Where Rolls the Kooskia 
An Indian Religious Dance—A Monster Bull Elk 
—The Sahaptin Creation Story 
Part III. 
By CHARLES STUART MOODY 
T HE salmon run was over. The Indians 
were preparing to depart for their homes, 
but before doing so it was obligatory 
that they should hold a dance to the guardian 
spirit of the salmon in order that next year there 
might be a favorable run. This was the princi¬ 
pal object; the lesser one, that it should bring 
the people in closer touch socially. The Nez 
Perce is a very sociable being and his sociability 
takes the form of dances and of the feast. 
One evening I returned to camp to find every¬ 
thing in readiness for a great dance. Two 
tepees had been thrown together and the ground 
beneath leveled off and beaten down until it was 
hard as a floor. In the center of the open space 
a fire was lighted and a large salmon placed 
thereon to roast. After nightfall the Indians 
assembled in front of the tepee and Charley 
acted as master of ceremonies. All participated, 
women as well as men. The men were stripped 
nearly naked and their bodies painted in fan¬ 
tastical designs. The women wore full dress, 
but had their faces daubed with vermillion. 
They formed in line and marched into the tepee 
in single file. Three times they marched around 
the fire, and on the last round each stooped and 
tore off a morsel of the cooking fish and ate it. 
Then all seated themselves. Charley stepped out 
and sang the song of his tribe. This finished, he 
began the dance. Another man stepped out and 
repeated the performance, singing the song of 
his tribe. All followed in turn until the entire 
male contingent was on the floor. The women 
then took part, but without singing. The dance 
was merely a mad whirl with posturing accom¬ 
panied by a weird chant which began in a low 
cadence, gradually becoming louder until at last 
the woods rang with the music. The dance con¬ 
tinued until nearly daybreak, or indeed, until the 
dancers were too exhausted to continue. This 
was the dance of Week'wetset, or the spirit 
dance of the salmon, and is intensely religious 
in character. 
Our next considerable halt was to be made at 
the Lochsaw Meadows, where I expected to pro¬ 
cure an elk. Inasmuch as our journey promised 
a long sojourn in the mountains, it became neces¬ 
sary to make provision for getting the head out 
after the elk was slain'. To do this Charley en¬ 
gaged one of the younger Indians, then en¬ 
camped at the fishery, to accompany us as far 
as the meadows and pack the head back to 
civilization. 
We set out over an Indian trail to the east¬ 
ward. It required three days of hard labor to 
cross the vast upland marsh that is really the 
birthplace of the Lochsaw fork of the Kooskia. 
We were amply repaid for our labor, however. 
We were now in the very heart of the big-game 
country. Every description of game except goat 
and sheep ranged the vicinity. No white hunter 
had been there for years and the animals were 
fearless. Deer of both species played on the 
meadow in front of the camp like sheep in a 
barnyard. At one time after a slight rain I 
counted twenty-seven, of which eighteen were 
within easy rifle range. 
As the open season began Sept. I, we had still 
some days to wait, for 1 insisted to Charley that 
I would not violate the law. We spent the in¬ 
tervening time in becoming familiar with the lay 
of the land, locating as nearly as possible the 
feeding grounds of the elk. Fresh sign was 
abundant and occasionally at night we could hear 
some young bull bugling on the hills, though the 
rutting season was not yet on. He was practic¬ 
ing or tuning up, I suppose. One small band 
was sighted as they hurried over the point of 
a rocky ridge, but as they were all spike bulls 
and cows, we did not return after the season 
opened to find them. 
On the morning of Sept, x we were out bright 
and earl)’. From the wealth of sign we had 
located I apprehended no trouble in obtaining 
my head, but found that it was one thing to 
locate elk sign and quite another to locate the 
elk that made the sign. A white-tailed deer is 
popularly supposed to be about the most diffi¬ 
cult animal to hunt, but I found the elk capable 
of quite equalling his smaller cousin in the mat¬ 
ter of secretiveness. 
For over a week we tramped those hills and 
prowled among the aspens and along the water 
courses without even seeing an elk. At length 
Charley decided that the game must have gone 
to the north side of the long ridge that stretches 
east and west between the Bitter Roots and the 
foothills of Pot Mountain. One morning we 
packed a light outfit on our backs—for there was 
no trail and we could not take the horses—and 
set out with the determination to find an elk 
before we returned. It was an all-day tramp. 
While the rarified atmosphere made the distance 
seem short to the eye, it was in reality many 
miles, and all the way up hill. One does not 
fully realize what uphill means until he gets to 
an elevation of 7,000 feet, and then starts up 
the side of a steep mountain over slide rock and 
through dense snow brush and hackberry. 
Charley’s surmise proved correct. No sooner 
had we turned over the north slope than we began 
to encounter fresh sign. The elk were in bands 
and we crossed their trails frequently. That 
night we camped on a small watercourse, alive 
with trout, as all these small streams were. 
Next morning we ascended the stream to near 
its fountain head, and thence skirted the steep 
sides of the ridge bearing north and west. It 
was a frightful country to hunt through. Some 
hurricane, long past, had swept through the 
country, and for miles not a tree was left stand¬ 
ing. The prostrate trunks were often piled 
twenty feet deep on the ground. To “coon" one 
of these tree trunks suspended twenty feet in 
the air requires a certain degree of balancing 
.skill. A fall from such a distance means broken 
bones or sprained ankles, neither a desirable 
acquisition when you are 200 miles from aid. 
It was necessary to cross this windfall in order 
to reach an immense burn that lay on the moun¬ 
tain side, where the elk evidently were using. 
We reached the burn about noon. Even theq 
our troubles were not over. Nature, in her en¬ 
deavor to cover up the scars left by the fire, had 
planted the region with undergrowth and small 
conifers. Through these we scrambled, keeping 
a sharp watch on either side for the game. 
After three miles Charley grasped me by the 
arm and pointed toward the base of the hill. 
I looked and saw a herd of at least ten elk 
feeding quietly, unsuspicious of any danger. 
One fair-sized bull was in the lead. To my un¬ 
trained eye he seemed very large. I covered 
him with my rifle and was about to fire when 
my attention was attracted to the gentle sway¬ 
ing of a pair of antlers so large that they ac¬ 
tually frightened me. The old bull whose head 
they adorned was just rising. I immediately 
transferred my attentions to him. Slowly he got 
on his feet, his great front turning from side to 
side. He was less than 200 yards away, a shot 
it was impossible to miss. With deliberate aim 
I drew on his shoulder and fired. The noble 
fellow shuddered and lunged forward. The shot 
frightened the balance of the herd and they tore 
off through the timber. 
Luckily the bull was near the summit of the 
dividing ridge. Charley removed his shirt and 
placed it on a pole near the carcass and we re¬ 
turned to camp. The task of getting the head 
