"The sky warrior lifted his n.o.ble head with the mien of a great chief.
At first he did not discover where the voice came from, but, nevertheless, he made a show of indignation and surprise.
"Again I said, almost in a whisper, "Ho, kola, it is time you should cheer a dying warrior"s heart."
"He saw me. "Hush-h-h!" he sighed, and released his great talons from the body of the fawn.
"My mind was clear now, and the sight of meat seemed to give me strength. I took my long knife in one hand and my war-club in the other, and I rose and hopped towards him. He tried to fly, but could not. This is his greatest weakness--that when he kills big game he surfeits himself and is sometimes unable to fly for half a day or longer. As the eagle is not a good walker, he could not get away from me. All his dignity disappeared. Helpless as a woman, he lay before me with outstretched wings.
"I had no wish to harm him who had preserved my life. I la.s.soed him with my lariat and fastened him to a plum-tree while I ate of the meat. It was tender and luscious, and my strength returned to me even as I ate.
"I could not walk, so Wambelee and I camped together, for I did not care to be alone. Little by little we became friends. On the second day his wife came in search of him. When she found him a captive she scolded violently, perhaps him alone, perhaps me, or both of us.
"The next time she came prepared to make war upon me in order to release her husband. She appeared high up, floating among the clouds; then suddenly gave a scream, woman-like, and shot down with all the fierceness of a warrior, coming directly toward me.
"I was getting strong now, and I shook my bow over my head at her. Then she swung upward within a few bows" length, so that I could feel the wind of her attack.
"After she had done this several times, she perched upon a near-by b.u.t.te and watched. She did everything in her power to make her captive husband"s heart strong. Now and then she would sail slowly over our heads, coaxing, scolding, and apparently having a loving, conjugal talk with him.
"At last I sat beside her mate and gave him some meat, which he took from my hand. She saw this feast of two warrior-friends, and came within a few paces of us. I threw her a piece of the venison, which she took, and ate of it.
"Our meat was now gone, and we moved nearer to the stream. I awoke early in the morning. Wambelee was uneasy, and stared continually into the gray dusk. I looked in the same direction, and I saw four black-tail deer approaching the water to drink. I had tied one end of Wambelee"s lariat to a young sapling, and let him sit by me, concealed under the bushes. He had a long lariat. When the deer were almost upon us, I took my sharpest arrow and shot the buck deer. At the same time Wambelee secured a fawn. Now we were rich, for we had all the meat we wanted!
"When we first moved our camp, the eagle woman did not like it, because she did not understand. But again she came every day and got rations for herself and her eaglets on the nest. It was a day"s run for a warrior from the Eagle"s Nest b.u.t.te to the place where we were upon the Wounded Knee.
"I was now strong and able to walk a short distance. Wambelee and Hooyah had become my good friends. They feared me no longer. One day I said to him:
""My friend, you have saved my life. I am strong again, and I shall return to my people. You also must go back to your children. I have three in my lodge, and you should have as many. See, I will give you a necklace--a brave"s necklace--before you go."
"I took one claw from my necklace of bears" claws, and tied it about his neck with a leather thong. I also cut a little figure of a man out of a deer"s hoof, and tied it to the eagle woman"s neck.
""You have been a faithful and brave wife to my friend Wambelee," I said to her. "You shall have this for a token from his friend."
"Then I released Wambelee. He stepped aside, but showed no sign of going. The eagle woman simply busied herself with cutting out a piece of venison to take to her hungry children.
""I see that you are true friends. I will take two feathers from each of you," I said.
"I took two feathers from each and stuck them in my head. The eagle woman rose with the meat, but Wambelee still stood by me. I said, "Go, friend, it is time," and reluctantly he rose and followed her.
"When they had left me it was lonely, and I could not stay. I took my lariat and my weapons and walked slowly up the creek, which was then called Blacktail Creek. From that day it has been known as the Wounded Knee.
"Before sunset, Wambelee came back to see where I was. I was compelled to travel very slowly, and they watched and followed me from day to day until I reached home. There I was as one returned from the dead.
"Nor is this all. In my journeyings these two have many times come near me. I have a signal-call for them, and they have one for me. They have been my guide to game, and I have shared my game with them."
Opagela thus ended his story. Matoska had listened with an attentive ear and a respect that bordered upon reverence.
"It is well, friend," he said, finally, with marked significance.
The two old eagles had busied themselves meanwhile with their game, eating a part and preparing part to take to their children. They now showed signs of age. Their coats were of a brownish color, and their tail-feathers creamy white.
Opagela filled his pipe and held it toward them in token of his good wishes. Then he offered it to his companion.
"We shall smoke," he said, "to their long life and success in hunting."
Matoska silently nodded a.s.sent.
"And how is it, friend, that you kill so many eagles?" he asked, at last.
"I have never killed one," said Opagela. "I have caught many, but without harm to them. I take several of the tail-feathers and let them go. Because I have always many eagle feathers, the warriors think that I kill them.
"Sinkpay both captures and kills them," he continued. "He makes a fish out of a water-soaked log. He whittles it to the shape of a fish, puts a weight on it, and ties it to a long rope which he holds from the sh.o.r.e of a certain lake. You know the eagle is a good fisherman, and when he sees from a great height the make-believe fish of Sinkpay, he drops down very swiftly and buries his claws deeply in the spongy wood. Then Sinkpay pulls this wooden fish to sh.o.r.e with the eagle clinging to it, because he cannot pull out his long, crooked talons. Always his greed is his destruction," concluded the hunter.
"And how do you catch yours?" quoth Matoska.
"Upon a hill frequented by eagles, I dig a hole and lie in it, covered with brush, and holding up a freshly killed rabbit. The eagle sees the rabbit a great way off, and he will immediately shoot down and seize it.
I catch him by the leg and pull him down into the hole. There I tie his feet and pull out several of his tail-feathers.
"You will never catch an eagle twice with the same trick. My old friends know all about it, and delight to play with me by tearing the skin of the bait while hovering out of reach."
"And how do you recognize those two old eagles?" again asked Matoska.
"I know them as well as you know one man from another. You cannot doubt me, for you see their necklaces.
"I have kept this matter sacred and secret for many years. It is not well to talk of the favors of the Great Mystery. But you have seen my friend the sky warrior and his wife, therefore I told it to you. You will not speak of it?" the old hunter asked his friend, who nodded gravely. The two old eagles, laden with their prey, flew heavily away in the direction of the Eagle"s Nest.
A Founder of Ten Towns
Upon a gra.s.sy plateau, overlooking the flats of the Owl River, was spread out Pezpeza"s town. The borders of the table-land were defined by the river"s bed, and it was sufficiently high for the little inhabitants to command the valley both up and down for a considerable distance.
Shungela Pahah, or Fox Ridge, stretched upward on the horizon, and the rough country back of it formed many ravines and gulches for the solitary habitations of wolves and foxes.
No prettier site could be imagined for a town of the prairie-dog people, among whom there is no more enterprising frontiersman than Pezpeza.
Although it was situated in plain view of one of the large summer camps of the wild Sioux, the little people had been left unmolested. The wild men lived then in the midst of the greatest game region of the Dakotas, and, besides, they had always looked upon the little mound-builders as having once been real people like themselves.
All over the plateau, which was semicircular in form, were scattered hundreds of mounds, and on that particular morning, when the early Sioux hunter rode by upon his favorite pony, every house was alive with the inhabitants. Upon the mounds of the old deserted houses stood the faithful and good neighbor, Pezpeza ta ayanpahalah, Pezpeza"s herald, the owl; for if any house is left vacant, he immediately occupies it.
Here and there, upon a sun-baked mound, lay coiled the other neighbor, Sintayhadah, the rattlesnake.
The herald had announced the coming of the wild Red man upon his hunting pony; therefore every prairie-dog had repaired to the top of the mound beside his dwelling. Some stood upon their hind-legs, that they might better see for themselves the approaching danger, and from this place of safety they all shrilly scolded the intruders; while the little herald, who had done his duty and once more fulfilled his unspoken contract with his hosts to be their scout and crier, perched calmly upon a chosen mound and made his observations.
In the middle of the town, upon a large mound, there stood an unusually large dog. When the warning was given, he had slowly dragged himself outside. His short, thick fur was much yellower than that of the others, a sign of advancing age; and while the citizens were noisy in their protests, he alone was silent. It was Pezpeza, the founder of this town and of many another, the experienced traveller. His old friend, the faithful herald, who had just given warning, perched not far away. These two had journeyed together and shared each other"s hardships, but Pezpeza was the prime mover in it all, and there was none wiser than he among his people.
Pezpeza"s biographer and interpreter tells thus of his wonderful frontier life and adventures.
Pezpeza was one of many children of an old couple who lived upon the Missouri River bottoms. He had learned while yet small that the little prairie-owl was their very good neighbor and friend. He had repaired and occupied one of their abandoned houses. It was generally understood by the little mound-builders that this quiet, una.s.suming bird notifies them of approaching danger; and, having no bad habits, the prairie-dogs had tacitly accepted them as desirable and useful townsfolk. The owl, for his part, finds a more convenient home and better food in the towns than he could possibly find elsewhere, for there are plants peculiar to the situation which attract certain insects, mice, and birds, and these in turn furnish food for the owls.
Their common neighbor, the rattlesnake, lay at times under a strong suspicion of treachery, and was not liked any too well by the other two.
However, the canny and cold-hearted snake had proved his usefulness beyond any doubt, and was accepted under strict and well-understood conditions. He was like the negro in the South--he was permitted to dwell in the same town, but he must not a.s.sociate with the other two upon equal terms. It is clear that the dog and the owl together could whip and terrorize the snake and force him to leave the premises at any time if they felt so disposed, but there is a sufficient reason for allowing him to remain. The wolf, coyote, fox, swift, and badger, all enemies of the little mound-builders, will not linger long in the neighborhood of rattlesnakes, and this is equally true of the Red hunter. The coyote and badger could easily lie flat behind the mound and spring upon the prairie-dog when he comes out of his hole. The Sioux boy could do the same with his horse-hair noose. But these wild hunters, with full knowledge of the deadly rattlesnake, dare not expose themselves in such a fashion. The snake, on his side, gets his food much easier there than anywhere else, since all kinds of small birds come there for seeds. Further, his greatest enemies are certain large birds which do not fear his poison, but swoop down, seize him, and eat him in mid-air. From this danger he is safer in a dog-town than elsewhere, owing to the mult.i.tude of holes, which are ingeniously dug upward and off at one side from the main burrow, and are much better than the snake can provide for himself.