

Dec. 28, 1907.] 
to be very painful. Considerable blood was run- 
ning from it, but not enough to make me be- 
lieve that a vein had been cut. I pressed both 
holes tightly with my thumb and forefinger, and 
kept very still except that I could not help 
shivering, nor keep my teeth from chattering. 
I felt easier at heart than I had, anyhow. My 
enemy had done all he could this time. He 
would not dare approach my hiding place, and 
Red Plume could not be far away. When he 
came we would at least learn who this coward 
was. He did come before I expected him, lead- 
ing a horse for me, riding a fresh one himself. 
I tried to rise, but the effort was too painful. 
So I shouted, and he rode up and dismounted 
at the edge of the brush. I explained what had 
happened, where I thought my enemy was con- 
cealed. ‘No,’ he said, ‘he couldn’t be there. A 
little ways back I saw some fresh horse tracks 
across the trail, going in the direction of the 
lower ford of the river.’ 
“*Then go,’ I said. ‘Ride as fast as you can. 
Overtake and kill him or trail him into camp 
and learn who he is.’ 
“He did not speak, helped me to rise, and 
lifted me up on to his horse. As soon as I took 
my fingers from the wound it bled as freely 
as it had at first. He stuffed some tobacco into 
the holes, tore his shirt into strips and bound 
it. ‘You just hang on, if you can,’ he said at 
last, ‘and I’ll lead the horse. I am going to 
see you home as quickly as I can get you there.’ 
“It was dark when we got in, and I had be- 
come so weak that I was reeling in the saddle 
like a drunken man when they lifted me off and 
laid me on my couch. That very night I had an- 
other good dream. Again my secret helper en- 
couraged me. ‘Be firm-hearted, he said. ‘You 
shall see the green grass of many summers. You 
shall be happy here long after your enemy has 
become a shadow in the sand hills.’ 
“So I did take courage, and when my wound 
healed I went about again with caution as usual. 
All this happened before you came to us. You 
know all about the other times that this dog has 
tried to kill me.” 
“And of course you now know that he can’t 
kill you,” I said, when he had concluded his nar- 
rative. 
“Of course I do,” he acquiesced. “My secret 
helper is certainly of the Sun. I can depend on 
what he tells me.” 
This night, as we sat in our friend’s lodge, I 
thought again of the many attempts that had 
been made to murder him, and of the man who 
so desired his death. I longed to know what 
his motive was, and I wished very earnestly to 
see him brought to justice. Such a deadly hatred 
of one man for another, and the persistent at- 
tempts of the one to kill the other, by stealth, 
are not uncommon with white people, but a simi- 
lar case had never been known among the Black- 
feet, nor in any other Indian tribe so far as I 
have been able to learn. There have been deadly 
strifes and murders, but never in an underhand 
way such as were these attempts to murder Lone 
Man. 
We were invited to several feasts that even- 
ing, and passed about a half hour with each host. 
At 9 o'clock or a little later we were back with 
our friend. “We will smoke another pipe or 
two before retiring,’ he said, drawing the board 
before him and beginning to cut and mix the 
Yherbe and tobacco. The door curtain was drawn 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
IOII 



aside and an old, old, bent and wrinkled and 
gray-haired woman entered and dropped to her 
knees clasping and unclasping her shrunk and 
withered hands. 
“Welcome, old woman,” said Lone Man, stop- 
ping his work and looking at her sympatheti- 
cally, knife poised above the little heap of the 
mixture. “Speak, what can we do for you. 
Will you have food—tobacco?” 
“Oh, chief,” she whined, “oh, great and gener- 
ous heart, as you love your pretty wives I pray 
you to have pity. Listen: My grandson, Run- 
ning Eagle, is more sick than ever this night, 
and near to death. In his long, long illness he 
has tried many doctors, has paid them all his 
wealth, but none has helped him. I beg you to 
take down your sacred pipe, and pray for him. 
He has nothing to give you, his last horse has 
gone to those doctors. Great chief, generous 
heart, have pity pity on—” 
She broke down and sobbed as only the old 
and weak can sob. j 
“Don’t cry; don’t cry,” said Lone Man. “Of 
course we'll take down the pipe; he shall smoke 
it; we will pray for him. Go quickly and tell 
him to come in.” 
“Ai yah!” the old woman cried. 
longer walk. He is not even conscious. 
must be carried—” 
Lone Man’s wives looked up at him question- 
ingly. He nodded his head and they arose and 
went out, and presently returned with other 
women, carrying the sick man on his robe couch, 
They laid him down on the left of the fireplace, 
between it and one of the women’s couches. He 
was terribly emaciated; had evidently long suf- 
fered from some internal trouble; cancer of the 
stomach, perhaps; certainly not tuberculosis. He 
seemed to be sleeping. 
Lone Man and his head wife hurriedly painted 
their faces with that dull red earth, the sacred 
color, and then Si-’pi-ah-ki carefully took down 
the sacred roll, the sacred sacks and placed them 
in front of their couch. The woman drew a live 
coal from the fire, took from one of the sacks 
a pinch of sweet grass and dropped upon it. As 
the sacred, perfumed smoke from it arose they 
rubbed their hands in it, to purify themselves 
before beginning the ceremony. The woman 
then removed the wrappings all but the last one 
of the pipe—really a pipe stem, any bowl being 
used that would fit it. 
Now Lone Man took the red paint his com- 
panion handed him, and bending over the sleep- 
ing man painted on his face the symbols of the 
sky gods. On his forehead the sun, on his chin 
the moon, on his cheeks a star. He moved rest- 
lessly several times while it was being done. 
A number of songs were now to be sung be- 
fore the last covering could be removed, and the 
gorgeous stem, beaded and feathered and hung 
with colored ‘hair, exposed, and lifted from its 
place. The first was the Song of the Robe. I 
have heard people say that Indian are 
“mere discordant ki-yi-ings.”’ Those who said so 
had themselves no knowledge of music. To them 
anything classical would have been wholly un- 
appreciated. I say that there is genuine music 
in many Indian airs. This Song of the Robe, for 
instance, is a grand and solemn thing express- 
ing the veneration and adoration of the human 
soul for the infinite, and it is as truly pleasing 
to the educated ear as is any part of the Messiah. 
They began it, and the sound of their voices 
aroused the sick man. He opened his eyes and 


“He can no 
He 
songs 
they widened in terror as he beheld our host 
sitting there near him. “Stop! stop!” he cried, 
half raising and supporting himself by one frail, 
trembling arm, and raising the other as if to 
ward off threatened blow. One of the 
women, his wife, reached over and attempted 
to lower him back on his couch. 
“Let go of me,” he shrieked. 
of here; away from this terrible pipe which has 
brought this sickness upon me.” 
sOhwahe. still. my eson;,, the 
“He knows not what he says,” 
“Do not listen to him, Lone Man.” 
some 
“Take me out 
grandmother 
wailed. said his 
wife, sadly. 
“I do know what I say,” 
“T am dying, and I'll tell it all. 
I acknowledge it. I am the 
tried to kil! you, Lone Man, and I would have 
succeeded had you not got that terrible pipe. Its 
power has been greater than mine; it has pro- 
tected you and saved you from each of my at- 
tempts. Take me out, you women, and let me 
die elsewhere unless he wishes to kill me here.” 
“Tell me why you did it,’ said Lone Man, 
bending forward and speaking in a kindly voice. 
“What have I ever done to you that you should 
want my life?” 
“What did you do? Why, you got the women 
that I wanted. I loved them. I have always 
loved them. If I could have killed you I might 
got them. Take here, you 
women, at once.” 
“Friend,” said Lone 
will forget what you 
will try to heal your 
has brought this upon 
store you to health. 
song.” 
The womaa stared at him in 
“What!” she cried, “you ask me to sing and 
to pray for one who has so wronged us, who 
made us live in fear for your life, and grief for 
your suffering all these years? I refuse.” 
‘ “Ves, yes,” cried the other wives. “Her words 
are ours. Oh, do not aid him.” 
“Tet us be kind,” said he. 
given him, surely you may too. 
you love me, listen to what your kind heart tells 
you. Now. again, the song.” 
They sang it, both with more fervor than be- 
fore, and the sick man dropped back upon his 
couch and closed his eyes. One after another 
they went through the songs. Then Lone Man 
lifted the stem and, holding it aloft, prayed 
earnestly for the recovery of Running Eagle, and 
for good health and long life, peace and happi- 
ness for us all. It was a very impressive scene. 
At last the ceremony ended. The sick man 
had roused up and drawn a few whiffs of smoke 
through the sacred stem, and muttered his 
prayer of supplication to the gods. The women 
arose and carried him out to his lodge. Silently 
the women prepared their couches, made a bed 
for Berry and me with some extra robes and 
our blankets, and silently we all laid down to 
sleep. “And yet,’ said Berry after a little, as 
though concluding a conversation, “white people 
say that Indians never forgive an injury!” 
“They pass judgrhent on many matters,” I 
added, “about which they have no knowledge.” 
Running Eagle died the next day. 
the sick man cried. 
I am beaten, and 
often 
one who so 
have me out of 
Man, “I forgive you. We 
done, and now we 
If my medicine 
have 
trouble. 
you we will ask it to re- 
Si’-pi-ah-ki, once more the 
amazement. 
“Tf IT have for- 
Si’-pi-ah-ki, as 
Tue Forest AND STREAM may be obtained from 
any newsdealer on order. Ask your dealer ta 
supply you regularly. 

