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Discovering Diverse Content Through
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 CHAP. XII.
THE LEGEND OF THE SALINE RIVER.

Many years since, long before the whites had extended their march
beyond the banks of the Mississippi river, a tribe of Indians resided
upon the Platte, near its junction with the Saline. Among these was
one, the chief warrior of the nation, celebrated throughout all the
neighbouring country, for his fierce and unsparing disposition. Not a
hostile village within several hundred miles, but wailed for those who
had fallen beneath his arm; not a brook, but had run red with the
blood of his victims. He was for ever engaged in plotting destruction
to his enemies. He led his warriors from one village to another,
carrying death to the inhabitants, and desolation to their homes. He
was a terror to old and young.
Often, alone and unattended, would he steal off, to bathe his hands
in blood, and add new victims to the countless number of those
whom he had already slain. But fearful as he was to the hostile
tribes, he was equally dreaded by his own people. They gloried in
him as their leader, but shrank from all fellowship with him. His
lodge was deserted, and even in the midst of his own nation he was
alone. Yet there was one being who clung to him, and loved him, in
defiance of the sternness of his rugged nature. It was the daughter
of the chief of the village; a beautiful girl, and graceful as one of the
fawns of her own prairie.
Though she had many admirers, yet when the warrior declared his
intention of asking her of her father, none dared come in competition
with so formidable a rival. She became his wife, and he loved her
with all the fierce energy of his nature. It was a new feeling to him.
It stole like a sunbeam, over the dark passions of his heart. His
feelings gushed forth, to meet the warm affection of the only being
that had ever loved him. Her sway over him was unbounded. He was
as a tiger tamed. But this did not last long. She died; he buried her;
he uttered no wail, he shed no tear. He returned to his lonely lodge,
and forbade all entrance. No sound of grief was heard from it—all
was silent as the tomb. The morning came, and with its earliest
dawn he left the lodge. His body was covered with war paint, and he
was fully armed as if for some expedition. His eye was the same;
there was the same sullen fire that had ever shot from its deep sunk
socket. There was no wavering of a single feature; there was not the
shrinking of a single muscle. He took no notice of those around him;
but walked gloomily to the spot where his wife was buried. He
paused for a moment over the grave—plucked a wild flower from
among grass, and cast it upon the upturned sod. Then turning on his
heel, strode across the prairie.
After the lapse of a month, he returned to his village, laden with the
scalps of men, women, and children, which he hung in the smoke of
his lodge. He tarried but a day among the tribe, and again set off,
lonely as ever. A week elapsed, and he returned, bringing with him a
large lump of white salt. In a few words he told his tale. He had
travelled many miles over the prairie. The sun had set in the west,
and the moon was just rising above the verge of the horizon. The
Indian was weary, and threw himself on the grass. He had not slept
long, when he was awakened by the low wailing of a female. He
started up, and at a little distance, by the light of the moon, beheld
an old, decrepit hag, brandishing a tomahawk over the head of a
young female, who was kneeling, imploring mercy.
The warrior wondered how two females could be at this spot, alone,
and at that hour of the night; for there was no village within forty
miles of the place. There could be no hunting party near, or he
would have discovered it. He approached them; but they seemed
unconscious of his presence. The young female finding her prayers
unheeded, sprang up, and made a desperate attempt to get
possession of the tomahawk. A furious struggle ensued, but the old
woman was victorious. Twisting one hand in the long black hair of
her victim, she raised the weapon in her other, and prepared to
strike. The face of the young female was turned to the light, and the
warrior beheld with horror, the features of his deceased wife. In an
instant he sprang forward, and his tomahawk was buried in the skull
of the old squaw. But ere he had time to clasp the form of his wife,
the ground opened, both sank from his sight, and on the spot
appeared a rock of white salt. He had broken a piece from it, and
brought it to his tribe.
This tradition is still current among the different tribes of Indians
frequenting that portion of the country. They also imagine, that the
rock is still under custody of the old squaw, and that the only way to
obtain a portion of it, is to attack her. For this reason, before
attempting to collect salt, they beat the ground with clubs and
tomahawks, and each blow is considered as inflicted upon the
person of the hag. The ceremony is continued, until they imagine
she has been sufficiently belaboured, to resign her treasure without
opposition. This superstition, though privately ridiculed by the chiefs
of the different tribes, is still practised by them, and most devoutly
credited by the rabble.
 CHAP. XIII.
THE OTOE MESSENGERS.

On the afternoon following, a little before sunset, we encamped

within ten miles of the Otoe village. Several times during the day, we
had observed the heads of Indians, peering over the hills, but they
had instantly disappeared upon being remarked, nor had an Indian
ventured to approach. Our place of encampment was on a small
knoll. At its foot, a meagre run of impure water was struggling
through the grass, while a long line of tall, rank weeds marked its
course, as it wound a passage along the different hollows. A solitary
tree grew over a small puddle, which had formed in the prairie; and
a cluster of wild plum trees were knotted together around its trunk.
With these exceptions, there was not a tree or a bush in sight.
At a little distance from us was the site of a deserted Indian village.
It had been uninhabited for many years, and the stations where the
lodges once stood were overgrown with weeds and creeping vines. A
short distance off was the burial ground of the place, which
evidently had not been visited for a long time. The tall grass waved
upon the large mounds, and the frightened prairie hen started up
from the resting places of the dead.
We had scarcely encamped, and fixed up the largest tent, when the
loud cry, “Indian a-head!” was bellowed out by the stentorian lungs
of one of the soldiers.
The savage was on a hill, about five hundred yards distant. He was
mounted upon a small black horse; clothed in a scarlet blanket, and
in his hand held a long spear. He sat for some moments watching
our movements; then thumping his heels into the sides of his horse,
he dashed across a hollow that intervened, and galloped to the door
of the tent. Here he sprang from the animal, and turning him loose,
walked up to the guide. They were well acquainted; but his
salutation was calm and cold; a slight smile played over his face, for
a moment, as he recognized him, then all was quiet. His features
were like stone; and whatever passions may have lurked within his
bosom, his countenance was not the mirror that reflected them. He
was attired in the wild garb of those Indians, who as yet had but
little intercourse with the whites. A pair of rough leggings were
drawn over his legs, and a piece of blue cloth was secured around
his hips. The rest of his body was unclothed, unless the red blanket,
which most of the time, lay on the ground at his feet, might have
been considered part of his apparel.
The chief of the Otoe village had been apprised of our approach,
and had sent this warrior to watch, lest we should come upon the
town before it was prepared for our reception. He hung around the
tent for some time, saying little; but we could see, that while his
face was apparently turned towards the ground, his dark eyes were
moving with restless activity in every direction, scanning every action
of the party. He remained with us a short time; then having received
a few presents for the chiefs and one or two for himself, he caught
the end of the buffalo tug, which though secured to the neck of his
horse, was long enough to trail twenty feet after him in the grass—
and with a sudden jerk brought the animal to him and sprang upon
his back.
He had scarcely mounted, before another Indian appeared on an
opposite hill, and galloped towards us. He exchanged a slight
salutation with the first comer, and passing him, shook hands with
the guide. There was more cordiality about him, than we had
observed in the other, and his face wanted the cold reserve, which
marked that of the first. Upon reaching the tent, he immediately
signified his intention to remain during the night, and accordingly
turned loose the small white horse upon which he rode. Then
lighting his pipe, he wrapped his blanket round him, and quietly
seated himself near the fire—watching the cook, who was busily
engaged in preparing supper.
The other, finding what was his intention, started off towards the
village, and in a few moments was out of sight.
 CHAP. XIV.
AN OTOE WARRIOR.—THE IOTAN CHIEF.

The whole prairie was glowing with the rays of the morning sun
when we started for the Otoe village. Our journey lay for the whole
distance, along the borders of the Platte. It was a soft golden
morning, and the water danced with a very air of happiness,
sparkling and bubbling in silver and rainbow brightness, as it
scudded along its broad channel. Its surface was studded with
islands, teeming with verdure, and tinted with all the various hues of
autumn. The birds were piping out their matin hymns, and the fish
were splashing sportively beneath their watery covering, sending a
thousand silver circlets eddying onward to the shore. The prairie
grass was bending beneath the dew-drops, which hung like strings
of crystal upon their withering blades.
The heavy waggons were now kept closely together. The whole
party, which during the first part of the journey had straggled widely
apart, were collected. Our Otoe friend rode in front, accompanied by
Major D——, the Indian agent. We had travelled for several miles,
when we observed a single Indian galloping towards us on a large
spotted horse. In a few moments he came up. He was one of the
principal braves of the Otoe nation. He was completely naked, with
the exception of a small piece of cloth secured around his hips. His
head was shaven, and to the scalp-lock was attached an ornament
of deer’s hair, resembling the crest of an ancient helmet. His whole
person, head, face, and body, had been covered with vermilion, until
it was the colour of blood, and at a few yards’ distance, he looked as
if he had been skinned alive. But notwithstanding his bloody
appearance, his countenance, though calm and grave, had a mild
expression not usually met with among the Indians. His whole
demeanour was prepossessing, and when he spoke, his voice was
like soft music. He was a favourite with most of the wild traders in
that part of the country, on account of his generous character. If a
stranger entered the village, he was the first to welcome him to his
lodge, and to protect him from the insults of the meaner spirits of
his nation. Yet even with this chivalrous nature, he was an Indian
warrior, and an Indian warrior is little better than a murderer. He had
counted as many scalps as any of his nation; but those of hoary age,
of the woman and the child, were hanging in the smoke of his lodge,
in companionship with those of the war-worn warrior.
In an hour’s time we arrived within a short distance of the village,
though as yet it was hidden from our sight by a high bluff. Suddenly,
a horseman dashed from behind it, and came towards us, plying his
lash, and urging his horse forward at a mad speed. The cry of “The
Iotan!” burst from several who had before seen him; and in a few
moments this redoubtable chief was by our side. He had evidently
brought into service the whole of his wardrobe, much of which he
had received from the whites. His hair was long, and round it was
bound a large piece of skin from the head of the grisly bear. Round
his neck, hung a necklace of the claws of the same animal; and what
was of more importance in his estimation, he was clothed in a long
surtout coat of blue cloth, adorned with red facings, and enormously
large brass buttons, and garnished upon each shoulder, with a pair
of tarnished, sickly-looking, silver epaulettes. From beneath the
skirts of the coat appeared two bare legs; and he wore a pair of
coarse mocassins of buffalo hide.
There was a look of comic slyness lurking around the eyes of this
chief, united with an irascible twinkle, which bespoke a character
habitually good natured, but prone to occasional gusts of passion.
The most prominent feature of his face, however, had suffered
mutilation. The end of his nose was wanting. I was curious to learn,
whether this singular wound had been received in battle or private
brawl; and my inquiries made me acquainted with a curious tale of
Indian revenge. There are a dozen different versions of the story, in
circulation among the traders and trappers; but as far as I could
ascertain, the following is the most correct.
 CHAP. XV.
THE IOTAN AND HIS BROTHER, OR INDIAN REVENGE.

It was some years before the Iotan had reached the rank of a chief,
that he was despoiled of his nose in the following manner:—
Several Otoe Indians, by dint of paying fifty times their value, had
become possessed of a number of kegs of whiskey. As this was
rather a rarity, a council was called, and a general carousal of the
male portion of the village resolved upon. The females were
excluded: it being deemed necessary that they should remain sober,
to exercise a conjugal care over their husbands, when so inebriated
as to be unable to take care of themselves. In the mean time, a
person was appointed as guard, whose business it was to keep
watch over the liquor, and drive off all interlopers, who might be
inclined to test its quality before the time appointed. After three
long, and to them lingering days, the time came round; and at the
appointed hour not a soul was behindhand.
The signal was given, and the revel commenced. As the liquor began
to work upon the passions of the revellers, they grew furious. They
howled, yelled, and fought. The females fled from the building. All
weapons had been removed beforehand; for they knew their own
ungovernable nature, when under the influence of liquor, and,
therefore, had taken precautions to prevent the occurrence of
mischief.
But when the whiskey commenced its work, the savage was
changed to a demon, and the lodge resounded with their screams
and howling; there was a hell within its bosom.
The giant warrior fixed his gripe upon the trembling frame of the
aged; brother smote brother; friends fought with bitter fury, and the
weak and decrepit were trampled under foot.
It was in this stage of the riot that the Iotan and his brother had a
furious scuffle. They grappled and rolled upon the ground. In the
frenzy of strife and intoxication, his brother bit off the end of his
nose, and instantly extricating himself, rushed out of the lodge.
The Iotan was perfectly sobered; he paused for a moment, looking
intently in the fire, without uttering a word; then drawing his blanket
over his head, walked out of the building and hid himself in his own
lodge. On the following morning he sought his brother, and told him
that he had disfigured him for life: “tonight,” said he, “I will go to my
lodge and sleep; if I can forgive you when the sun rises, you are
safe; if not, you die.” He kept his word; he slept upon his purpose;
but sleep brought not mercy. He sent word to his brother that he
had resolved upon his death, that there was no further hope for him;
at the same time he besought him to make no resistance, but to
meet his fate as a warrior should.
His brother received the message and fled from the village. An
Indian is untiring in his pursuit of revenge, and though years may
elapse, yet he will obtain it in the end. From the time that it became
the fixed purpose of the Iotan to slay his brother, his assiduity never
slept; he hunted him for months. He pursued his trail over the
prairies; he followed his track from one thicket to another; he traced
him through the friendly villages, but without success; for although
he was untiring, his brother was watchful, and kept out of his way.
The old warrior then changed his plan of action. He laid in wait for
him in the forest, crouching like a tiger, in the paths which he
thought he might frequent in hunting, but he was for a long time
unsuccessful. At length, one day, while seated on a dead tree, he
heard the crackling noise of a twig breaking beneath a cautious
footstep. He instantly crouched behind the log and watched the
opposite thicket. Presently an Indian emerged from it, and gazed
cautiously around. The Iotan recognized his brother instantly. His
careworn face and emaciated form evinced the anxiety and
privations that he had suffered. But this was nothing to the Iotan; as
yet his revenge was unsated, and the miserable appearance of his
brother touched no chord of his heart. He waited until he was within
a few feet of him; then sprang from his lurking place and met him
face to face. His brother was unarmed; but met his fiery look with
calmness and without flinching.
“Ha! ha! brother,” cried the Iotan, cocking his rifle, “I have followed
you long, in vain,—now I have you—you must die.”
The other made no reply; but throwing off his blanket, stepped
before him, and presented his breast. The Iotan raised his rifle and
shot him through the heart.
His revenge was gratified; but from that hour a change came over
him. He became gloomy and morose; shunned the society of his
fellow-men, and roamed the woods, where he was nearly driven to
suicide by the workings of his feelings, and the phantasies of his
brain. It was not until many years had elapsed, that he recovered
from the deep anguish caused by this unnatural act of vengeance.
 CHAP. XVI.
THE RECEPTION.—THE TOWN.

It was many years after this savage deed that the Iotan was
appointed chief of the Otoe tribe, and his after conduct fully justified
the choice of the nation. To an ingenious skill in devising and
planning war parties, he added a desperate daring in carrying them
into effect. And though now well stricken in years, there is no
warrior more constantly lurking in the path of the enemy, and when
it comes to the deadly struggle, no voice is raised in a louder war
whoop, and no arm falls heavier upon their foes, than that of the
Iotan chief.
The old warrior welcomed us cordially, then turning round, he rode
with us in the direction of his village. While he was speaking with the
commissioner, several dusky forms clambered the high bluff before
us, and stood upon its dizzy verge, watching our movements.
Suddenly the Iotan galloped a few yards in front, and waved his
arm, uttering a long, shrill yell. It was answered by a loud whoop
from those on the hill; who instantly commenced whirling their
blankets around their heads. Then all was silent.
For a few moments we were in doubt as to the meaning of the
manœuvre; but suddenly a loud roar rose from behind the bluff, and
a dark troop of wild horsemen burst round its base, and came
pouring down upon us. There must have been several hundred of
them. Every man was naked, but glaring with paint. They flooded
onward, pealing out scream upon scream, brandishing their spears,
and whirling their tomahawks around their heads. It seemed as if old
Pluto had given a holiday, and that his crew were revelling upon the
earth, under the forms of these snorting steeds and their wilder
masters. Still they came on, and the din increased. The old chief was
unmoved, and sat like a statue upon his horse. I looked around upon
our little band: there were several lowering brows and tightly
compressed lips, and the fingers of two or three were on their gun
triggers. They were not accustomed to the Indian welcome; and to
them, all this long parade of yelling warriors wore a menacing
appearance. The band had now approached within a hundred yards.
We could perceive the flashing eyes of the straining horses, the bare
teeth, scowling brows, and starting muscles of the riders. Bow
clattered against bow; tomahawk clashed against tomahawk, and
voice was blended with voice, until the whole din rose in the air, like
the wild tumultuous roar of a raging sea. They were close upon us;
—another moment—and we were lost. The eyes of the soldiers
began to flash fire, their teeth were clenched, and there was an
expression about their faces, which told, that in spite of numbers,
their resistance would be bloody. At that moment, at a signal of the
Iotan, the wild horde separated, and whirled around, enveloped in a
cloud of dust.
The old chief smiled with an air of grim satisfaction, as he observed
the effect produced upon us by his warriors; then raising his voice,
he joined in the wild mêlée around us. Horse dashed against horse,
as the band swept onward in a large circle. Some were hurled from
their seats; others clung to the manes of the maddened horses. The
strong poured down upon the weak and brushed them from their
paths. Ever and anon, some little pepper-spirited horse, vexed with
the hustling, would pause to discharge his heels into the ribs of his
next neighbour; but before it could be done, the crowd would press
upon him, and again he would be borne onward, in the rushing
course of the living whirlpool. No one regarded his neighbour; each
was under the influence of a mad excitement. A giant Indian was
dashing around, upon a horse as powerful as himself, at the inner
verge of the ring. In front of him was another, on a little nag, who
kept near the border for safety. Suddenly they came in contact. The
powerful steed swept onward as if he had met with no obstacle. The
little horse spun out of his path, and his rider threw a somerset in
the air, landing in the very midst of the throng. Fifty hoofs clattered
over his head; but he scrambled out, caught his horse, bounded on
his back with a loud whoop, and flourish of his tomahawk, and
pursued his course as if nothing had happened.
After this scene of hubbub and confusion had continued for about
fifteen minutes, the crowd gradually ceased its clamour, and formed
in a large circle round us, with their horses’ heads towards the party.
Presently the ring broke and was extended in two lines, through
which a band of about thirty warriors slowly advanced, to a long
solemn chant, sung by the whole troop, and accompanied by a kind
of drum. This band was formed of the flower of the Indian village.
None were admitted except those who could boast of having taken a
certain number of scalps, or of having performed an equally
honourable service, in stealing a large number of horses. These
warriors were highly ornamented; paint of every hue was laid upon
their bodies. Their heads were decorated with feathers and the
variegated plumage of the gaudy birds of the Platte islands. Long
strings of wampum hung from their necks and ears. Each bore a
calumet, adorned with feathers and tinkling bells. Some wore
glittering armlets and collars of tin. Their heads were shaven, and
covered with vermilion, and from the top of each hung the
chivalrous scalp lock, generally adorned with an eagle’s plume. As
much care had been bestowed upon the horses as upon their riders,
and they had been selected from the whole village. They now moved
forward with proud step, as if conscious of the haughty character of
those who guided them; but this was as much owing to the
horsemanship of the riders, as to the spirit of the animals
themselves; for there is no class of people better able to show off
the points of a horse than the Indians, for they almost live in their
saddle from childhood.
The band moved slowly forward, and then commenced walking their
horses round, a-breast, in the space between the multitude and our
party; still keeping up their loud and not inharmonious song, which,
we afterwards learned, was in praise of the whites—that is, of their
liberality.
At length the chief gave a signal, and this troop fell back into the
general crowd. Several horses were then presented to the party by
the braves and distinguished warriors.
While this was going on, one old warrior, who was notorious for
being the greatest thief, and for having killed more men than any
other in the village, rose up to boast of what he had done in his
younger days; and to let us know that he was not a man to be
overlooked—a thing which seemed very likely to happen in the
bustle which prevailed. He was lean and shrivelled; but his strength
must have been prodigious in his prime, for every muscle rose like a
rope, upon his withered frame. He spoke for about fifteen minutes,
and then drew back. When he had concluded, another old man rose
up, and in like manner vaunted his former exploits, many of which
savoured strongly of the marvellous. These speeches were
translated with great gravity by the interpreter, who, to confirm our
wavering belief, took an opportunity of whispering into our ears that,
“in boasting of his exploits, an Indian was always scrupulous in
adhering to the truth.” This was perfectly convincing; and while we
travelled along within the verge of possibility, we were resolved to
give credence to all that he uttered.
After listening to a few more of these worthies, and smoking a few
pipes of kinne-ka-neek with the different chiefs, the Iotan rose up,
and the party prepared to move onward towards the town.
In crossing the prairie, which separated us from the village, our
course was stopped by a deep gulley, which about a dozen squaws
were engaged in filling with bushes and weeds, to render it passable
for the heavy waggons. While this was going on, the old Indian who
had first delivered his address, came sweeping up at a full gallop. He
did not pause at the hollow; but, probably for the purpose of
showing off his horsemanship, dashed down into it. His horse made
a vigorous spring up the opposite bank, but lost his footing on its
slippery verge, and, after a desperate scrambling, rolled with his
rider, floundering in the mud at the bottom. There was a loud shout
of laughter at his expense. For a moment he stood glaring about him
like an angry tiger; then raising his withered arm, he shook it at the
crowd. “Laugh on! laugh on!” exclaimed he, “I am old and feeble
now; but there was a time when you would not have dared to have
done this.” Having given vent to his impotent rage, he sprang upon
his horse, scrambled up the bank, and galloped forward to the
village.
In the course of an hour we reached the town. A large concourse of
women and children followed at the heels of the party, and clustered
like bees around the heavy waggons as they toiled along. We passed
through the town, and fixed upon a small hill at about five hundred
yards distance, as our camping ground. Accordingly the heavy
waggons were drawn up; the tents were pitched around them, and
the horses and oxen, being released from their labours, were sent
off to a thick bottom of timber at a short distance, where the wild
pea vines were matting together in the greatest luxuriance.
The village of the Otoe Indians is situated upon a ridge of swelling
hills overlooking the darkly wooded banks of the Platte river, about a
quarter of a mile distant. There is but little beauty or neatness about
an Indian town. The lodges are built in the shape of a half egg. They
frequently are twenty feet in height, and sometimes sixty in
diameter. The roofs are formed of long poles, which diverge, like the
radii of a circle, from one common centre. The ring of the circle is
formed of upright posts, driven closely together in the ground, and
projecting upward about five feet. These are interwoven with
brushwood and the smaller branches of trees, and form the support
of the outer end of the poles composing the roof, the interstices of
which are also interwoven with twigs and brushwood. The whole is
then covered with earth, and when finished resembles a large
hillock. The town contained about seventy of these lodges, standing
singly or in groups, without any attention to order or regularity.
Within, they are capacious, but dark, being lighted merely by a small
aperture at the top, which serves both as window and chimney. The
fire is built in a cavity in the centre, directly under the hole in the
roof, by which the smoke escapes after floating in easy wreaths
about the interior.
As the lodges are very spacious, a little back from the fire there is a
circular range of tree trunks standing like columns, and connected
by timber laid in their forks, forming a support for the roof, which
otherwise, from the great length of the poles that form it, and the
heavy mass of superincumbent earth, might fall in, and bury the
inhabitants. Around the wall of the building, are ranged cribs or
berths for sleeping, screened from view by heavy mats of grass and
rushes. Over the fire is inclined a forked stake, in the hook of which
hangs a large kettle, generally filled with buffalo flesh and corn.
This, to judge from its looks, is never removed from the fire, even
for the purpose of cleaning it.
 CHAP. XVII.
INDIAN HABITS.—THE ESCAPE.

We had been a week in the village, and had become familiar with all
the antiquated gossips of the place. The old warriors would stop us
as we lounged around, to listen to some sly joke, which, as in duty
bound, we relished most highly; though the wit of it was for the
most part beyond our fathom, as it lay hid in the arcana of their
language. The old squaws would hold us by the button, and whine
into our ears some lugubrious tale of misery, equally unintelligible.
The children soon lost the shyness which had at first marked their
conduct; they were continually hanging around the tents, teasing
the black cook, or frightening the oxen. When not thus engaged,
they were scampering like deer across the prairie, in the enjoyment
of their wild games. Here and there, too, a knot were busily engaged
in gambling away arrows, which they had received from their
parents; discussing, with the most earnest eagerness, the fairness
and unfairness of each toss of their competitor.
Our tents became the gathering place of the whole tribe, where they
assembled to discuss the news of the day. Here they would light
their pipes, and talk over the deeds of former times; of scalps taken
—of horses stolen—of buffalo hunts, and of hair-breadth escapes
from the Sioux and Osage Indians. All the incidents which tend to
variegate the desultory life of a savage were here brought into
review by the gossiping group; receiving their meed of praise or
censure, as they deserved it. Among the rest they spoke high in
praise of a young Indian, who stood at a little distance. He was
leaning against a wheel of one of the waggons, gazing, though with
an evident air of abstraction, upon the group collected round the
fire. He was scarcely twenty; yet he was already a brave, and stood
high among the older warriors. A long feather hung from his scalp-
lock, and was his only ornament. A blanket was thrown loosely over
the lower part of his body, and was his only covering. Among various
things related of him, was the following:—
A few weeks before our arrival at the village, he was returning one
afternoon from an unsuccessful hunting excursion, which had taken
him to a great distance from his home. The crimson disk of the sun
was scarcely visible above the tops of the prairie hills. The burning
heat of a hot summer’s day was mellowing down into the mildness
of a July evening, and, one by one, the ravens and vultures were
winging a steady course towards their roosts in the thick forest
skirting the Missouri.
The Otoe had yet twenty miles to travel, and it would be nightfall
before he could reach his village; but he would not push his
generous steed, which was already much fatigued. He, therefore,
rode slowly across the prairie, occasionally chirruping to the horse,
or humming some Indian song.
Suddenly his quick eye was caught by the appearance of a black
speck, which rose over the edge of a distant hill, between himself
and the setting sun. In a moment after, the whole figure of a
mounted Indian emerged to view, followed by four others also
mounted. They did not observe the Otoe, but continued riding along
the top of the ridge, in the same direction with himself. Supposing
them to be some of his own tribe, he checked his horse, and raised
a loud whoop to attract their notice.
At first they did not hear him, but a second shout, raised at the full
pitch of his lungs, brought them to a halt. A short consultation
seemed to take place; after which they rode slowly and carelessly
towards him, as if they by no means intended to hurry themselves in
obeying his call. As they were some distance off, he dismounted
from his horse, laid his rifle in the grass in front of him, and, lighting
his pipe, prepared to smoke until they should reach him. He lay
intently watching them as they drew nearer. He, however, soon
discovered, from some peculiarity in their dress, that they were not
Otoes, but, as he supposed, Kanzas, who were then at peace with
his tribe.
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