"I dreamed so.I am as good at dreaming as an Indian.There is the Hail-Storm; he dreamed the same thing, and he and his crony, the Rabbit, have gone out on discovery."I laughed at Reynal for his credulity, went over to my host's lodge, took down my rifle, walked out a mile or two on the prairie, saw an old bull standing alone, crawled up a ravine, shot him and saw him escape.Then, quite exhausted and rather ill-humored, I walked back to the village.By a strange coincidence, Reynal's prediction had been verified; for the first persons whom I saw were the two trappers, Rouleau and Saraphin, coming to meet me.These men, as the reader may possibly recollect, had left our party about a fortnight before.They had been trapping for a while among the Black Hills, and were now on their way to the Rocky Mountains, intending in a day or two to set out for the neighboring Medicine Bow.They were not the most elegant or refined of companions, yet they made a very welcome addition to the limited society of the village.For the rest of that day we lay smoking and talking in Reynal's lodge.This indeed was no better than a little hut, made of hides stretched on poles, and entirely open in front.It was well carpeted with soft buffalo robes, and here we remained, sheltered from the sun, surrounded by various domestic utensils of Madame Margot's household.
All was quiet in the village.Though the hunters had not gone out that day, they lay sleeping in their lodges, and most of the women were silently engaged in their heavy tasks.A few young men were playing a lazy game of ball in the center of the village; and when they became tired, some girls supplied their place with a more boisterous sport.At a little distance, among the lodges, some children and half-grown squaws were playfully tossing up one of their number in a buffalo robe, an exact counterpart of the ancient pastime from which Sancho Panza suffered so much.Farther out on the prairie, a host of little naked boys were roaming about, engaged in various rough games, or pursuing birds and ground-squirrels with their bows and arrows; and woe to the unhappy little animals that fell into their merciless, torture-loving hands! A squaw from the next lodge, a notable active housewife named Weah Washtay, or the Good Woman, brought us a large bowl of wasna, and went into an ecstasy of delight when I presented her with a green glass ring, such as I usually wore with a view to similar occasions.
The sun went down and half the sky was growing fiery red, reflected on the little stream as it wound away among the sagebushes.Some young men left the village, and soon returned, driving in before them all the horses, hundreds in number, and of every size, age, and color.The hunters came out, and each securing those that belonged to him, examined their condition, and tied them fast by long cords to stakes driven in front of his lodge.It was half an hour before the bustle subsided and tranquillity was restored again.By this time it was nearly dark.Kettles were hung over the blazing fires, around which the squaws were gathered with their children, laughing and talking merrily.A circle of a different kind was formed in the center of the village.This was composed of the old men and warriors of repute, who with their white buffalo robes drawn close around their shoulders, sat together, and as the pipe passed from hand to hand, their conversation had not a particle of the gravity and reserve usually ascribed to Indians.I sat down with them as usual.
I had in my hand half a dozen squibs and serpents, which I had made one day when encamped upon Laramie Creek, out of gunpowder and charcoal, and the leaves of "Fremont's Expedition," rolled round a stout lead pencil.I waited till I contrived to get hold of the large piece of burning BOIS DE VACHE which the Indians kept by them on the ground for lighting their pipes.With this I lighted all the fireworks at once, and tossed them whizzing and sputtering into the air, over the heads of the company.They all jumped up and ran off with yelps of astonishment and consternation.After a moment or two, they ventured to come back one by one, and some of the boldest, picking up the cases of burnt paper that were scattered about, examined them with eager curiosity to discover their mysterious secret.From that time forward I enjoyed great repute as a "fire-medicine."
The camp was filled with the low hum of cheerful voices.There were other sounds, however, of a very different kind, for from a large lodge, lighted up like a gigantic lantern by the blazing fire within, came a chorus of dismal cries and wailings, long drawn out, like the howling of wolves, and a woman, almost naked, was crouching close outside, crying violently, and gashing her legs with a knife till they were covered with blood.Just a year before, a young man belonging to this family had gone out with a war party and had been slain by the enemy, and his relatives were thus lamenting his loss.
Still other sounds might be heard; loud earnest cries often repeated from amid the gloom, at a distance beyond the village.They proceeded from some young men who, being about to set out in a few days on a warlike expedition, were standing at the top of a hill, calling on the Great Spirit to aid them in their enterprise.While Iwas listening, Rouleau, with a laugh on his careless face, called to me and directed my attention to another quarter.In front of the lodge where Weah Washtay lived another squaw was standing, angrily scolding an old yellow dog, who lay on the ground with his nose resting between his paws, and his eyes turned sleepily up to her face, as if he were pretending to give respectful attention, but resolved to fall asleep as soon as it was all over.
