On an Indian ReservationAt Fort Reno in 1890, in the then Oklahoma Territory, there was an agency for the Cheyennes and Arapahoes. In those days one might see the Indians in their fantastic mixture of colors and beads and red flannel and feathers—so theatrical in appearance that the visitor expected to see even the army officers look back over their shoulders when one of these braves rode by.Illustration fromTHE WEST FROM A CAR WINDOWbyRichard Harding DavisOriginally published inHarper’s Weekly,May 14, 1892
At Fort Reno in 1890, in the then Oklahoma Territory, there was an agency for the Cheyennes and Arapahoes. In those days one might see the Indians in their fantastic mixture of colors and beads and red flannel and feathers—so theatrical in appearance that the visitor expected to see even the army officers look back over their shoulders when one of these braves rode by.
Canoe struggling in a riverIn a Stiff CurrentIllustration fromTALKING MUSQUASHbyJulian RalphOriginally published inHarper’s Magazine,March, 1892
In a Stiff CurrentIllustration fromTALKING MUSQUASHbyJulian RalphOriginally published inHarper’s Magazine,March, 1892
“‘We must wait,’ I said, and with black looks and aching bellies we waited all that day. ‘The river will go down to-morrow,’ I said, to comfort them.
“We had only a little dried beef to eat and the river water to drink, and my warriors were very hungry.
“That second morning I was awake before dawn, watching to see what the river had done during the night. Behold, it was an arrow’s length higher than before! Then I said: ‘Friends, I am no liar. I started on this plan with a heart to carry it out, but now I am deeply troubled. I did not sleep last night, for a pain in my breast kept me awake. I will not deceive you. I am glad the water is deeper this morning. I believe it is a sign from the Great Spirit that we are to turn back and leave these white people in peace.’
“But to this Crow Kill and most of the others would not listen. ‘If we go back now,’ said he, ‘everybody will laugh at us.’
“Quickly I turned upon him and cried out: ‘Are you the boaster who has prattled of our plans? The camp will know nothing of our designs if you have not let your long tongue rattle on the outside of your mouth.’ At this he fell silent and I went on. ‘Now I will wait one more day. If the river is high to-morrow—the third day—then it will surely be a sign, and we must all bow to the will of the Great One who is above us.’
“To this they all agreed, for the sky was still clear and blue and the river was never known to rise on three successive days. They put their weapons in order, and I recounted my words of instruction as to the battle.
“I went aside a little from the camp that night, and took my watch on a little mound. The moon rose big in the east and made a shining trail over the water. When a boy I used to think, may be that trail led to the land of the spirits—and my heart was full of peaceful thoughts that night. I had no hate of anybody.” The old man’s voice was now deep and grave and no one laughed. “I prayed to the Great Spirit to send the water so that I could go backwithout shame. All night I heard the water whisper, whisper in the grass. It grew broader and broader and the moon passed over my head. I slept a little, and then I woke, for something cold had touched my heel. I looked down and in the grass at my feet lay the shining edge of the river.
“I leaped up and ran and touched the others. ‘See,’ I called out, ‘the water has come to speak to you!’ and I scooped water from the river’s edge and flung it over them. ‘The Great Spirit has spoken. All night I heard it whisper in the grass. It said: “Peace, peace! You must go to war no more.” Come. We will ride away with clean hands and glad hearts.’”
As he finished his story Big Elk put away his pipe abstractedly, as though his mind yet dwelt on the past. His hearers were silent and very serious. He had touched the deepest chord in the red man’s soul—the chord which vibrates when the Great Spirit speaks to him in dreams.