CHAPTER IX
HOME OF MAD WOLF
Mad Wolf, my Indian father, lived in the valley of Cutbank River. But in good summer weather it was his custom to take his herds of cattle and horses and camp about on the prairie. I remember well the summer camp, where he opened his Beaver Bundle and made me a member of the tribe. Our tepees were in a broad meadow of wild timothy and long bunch grass, bounded by a broken line of rounded hills. On this fine range fed his herds of cattle and horses, the grassy undulating hillsides glorious under a bright October sun.
The wife of the chief and his daughter, Strikes-on-Both-Sides, pitched my traveling-tepee between their own two lodges. It was small and easy to handle; decorated with picture records of war and hunting, also the Moon and Morning Star, and the constellations of the Pleiades and Great Bear.
Little Creek, son-in-law of Mad Wolf, and his wife Strikes-on-Both-Sides, lived close by in a lodge without decorations. But the chief had the Snow Tepee; it was believed to have power over storms and cold weather. It had a yellow top, the color of the sky at sunrise. On the north side was a cluster of seven stars for the Great Bear—the direction winter blizzards come from; at the back a red disc for the Sun; under the top four claws for the Thunder Bird; and at the bottom a yellow band for the earth, with green discs to represent the ice color.
Mad Wolf’s women arranged everything for me—an inside lining to keep out wind and rain and help the updraft of the fire; provisions and cooking utensils were to the left of the door, with saddles and harness opposite. At the head of my couch was a back-rest made of willow sticks tied together with sinew, and supported by a tripod decorated with carved work; in the center, just under the smoke-hole, was a circle of round stones for my fireplace, and to keep the flames from spreading in the dry prairie grass. They roped down my tepee to a stake driven into the ground on the west side, to prevent it being overturned in a heavy wind. They showed me how to close the smoke-hole in a storm, and to keep the lodge from smoking by shifting the “ears” at the top with the changing wind. They brought me a bucket of fresh water from the spring; and for starting my fire, a bundle of resinous pine sticks and a supply of dry cottonwood branches.
After my adoption, the women of Mad Wolf’s family were hospitable and kind and treated me as a relative. Strikes-on-Both-Sides, my Indian sister, came with her mother to my lodge and examined all my belongings. They emptied the bags containing my most personal possessions; but everything was carefully replaced. The old woman did not like the looks of my deerskin moccasins and changed them to suit her idea of the tribal style. She told me to use red earth on my face, the way Indians did; it would help my looks and protect my skin from sun and wind.
The women were hard workers—always busy, cooking, tanning skins, making lodge coverings, their own clothing and most of the men’s, providing firewood, gathering berries and wild vegetables and herbs and plants for both eating and healing. Near Mad Wolf’s lodge, they had some cowhides pegged to the ground hair-side down. On them were painted designs for cases, berry bags, and toy parfleches for the children, in red, yellow and blue, with the ring-bone pattern, also mountains, hills, arrow-points and buffalo trails.
Women considered it a disgrace for men to do any of their work—put up lodges, tan skins, cook food at home or look after the provisions; all this was woman’s work in which they were trained from childhood and they resented any interference from the men.
The men gave most of their time to care of horses and cattle, hunting, dancing, and religious ceremonies. Mad Wolf himself was away from camp most of the time, busy with public meetings throughout the tribe and with the ceremonies of his Beaver Bundle and Medicine Pipe.
Little Creek, the son-in-law of Mad Wolf, was of middle age, easy-going and good-natured, skilled in the handling of horses and cattle. He and his father-in-law were on the best of terms; but, in accordance with tribal etiquette, he never had any dealings with his mother-in-law. He always avoided speaking to her and they were never together in the same place. He explained that it was a custom handed down from their ancestors—a woman felt ashamed and humiliated to meet her son-in-law; she had to visit her daughter when he was away from home.
Often friends of Mad Wolf and their wives came to his tepee to spend an evening by the lodge-fire: White Calf, the head-chief; Ear-Rings, the doctor; White Grass, the medicine man; Middle Calf, Double Runner, and Morning Plume. The men sat on the north side of the fire; and according to custom, the women across from them, with Mad Wolf in the center and at the back, as owner of the lodge. The men had a large redstone pipe which they passed to and fro; the women a smaller pipe which they too smoked in turn. Visitors entered without ceremony, the men taking places on the right of the door, the women opposite and on the south side of the tepee.
Showing bead and quill work and meat drying on poles
In Mad Wolf’s Snow Lodge many rules had to be observed; he was also the guardian of the sacred Beaver Bundle and owner of a Medicine Pipe. But his visitors were always well informed and careful not to offend. They knew the bundles that Mad Wolf owned and their observances.
The Beaver Bundle forbade any one passing in front of Mad Wolf; no one should hang up their moccasins, or raise the sides of the tepee; dogs were not allowed to enter and the fire must never die out. Even the children knew that the word “bear” must not be spoken in the presence of the Medicine Pipe. If some one had to speak about a bear, it was referred to indirectly as “that-big-hairy-one,” or “the-one-who-prowls-at-night”; to say the word “bear” would be sure to bring sickness and misfortune. No one should talk loud and people should enter without speaking; the occupants of the Snow Tepee could not reply to any one on the outside.
It was always rude to ask a man his name before a company of people; this reflected on his good standing and made him feel ashamed. If any one wore an odd-looking object, it might attract attention, but no one ever asked about it; it might be a charm; and it was a breach of etiquette to ask a leading question about one’s personal medicine or experiences; the owner might talk about it, but the initiative must come from him.
Around the lodge-fire at night, Mad Wolf’s friends liked to gossip, tell stories, and have fun; they were light-hearted and happy. I did not hear any of them dispute, find fault, or curse. They never talked loud and when one was speaking the others listened. They liked to exaggerate and to boast. But they always listened in silence to a speaker and did not interrupt.
One evening I asked Mad Wolf to tell about the days of long ago—how the Indians lived when buffalo were plentiful—before the white men came to occupy their country. He said:
“Oh! What happy times we had before we ever saw white men! Then were many buffalo and we wandered where we pleased. In those days, we wintered far away from the mountains; we stayed in the ‘Lower Country’—far down the Marias River until late in the spring, waiting for our horses to shed their winter hair and to get fat on the new grass.
“When the weather got warm and it came time to move, our chiefs shouted through the camp:
“ ‘Make ready to pull up your lodge-pins; we are going to move towards the mountains.’
“And in the early morning, before sun-up, they called again:
“ ‘This is the day; pack up your things and take down your lodges; we shall start before the sun is high.’
“We stopped to hunt buffalo near the Sweet Grass Hills. Before sunrise our chiefs rode through the camp and shouted:
“ ‘The buffalo are close; a big herd is coming towards camp; get ready your long-winded horses and the hard-runners; soon we shall hunt.’
“Then we chased the buffalo until their carcasses were scattered all over. We rubbed our knives and cut open their backs; we skinned them from the back down, throwing out their kidneys and the yellow back-fat, splitting the tongues into strips and drying them for future use. The women cooked the back-fat and suet and boiled marrow from the bones, cutting the meat into slices and hanging it on scaffolds to cure in sun and wind. We had many feasts and ate the choice pieces; the old people and children were invited; all were happy and had plenty to eat.
“The strong women quickly got the hair off their buffalo hides and made them into parfleches, sacks, and clothes; some of the hides they tanned for lodges, oiling the skins with brains and liver mixed; they used the hides of the bulls for Indian trunks and made strings from the sinews and ropes from the long hair.
“After we had stayed for a while near the Sweet Grass Hills, our chiefs again shouted through the camp:
“ ‘Come on! It is time to move. We shall go to pick berries. A young man who traveled far found that berries are ripe—service berries and raspberries.’
“We went nearer the mountains and camped on Milk River. In the morning the women and children went out on the hills and came back with berry bags filled; the bushes were so heavy with ripe berries, the sides of our horses were all red.
“Then we moved to Cutbank River to gather chokecherries, which the women dried and mashed with seeds; they mixed them with pemmican and put them away in calf-sacks for winter use. Near Cutbank were many buffalo and fat antelope and prairie dogs with sweet livers.
“In the fall we moved up to the mountains and chased elk. We made our camp in a big circle near the forest at the head of Cutbank River. Our women cut new lodge-poles, for the trees there grew tall and straight. They also gathered many roots and plants for eating and healing—gray leaves for stomach trouble, black-root for coughs, sage for heart-burn, sticky-weed for the liver, and blueberry for bleeding at the mouth.
“After the first big snowstorm, we hurried to move away from the mountains, back to the Lower Country. We camped along the Marias River and hunted for a good place to spend the winter—with buffalo near and plenty of firewood and grass for our horses.
“Oh! Those were happy days from the food we all had and the clothes and warm buffalo robes. At the beginning of winter we ate the big heifers four years old and the heifers two years old; we liked them the best. Then, a woman who had ready her winter robes for husband and children had nothing more to worry about. To lie in a buffalo robe was so warm, it was like sleeping beside a fire. And now the dogs are all scattered, having had their evening meal,”—an Indian expression for—my story-telling is ended.
In our prairie camp, my lodge stood a short distance from Mad Wolf’s, but so close to Little Creek and his wife I could hear what they said. They were fond of each other and did not bicker or quarrel. Like most Indian parents, they indulged their children and rarely punished them. Sometimes they warned them to be quiet; but, as a rule, the children ran wild and acted as they pleased. For games they had follow-the-leader, hide-and-seek, stilts, and jumping rope. Boys had shooting contests with bow and arrow, spinning tops, hunting small game and horse racing. They were trained to hunt and fight and the care of horses and cattle; to have self-control and be firm and brave. Girls had hobbyhorses and play-tepees with dolls; and little camps with miniature robes and blankets and cooking utensils. They were trained by their mothers in the dressing of skins, making of clothes, care of the lodge, and preparation of food; to be helpful and kind and virtuous; and to believe that a woman who was false to her marriage vow was a disgrace to all her relatives.
Small Otter, a boy of six and a grandson of Mad Wolf, was the favorite of our camp. He had a sunny nature, round face, bright eyes, and hair hanging in little braids over his shoulders. He liked to play at warfare with bow and arrow, and hunted for wild birds, rabbits, and ground squirrels. But his favorite sport was to ride bareback his grandmother’s old saddle horse. She and Small Otter were inseparable companions. I often saw them together on the prairie, he holding her tightly by the hand, skipping and jumping and pulling her about, until weary she sank to the ground and watched him proudly, her face in her palms, while he hunted squirrels with bow and arrow.
One night I helped Little Creek when he was suffering from pain. He wakened me by his groans. With my medicine case I went to his lodge and gave him a remedy. In the morning he had recovered; thus I gained a reputation as a doctor.
I cut a barbed fish-hook from the hand of their daughter Anatapsa, a girl of fourteen. She came to camp with the hook imbedded so deeply they could not get it out. The women wailed and moaned at the sight of my knife. I dressed the wound with an antiseptic. It healed quickly and she had no pain. She showed her gratitude by giving me a piece of sweet-scented wood and a necklace of blue shells with little animals carved from stone. Then her mother, Strikes-on-Both-Sides, brought a medicine bag with painted designs and long fringe hanging down. She called it the “Iniskim” (Buffalo Rock Bundle). It was sacred and contained pieces of flint which resembled miniature buffalo. She told me the following story of its origin:
“Many years ago, when a band of Indians were starving, a woman who went alone from camp heard a strange singing. It came from these stones. She took the stones back to camp and taught the song to the head men. Then they sang the song together and gave a ceremony. The buffalo came back and the people had plenty to eat. That was the beginning of the Buffalo Rock Bundle. With it the Indians were able to call the buffalo.”
Then Strikes-on-Both-Sides sang the old song and gave me directions for the care of my new medicine bundle. By day it must hang from a tripod behind my lodge. At sunset I should bring it inside and burn sweet grass as incense.
One day a strange Indian came to our camp. As soon as he entered Little Creek’s lodge, I heard angry words from my Indian sister. She upbraided the visitor. She said he had a forked tongue; what he had said was not true; he spread the report that Little Creek was so ill that some of his relatives came in haste; they thought he was dying. It is offensive to an Indian woman to have a report spread about that anything is the matter with her man. She feels ashamed and humiliated, as though she had neglected him.
Near the end of our stay on the prairie, a storm came from the northwest, a sullen cloud mass with forked lightning and a whirling wind that smote Mad Wolf’s tepee and twisted it out of shape. My lodge shook as though it were going over. Then the wind suddenly leaped into the south and the storm quickly ended. The women carried Mad Wolf’s Medicine Bundles to a place of safety in Little Creek’s lodge; and as soon as they had repaired the damage, they carried the bundles back.
Then Mad Wolf moved our camp from the open plains to his winter home in the sheltered valley of Cutbank River. The old chief led the way, riding at the head of our line, tall, erect, and stately, across the broad table-land. Little Creek and I were behind, driving the horses and cattle, riding backwards and forwards, rounding up and heading off, until we drove them back to his ranch in the valley.
There Mad Wolf had a cabin built of logs for shelter from winter storms and blizzards, also corrals and low-lying sheds for cattle and horses. But in good weather he and his family preferred living in tepees.
On both sides of the valley were cutbanks, which led to grass-covered plateaus overlooked by high hills—fine range for both cattle and horses. West were the snowy summits of the Rocky Mountains; east and south the Great Plains; and north a massive ridge grass-covered and bare of trees—the Hudson Bay Divide which formed an unbroken line of high hills against the horizon.
Strikes-on-Both-Sides pitched my tepee in the valley across a meadow from Mad Wolf’s camp, near a large rock in a bend in the river where the dark water slowly eddied round and round in a deep pool. She was the favorite child of the old chief; always cheerful and kind and skilled in the arts of Indian women. She was so watchful and alert that no bird or animal near camp ever escaped her keen eyes. She brought me a present of brook trout just caught from the river, also some pulp from the heart of a cottonwood tree, a delicacy with a flavor like maple sap. She and her mother made braids of sweet grass for perfume to put with my clothes, and little buckskin bags of fragrant balsam and meadow-rue berries.
My Indian sister made fun of the rough sticks I used for lodge-pins; she was ashamed to have visitors see them. She said they might spread a report that the Mad Wolf family did not look after their white son. So she made me a set of twenty lodge-pins of conventional style—chokecherry wood with the bark peeled off and painted red, leaving two narrow rings of bark at the top, also a set of small pins for fastening together the front of my tepee.
In the afternoon, friends often came to go with Mad Wolf into the sweat lodge—White Calf, the head-chief; Horn, an old hunter and trapper; White Grass, and Heavy Breast. The structure they used for their sweat was on the bank of the river. It was made of willow branches twined into an oval frame and covered with robes and blankets. Inside was a hole in the ground for hot stones. Four men entered at a time. They spouted water on the stones and kept wetting their hair. Because of the steam rising from the stones, the bathers kept their heads close to the ground and chanted and prayed to the Sun, Moon and Morning Star. After an hour, with four intervals for fresh air, they came out, and with shouts plunged into the cold river for a reaction.
The sweat-bath was used mostly by older men—never by women. Men who were ill went in to pray for healing power. It was used in ceremonies of all kinds, also to secure dreams and for pleasure. It was taken by men moved to anger, or depressed by the death of a near friend or relative.
In our valley camp, my days began and ended with the sun. When its first rays shone through the open door of my tepee, I took a plunge in the cold river; then lighted my fire and cooked breakfast. I watched the sunsets from a high ridge overlooking the prairie to the foot of the mountains. Near by were the graves of two young lovers. Water Bird, daughter of a prominent chief, loved Night Rider, a youth of her own age. But her parents made her marry an older man. The young lover killed the husband and fled with his sweetheart to the mountains. When the Indian police were about to capture them, Night Rider killed his sweetheart and then himself.
Our first night on the river, I stood beside these lonely graves and saw the sun go down in a sky of flaming red, and the evening star over the mountains. I heard the rhythmical beating of Indian drums from a camp in the valley, with the voices of men and women chanting in unison; and a young brave singing a love song to his sweetheart.
Then I returned to the tepee and lay on my comfortable couch of robes and blankets beside a small wood fire, watching the flickering flames and shadows dance on my tepee walls; listening to the last calls of the birds, the chirping of crickets, the rushing of the river, eddying and swirling in deep pools. There was something very cheerful and soothing in the rippling and surging of that mountain river.
Then my mind went back to a great modern city with its unrest and stress, its crowds of busy and hurrying people, leading indoor, artificial lives. I thought how good it was to be in the camp of my Indian father on the prairie; I loved the freedom and wildness, the quiet and peace. In me was the instinct to live in the open, where the wind blows free and there is plenty of clear sunshine. My spirit was at home with this simple and primitive people. I felt as though I were one of them, as if I had known them ages ago; their thoughts and customs seemed in no way strange.
