In the afternoon we were in the village. The day was a
glorious one, and the whole camp seemed lively and animated in
sympathy. Groups of children and young girls were laughing gayly on
the outside of the lodges. The shields, the lances, and the bows
were removed from the tall tripods on which they usually hung before
the dwellings of their owners. The warriors were mounting their
horses, and one by one riding away over the prairie toward the
neighboring hills.
Shaw and I sat on the grass near the lodge of Reynal. An old woman,
with true Indian hospitality, brought a bowl of boiled venison and
placed it before us. We amused ourselves with watching half a dozen
young squaws who were playing together and chasing each other in and
out of one of the lodges. Suddenly the wild yell of the war-whoop
came pealing from the hills. A crowd of horsemen appeared, rushing
down their sides and riding at full speed toward the village, each
warrior's long hair flying behind him in the wind like a ship's
streamer. As they approached, the confused throng assumed a regular
order, and entering two by two, they circled round the area at full
gallop, each warrior singing his war song as he rode. Some of their
dresses were splendid. They wore superb crests of feathers and close
tunics of antelope skins, fringed with the scalp-locks of their
enemies; their shields too were often fluttering with the war eagle's
feathers. All had bows and arrows at their back; some carried long
lances, and a few were armed with guns. The White Shield, their
partisan, rode in gorgeous attire at their head, mounted on a black-
and-white horse. Mahto-Tatonka and his brothers took no part in this
parade, for they were in mourning for their sister, and were all
sitting in their lodges, their bodies bedaubed from head to foot with
white clay, and a lock of hair cut from each of their foreheads.
The warriors circled three times round the village; and as each
distinguished champion passed, the old women would scream out his
name in honor of his bravery, and to incite the emulation of the
younger warriors. Little urchins, not two years old, followed the
warlike pageant with glittering eyes, and looked with eager wonder
and admiration at those whose honors were proclaimed by the public
voice of the village. Thus early is the lesson of war instilled into
the mind of an Indian, and such are the stimulants which incite his
thirst for martial renown.
The procession rode out of the village as it had entered it, and in
half an hour all the warriors had returned again, dropping quietly
in, singly or in parties of two or three.
As the sun rose next morning we looked across the meadow, and could
see the lodges leveled and the Indians gathering together in
preparation to leave the camp.
