The Soft-Hearted Sioux | Page 2

he retraced his steps toward the heart of the
camping-ground.
My father's dwelling was on the outer limits of the round-faced village.
With every heart-throb I grew more impatient to enter the wigwam.
While I turned the leaves of my Bible with nervous fingers, the
medicine-man came forth from the dwelling and walked hurriedly away.
His head and face were closely covered with the loose robe which
draped his entire figure.
He was tall and large. His long strides I have never forgot. They
seemed to me then as the uncanny gait of eternal death. Quickly
pocketing my Bible, I went into the tepee.

Upon a mat lay my father, with furrowed face and gray hair. His eyes
and cheeks were sunken far into his head. His sallow skin lay thin upon
his pinched nose and high cheek-bones. Stooping over him, I took his
fevered hand. "How, Ate?" I greeted him. A light flashed from his
listless eyes and his dried lips parted. "My son!" he murmured, in a
feeble voice. Then again the wave of joy and recognition receded. He
closed his eyes, and his hand dropped from my open palm to the
ground.
Looking about, I saw an old woman sitting with bowed head. Shaking
hands with her, I recognized my mother. I sat down between my father
and mother as I used to do, but I did not feel at home. The place where
my old grandmother used to sit was now unoccupied. With my mother
I bowed my head. Alike our throats were choked and tears were
streaming from our eyes; but far apart in spirit our ideas and faiths
separated us. My grief was for the soul unsaved; and I thought my
mother wept to see a brave man's body broken by sickness.
Useless was my attempt to change the faith in the medicine-man to that
abstract power named God. Then one day I became righteously mad
with anger that the medicine-man should thus ensnare my father's soul.
And when he came to chant his sacred songs I pointed toward the door
and bade him go! The man's eyes glared upon me for an instant. Slowly
gathering his robe about him, he turned his back upon the sick man and
stepped out of our wigwam. "Ha, ha, ha! my son, I cannot live without
the medicine-man!" I heard my father cry when the sacred man was
gone.

III
On a bright day, when the winged seeds of the prairie-grass were flying
hither and thither, I walked solemnly toward the centre of the
camping-ground. My heart beat hard and irregularly at my side. Tighter
I grasped the sacred book I carried under my arm. Now was the
beginning of life's work.

Though I knew it would be hard, I did not once feel that failure was to
be my reward. As I stepped unevenly on the rolling ground, I thought
of the warriors soon to wash off their war-paints and follow me.
At length I reached the place where the people had assembled to hear
me preach. In a large circle men and women sat upon the dry red grass.
Within the ring I stood, with the white man's Bible in my hand. I tried
to tell them of the soft heart of Christ.
In silence the vast circle of bareheaded warriors sat under an afternoon
sun. At last, wiping the wet from my brow, I took my place in the ring.
The hush of the assembly filled me with great hope.
I was turning my thoughts upward to the sky in gratitude, when a stir
called me to earth again.
A tall, strong man arose. His loose robe hung in folds over his right
shoulder. A pair of snapping black eyes fastened themselves like the
poisonous fangs of a serpent upon me. He was the medicine-man. A
tremor played about my heart and a chill cooled the fire in my veins.
Scornfully he pointed a long forefinger in my direction and asked,
"What loyal son is he who, returning to his father's people, wears a
foreigner's dress?" He paused a moment, and then continued: "The
dress of that foreigner of whom a story says he bound a native of our
land, and heaping dry sticks around him, kindled a fire at his feet!"
Waving his hand toward me, he exclaimed, "Here is the traitor to his
people!"
I was helpless. Before the eyes of the crowd the cunning magician
turned my honest heart into a vile nest of treachery. Alas! the people
frowned as they looked upon me.
"Listen!" he went on. "Which one of you who have eyed the young
man can see through his bosom and warn the people of the nest of
young snakes hatching there? Whose ear was so acute that he