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In Sahaptin Land 
II.—The Recovery of the Famous “Piece of White 
Money”—The Coming of the Salmon 
By CHARLES S. MOODY 
W HOLE volumes could be written of the 
tenderness of Indian parents. One in¬ 
cident will serve to illustrate: Charley 
Allen was my particular friend among them. 
Charley lived on a fine ranch several miles from 
the river, which he had fenced and was engaged 
in stock raising. He had seen the handwriting on 
the wall of Fate, and was preparing himself to 
forsake the nomadic life of his ancestors and live 
as the palefaces live. The apple of Charley’s eye 
was his son, a lad of some eight years. This boy 
was the most expert rider I ever saw. With a 
hair rope and a hackamore he would mount the 
wildest cayuse on the reservation. Of course 
there were times when he was thrown, and on 
one of these he had the misfortune to fracture 
both bones of the forearm. When it comes to 
bearing pain, the Sahaptin can give the Spartans 
several yards the start and beat them. I never 
saw an Indian who gave the slightest expres¬ 
sion of suffering. The boy was brought to my 
office by his father for attention. I got the 
splints and bandages ready, then looked about 
for the father to assist me in reducing the frac¬ 
ture. He was nowiiere to be found. I called 
my wife, and together we performed the task, 
the little chap sitting it out, with his black eyes 
snapping, but not another expression. I then 
set out to locate my friend. I found him be¬ 
hind the horse stable, trembling like an aspen 
leaf. The great fellow himself could have been 
flayed alive without a murmur, but he could 
not stand to see his boy suffer pain. 
Next .to their love for their children comes 
their reverence for their dead and the graves 
of the dead. I trust the reader will exonorate 
me from any desire to be facetious when I re¬ 
late an amusing incident in this connection, 
which serves to illustrate one phase of their 
character. One day I was sitting on the river 
shore reading, when I noticed an old woman 
whom we called Nancy raking a mass of rubbish 
into a heap. This she set fire to, and seating 
herself beside the fire, began the most doleful 
lamentation I ever heard. She threw her shawl 
over her head and rocked herself to and fro 
and wailed in her anguish. Curiosity got the 
better of me, and I walked over and inquired 
of her what the trouble was. Her reply was 
that her baby was dead. Now, I positively 
knew that she was over sixty, and I very much 
doubted her having any baby. I was supposed 
to know all about the birth statistics of that 
particular tribe, and no account had reached 
me of any increase in that quarter, nor had I 
had occasion to administer to any sick baby 
which subsequently died. I asked her when 
the baby died and learned that it was some¬ 
thing like fifteen years before. I began to see 
a little light, so I asked her how old the baby 
was and found out that he was a little thing of 
only twenty years. The explanation for the fit 
of mourning was that in raking over the re¬ 
mains of an old camp she had .turned up a bit 
of saddle that had once been his and that 
awakened a train of memory that could only 
be appeased by giving way to a storm of grief. 
I left her with her sorrow. In fifteen minutes 
she was up and about her labor singing as 
merrily as an Indian can sing, forgetting the 
baby that had died fifteen years previous. 
You may Christianize the savage until he ac¬ 
cepts all the outward forms of the religion, he 
may appear to be a devout and sincere follower 
of the Man of Sorrows, but some day some¬ 
thing will occur that will show you that heredity 
and the law of the survival of the fittest are 
stronger by far than any teaching of yours can 
be. This same Nancy was very ill one spring 
with pneumonia. She lived in a tepee near the 
house of her son who was a Christian Indian, 
lived in a house, and aspired some day to be¬ 
come a minister. I simply mention these things 
to make more striking what follows. Nancy 
was very ill, indeed, and I informed her son 
that possibly she might die that night, but that 
if she did not I was going to make a trip forty 
miles out to the railroad for medicines for her, 
and that I would start early in the morning in 
order to be back if possible that night. He evi¬ 
dently took it for granted that when I said she 
was liable to die that I knew what I was talk¬ 
ing about,, for when I arrived there early next 
morning I found the tepee burned according to 
Indian custom. I supposed of course that the 
old lady had passed over and was rather con¬ 
gratulating myself that I would not have a long 
trip when I saw a roll of blankets lying on the 
ground that looked suspiciously as if they cov¬ 
ered a body. I dismounted, lifted the covers 
and peered down into a pair of sharp, black 
eyes that were very much alive. It was a very 
cold morning and the old woman was chilled 
through. I went to the house, routed out her 
son, made him make a fire, went and carried 
the old woman into the house, put her to bed, 
lectured her son on his brutality, which he did 
not understand, and in the end had the satis¬ 
faction of seeing the ancient woman recover. 
The moral of this tale is that the son, while he 
loved his mother and would do anything to save 
her life, simply obeyed his instincts when he 
thought that she was as good as dead, for to 
him she was already dead. She, too, saw noth¬ 
ing amiss in the proceeding. She was resigned 
and lay there awaiting death as calmly as we 
await the coming of sleep. 
Cornelius’ mother was very ill of tuberculosis. 
Cornelius went to Lewiston to purchase supplies. 
While there he bethought him of his mother and 
decided to buy her a casket. He called at the 
undertaker and purchased a very elaborate coffin. 
This he loaded into his spring wagon, and in 
order to utilize all the room possible, filled it 
with groceries. The next day after his arrival 
at home he invited me over to view the casket. 
It was standing on end in the shed. “But,” I 
said to him, “your mother is not yet dead! Why 
did you buy the casket?” 
“That is very true,” he replied, “but she is 
going to die very soon now and I could buy the 
casket cheaper in Lewiston than I can from the 
trader, so I thought I might as well get it.” 
Which proved two things: that the Indian is 
capable of making a bargain, and that he is be¬ 
ginning to understand the business methods of 
the Government trader. His mother died ac¬ 
cording to schedule and was treated to a very 
elaborate burial in a civilized coffin. 
They endeavor to conceal the graves of the 
dead, especially those who have been buried 
many years, and even now many of the Indians 
will bury their dead in the dark of night in 
places secure from observation. I have been un¬ 
able to find a reason for this. The Indians 
themselves do not know. 
The land of the Sahaptins is rich in historic 
association. It was the first land sighted by 
Lewis and Clark when they emerged from the 
dark defiles of the Bitter Roots that day in Sep¬ 
tember now over a hundred years ago. The 
tide of the Kooskia floated the first canoe of 
the white man. On the banks of this stream 
the intrepid pioneers paused, and from the lords 
of the forest hewed out the flotilla which, seek¬ 
ing the Western Ocean, opened up to the Gov¬ 
ernment an empire greater in extent than half 
of Europe. Aged Indians still point out the 
exact spot where the explorers built the canoes 
and tell of the peace treaty made with their 
chief which lasted through seventy years of try¬ 
ing pioneer development, during which time the 
Sahaptins stood the firm friends of the white 
man. They told me of the presentation by the 
