The Way of an Indian | Page 7

to a chief and are good. We will
strike an Absaroke if we can. Come with me." White Otter then glided
forward in the darkness toward the camp. When quite near, they waited
for a time to allow the dogs to be still, and when they ceased to tongue,
they again approached with greater caution.
Slowly, so as not to disturb the animals of the Indians, they neared the
blue-and-yellow tepee, squatting low to measure its gloom against the
sky-line. They were among the picketed ponies, and felt them all over
carefully with their hands. They found the clip-maned war-ponies and
cut the ropes. The Indian dogs made no trouble, as they walked their
booty very slowly and very quietly away, as though they wandered in
search of food. When well out of hearing, they sprang on their backs
and circled back to the creek-bottom.
Nearing this, they heard the occasional inharmonious notes of an Indian
flute among the trees. Instantly they recognized it as an Indian lover
calling for his sweetheart to come out from the lodges to him.
"Hold the ponies, Red Arrow. My medicine tells me to strike," and

White Otter slid from his horse. He passed among the tepees at the end
of the village, then quickly approached the direction of the noise of the
flute.
The lover heard his approaching footsteps, for White Otter walked
upright until the notes stopped, when he halted to await their renewal.
Again the impatient gallant called from the darkness to his hesitating
one, and our warrior advanced with bared knife in one hand, and bow
in the other with an arrow notched.
When quite near, the Absaroke spoke in his own language, but White
Otter, not understanding, made no reply, though advancing rapidly.
Alas for the surging blood which burns a lover's head, for his quick
advance to White Otter discovered for him nothing until, with a series
of lightning-like stabs, the knife tore its way into his vitals--once, twice,
three times, when, with a wild yell, he sank under his deluded
infatuation.
He doubtless never knew, but his yell had found its response from the
camp. Feeling quickly, White Otter wound his hand among the thick
black hair of his victim's head, and though it was his first, he made no
bad work of the severance of the prize, whereat he ran fast to his chum.
Attracted by the noise, Red Arrow rode up, and they were mounted.
Cries and yells and barking came from the tepees, but silently they
loped away from the confusion--turning into the creek, blinding the
trail in the water for a few yards and regaining the hills from a
much-tracked-up pony and buffalo crossing. Over the bluffs and across
the hills they made their way, until they no longer heard the sounds of
the camp behind them.
Filled with a great exultation, they trotted and loped along until the
moon came up, when White Otter spoke for the first time, addressing it:
"Pretty Mother of the Night--time of the little brown bat's flight--see
what I have done. White Otter is no longer a boy." Then to his pony:
"Go on quickly now, pretty little war-pony. You are strong to carry me.
Do not lame yourself in the dog-holes. Carry me back to the
Chis-chis-chash, and I promise the Mother of the Night, now and here,
where you can hear me speak, that you shall never carry any man but

White Otter, and that only in war."
For three days and nights they rode as rapidly as the ponies could travel,
resting an hour here and there to refresh themselves. Gradually relaxing
after this, they assumed the fox-trot of the plains pony; but they looked
many times behind and doubled often in their trail.
Seeing a band of wolves around a buffalo-bull which was fighting them
off, they rode up and shot arrows into it--the sacrifice to the brother of
the clan who had augured for them. Red Arrow affected to recognize
his old acquaintance in the group.
As they rode on, White Otter spoke: "I shall wear the eagle-feather
standing up in my scalp-lock, for I struck him with a hand-weapon
standing up. It shall wave above the bat and make him strong. The little
brown bat will be very brave in the time to come. We took the clipped
and painted war-ponies from under the chiefs nose, Red Arrow."
"Yes, I did that--but my medicine grew weak when it looked at the
great camp of the Absaroke. Your medicine was very strong, White
Otter; there is no old warrior in the Chis-chis-chash whose is stronger. I
shall take the charcoal again, and see if the Good God won't strengthen
my medicine."
Time brought the victors in sight of their village, which had moved
meanwhile,