Chapter XVIII
A Raid by the Crows

A BIG CHINOOK wind in the latter end of February cleared the river of ice, and the little snow in the coulées soon melted away. There was no more cold weather thereafter, grass showing green in the bottom lands in March.

Life in camp was generally tranquil. One night some Assiniboins stole forty head of horses, and were not overtaken, although a large party followed their trail eastward as far as Hairy Cap butte. Their coup stick, a long arrow, to which was tied a large scalp, was found sticking in the ground in the heart of our camp the morning after the theft, causing the people much chagrin. It was practically a message from the enemy, reading something like this: "We present you with a scalp, which we tore from the head of a member of your tribe. We have taken some of your horses. We are Assiniboins," for the tribe was known by the peculiar make of the arrow. "They will hear from us as soon as summer comes," said the young men. The Blackfeet did not often start on raids in cold weather. On the other hand, Assiniboin war parties seemed to prefer the most inclement months of winter for their expeditions. They were a very cowardly people, and realized that they ran less risk of being discovered and made to fight at a time when the enemy went abroad only to hunt in the vicinity of camp.

I shall never forget another morning, when, for a few moments, it seemed as if we all must face a terrible death. The evening before, a vast herd of buffalo had been discovered two or three miles back from the river-a herd so large that it was said the valley of Cow Creek and the hills on each side of it were black vith them as far as one could see. Soon after sunrise many hunters, with their women following on travois horses, had gone out to run this herd and get meat. An hour or so later they charged in among them on their trained runners, splitting the herd in such a way that about a thousand or more broke straight down the valley toward the camp. This was the part of the herd that they chased, for the nearer to camp the killing was done the easier it was to pack in the meat. Down the valley the frightened animals fled, followed by their tenacious pursuers. We in camp beard the thunder of their hoofs and saw the cloud of dust they raised, before the animals themselves came in sight. Our lodges were pitched on the lower side of the bottom, between the creek and the steep, bare, rocky ridge to the east. Every man, woman, and child of us had burried outside to witness the chase, for it was not every day that we had such an opportunity. it was really far more exciting to see such a run near at hand than to take part in it. When one mounted his runner and flung into the thick of the herd, he saw only the particular animals he chased and shot or shot at; he had not time nor sense for anything else. But the spectator of the run saw much. First of all, he was impressed with the mighty power of the huge, shaggy, oddly shaped beasts charging madly by him with a thunderous pounding of hoof and rattle of horns, causing the ground to tremble as if from an earthquake; and then to see the hunters, their long hair streaming in the wind, guiding their trained mounts here and there in the thick of it all, singling out this fat cow or that choice young bull, firing their guns or leaning over and driving an arrow deep into the vital part of the great beast; to see the plain over which they passed become dotted with the dead, with great animals standing head down, swaying, staggering, as the life blood flowed from mouth and nostrils, finally crashing over on the ground, a limp and lifeless heap. AM that was a sight! That is what we, standing by our lodges, saw that morning. No one cheered the hunters, nor spoke, nor laughed. It was too solemn a moment. We saw death abroad; huge, powerful beasts, full of tireless energy, suddenly stricken into so many heaps of senseless meat and hide. Paradoxical as it may seem, the Blackfeet reverenced, spoke with awe of, regarded as "medicine," or sacred, these animals which they killed for food, whose hides furnished them with shelter and clothing.

A band of horses drinking at the river became frightened at the noise of the approaching herd. They bounded up the bank and raced out over the bottom, heads and tails up, running directly toward the herd, which swerved to the eastward, crossed the creek, and came tearing down our side of it. The rocky ridge hemming in the bottom was too steep for them to climb with anything like speed, so they kept on in the flat directly toward the lodges. Such a scampering as ensued! Some in their terror ran wildly around, stopping behind one lodge a moment, then running to the shelter of another. Women screamed, children bawled, men shouted words of advice and command. I seized hold of Nät-ah'-ki, ran mith her over to one of Berry's wagons, and got her up in it. In a moment both his and Sorrel Horse's wagons were filled with people, others crouching under and standing in lines behind thern. Persons in the vicinity of the ridge clambered up among the rocks. Those near the creek jumped down in it, but many stood helplessly behind their lodges in the center of the camp. Now, the leaders of the herd reached the outer edge of the village. They could not draw back, for those behind forced them forward, and they loped on, threading their way between the lodges, nimbly jumping from side to side to avoid them, kicking out wickedly at them as they passed. For all his great size and uncouth shape, the buffalo was an animal quick and active on his feet.

I had taken shelter behind one of the wagons With many others and watched the brown, living stream surge by, winding in and out between the lodges as a river winds past the islands and bars in its channel. Not one of us but was frightened; we held our breath in anxious suspense, for we well knew that almost anything—the firing of a gun or sight of some suspicious object ahead—might throw the herd into confusion, and if it turned or bunched up in a compact mass, people would surely be trampled to death by them, lodges overturned, the great part of camp reduced to irreparable ruin. To us it seemed a very long time, but in reality no more than a couple of minutes elapsed ere the last of the herd had passed out beyond the outer lodges into the river and across it to the opposite side. No one bad been hurt, not a lodge had been overturned. But long scaffolds of drying meat, many hides and pelts of various animals pegged out on the ground to dry, had either disappeared or been cut into small fragments. That, indeed, was an experience to be remembered; we were thankful to have escaped with our lives. When we thought what would have happened had we got in the way of the rushing herd, we shuddered. When Nät-ah'-ki said: "How good was the Sun to keep us unharmed through this great danger," I am sure that she voiced the sentiment of all. The next day I noticed that the trees and high bushes bordering the river were bright with the people's offerings or sacrifices to their god. They gave always of their best, their choicest and most prized ornaments and finery.

The winter was now gone. Berry and Sorrel Horse started for Fort Benton with their families and the last loads of their winter's trade. They had done exceedingly well, and concluded to remain for a time at the fort. Berry declared that he would do no more freighting to the mines with his bull train; he would either sell it or employ someone as a train-master. The Piegans still had a large number of prime robes, wolf pelts, and other skins on hand, which they were to trade at the fort, but instead of going there direct, they decided to circle southward, up the Judith River, thence around to the north byway of Arrow Creek and the foot of the Highwood Mountain. I went with them, agreeing to tneet Berry at the fort and plan with him for the ensuing season's trade.

So, one warm, sunny day in the end of March, camp was broken, and crossing the Wide, shallow ford of the river at Cow Island, we climbed the south slope of the valley and strung out over the plain. At such times Nät-ah'-ki and I frequently dropped behind and rode along a mile or more to the right or left of the trail on little side hunts. We were free to do this, for the good mother and her uncle's family took charge of our pack and travois horses, and herded them along with their own. And when we came to camp in the evening we would find our lodge put up, the couches made, wood and water at hand, the tireless mother sitting by the fire awaiting our arrival. Sometimes Nä-tah'-ki would remonstrate with her for doing all this, but she would always say, "Young people should be happy. This my mother did for me when I was newly married. Someday you will likely be doing it for your daughter." Which latter remark would cause the little woman to turn away in confusion, and she would pretend to be very busy about something. Alas! they thought that this carefree life was going to last forever. Even we white men little dreamed how soon the buffalo were to disappear.

On this lovely morning we rode gradually, slowly, and obliquely away to the west until we were a couple of miles from the trail. Still farther out we could see several hunters now and then, as they passed over a rise of ground, and occasionally the long column of the moving camp was in sight. Sometimes we loitered, letting our horses feed as they walked, and again we would start them into a lope and keep it up until we were well abreast of the others. Nät-ah'-ki kept up a ceaseless chatter of gossip and story and questions about the country from which I came. She was ever wanting to know about the ways of white women, good and bad, and when I told some of the things I had known, had seen the bad ones do, she would be horrified and say over and over again, "Terrible, shameless! No Blackfoot woman would ever act like that."

Along toward noon we came to the head of a pine-clad coulée running into the faraway Judith, and in a little grove there was a small spring of clear, cold water. We drank, and then leading our animals up to the top of the slope, where we could obtain a good view of the surrounding country, we ate our lunch of bread, depuyer, and dried meat. A kit fox came trotting over the bench opposite us, ran down the slope into the grove and to the spring, and presently came out on our side, sniffing the air, undoubtedly having scented our food. It walked up to within thirty feet of us, stopped and stared at us and the grazing horses, then circled around and finally stretched out on its belly, head up, watching us intently, and frequently sniffing the air, curiously working its slender, delicately contoured nose. It was evidently reasoning like this: "There is something to eat over by those strange-looking animals. I'll wait here a while, and nose around the place after they leave." At least, that is what Nät-ah'-ki said the little creature was thinking, and I had reason to believe that in such matters she generally knew whereof she spoke. "Did I ever tell you," she asked, "about my grandfather and his pet fox? No? Well then, listen:

"One night my grandfather's dream commanded him to catch a kit fox, tame it, and be kind to it. He thought long over this, and counseled with others as to its meaning; but none could understand it any more than he. The next night his dream told him the same things, and again on the third night, and lastly on the fourth night. Four times his dreams commanded him to do this. Four is the sacred number. When he arose the fourth morning he knew that he must obey his dream. He no longer asked why, nor what was meant, but after eating went out to catch a fox. There were many foxes; every little way as he walked he saw them running onward or sitting by their dens, into which they disappeared as he drew near. He had a long lariat, to an end of which he had tied a length of fine buckskin string. Making a running noose of the string, he would lay it in a circle around the entrance to the den, then go back as far as the lariat extended and lie down, to watch for the animals. If one poked its head out, he would jerk the lariat, and the noose would tighten around its neck or body. In this way children catch ground squirrels—he had done it himself in youthful days—and he believed that in like manner he could capture a fox.

"These animals have more than one entrance to their den, often as many as five or six. If my grandfather set the noose around a hole into which he saw a fox go, the animal was certain to look out from another opening, and seeing him lying there near by, would dodge back and appear no more, even though he waited a long time. Thus passed the first day, and also the second. On the evening of the third he noosed one, but with a snap of its sharp teeth it cut the string and escaped. Tired and thirsty, and hungry, be was returning home that evening, when on the side of a coulée he saw five young foxes playing near the entrance to their den, the mother and father sitting nearby watching them. They were very small; so young that they were not quick and active on their feet, but tumbled over each other slowly and awkwardly. He sat down on the opposite side of the coulée and watched them until the sun set and night came on. Over and over he asked himself how he could catch one of the young. He prayed, too, calling upon the gods, upon his dream, to show him the way.

"Returning to his lodge, be ate and drank and filled and lighted his pipe, again praying for help in that which he had to do. And suddenly, as he sat there silently smoking, the way was shown him. The gods had taken pity on him. He went to bed and slept well. 'Go out and find a large buffalo shoulder blade,' he said to my grandmother, after the morning meal, 'then take a cowskin and accompany me.'

"They went to the den of young foxes. Very close to the place where the little ones played was a large bunch of rye-grass, and in the center of it my grandfather began to cut away the sod, to loosen the earth with his knife. My grandmother helped him, using the shoulder blade as a white man does his shovel, removing the earth and piling it on the cowskin, then carrying the load away and scattering it in the bottom of the coulée. They worked and worked, cutting and digging, and scraping, until the hole was deep enough for my grandfather to stand in. His eyes were even with the top of the ground, the fringe of rye-grass still standing made a good screen; the foxes might scent him, but they could not see him. 'Go home,' he said to my grandmother when they had finished their work. 'Go home and make a sacrifice to the Sun, and pray that I may succeed in that which I have to do.'

"Then he got into the hole and stood very still, waiting, watching for the little ones to come out. Long be waited; the sun seemed to travel very slowly down toward the mountains. It was very hot; he became very thirsty; his legs ached, but he stood as motionless as the ground itself, always watching. A little while before sunset an old one came out, and walked halfway around the rye-grass bunch. Then, suddenly, it scented him, and ran swiftly away up the coulée, not daring to return whence the wind had warned it of some danger, unseen, but more to be feared for that very reason. Soon afterward the little ones came forth, one by one, slowly and lazily, yawning and stretching themselves, blinking their eyes in the strong light. They began to play, as they had done on the previous evening, and before long they gathered in a scuffle at the edge of the rye-grass. Then my grandfather quickly reached out and seized one by the back of the neck. 'Hai-ya', little brother,' he cried, 'I have caught you.' Climbing out of the hole he wrapped it in a fold of his robe and hurried to his lodge. He was happy. Four times his dream had spoken to him; on the fourth day he had fulfilled its command. He felt sure that in some way the taking of the fox was to be for his good.

"Puh'-po-kan (dream) my grandfather named the little animal. From the very beginning it had no fear of him, and soon made friends with the dogs of the lodge. An old bitch loved it at once, and if any strange dog came nosing around where it was she would drive the stranger away. The fox ate readily the bits of meat my grandfather gave it, and learned to drink water and soup. He forbade anyone to pet it, or feed it, or call it by name, so it was friendly only with him. It wanted to follow him wherever he went, and at night would crawl under the robes and sleep beside him. When camp was moved, it had a little nest in a travois load, where it would lie quite still to the journey's end. it was such a funny little one; always wanting to play With my grandfather or with the lodge dogs; and when it got scared at anything it would run to him, making short, gasping, hoarse little barks, just as we hear them at night out beyond the lodges. I did so want to play with it, take it up in my arms and pet it, but always my mother would say: 'Don't you dare do it; It is a sacred one, and if you touch it something dreadful will happen to you. Perhaps you would go blind.'

"As it grew older it would wander around at times during the night until chased by some dog, and then it would rush in and crawl into bed beside my grandfather. Not a mouse wandered in under the lodge-skin but Puh'-po-kan had found and killed it, and often he would bring home a bird or ground squirrel. About the time when Puh'-po-kan had seen two winters, we were camping on the Little River, just north of the Bear's Paw Mountains. One night, after the lodge fires had all died out and everyone was asleep, Puh'-po-kan awoke my grandfather by backing up against his head and barking in a way it had when scared. 'Stop that,' said my grandfather, reaching up and giving the little one a light slap. 'Stop barking and go to sleep.'

"But Puh'-po-kan would not stop; instead he barked harder than ever, trembling because he was so excited. My grandfather raised up on his elbow and looked around. The moon was shining down through the smoke-hole, so that he could make out the different objects in the lodge; over by the doorway there was something that did not belong there; a dark, motionless object that looked like a person crouching. "Who are you?' he asked. 'What do you want here?'

"No answer.

"Then my grandfather spoke again: 'Tell me quickly who you are. Get up and talk, or I will shoot you.'

"Still there was no answer. Puh'-po-kan kept on barking. My grandfather quietly reached out for his gun, which lay at the head of his bed, cocked it without noise, aimed and fired it. With a fearful scream a man—for such the object proved to be—sprang up and fell dead right in the hot ashes and coals of the fireplace, from whence my grandfather quickly dragged him. Of course the shot aroused the camp, and the screams of the frightened women in my grandfather's lodge brought everyone to it. A fire was quickly built and the light showed that the dead one was an enemy of a far-away tribe, a Sioux. He had no weapon except a big long knife, still firmly gripped in his right hand. Evidently he had entered the lodge intending to steal a gun, and would have stabbed anyone who interfered with him. when the fox gave warning of his presence, he most likely thought that by remaining crouched to the ground he would not be discovered, and that those aroused would soon again fall asleep. He seemed to have come to the camp alone, for no trace of others could be found; no horses were stolen.

"All the talk in camp was about the fox, and my grandfather's dream. It was all great medicine. And my grandfather, how pleased he was. He made many sacrifices, prayed much, and loved Puh'-po-kan more than ever. Two more winters the little one lived, and then one summer night it was bitten by a rattlesnake and soon died. The women wrapped the swollen little body in robes and buried it on a scaffold they made in a cottonwood tree, just as if it had been a person."

I recinched our saddles. Nät-ah'-ki spread the remains of our lunch on a smooth flat stone. "Eat heartily, little brother, " she said. We mounted and rode away, and looking back we saw the fox busily chewing a piece of dried meat. Later in the afternoon we arrived in camp, which had been pitched near a small lake on the high plateau. The water was bad, but drinkable when made into tea. We used buffalo chips for fuel. In the evening I was invited to a feast given by Big Lake. Rising Wolf was also a guest, along with a number of other staid and sober men. Young men seldom feasted and smoked with their elders, and in the camp were many coteries, or social sets, just as we find them in any civilized community with the exception that there was no jealousy nor rivalry between them; no one of them felt that its members were in any way better than the members of another set.

We had smoked but one pipe, I remember, when a young man bounced in through the doorway, and said: "A war party of many men is near us."

"Ah!" all exclaimed, and then Big Lake, "Quick! tell us about it."

"I was hunting," said the young man , "and tied my horse to a bunch of sage while I crept up to a band of antelope. Perhaps I did not tie him securely; he got loose and ran away on his back trail and I started back afoot. At sundown I came to the top of a ridge and could see our camp, and over on another ridge near the Judith I saw at least fifty men. Saw them climb up and stand on its summit. They must have discovered our camp, by the smoke from the lodge fires, if nothing more. I waited until it was so dark that they could not see me, and then hurried in. They will certainly raid our horses tonight."

"Scatter out through camp, all of you," said Big Lake, quickly and decisively. "Tell the men to come here at once, warn the women not to scream or cry or run. Hurry!"

I went home and told Nät-ah'-ki the news, removed the cover of my rifle, and filled my coat pockets With cartridges. "Wait!" she said, grasping the gun barrel. "What are you going to do?"

"Why, Big Lake told us to meet at his lodge," I explained. "He has some good plan, I suppose."

"Yes, he is wise," she agreed, "but you are not going out there to be killed by a war party. Stay here with me."

"But our horses. I cannot remain here in the lodge and let the enemy run them off ."

"They do not matter. Let them go."

"But," I said, "if I remained here think what people would say. They would call me a coward, they would say to you: 'Your white man has a woman's heart; why don't you make some dresses for him?"'

That ended the argument. She just sat down on the couch, covered her head vith a shawl, and thus I left her. I will acknowledge that I did not go forth with a mad desire for battle. The cheerful lodge fire, the restful couch, and the long-stemmed pipe were dear to all save the rash young man whose only thought was of war. Big Lake was a born tactician. In the few moments required to assemble the men around his lodge he had thought out his plan of defense, and issued his orders in a few words. The various bands of the All Friends Society were told off into four groups, and ordered to steal quietly out to the north, south, east, and west of camp and there await the arrival of the enemy. All others not of the society were to go with any one of the bands they chose. It was not feared that a war party of fifty or of even three times that number would make an attack on camp. They came, of course, to steal horses, and the plan was to go out where the herds were grazing and lie in wait. The really valuable animals were all tethered, as usual, near the lodges of their owners, and passing by the herds of common horses, the enemy would try to get in to them, cut their ropes, and lead them away one by one, and by twos and threes.

With the Crazy Dogs and Raven Carriers I moved out with thirty or forty others who, like myself, belonged to no organization. We spread out in a Wide line, and after walking slowly and silently for about half a mile, word was passed to stop, whereupon we sat down in the cover of the sage and greasewood brush. There was a moon, low down in the western sky and due to set about midnight, so it was not very dark; we could see quite plainly the brush forty or fifty yards distant. We reamined there quietly a long time. The man nearest me on the right slowly crawled over and sat beside me.

"The night light is about to go out of sight," he whispered. "The war party will appear somewhere soon, if they come at all tonight."

He spoke truly, for a little later we heard indistinctly away out beyond, a murmur of voices. Then there was silence, and then With soit tread and harsh swish of brush against their leggings, the raiders came into view, unsuspectingly advancing, some of them to their death. Someone on my left fired first, and then the whole line shot an irregular volley. How the sparks of the cheap black powder glowed and sparkled as they spouted from fuke and rifle into the darkness. The flashes blinded us for a moment, and when we could see again the enemy were running away. They had fired a number of shots in answer to ours, but as we afterward found, not one of their bullets had hit any of us. Almost as one man our line sprang forward, with cries of "Now, Crazy Dogs! Now, Raven Carriers! Take courage; we must wipe them out." Here were bodies, five of them, and one with life still in it. Thud went a war club and the recumbent figure sprawled out, face up, in the waning moonlight. In a trice the dead were scalped, their arms taken by those who first came to them. On sped our party, an occasional shot was fired at a dimly seen retreating figure. Behind us now came the three other divisions of the camp, shouting words of encouragement. But now no enemy could be seen, nor heard, and our party stopped; it was useless to look further for them in the darkness. Big Lake came up. "Spread out," he said, "spread out again and encircle the camp. Perhaps some of them are concealed in the brush closer in, and with daylight we will find them."

I shouldered my rifle and went home. Nät-ah'-ki was sitting up with her mother for company and I related all that had occurred.

"Why did you come back?" she asked, after I had finished. "Why didn't you stay out there with the rest as Big Lake ordered?"

"Hai-yah!" I exclaimed. "How peculiar are women; one may not understand them. You begged me this evening to remain here with you. I came back because I am tired and hungry, and sleepy, and now you are displeased because I returned. Well, to please you I'll go back and sit with the others until morning."

"Sit down, crazy man," she said, pushing me back on the couch from which I had started to rise. "You will stay right there. Here is your pipe; fill it and smoke while I broil some meat and make tea."

"You are the chief," I said to her, contentedly leaning back against willow mat. "It shall be as you say."

Ah, me! Roll them back, you ruthless harvester of the years. Give back to me Nät-ah'-ki and my youth. Return to us our lodge and the wide, brown, buffalo plains.

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