He Was Content
To Rest His Chances Of Success Upon His Own Warlike Merits.
He never
arrayed himself in gaudy blanket and glittering necklaces, but left
his statue-like form, limbed like an Apollo of bronze, to win its way
to favor.
His voice was singularly deep and strong. It sounded from
his chest like the deep notes of an organ. Yet after all, he was but
an Indian. See him as he lies there in the sun before our tent,
kicking his heels in the air and cracking jokes with his brother.
Does he look like a hero? See him now in the hour of his glory, when
at sunset the whole village empties itself to behold him, for to-
morrow their favorite young partisan goes out against the enemy. His
superb headdress is adorned with a crest of the war eagle's feathers,
rising in a waving ridge above his brow, and sweeping far behind him.
His round white shield hangs at his breast, with feathers radiating
from the center like a star. His quiver is at his back; his tall
lance in his hand, the iron point flashing against the declining sun,
while the long scalp-locks of his enemies flutter from the shaft.
Thus, gorgeous as a champion in his panoply, he rides round and round
within the great circle of lodges, balancing with a graceful buoyancy
to the free movements of his war horse, while with a sedate brow he
sings his song to the Great Spirit. Young rival warriors look
askance at him; vermilion-cheeked girls gaze in admiration, boys
whoop and scream in a thrill of delight, and old women yell forth his
name and proclaim his praises from lodge to lodge.
Mahto-Tatonka, to come back to him, was the best of all our Indian
friends. Hour after hour and day after day, when swarms of savages
of every age, sex, and degree beset our camp, he would lie in our
tent, his lynx eye ever open to guard our property from pillage.
The Whirlwind invited us one day to his lodge. The feast was
finished, and the pipe began to circulate. It was a remarkably large
and fine one, and I expressed my admiration of its form and
dimensions.
"If the Meneaska likes the pipe," asked The Whirlwind, "why does he
not keep it?"
Such a pipe among the Ogallalla is valued at the price of a horse. A
princely gift, thinks the reader, and worthy of a chieftain and a
warrior. The Whirlwind's generosity rose to no such pitch. He gave
me the pipe, confidently expecting that I in return should make him a
present of equal or superior value. This is the implied condition of
every gift among the Indians as among the Orientals, and should it
not be complied with the present is usually reclaimed by the giver.
So I arranged upon a gaudy calico handkerchief, an assortment of
vermilion, tobacco, knives, and gunpowder, and summoning the chief to
camp, assured him of my friendship and begged his acceptance of a
slight token of it.
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