第53章

One morning we were summoned to the lodge of an old man, in good truth the Nestor of his tribe.We found him half sitting, half reclining on a pile of buffalo robes; his long hair, jet-black even now, though he had seen some eighty winters, hung on either side of his thin features.Those most conversant with Indians in their homes will scarcely believe me when I affirm that there was dignity in his countenance and mien.His gaunt but symmetrical frame, did not more clearly exhibit the wreck of bygone strength, than did his dark, wasted features, still prominent and commanding, bear the stamp of mental energies.I recalled, as I saw him, the eloquent metaphor of the Iroquois sachem: "I am an aged hemlock; the winds of a hundred winters have whistled through my branches, and I am dead at the top!"Opposite the patriarch was his nephew, the young aspirant Mahto-Tatonka; and besides these, there were one or two women in the lodge.

The old man's story is peculiar, and singularly illustrative of a superstitious custom that prevails in full force among many of the Indian tribes.He was one of a powerful family, renowned for their warlike exploits.When a very young man, he submitted to the singular rite to which most of the tribe subject themselves before entering upon life.He painted his face black; then seeking out a cavern in a sequestered part of the Black Hills, he lay for several days, fasting and praying to the Great Spirit.In the dreams and visions produced by his weakened and excited state, he fancied like all Indians, that he saw supernatural revelations.Again and again the form of an antelope appeared before him.The antelope is the graceful peace spirit of the Ogallalla; but seldom is it that such a gentle visitor presents itself during the initiatory fasts of their young men.The terrible grizzly bear, the divinity of war, usually appears to fire them with martial ardor and thirst for renown.At length the antelope spoke.He told the young dreamer that he was not to follow the path of war; that a life of peace and tranquillity was marked out for him; that henceforward he was to guide the people by his counsels and protect them from the evils of their own feuds and dissensions.Others were to gain renown by fighting the enemy; but greatness of a different kind was in store for him.

The visions beheld during the period of this fast usually determine the whole course of the dreamer's life, for an Indian is bound by iron superstitions.From that time, Le Borgne, which was the only name by which we knew him, abandoned all thoughts of war and devoted himself to the labors of peace.He told his vision to the people.

They honored his commission and respected him in his novel capacity.

A far different man was his brother, Mahto-Tatonka, who had transmitted his names, his features, and many of his characteristic qualities to his son.He was the father of Henry Chatillon's squaw, a circumstance which proved of some advantage to us, as securing for us the friendship of a family perhaps the most distinguished and powerful in the whole Ogallalla band.Mahto-Tatonka, in his rude way, was a hero.No chief could vie with him in warlike renown, or in power over his people.He had a fearless spirit, and a most impetuous and inflexible resolution.His will was law.He was politic and sagacious, and with true Indian craft he always befriended the whites, well knowing that he might thus reap great advantages for himself and his adherents.When he had resolved on any course of conduct, he would pay to the warriors the empty compliment of calling them together to deliberate upon it, and when their debates were over, he would quietly state his own opinion, which no one ever disputed.The consequences of thwarting his imperious will were too formidable to be encountered.Woe to those who incurred his displeasure! He would strike them or stab them on the spot; and this act, which, if attempted by any other chief, would instantly have cost him his life, the awe inspired by his name enabled him to repeat again and again with impunity.In a community where, from immemorial time, no man has acknowledged any law but his own will, Mahto-Tatonka, by the force of his dauntless resolution, raised himself to power little short of despotic.His haughty career came at last to an end.He had a host of enemies only waiting for their opportunity of revenge, and our old friend Smoke, in particular, together with all his kinsmen, hated him most cordially.

Smoke sat one day in his lodge in the midst of his own village, when Mahto-Tatonka entered it alone, and approaching the dwelling of his enemy, called on him in a loud voice to come out, if he were a man, and fight.Smoke would not move.At this, Mahto-Tatonka proclaimed him a coward and an old woman, and striding close to the entrance of the lodge, stabbed the chief's best horse, which was picketed there.

Smoke was daunted, and even this insult failed to call him forth.

Mahto-Tatonka moved haughtily away; all made way for him, but his hour of reckoning was near.

One hot day, five or six years ago, numerous lodges of Smoke's kinsmen were gathered around some of the Fur Company's men, who were trading in various articles with them, whisky among the rest.Mahto-Tatonka was also there with a few of his people.As he lay in his own lodge, a fray arose between his adherents and the kinsmen of his enemy.The war-whoop was raised, bullets and arrows began to fly, and the camp was in confusion.The chief sprang up, and rushing in a fury from the lodge shouted to the combatants on both sides to cease.

Instantly--for the attack was preconcerted--came the reports of two or three guns, and the twanging of a dozen bows, and the savage hero, mortally wounded, pitched forward headlong to the ground.Rouleau was present, and told me the particulars.The tumult became general, and was not quelled until several had fallen on both sides.When we were in the country the feud between the two families was still rankling, and not likely soon to cease.