and the 
singing of the war song as they rode on into the distance. 
Then in a little while I heard again the trampling of a 
horse, and looking up I saw a tall man, a man full of 
years, looking down at me. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘I made a good 
shot ; it was a long ways, but my gun held straight.’ 
“He was a Crow, and I could talk with him. ‘Yes, you 
have killed my poor husband ; now have pity and kill me, 
too.’ 
“Fie laughed. ‘What?’ he said, ‘kill such a pretty young 
woman as you? Oh, no. I will take you home with me 
and you shall be my wife.’ ' 
“ ‘I will not be your wife. I will kill myself,’ I began, 
but he stopped me. ‘You will go with me and do as I 
say,’ he continued, ‘but first I must take the scalp of this, 
my enemy.’ 
“ ‘Oh, no,’ I cried, springing up as he dismounted. ‘Oh 
do not scalp him. Let me bury him. and I will do any- 
thing you say. I will work for you, I will be your slave, 
only let me bury this poor body where the wolves and 
the birds cannot touch it.’ 
“He laughed again, and got up into the saddle. ‘I take 
your word,’ he said. ‘I go to catch a horse for you, and 
then you can take the body down to the timber by your 
camp.’ 
“And so it was done. I wrapped my dear one in robes 
and lashed the body on a platform which I built in a tree 
by the little stream, and I was very sad. It was a long, 
longtime, many winters, before I took courage and found 
life worth living. 
“The man who had captured me was a chief, owning a 
great herd of horses, a fine lodge, many rich things ; and 
he had six wives. These women stared very hard at me 
when we came to the camp, and the head wife pointed to 
a place beside the doorway and said ; 'Put your robe and 
things there.’ She did not smile, nor did any of the oth- 
ers; they all looked very cross, and they never became 
friendly to me. I was given all of the hardest work; 
worst 'of all, thej'’ made me chip hides for them, and they 
would tan them into robes ; every day this was my work 
when I was not gathering wood or bringing water to the 
lodge. One day the chief asked me whose robe it was I 
was chipping, and I told him. The next day, and the 
next, he asked me the same question, and I told him 
that this hide belonged to one of his wives, that to an- 
other, and so on. Then he became very angry, and 
scolded his wives. ‘You will give her no more of your 
work to do,’ he said. ‘Chip your own hides, gather your 
share of wood; mind what I say, for I shall not tell you 
this again.’ 
“This Crow chief was a kind man, and very good to 
me ; but I could not like him. I turned cold at his touch. 
How could I like him when I was always mourning so 
for the one who was gone? 
“We traveled about a great deal. The Crows owned 
so many horses that after camp was all packed and lodge 
poles trailed, hundreds and hundreds of fat, strong ani- 
mals were left without a burden of any kind. Once there 
was talk of making peace with my people, and I was very 
glad, for I longed to be with them again. A council was 
held, and it was decided to send two young men with 
tobacco to th? chief of the Arickaree and ask that peace 
be declared. The messengers went, but they never re- 
turned. After waiting three moons (months) for them, 
it was thought that they had been killed by those whom 
they went to visit. Then we left the Elk River (Yellow- 
stone) and moved to the upper part of Dried Meat River 
(Musselshell). This was the fifth summer after my cap- 
ture. It was berry time and the bushes were loaded with 
ripe fruit, which we women gathered in large quantities 
and dried for winter use. We went out one day to some 
thickets on the north slope of the valley, some distance 
from camp, where there were more berries than at any 
other place we had found. There had been trouble in 
our lodge that morning ; while my captor — I never could 
call him my husband — was eating, he asked to see the 
amount of berries we had gathered ; his wives brought 
out their stores, the head woman five sacks of them, the 
others two and three each. I had but one sack, and an- 
other partly full, to show. ‘How is this?’ the chief asked. 
‘Has my little Arickaree wife become lazy?’ 
“ ‘I am not lazy,’ I answered, angrily. ‘I have picked 
a great quantity of berries; and every evening I have 
spread them out to dry, covering them well after sunset 
so that the night dew would not inj ure them ; but in the 
morning, when I have removed the covers and exposed 
them to the sun’s heat, I have found many, very many 
less than I had placed there. This has happened every 
night since we came to camp here.’ 
“ ‘That is strange,’ he said. ‘Who could have taken 
them ? Do you women know anything about it ?’ he asked 
his wives. 
“They said that they did not. 
“ ‘You lie,’ he cried, angrily, rising from his seat and 
pushing his head wife back out of his way. ‘Here, little 
woman, are your berries; I saw them stealing them’; and 
from the head wife he took two sacks, from the others 
one each, and threw them over to me. 
“Oh, those women were angry. They did not speak 
to me all that morning, but if looks could have killed me, 
then I would have died, for they scowled at me all the 
time. When the chief drove in the horses each caught 
the one she wanted and rode out to the berry patch. 
“The five kept close together that day, leaving me to 
go by myself; and if I went near them they would move 
away to some distant bushes. Some time after middle 
day they began to move toward me, and in a little time 
they were at work all around close by. Still they did not 
speak, nor did I. My little sack was again full ; I stooped 
over to empty the berries into a larger sack; something 
struck me a terrible blow on the head; I fell over and 
knew no more. 
“When I came back to life the sun was setting. I was 
alone, my horse was gone, and my large berry sack was 
missing; the small one, empty, lay by my side. I was 
very dizzy, very sick. I felt of my head; there was a 
great swelling on it, and much dried blood in my hair. 
I sat up to better look around and heard some one calling 
me, the tramp of a horse, and then the chief rode up be- 
side me and dismounted. He didn’t say anything at first, 
just felt of my head carefully, and of my arms, and then: 
‘They said that they could not find you when they were 
ready to return to camp ; that you had run away. I knew 
better. I knew that I would find you here, but I thought 
to find you dead.’ 
“ ‘I wish I were,’ I said, and then for the first time I 
cried. Oh, how lonely I felt. The chief lifted me up 
into his saddle and got on the horse behind me, and we 
rode home to the lodge. When we went inside the wives 
just glanced at me quickly, and then looked away. I was 
about to lie down on my couch by the doorway when the 
chief said : ‘Come here, here by my side is now your 
place. And you,’ to his head wife, giving her a hard push, 
‘you will take her couch by the doorway.’ 
“That was all. He never accused his wives of attempt- 
ing to kill me but from that time he treated them coldly, 
never jesting nor laughing with them as he had been used 
to doing. And whenever he left camp to hunt, or to look 
for stray horses from his herd, I had to accompany him. 
He would never leave me alone for a day with the 
others. Thus it came about that when he prepared to go 
with some of his friends on a raid against the northern 
tribes I was told to get ready also. It did not take me 
long; I packed my awl, needles and sinew thread in a 
little pouch, made some pemmican and was ready. 
“We were a small party, fifteen men, and one other 
woman, newly married to a great war leader. It was not 
proposed to make any attack upon our enemy, but to 
