The Last of the Chiefs: A Story of the Great Sioux War

by Joseph A. Altsheler

  Chapter XVThe Indian Village

  When Dick awoke from his second period of unconsciousness itwas to awake, as he did from the first, under a roof, but not,as in the case of the first, under his own roof. He saw abovehim an immense sloping thatch of bark on poles, and his eyes,wandering lower, saw walls of bark, also fastened to poles.He himself was lying on a large rush mat, and beside the doorof the great tepee sat two Sioux warriors cleaning their rifles.

  Dick's gaze rested upon the warriors. Curiously, he felt at thattime neither hostility nor apprehension. He rather admiredthem. They were fine, tall men, and their bare arms and legswere sinewy and powerful. Then he thought of Albert. He wasnowhere to be seen, but from the shadow of the wall on his rightcame a tall figure, full of dignity and majesty. It was BrightSun, who looked down at Dick with a gaze that expressed inquiryrather than anger.

  "Why have you come here?" he asked.

  Although Dick's head ached and he was a captive, the questionmade a faint appeal to his sense of humor.

  "I didn't come," he replied; "I was brought."

  Bright Sun smiled.

  "That is true," he said, speaking the precise English of theschools, with every word enunciated distinctly. "You werebrought, and by my warriors; but why were you upon these hills?"

  "I give you the best answer I can, Bright Sun," replied Dickfrankly; "I don't know. My brother and I were lost upon theplains, and we wandered here. Nor have I the remotest idea nowwhere I am."

  "You are in a village of the tribe of the Mendewahkanton Sioux,of the clan Queyata-oto-we," replied Bright Sun gravely, "theclan and tribe to which I belong. The Mendewahkantons are one ofthe first tribes of the Seven Fireplaces, or the Great SiouxNation. But all are great--Mendewahkanton, Wahpeton, Sisseton,Yankton, Teton, Ogalala, and Hunkpapa--down to the last clan ofevery tribe."

  He began with gravity and an even intonation, but his voice rosewith pride at the last. Nothing of the white man's training wasleft to him but the slow, precise English. It was the Indian,the pride of his Indian race, that spoke. Dick recognized it andrespected it.

  "And this?" said Dick, looking around at the great house of barkand poles in which he lay.

  "This," replied Bright Sun, pride again showing in this tone, "isthe house of the Akitcita, our soldiers and policemen, the menbetween twenty and forty, the warriors of the first rank, wholive here in common, and into whose house women and childrenmay not enter. I have read in the books at your schools how theSpartan young men lived together as soldiers in a common house,eating rough food and doing the severest duty, and the wholeworld has long applauded. The Sioux, who never heard of theSpartans, have been doing the same far back into the shadowytime. We, too, are a race of warriors."

  Dick looked with renewed interest at the extraordinary man beforehim, and an amazing suggestion found lodgment in his mind.Perhaps the Sioux chief thought himself not merely as good as thewhite man, but better, better than any other man except those ofhis own race. It was so surprising that Dick forgot for a momentthe question that he was eagerly awaiting a chance to ask--wherewas his brother Albert?

  "I've always heard that the Sioux were brave," said Dick vaguely,"and I know they are powerful."

  "We are the Seven Fireplaces. What the Six Nations once were inthe East, we now are in the West, save that we are far morenumerous and powerful, and we will not be divided. We haveleaders who see the truth and who know what to do."

  The pride in his tone was tinged now with defiance, and Dickcould but look at him in wonder. But his mind now came back tothe anxious question:

  "Where is my brother Albert, who was taken with me? You havenot killed him?"

  "He has not been hurt, although we are at war with your people,"replied Bright Sun. "He is here in the village, and he, likeyou, is safe for the present. Some of the warriors wished tokill both you and him, but I have learned wisdom in these mattersfrom your people. Why throw away pawns that we hold? I keepyour brother and you as hostages."

  Dick, who had raised himself up in his eagerness, sank backagain, relieved. He could feel that Bright Sun told the truth,and he had faith, too, in the man's power as well as his word.Yet there was another question that he wished to ask.

  "Bright Sun," he said, "it was you, our guide, who led the traininto the pass that all might be killed?"

  Bright Sun shrugged his shoulders, but a spark leaped from hiseyes.

  "What would you ask of me?" he replied. "In your code it wascunning, but the few and small must fight with cunning. Thelittle man, to confront the big man, needs the advantage ofweapons. The Sioux make the last stand for the Indian race, andwe strike when and where we can."

  The conscience of the chief was clear, so far as Dick could see,and there was nothing that he could say in reply. It was BrightSun himself who resumed:

  "But I spared you and your brother. I did that which caused youto be absent when the others were slain."

  "Why?"

  "Because you were different. You were not like the others. Itmay be that I pitied you, and it may be also that I like you--alittle--and--you were young."

  The man's face bore no more expression than carven oak, but Dickwas grateful.

  "I thank you, Bright Sun," he said, "and I know that Albertthanks you, too."

  Bright sun nodded, and then fixed an intent gaze upon Dick.

  "You and your brother escaped," he said. "That was nearly twoyears ago, and you have not gone back to your people. Wherehave you been?"

  Dick saw a deep curiosity lurking behind the intent gaze, butwhatever he might owe to Bright Sun, he had no intention ofgratifying it.

  "Would you tell me where you have been in the last two years andall that you have done?" the chief asked.

  "I cannot answer; but you see that we have lived, Albert and I,"Dick replied.

  "And that you have learned the virtues of silence," said BrightSun. "I ask you no more about it to-day. Give me your word forthe present that you will not try to escape, and your life andthat of your brother will be the easier. It would be useless,anyhow, for you to make such an attempt. When you feel that youhave a chance, you can withdraw your promise."

  Dick laughed, and the laugh was one of genuine good humor.

  "That's certainly fair," he said. "Since I can't escape, I mightas well give my promise not to try it for the time being. Well,I give it."

  Bright Sun nodded gravely.

  "Your brother will come in soon," he said. "He has already givenhis promise, that is, a conditional one, good until he can conferwith you."

  "I'll confirm it," said Dick.

  Bright Sun saluted and left the great lodge. Some warriors nearthe door moved aside with the greatest deference to let himpass. Dick lay on his rush mat, gazing after him, and deeplyimpressed.

  When Bright Sun was gone he examined the lodge again. It wasobvious that it was a great common hall or barracks for warriors,and Bright Sun's simile of the Spartans was correct. Morewarriors came in, all splendid, athletic young men of a high andconfident bearing. A few were dressed in the white man'scostume, but most of them were in blankets, leggings, andmoccasins, and had magnificent rows of feathers in their hair.Every man carried a carbine, and most of them had revolversalso. Such were the Akitcita or chosen band, and in this villageof about two hundred lodges they numbered sixty men. Dick didnot know then that in times of peace all guests, whether white orred, were entertained in the lodge of the Akitcita.

  Impressed as he had been by Bright Sun, he was impressed also bythese warriors. Not one of them spoke to him or annoyed him inany manner. They went about their tasks, cleaning and polishingtheir weapons, or sitting on rough wooden benches, smoking pipeswith a certain dignity that belonged to men of strength andcourage. All around the lodge were rush mats, on which theyslept, and near the door was a carved totem pole.

  A form darkened the doorway, and Albert came in. He rushed toDick when he saw that he was conscious again, and shook his han
dwith great fervor. The warriors went on with their tasks ortheir smoking, and still took no notice.

  "This is a most wonderful place, Dick," exclaimed theimpressionable Albert, "and Bright Sun has treated us well. Wecan go about the village if we give a promise, for the time, thatwe'll not try to escape."

  "He's been here," said Dick, "and I've given it."

  "Then, if you feel strong enough, let's go on and take a look."

  "Wait until I see if this head of mine swims around," said Dick.

  He rose slowly to his feet, and his bandaged head was dizzy atfirst, but as he steadied himself it became normal. Albertthrust out his hand to support him. It delighted him that hecould be again of help to his older and bigger brother, and Dick,divining Albert's feeling, let it lie for a minute. Then theywent to the door, Dick walking quite easily, as his strength cameback fast.

  The warriors of the Akitcita, of whom fully a dozen were nowpresent in the great lodge, still paid no attention to the twoyouths, and Dick surmised that it was the orders of Bright Sun.But this absolute ignoring of their existence was uncanny,nevertheless. Dick studies some of the faces as he passed. Boldand fearless they were, and not without a certain nobility, butthere was little touch of gentleness or pity, it was rather thestrength of the wild animal, the flesh-eater, that seeks its prey.Sioux they were, and Sioux they would remain in heart, nomatter what happened, wild warriors of the northwest. Dickperceived this fact in a lightening flash, but it was thelightening flash of conviction.

  Outside the fresh air saluted Dick, mouth and nostrils, and theache in his head went quite away. He had seen the valley bymoonlight, when it was beautiful, but not as beautiful as theirown valley, the one of which they would not tell to anybody. Butit was full of interest. The village life, the life of the wild,was in progress all about him, and in the sunshine, amidst suchpicturesque surroundings, it had much that was attractive to thestrong and brave.

  Dick judged correctly that the village contained about twohundred winter lodges of bark and poles, and could thereforefurnish about four hundred warriors. It was evident, too, thatit was the scene of prosperity. The flesh of buffalo, elk, anddeer was drying in the sun, hanging from trees or on littleplatforms of poles. Children played with the dogs or practicedwith small bows and arrows. In the shadow of a tepee six oldwomen sat gambling, and the two boys stopped to watch them.

  The Indians are more inveterate gamblers than the whites, and theold women, wrinkled, hideous hags of vast age, played their gameswith an intent, almost breathless, interest.

  They were playing Woskate Tanpan, or the game of dice, as it isknown to the Sioux. Three women were on each side, and theyplayed it with tanpan (the basket), kansu (the dice), andcanyiwawa (the counting sticks). The tanpan, made of willowtwigs, was a tiny basket, about three inches in diameter at thebottom, but broader at the top, and about two inches deep. Intothis one woman would put the kansu or dice, a set of six plumstones, some carved and some not carved. She would put her handover the tanpan, shake the kansu just as the white dice playerdoes, and then throw them out. The value of the throw would beaccording to the kind and number of carvings that were turned upwhen the kansu fell.

  The opposing sides, three each, sat facing each other, and thestakes for which they played--canyiwawa (the countingsticks)--lay between them. These were little round sticks aboutthe thickness of a lead pencil, and the size of each heap wentup or down, as fortune shifted back or forth. They could makethe counting sticks represent whatever value they chose, thisbeing agreed upon beforehand, and the old Sioux women had beenknown to play Woskate Tanpan two days and nights without everrising from their seats.

  "What old harpies they are!" said Dick. "Did you ever seeanybody so eager over anything?"

  "They are no worse than the men," replied Albert. "A lot ofwarriors are gambling, too."

  A group of the men were gathered on a little green farther on,and the brothers joined them, beginning to share at once theinterest that the spectators showed in several warriors who wereplaying Woskate Painyankapi, or the game of the Wands and theHoop.

  The warriors used in the sport canyleska (the hoop) and cansakala(the wands). The hoops were of ash, two or three feet indiameter, the ash itself being about an inch in diameter. Everyhoop was carefully marked off into spaces, something like theface of a watch.

  Cansakala (the wands) were of chokecherry, four feet long andthree fourths of an inch in diameter. One end of every wand wassquared for a distance of about a foot. The wands were in pairs,the two being fastened together with buckskin thongs about nineinches in length, and fastened at a point about one third of thelength of the wands from the rounded ends.

  A warrior would roll the hoop, and he was required to roll itstraight and correctly. If he did not do so, the umpire made himroll it over, as in the white man's game of baseball the pitchercannot get a strike until he pitches the ball right.

  When the hoop was rolled correctly, the opposing player droppedhis pair of wands somewhere in front of it. It was his object soto calculate the speed and course of the hoop when it fell itwould lie upon his wands. If he succeeded, he secured his pointsaccording to the spaces on each wand within which the hoop lay--anexceedingly difficult game, requiring great skill of hand andjudgment of eye. That if was absorbing was shown by the greatinterest with which all the spectators followed it and by theireager betting.

  "I don't believe I could learn to do that in ten years," saidAlbert; "you've got to combine too many things and to combinethem fast."

  "They must begin on it while they're young," said Dick; "but theIndian has a mind, and don't you forget it."

  "But they're not as we are," rejoined Albert. "Nothing can evermake them so."

  Here, as in the house of the Akitcita, nobody paid any attentionto the two boys, but Dick began to have a feeling that he waswatched, not watched openly as man watches man, but in thefurtive dangerous way of the great wild beasts, the man-eaters.The feeling grew into a conviction that, despite what they weredoing, everybody in the camp--warrior, squaw, and child--waswatching Albert and him. He knew that half of this was fancy,but he was sure that the other half was real.

  "Albert," he said, "I wouldn't make any break for liberty now,even if I hadn't given my promise."

  "Nor I," said Albert. "By the time we had gone ten feet thewhole village would be on top of us. Dick, while I'm here I'mgoing to make the best of it I can."

  In pursuance of this worthy intention Albert pressed forward andalmost took the cansakala from the hands of a stalwart warrior.The man, amazed at first, yielded up the pair of wands with agrin. Albert signaled imperiously to the warrior with the hoop,and he, too, grinning, sent canyleska whirling.

  Albert cast the wands, and the hoop fell many feet from them. Ashout of laughter arose. The white youth was showing himself apoor match for the Sioux, and the women and children camerunning to see this proof of the superiority of their race.

  The warrior from whom he had taken them gravely picked up thecansakala and handed them back to Albert, the other warrior againsent canyleska rolling, and again Albert threw the wands with thesame ill fortune. A third and fourth time he tried, with butslight improvement, and the crowd, well pleased to see him fail,thickened all the time, until nearly the whole village waspresent.

  "It's just as hard as we thought it was, Dick, and harder," saidAlbert ruefully. "Here, you take it and see what you can do."

  He handed cansakala to Dick, who also tried in vain, while thecrowd enjoyed the sport, laughing and chatting to one another, asthey will in their own villages. Dick made a little moreprogress than Albert had achieved, but not enough to score anypoints worth mentioning, and he, too, retired discomfited, whilethe Sioux, especially the women, continued to laugh.

  "I don't like to be beaten that way," said Albert in a nettledtone.

  "Never mind, Al, old fellow," said Dick soothingly. "Rememberit's their game, not ours, and as it makes them feel good, it'sall the be
tter for us. Since they've beaten us, they're apt tolike us and treat us better."

  It was hard for Albert to take the more philosophical view, whichwas also the truthful one, but he did his best to reconcilehimself, and he and Dick moved on to other sights.

  Dick noticed that the village had been located with greatjudgment. On one side was the river, narrow but swift and deep;on the other, a broad open space that would not permit an enemyto approach through ambush, and beyond that the forest.

  The tepees stood in a great circle, and, although Dick did notknow it, their camps were always pitched according to rule, eachgens or clan having its regular place in the circle. The tribeof the Mendewahkantons--a leading one of the Seven Fireplaces orCouncil Fires of the great Sioux nation--was subdivided intoseven gentes or clans; the Kiyukas, or Breakers, so calledbecause they disregarded the general marriage law and marriedoutside their own clan; the Que-mini-tea, or Mountain Wood andWater people; the Kap'oja, or Light Travelers; the Maxa-yuta-cui,the People who Eat no Grease; the Queyata-oto-we, or the Peopleof the Village Back from the River; the Oyata Citca, the BadNation, and the Tita-otowe, the People of the Village on thePrairie.

  Each clan was composed of related families, and all this greattribe, as the boys learned later, had once dwelled around SpiritLake, Minnesota, their name meaning Mysterious Lake Dwellers,but had been pushed westward years before by the advancing waveof white settlement. This was now a composite village,including parts of every gens of the Mendewahkantons, but therewere other villages of the same tribe scattered over a largearea.

  When Dick and Albert reached the northern end of the village theysaw a great number of Indian ponies, six or seven hundredperhaps, grazing in a wide grassy space and guarded by half-grownIndian boys.

  "Dick," said Albert, "if we only had a dozen of those we could goback and get our furs."

  "Yes," said Dick, "if we had the ponies, if we knew where we arenow, if we were free of the Sioux village, and if we could findthe way to our valley, we might do what you say."

  "Yes, it does take a pile of 'ifs,'" said Albert, laughing, "andso I won't expect it. I'll try to be resigned."

  So free were they from any immediate restriction that it almostseemed to them that they could walk away as they chose, up thevalley and over the hills and across the plains. How were theSioux to know that these two would keep their promised word?But both became conscious again of those watchful eyes,ferocious, like the eyes of man-eating wild beasts, and bothshivered a little as they turned back into the great circle ofbark teepees.