CHAPTER XIX--The Indian Pow-Wow--Tom and Joe Get Into The Squaw Dance
The Indians were arriving when the boys reached the meadows below thefalls, and were already beginning to set up their wigwams, or tepees,beside the Swift Current. The chiefs and braves, in their Indian dress,with feathered head-gear and bright blankets, were on horseback, and sowere most of the squaws and children; but the tepees were beingtransported from the reservation out on the prairie in motor buses, andthere was even an entire Indian family in a touring car, with the braveat the wheel!
"Gee whiz, times change all right," said Spider. "Even the Indians haveautomobiles."
Nearly a hundred Blackfeet arrived, all told, fine looking men and womenfor the most part, although the older squaws were fat and huddled up intheir blankets, looking like funny bears. What struck Joe and Tom firstof all, however, was the good nature of these Indians.
"I always thought Indians were silent and sort of grouchy," Tom said toMills, who was on hand to help the Indians get settled in camp and seethat the hotel, which had induced them to come, provided enough for themto eat.
"Not at all," the Ranger answered. "They are always laughing and joking,as you see. They are a very happy people, and they have a mighty hardtime of it, too. They don't know how to raise cattle or grain, becausethey've always been hunters. Now the government has taken the Park awayfrom them, and won't let 'em hunt here, and they half starve everywinter. I tell you, I'm sorry for 'em."
The boys moved among them freely, listening to their strange language,and watching the tepees go up. Some of these tepees were made of tannedskins, mostly elk skins, but one or two very old ones of buffalo skins.They were stretched around a frame of lodge-pole pines, leaving a holeat the peak where the smoke could rise, as through a chimney. On theoutside were painted in various colors bands and designs, and in thecase of the chiefs, funny figures of buffalo and men chasing them onhorseback, and other men being killed in battle. These pictures, Millssaid, were painted by the chiefs themselves, and depicted the lifehistory and exploits of each warrior.
"Good idea," Tom laughed. "You sort of paint your autobiography on theoutside of your house."
"I suppose when you get home, you'll draw a picture of yourself climbinga cliff, over your front door," said Joe.
"And you can draw yourself falling down the cellar hatchway," Tomretorted.
By late afternoon, the tepees were all up, smoke was ascending from thepeaks, the horses of each brave were tethered near their master's lodge,in the centre of the camp was a large, flat open space, to be used laterfor the dances, and here the little Indian children were now playing.When the flap of a lodge was lifted, you could see women inside, cookingor laying beds of skins and blankets. The funny Indian dogs, mongrels ofall shapes, sizes and colors, were roaming around. Beside the campflowed the Swift Current, green and foaming, and behind it rose thetowering walls of the canyon sides. Except for the tourists who had comedown from the hotel to watch, and the one Indian automobile parked nearby, the camp might have been an Indian village of two hundred years ago,before the white men ever came. Tom and Joe were reluctant to leave, itall seemed so like a picture out of the past, the picture of a life anda race now fast vanishing from the earth. They took many pictures of thecamp before they finally went back to their own camp, to see if anyhikers had arrived.
A party was coming down the trail just as they got there, and Tom wassoon busy. But when supper was over, he and Joe went back, taking thehikers along, to see the camp again. As they drew near, they heardstrange noises, the TUM-_tum_, TUM-_tum_, of Indian drums. The pow-wowhad begun.
"It won't amount to much, though, till to-morrow," Mills said. "Theyjust get worked up a little to-night."
There was a big fire going in the central dancing ground, and near it,dressed in all their finery, two of them stripped bare to the waist withtheir skins covered with yellow paint, were the three makers of music,each holding a shallow skin drum in one hand and beating it with theother, in a regular, monotonous, unvaried rhythm, a two-foot beat,heavily accented on the first foot--TUM-_tum_, TUM-_tum_, TUM-_tum_,over and over, rather slowly. As they pounded out this rhythm, they keptlaughing, emitting yells and calls, and sometimes sang. Meanwhile someboy or young brave would spring out into the fire-light, in the centreof the ring of braves and squaws and children squatted or standingaround, and dance to the music, going through strange gestures,brandishing a decorated spear, stooping, bending, circling around, butalways, the boys soon detected, adhering to some formal plan, althoughthey didn't know what this dance might signify, and always surprisinglygraceful.
"Some of those dances are very intricate," Mills said to them, as anIndian boy, after finishing a hard dance, dropped panting back into thecircle, while the older braves applauded and another took his placeinstantly. "It takes a boy weeks to learn them, and each one has ameaning. It may be the boy's medicine dance, part of the ritual whichwill keep harm away from him."
Even after the scouts left, they could hear the TUM-_tum_ of the drums,till the roar of the falls drowned it. The next day they hurried back,as soon as the camp work was done, and found the Indians dancing again,in broad daylight now, of course, with a great crowd of tourists aroundwatching them. They were still at it when the boys came back afterluncheon, seemingly untiring. But presently they stopped, and an oldchief stepped out and began to make a speech.
"What's he talking about?" Tom asked Mills, edging in close to thecircle.
"Don't ask me--I can't talk the language," the Ranger answered. "Hi,Pete, what's old Stabs-by-Mistake saying?"
This last question was addressed to a half-breed who was standing justin front of them, in the Indian circle.
Pete, who was dressed in cowboy costume, but without any hat, turnedwith a grin.
"He says they are going to take my white man name away from me, and giveme a Blackfeet name," Pete replied. "He says the white men give themountains foolish white man names, but I'm part Indian, and they'regoing to take my name, Pete Jones, away from me."
Stabs-by-Mistake (that was really the name of the old chief, and not ajoke of Mills') now beckoned Pete into the middle of the circle. Two orthree young braves danced around him, while the drums beat and all theIndians shouted and sang, and then the braves seized him, pretended tograb something from him with their hands, and ran with this imaginarything to some bushes outside the camp. They disappeared in these bushes,speedily reappeared holding up their hands to show they were empty, andcame back to the circle.
"I suppose they dropped his old name in the bushes!" Joe laughed.
"Sure," said Mills.
Now Stabs-by-Mistake rose to make another speech. Pete stood before him,and he talked for two or three minutes right at him, with many gestures,while the Indians listened. The boys could see that he had not yet givenhim a new name, and all the Blackfeet were waiting, excited, to see whatthe new name was going to be. Finally, Stabs-by-Mistake laid his hand onPete's shoulder and spoke very solemnly. Then he spoke the new name. Ashe spoke it, he gave Pete a great slap on the back as a sort of periodto his oration, and at the same instant the entire circle of Indiansbroke out into shouts of laughter. Pete looked sheepish, and came backtoward the Ranger, red and grinning.
"Well, what's your name now?" Mills asked.
"He made a big talk about giving me the name of a great chief, gone tothe Sand Hills long ago, and then he said it wasLazy-Boy-Afraid-to-Work. That's why they are all laughing."
Mills laughed, too. "He's got your number, Pete," said he.
Now another chief was making a speech, and Pete grinned at Mills.
"You're in for it now," he chuckled. "Yellow Wolf says they're going togive you an Indian name."
"Oh, help!" Mills exclaimed.
He was led into the circle, looking uncomfortable and shy with so manytourists gazing at him. But the boys knew he would rather have cut offhis right hand than hurt the Indians' feelings by refusing. For him, theceremony was much more serious. There wa
s no laughing, and Yellow Wolfmade a grave and evidently impassioned speech to the tribe, who listenedand applauded. They did not go through the comic ceremony of taking theRanger's old name out into the bushes, but instead they sat him down ina smaller circle of the chiefs, and passed an Indian pipe around. Then,standing once more, they danced and sang, and finally Yellow Wolf gavehim his new name, with a slap on the shoulder, while the crowd expressedapproval. Then a gorgeous feathered head-dress was put on his head,instead of a hat, and when he finally rejoined the boys, he was stillwearing this.
"What's your name?" Tom asked.
"What is it, Pete?" said Mills.
"Tail-Feathers-Coming-Over-the-Hill," said Pete. "He was a fine Indian,too--medicine man."
"I thought so," Mills answered. "I thought I recognized it. Well, boys,I suppose I'm a Blackfoot now! You know" (he added this in a lower tone)"they are grateful to me because in the hard winter last year I didn'tprosecute one of 'em for killing a sheep, but got the government to send'em some food, so they wouldn't have to poach.Tail-Feathers-Coming-Over-the-Hill was a fine old Indian. I'm proud tohave his name."
"It's some name!" the scouts laughed.
Now that these ceremonies were over, the Indians fell to dancing again,and the beat of the three drums, the calls and songs, rose on the air.Seeing the crowd of tourists about, and filled with fun and goodspirits, the Indians started the squaw dance, the dance in which thewomen and even the larger children of the tribe take part. The threedrummers stood in the middle, pounding their sheepskin drums, and aroundthem, in a ring, holding hands or linking elbows, everybody facinginward, the Indians revolved by a curious little side step with a bendto the right knee, in time to the TUM-_tum_, TUM-_tum_, of the drums.Every moment or two a couple of chiefs or braves would dart out of thecircle, seize some white woman or girl, and drag her laughing back intothe ring. Then the young squaws began to run out and grab white men. TwoIndian maidens seized Joe, while Tom got his camera hastily into action.
"Now, look pleasant, Joey!" he laughed. "We'll have this pictureenlarged for the Scout House--Joe and the Indian maidens!"
The girls placed Joe in the circle, and he began to revolve with therest. One of the girls beckoned at Tom, as much as to say, "Shall we gethim?"
Joe nodded, and the girl spoke to another squaw maid on her left, andthe two of them left the line and seized Tom, also, keeping fast hold ofhis hands and dragging him with much laughter into the revolving ring.
Before long as many as two hundred people, Indians and white, old folksand young, men, women and children, were all revolving in a great circleabout the three drummers, who were beating violently, singing, shouting.The Indian women began to sing, also, a strange tune, with only onephrase, repeated over and over. Of course, the boys could not understandthe words, or even tell for sure sometimes whether there were any words.But the tune got into their heads. They could never sing it afterwardsjust as the Indians did, for the Indian scale, the intervals, aredifferent from ours, but they could come somewhere near it, as theydanced around their camp.
The squaw dance lasted until the "pale faces" began to get tired anddrop out of the ring. Then the Indians went back to their former solodances, their other songs, their general jollification and curiousgames. But the three drummers, without any rest, kept right on poundingand shouting and singing, as if nothing could tire them. They were stillat it when the scouts had to return to their duties at the camp, and allthat evening, too, they kept it up.
The next day the steer was to be roasted, in a fire pit dug and preparedby the Indians themselves, but Joe did not see that, for he receivedword that evening to start out early the following morning with a partyover Swift Current Pass, and down to Lake McDonald. Tom went to see thebeginning of the ceremony, but the process of roasting an entire steerisn't very pretty, nor very tempting, and he didn't stay. Beside, he hada big party of hikers to look after, and his own meals to cook now Joewas away. He returned to Camp Kent, looked longingly at his coil ofAlpine rope, took his axe, and went at the task of replenishing the woodsupply.