









FOREST AND STREAM. 
[JAN. 20, 1906. 


























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7 Dubay 
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~ tt SORES TOES 



In the Lodges of the Blackfeet. 
I Have a Lodge of My Own. 
“Wry don’t you get a woman?” Weasel Tail 
abruptly asked one evening as Talks-with-the- 
buffalo and I sat smoking with him in his lodge. 
“Yes,” my other friend put in. “Why not? 
You have the right to do so, for you can count 
a coup; yes, two of them. You killed a Cree, 
and you took a Cree horse in the fight at the 
Hairy Cap.” 
“T took a horse,” I replied, ‘and a good one 
he is; but you are mistaken about the Cree; 
you will remember that he escaped by running 
into the pines on Hairy Cap. 
“Oh!” said Talks-with-the-buffalo, “I don’t 
mean that one, we all know he got away, I 
mean one of those who first fell when we all 
fired into them. That tall one, the man who 
wore a badger skin cap; you killed him. I saw 
the bullet wound in his body; no ball from any 
of our rifles could have made such a small hole.” 
This was news to me; I remember well hay- 
ing shot several times at that particular warrior, 
but I never had thought that ’twas my bullet 
that ended his career. I didn’t know whether 
to feel. glad or sorry about it, but finally con- 
cluded that it was best to feel glad, for he would 
have killed me if he could have done so. I was 
turning the matter over in my mind, recalling 
every little incident of that memorable day, 
when my host aroused me from my reverie: “I 
sdid, Whv don’t you take a woman? Answer.” 
“Oh!” I replied. “No one would have me. 
isn’t that a good reason?” 
“Kyai-yo!” exclaimed Madame Weasel Tail, 
clapping her hand to her mouth, the Blackfoot 
way of expressing surprise or wonder. ‘“Kyai- 
yo! What a reason! I well know that there 
isn’t a girl in this camp but would like to be his 
woman. Why, if it wasn’t for this lazy one 
here”’—giving Weasel Tail’s hand an affection- 
ate squeeze—“if he would only go away some- 
where and never come back, I’d make you take 
me. I'd follow you around until you would 
have to do so.” 
“Mah’-kah-kan-is-tsi!”’ I exclaimed, which is 
a flippant and slangy term, expressing doubt of 
the speaker’s truthfulness. 
“Mah’-kah-kan-is-tsi yourself,’ she rejoined. 
“Why do you think you are asked to all these 
Assinaboine dances, where all the young women 
wear their best clothes, and try to catch you 
with their robes? Why do you think they put 
on their best things and go to the trading post 
with their mothers or other relatives every 
chance they got? What, you don’t know? Well, 
I'll tell you: they go, each one, hoping that you 
will notice her, and send a friend to her parents 
to make a proposal.” 

“Tt is the truth,” said Weasel Tail. 
“Yes, the truth,’ Talks-with-the-buffalo and 
his woman joined in. 
Well, I laughed, a little affectedly, per- 
haps, and turned the conversation by asking 
about the destination of a war party which was 
to start out in the morning. Nevertheless, I 
thought over the matter a good deal. All the 
long winter I had rather envied my good friends 
Berry and Sorrel Horse, they seemed to be so 
happy with their women. Never a cross word, 
always the best of good fellowship and open 
affection for each other. Seeing all this, I had 
several times said to myself: “It is not good 
for man to live alone.” That quotation is from 
the Bible, is it not, or is it from Shakespeare? 
Anyhow, it is true.. The Blackfeet have much 
the same expression: ‘“Mat’-ah-kwi tam-ap-i 
ni-po-ke-mi-o-sin—not found (is) happiness 
without woman. 
After that evening I looked more closely at 
the various young women I met in the camp or 
at the trading post, saying to myself: ‘Now, I 
wonder what kind of a woman that would make? 
Is she neat, good-tempered, moral? All the 
time, however, I knew that I had no right to 
take one of them. I did not intend to remain 
long in the west; my people would never for- 
give me for making an alliance with one. They 
were of old, proud, Puritan stock, and I could 
imagine them holding up their hands in horror 
at the mere hint of such a thing. 
. You will notice that thus far in this part of 
my story I have substituted the word woman 
for wife. A  plainsman always said “my 
woman” when speaking of his Indian better 
half; the Blackfoot said the same: “‘Nit-o-ké- 
man,’ my woman. None of the plainsmen 
were legally married, unless the Indian man- 
ner in which they took a woman, by giving so 
many horses, or so much merchandise for one, 
could be considered legal. In the first place, 
there was no one in the country to perform the 
marriage service except occasionally a wander- 
ing Jesuit priest, and again, these men, almost 
without exception, didn’t care a snap what the 
law said in regard to the matter. There was no 
law. Neither did they believe in religion; the 
commands of the church were nothing to them. 
They took unto themselves Indian women; if 
the woman proved good and true, well and 
good; if otherwise, there was a separation. In 
it all there was never a thought of future com- 
plications and responsibilities; their creed was: 
“Fat, drink and be merry, for to-day. we live 
and to-morrow we die.” 
“No,” I said to myself time and again; “‘no, 
it will not do; hunt, go to war, do anything 
but take a woman, and in the fall go home to 
your people.” This is the line of conduct I 
laid out for myself and meant to follow. But—— 

One morning the Crow Woman and I were 
sitting out under a shade she had constructed 
of a couple of travois and a robe or-two. She 
was busy as usual, embroidering a moccasin 
top with colored quills, and I was thoroughly 
cleaning my rifle, preparatory to an antelope 
hunt. A couple of women came by on their 
way to the trade room with three or four robes. 
One of them was a girl of perhaps sixteen or 
seventeen years, not what one might call beauti- 
ful, still she was good-looking, fairly tall, and 
well formed, and she had fine large, candid, ex- 
pressive eyes, perfect white, even teeth, and 
heavy braided hair which hung almost to the 
ground, All in all, there was something very 
attractive about her. ‘Who is that?” I asked 
the Crow Woman. “That girl, I mean.” 
“Don’t you know? She comes here often; 
she is a cousin of Berry’s woman.” 
I went away on my hunt, but it didn’t prove 
to be very interesting. I was thinking all the 
time about the cousin. That evening I spoke 
to Berry about her, learned that her father was 
dead; that her mother was a medicine lodge 
woman, and noted for her unswerving upright- 
ness and goodness of character. “I'd like to 
have the girl,’ I said. “What do you think 
about, it?’ 
“We'll see,” Berry replied. 
my old woman.” 
A couple of days went by and nothing was 
said by either of us about the matter, and then 
one afternoon Mrs. Berry told me that I was 
to have the girl, providing I would promise to 
be always. good and kind to her. I readily 
agreed to that. 
“Very well, then,” said Mrs. Berry; “go into 
the trade room and select a shawl, some dress 
goods, some bleached muslin—no, I’ll select the 
outfit, and make her some white women’s dresses 
like mine.” : 
“But, hold on!” I exclaimed. “What am I 
to pay? How many horses, or whatever is 
wanted?” 
“Her mother says there is to be no pay, only 
that you are to keep your promise to be good 
to her daughter.” 
This was quite unusual to request that noth- 
ing be given over for a daughter. Usually a 
lot of horses were sent to the parents, some- 
times fifty or more. Sometimes the father de- 
manded so many head, but if no number was 
specified, the suitor gave as many as he could. 
Again, it was not unusual for a father to request 
some promising youth, good hunter and bold 
raider, to become his son-in-law. In that case 
he was the one to give horses, and even a lodge 
and household goods, with the girl. 
Well, I got the girl. It was an embarrassing 
time for us both when she came in one evening, 
shawl over her face, while we were eating sup- 
“Tll talk with 
