Lone Elk’s Search. 
(Concluded from page 409. i 
“The day was about ended. ‘Hai' yu, great 
Sun,’ I prayed; ‘make my aim true. Let my 
bullet drain the blood of this enemy. I give him 
to you; his scalp shall be yours.’ Long, long I 
aimed, again and again measuring the distance 
with my eyes, and at last I pulled the trigger. 
Through the drifting powder smoke I saw my 
enemy spring to his feet, saw him stagger, saw 
him fall, limp on the edge of the cut bank and 
roll off it, splash, into the deep water in which 
he sank like a stone. Ai! but I was glad. I 
almost shouted. I was so glad. I reloaded my 
gun as quickly as I could and shot at one of 
the others as they ran back to the timber whence 
they had come, but that time my bullet sped 
wide of the mark. 
“I remained where I was until it was quite 
dark, and then returning to the boat I pushed 
out noiselessly from the shore and drifted down 
stream, keeping as close to the south side as 
possible. I saw nothing more of the enemy. 
Some time before midnight the moon arose, but 
I was then far from where I had shot the enemy, 
and felt that they were not pursuing me; that 
my appearance on the south side of the river 
had made them think that I was a traveler afoot. 
When daylight came they would probably try to 
pick up my trail. I ate some of the meat I had 
killed. It was not very good, raw, but it satis¬ 
fied my hunger. I did not wish to take time, nor 
the risk to stop, build a fire and cook. 
“After some nights of drifting I came to the 
mouth of Elk River; from there three more 
nights and I knew that I was near the Mandan 
camp. 1 he moon was rising now after midnight 
and I feared that I might pass the place in the 
dark. 1 kept close to the north shore now watch¬ 
ing for the steps in the high cut bank which 
the people used for their water trail. I came to 
them not long before daylight, but if there had 
been no moon I could not have passed by, for 
the camp dogs were howling as usual. I tied 
my boat beside some others like it, took my 
rifle and robe and my ropes and ascended the 
steps. There before me was the camp, a lot 
of round topped mud houses surrounded by a 
high fence of logs stuck endways into the ground, 
and so close together that a prairie dog could 
not have squeezed through betwen them. I 
knew better than to attempt to enter the place 
then. I sat down on the edge of the cut bank 
and waited for daylight, and the people to come 
forth. It was not long before some early rising 
women started out for water, and seeing me 
they ran back through the passage way in the 
tenee and aroused the camp. Some men ap¬ 
peared carrying their guns, and I arose, made 
the sign of peace, also the sign that I was a 
Blackfoot. At that they too made the sign of 
friendship, and asked me to approach. I went 
up to them and gave them greeting, and they 
took me to their chief’s lodge. He was a kindly 
man, that Four Bears, and made me welcome. 
While we smoked together, and I told him why 
I was there, about my dream and everything, his 
women cooked a feast for us of meat and beans 
and corn, and other things. I ate a lot of it all. 
“I stayed with the good chief four days, feast¬ 
ing and resting, and devising a way to learn if 
my woman really was in the Lower Big Belly 
village. It was, the chief told me, just like that 
of the Mandans, built on a wide, open bottom 
and inclosed by a high log house. There was 
no place near it, he said where one could lie con¬ 
cealed and watch the going and coming of the 
people. We finally hit upon a way that we 
thought would do. It was full of danger, but 
the only one that seemed likely to succeed, and 
in the evening of the fourth day I set off again 
in my boat to try it. Four Bears had given me 
directions to enable me to know the place of the 
village when I came opposite it, but in the dark¬ 
ness I would have missed it had it not been for 
the howling of their dogs. It was near morn¬ 
ing of the second night that I heard them, and 
drawing into the shore I saw the camp’s water 
trails cut in the high bank. I went on down 
the river until I came to a large cottonwood 
grove, and there, out in still water opposite an 
old log on the sand bar, I sunk my boat by the 
weight of many stones. Back in the timber I 
cached my rifle, my robe, everything I had ex¬ 
cept my knife. Then I unbraided my hair K wet 
it, and combed and combed it, rebraided it 
roughly in two large braids, one on each side of 
my head. My scalp lock had disappeared. I 
no longer showed that I was a Blackfoot. I 
wore a pair of plain cowskin moccasins; a pair 
of cowskin leggins, a cowskin (unpainted) toga 
that Four Bears had given me. Nothing about 
me was suggestive of any tribe, far or near, that 
I had ever heard of. My only weapon was my 
knife, stuck in a plain parfleche sheath at my 
belt. 
“Daylight was near. I left the timber, fol¬ 
lowed up the bank of the river and sat down 
by the water trail of the village. The first 
risers, as at the other camp, were some women 
who aroused their men. ‘Who are you?’ they 
signed, coming forth guns in hand. 
" 'I am from the far south,’ I answered in 
signs. ‘I am of the people who live in houses 
set one on top of another in the land of no 
snow. I come with peaceful intent.’ 
" ‘Approach, then,’ their leader signed. ‘Ap¬ 
proach us in peace.’ We met and embraced, they 
looking at me hard, but kindly. It had all been 
easier than I had thought. I had been much 
afraid that they would kill me. They conducted 
me to the big earth lodge of their chief. He was 
just getting up, and sitting back on his couch 
he motioned me to a place beside him, filled a 
pipe and handed it to me to light. I smoked 
with him and the others who had come in with 
me told the story that Four Bears and I had 
made up. I was far from the south, from the 
hot country, I said in the sign language. I was 
of a tribe which lived on a flat butte overlook¬ 
ing a great plain, a people who lived in houses 
built one on top of another. I knew that there 
was such a people. My father had seen and 
fought them when he went to war in his young 
days. I also said that I was alone in the world, 
that I had no lodge, and I was traveling around 
just to see the country and visit the different 
tribes along the way. The old chief asked why 
I had no gun, no horse, and I replied that two 
days before I had fallen in the hands of a war 
party who came upon me while I slept, and that 
they had taken my bow and arrows and set me 
afoot. That lie passed too. Presently the 
women placed food before us and I ate as if 
I were starved. All this time I was longing to 
♦ 
go out, to look through the camp for the one 
I sought, and yet I feared to. If she were 
there, if she cried out and ran to me when she 
saw me there I would be killed. She too, per¬ 
haps. I made up my mind to stay close to the 
chief until I saw her, if she really was there, 
and I was sure of that. I had faith in my dream. 
Yes, I would stay close to the chief, and if 
things went wrong, I would at least draw my 
knife and kill him before I was killed. 
•“After eating we smoked two pipes, and then 
the chief dismissed his guests. Soon afterward 
a woman came in and spoke to him. ‘We are 
invited to a feast;’ he signed, ‘let us go.’ 
“There were feasts all that morning for us, 
and we took a bite and smoked at each place, 
while I had to tell over and over again about 
myself, and answer many questions. In the last 
lodge, to which we were invited, that which I 
had expected happened. I met my woman. I 
followed the chief into- the place, the host made 
room for me next to him on his right, and when 
I took my seat and looked around, there she 
was, sitting in the shadow of the place, near the 
doorway. She gave me one swift, sorrowful 
look, and then bent her head. My heart seemed 
to jump up into my throat. I nearly jumped 
up to run over to her. Then I began to grow 
angry. Here beside me was the man who had 
taken her from me. I had a look at him. A 
big, powerful man he was, good looking, I sup¬ 
pose, yet he looked hateful to me. How I did 
long to stick my knife into him then and there. 
But I bided my time. ‘Have patience,’ I said 
to myself, ‘he shall not escape you.’ 
"I thought that feast would never end. It 
was almost more than I could endure to sit 
there and smoke and tell this man, who had so 
