The Old North Trail: Life, Legends and Religion of the Blackfeet Indians

By Walter McClintock

In 1886 Walter McClintock went to northwestern Montana as a member of a U.S. Forest Service expedition. He was adopted as a son by Chief Mad Dog, the high priest of the Sun Dance, and spent the next four years living on the Blackfoot Reservation. The Old North Trail, originally published in 1910, is a record of his experiences among the Blackfeet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arcadia Press
• Release date: Oct 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9788835322610

Book preview

race.

CHAPTER I

MY INTRODUCTION TO THE BLACKFEET

I FIRST visited the country of the Blackfeet as a member of a Government expedition under Gifford Pinchot, Chief of the Forest Service of the United States, which had been sent into the north-west by the National Forest Commission, to report upon the advisability of forming certain national forest reserves.

Siksikakoan (Blackfoot-Man), also known as William Jackson, was a noted Indian scout, who had served in the Indian campaigns under Generals Miles and Custer. He related to me the thrilling story of his escape through the Sioux lines, at the time of the disastrous battle of the Little Big Horn, June 25th, 1876, when General Custer and his battalion of the 7th U.S. cavalry were annihilated by the Sioux.¹ Siksikakoan was attached as a scout to Major Reno’s battalion, co-operating with General Custer’s. During the first confusion of Major Reno’s attack and repulse in the first day’s fighting, First Lieutenant De Rudio, Interpreter Girard, Private O’Neal and Siksikakoan were cut off.² Under cover of darkness, Siksikakoan ventured upon the battle-field and stripped from the dead Sioux sufficient leggings, moccasins and blankets to disguise themselves. Then, in the dead of night, on the 26th, he led his companions safely through their sleeping enemies, to the bluffs north of the river, to which Major Reno had retreated for safety. During the movement Siksikakoan answered the challenges of the Sioux by giving satisfactory replies in the Sioux language.

Siksikakoan continued his scouting service until the close of the Indian wars on the northern plains, when he returned to his tribe on the Blackfeet Reservation. He erected a cabin on Cutbank River, at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. He gradually built up a well-equipped ranch, and owned large herds of cattle and horses. He lived there till the winter of 1899, when he died, as the final result of injuries received during his life of adventure and hardship as a scout.

When the forestry work was completed and my Government associates had departed, Siksikakoan and I were camped together in the forest country of the Flathead Indians, on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains. One evening, by our camp-fire, I agreed to his proposal that we should return to the Blackfeet Reservation on the eastern side of the range; for there, said he, I have many horses and cattle. The mountains are not far distant, where the hunting is good, and the hikes and streams are full of fish. We shall be in the midst of my people, and I will introduce you to the leading chiefs of the Blackfeet.

It was at the beginning of summer, when we started on our journey across the Rocky Mountains, toward the country of the Blackfeet. Our outfit was carried on the backs of pack horses. The trail was difficult and overgrown and frequently blocked by windfalls. Siksikakoan led the way with his axe, while I followed driving the pack horses. On the western slope of the Rockies the forests are very dense, because of the mild climate and abundant rainfall. The trees grow to a large size and the undergrowth is luxuriant. We rode through glades, where the rank masses of weeds and grasses were shoulder high, and passed chains of beautiful lakes, hidden in the gloomy recesses of the forest, where huge tamaracks, firs and spruces grew to the water’s edge, and extended high up on the sides of the mountains This was the haunt of deer, wapiti and moose, many of their tracks being visible in the soft ground along the lake shores.

A botanist would have been delighted with the great numbers of wild flowers in full bloom. I saw magnificent specimens of bear grass (Xerophyllum Douglasii), growing to the height of five feet. Their stalks were surmounted by dense caps of white flowers, each flower on an ascending pedicel an inch or more long. The leaves at the base of the stem were narrow and stiff. The root is used by the Blackfeet as a remedy for fractures and sprains. The leaves of a similar species are used by other Indian tribes in making baskets. There was also a great profusion of pink twin flowers (Linnaeus borealis), with its vine of shiny dark green leaves, also bishop’s caps, light yellow adders’ tongues and flowering dogwood (Cornus canadensis).

During our forest journey I recognised many birds native to my home in the east. When passing lonely lakes, I heard the wild, laughing cry of the loon, and olive-backed thrushes singing along the shores. In the lofty pines were chicadees, winter wrens, hermit thrushes, and myrtle warblers. In the open glades were robins, doves, ruffed grouse, chipping sparrows, flickers, juncos, and tree swallows. Here I first became acquainted with the Macgillivray warbler, his little gray head frequently peering out shyly from the willows along the streams. I found the nest, with four eggs, hidden away in some blackberry bushes, close to a lake. In the bushes were vireos, fly-catchers, and yellow warblers, and, in the deep woods, woodpeckers, red-breasted nuthatches, and golden-crown kinglets.

We surprised a large bear sunning himself in the trail, but he quietly and quickly disappeared into the forest. The trail led through a broad valley and along the bank of a swift mountain stream, climbing continually upwards towards the Continental Divide. When we reached a high altitude, the trees became gnarled and stunted, and we were frequently enveloped in heavy clouds. Here were many tracks of big-horn, and we saw a band of Rocky Mountain goats high up on the mountain side. Hoary marmots, or whistlers greeted us from the cliffs with their shrill calls, but they were so timid that they quickly disappeared on our approach. We entered a huge basin, surrounded by towering peaks — a superb and vast amphitheatre about four miles wide from side to side. At the bottom was a sparkling lake, with wooded shores, surmounted by a circular mountain wall with a sheer height of 3,000 feet. It was fed by many streams, which had their sources in the glaciers and fell over precipitous cliffs with a constant roar, reverberating like thunder from the surrounding walls of rock.

The Indians have given to the main range of the Rocky Mountains the appropriate name Backbone-of-the-World. Standing on the summit of the Cutbank Pass (7,861 feet), we were surrounded by dazzling glaciers and stupendous mountains mantled with snow. The intense brightness of the snow-fields was relieved by the dark green covering of forests, which lined the valleys far below. Four miles to the north lay the Triple Divide — the Crown of the Continent, where the water-shed divides between the Pacific Ocean, Hudson Bay, and the Gulf of Mexico. Directly south was the sharply-pointed Flinch’s peak, which lifted its towering mass like a cathedral spire 5,000 feet above the valley. It is impossible from the illustration to realise the sheer precipitousness of this peak.

On the west were Mt. James (10,155 feet), Mt. Pinchot (9,332 feet), and Ram Mountain, so called because frequented by many Rocky Mountain rams. To the north-west was Mt. Blackfoot (9,591), and the magnificent Blackfoot Glacier, a vast expanse of ice and snow. Beyond rose the summit of Mt. Jackson³ (10,023), and under its shoulder the Harrison Glacier, with its wonderful ice cascades. Turning farther to the north, we could see a multitude of peaks. Among them were Mt. Siyeh⁴ (or Mad Wolf, 10,004); Little Chief- (9,542); Going-to-the-Sun (9,594); Four Bears-; Almost-a-Dog⁵ (8,911); Mt. Grinnell (8,838), and the Grinnell Glacier; Mt. Red Eagle,⁶ and the Red Eagle Glacier, which is the source of Red Eagle Creek. The Grinnell Glacier is fenced on the west by a remarkable, serrated ridge of the Continental Divide known as The Garden Wall.

In close proximity are the Gun-sight Pass (its contour resembling a gun-sight), and the Sperry Glacier; the Sexton Glacier, with its half mile of ice front, and the Swift Current Pass. Words fail to describe the magnificence of the glaciers and waterfalls, and the majesty and impressive beauty of the numerous high peaks and stupendous mountain ranges. Although this country is practically unknown, the difficult trails being frequented only by hunters, trappers, and Indians, its scenic wonders are probably unsurpassed by any within the United States. The region should be reserved by the Government as a National Park and Game Preserve.

From the summit of the Pass, Siksikakoan pointed out the course of our trail eastward, following the Cutbank River through a long, winding valley, with high, snow-covered mountain ranges on either side. Beyond stretched the tawny plains — the country of the Blackfeet, resembling a distant ocean in its level expanse, and extending eastward many hundreds of miles into the dim and hazy horizon. We descended from the summit of Cutbank Pass between two small glacier lakes. In their dark and still waters, the surrounding crags and mountain walls were clearly reflected and many miniature icebergs were floating, having fallen from the fronts of the overhanging glaciers.

The travelling on the eastern side of the Rockies was much easier and in marked contrast with our difficult ascent of the western side. We now followed a trail, worn deep into the ground by generations of Blackfeet and other Indian tribes, when they crossed and recrossed the Rocky Mountains on their war and hunting expeditions. We entered a forest at the head of the canyon, where the snow clung heavily to the balsams and pines. As we descended, the snow disappeared and the air became balmy.

The climate east of the mountains is more severe, because subject to extreme changes of temperature. Hailstorms are frequent, and snowstorms often occur in midsummer. In winter there are terrible blizzards, during which the thermometer drops to 50° below zero, (Fahrenheit).

We camped after sunset in a beautiful, natural park of luxuriant bunch-grass, fragrant with wild flowers and surrounded by forests of spruce and pine.

Early next morning — our last day in the mountains — we again took up the trail through the canyon of the Cutbank River. As the sun’s rays entered the canyon, the massive walls of rock, towering overhead, became a brilliant red, while the high peaks glistened with colours as varied as the rainbow’s. In crossing the summit of a high rocky ridge, we had an extended view of the forest-covered valley below, and the course of the river winding through open glades and grassy meadows, until it passed through the entrance of the canyon. Beyond were the foothills, or high, grass-covered ridges, lying in front of the canyon entrance, like a mighty barrier. Here the luxuriant vegetation of the mountains abruptly ended and the dry grass of the prairies began.

After riding through the foothills, we crossed an old trail, running north and south, now overgrown with grass. Siksikakoan explained that it was the Old North Trail. It is no longer used by the Indians, its course having been broken in many places by the fences and towns of the white man’s advancing civilisation. Yet the old horse trail and travois tracks were still plainly visible, having been worn deep by many generations of travelling Indians.

We rode out over the treeless plains until, from the crest of a ridge, about twenty miles from the main range of the Rockies, we looked down upon a scene, which I will never forget because of its novel and exceeding beauty. In a luxuriant tract of meadow, and on the shore of a lake, lay the tribal camp of the Blackfeet, pitched in the form of an enormous circle. The undulating ridges, which surrounded it were brilliant with blue lupines and velvet-leaf sun-flowers. Great herds of horses were contentedly feeding on the rich bunch grass. Smoke from the evening fires was rising from the lodges. A faint breeze, laden with a pleasant fragrance from the meadows, brought distinctly the sounds of an Indian camp, the shouts of men and women, the crying of children, the barking of many dogs and the slow, measured beating of Indian tom-toms in dances and ceremonial gatherings.

After entering the Blackfeet camp, I accompanied Siksikakoan while he visited the lodges of the different chiefs. As we sat smoking a friendly pipe together, he explained to them that I had come from the Great Father (President of the United States), for the purpose of protecting the forests of their country, that they might be preserved for future generations. In this way I first met Chief Mad Wolf (Siyeh), their greatest orator, the high priest of their Sun-dance and the owner of the Beaver Medicine Bundle (an important ceremonial). This was the beginning of a mutual bond of sympathy and attachment, unusual between an Indian and a white man, which developed gradually into a strong and lasting friendship.

On my first night in the Blackfeet camp, I chose to sleep outside the camp circle in a meadow, not far from Mad Wolfs lodge, because the weather was clear and warm and I had no fear of being molested by the Indians. I was within hearing of any ceremonials that would take place in Mad Wolfs lodge and nothing of moment could occur in the encampment without my knowledge.

I placed my blanket-bed on the prairie-grass, and, instead of the lodge covering for a roof, I had the magnificent canopy of the night-sky, spangled with an innumerable multitude of stars. On account of the clearness of the atmosphere over the plains, these sparkling orbs of light shone with a rare brilliance and splendour, and appeared lower down in the horizon than I had ever seen elsewhere. Lying on my back and gazing up into the wonderful beauty of the heavens gave me an overwhelming sense of the infinity of God’s universe and my own littleness by comparison.

I was not, however, to be entirely free from disturbance. While lying upon my blankets, my attention was attracted by two wandering Indian boys, who had been startled by the weird and ghostly appearance of my bed. They were standing at a short distance conversing together in awed whispers. When I gave a sudden jump and rattled the white canvas covering, they took to their heels, believing that I was a ghost. During the night, I was again aroused by the hot breath of a large animal upon my face. Being awakened from a deep slumber, I imagined that it was a grizzly bear standing over me. Jumping from my blankets with a yell, I found that it was an Indian horse, which had been standing quietly, with lowered head, over my bed. My outfit had aroused his curiosity, but my actions were so precipitate and my appearance, clad in white, so startling, that he quickly stampeded with frightened snorts.

At first I was at a loss to know how to secure suitable board and lodging in the Blackfoot camp. Their diet of dried meat and meat stews was to me neither appetising nor sufficiently nourishing. The difficult problem was, however, solved for me in a very satisfactory way by my friend Big Eyes. I had gained the good will of himself and wife through the interest I had taken in their children. To show their appreciation, his wife, Ips-e-nik-ki, who was skilled in the making of lodges, presented me with an Indian tipi, decorated with pictographs of interesting events in her husband’s life. With the acquisition of a tipi, I had my own home in the camp, but it was necessary to do my own cooking and to care for my own horses and outfit, for the Blackfeet have no servants, and I had not taken a wife.

I soon discovered that my diet of bacon, cereals, and dried fruits was no more pleasing to the Blackfeet than theirs was to me. After Spotted Eagle, the medicine man, had dined with me, he said that he had never been able to understand how people could live on the food eaten by white men. He told me of a journey he had once taken with some officers of the United States Army, with whom he could stay no longer than a week, because of the strange food they ate.

When the Sun festival was finished and the Indians separated, I accompanied Siksikakoan to live on his Blackfoot ranch, not far from Mad Wolfs home on Cutbank River. I found him to be a man of fine mind and practical common sense, resourceful and fearless in emergencies and thoroughly equipped in all that goes to make an ideal guide and companion in the wilds. Under him I learned woodcraft, the handling of the broncho, the mysteries of the diamond hitch and the location of the old Indian trails leading across the plains and through the mountains. He was a natural orator and had standing and influence in the councils of his tribe. He spoke English fluently as well as the Blackfoot and Sioux tongues, and was thoroughly familiar with the ancient customs and traditions of his people. It was under his influence that I became deeply interested in the Blackfeet, and through his friendship that I was gradually brought into an intimate association with their leaders.

During my first summer among the Blackfeet, I rode over the reservation, visiting them in their camps and in their homes. Many interesting subjects crowded themselves upon my mind and enlisted my energies. I carried a medicine case containing simple remedies with which I was sometimes able to relieve the sick and help the injured. I endeavoured in every way to aid their advancement towards the white man’s civilisation, helping in the cultivation of the ground, herding horses and cattle, and cutting timber in the mountains for building their cabins, fences, and corrals. When the sun was hot in midsummer, I helped them to make hay in the luxuriant meadows of the river bottoms. Although that kind of work was hard, it never seemed to dull my mind to the wonderful and ever-changing beauty of prairie, river, and distant mountains. In the clear days of autumn, when the bite of frost was in the air, I joined their hunting expeditions across the broad plains and into the Rocky Mountains.

I now look back with the deepest pleasure upon the freedom of that life, the delight of living and of working in that exhilarating mountain atmosphere. Those who spend sleepless nights, because of the absorbing and nerve-racking occupations of modern civilisation, may well envy my nights of refreshing sleep, while wrapped in my blankets beside some swiftly flowing mountain stream, or on the plains under the open sky. The life of the Indian, so close to the heart of nature, the companionship with inspiring mountains, sunlit plains, lakes and rivers, the ceaseless, but ever beautiful succession of lights and colourings, while day waned into night and night gave place to day, and the wonderful colour transformations, which came and went with the changing seasons, all these fascinated and held me with an irresistible grip.

It required, however, a long period of cordial relations to overcome the natural prejudice of the Indians against a white man, but I gradually gained their confidence, which I was careful never to abuse. I lived with them, not merely for pleasure and adventure, but chiefly for the purpose of gaining as full a knowledge as possible of their characteristics and customs, their traditions and religion. I realised that I had an unusual opportunity of studying a remarkable race of people, who properly belonged to the Stone Age, whose religion and social organisation had come down from a distant past, free from contact with any other religion, or culture. The younger generation were indifferent to their ancient customs and religion and it seemed that this primitive and most interesting people must soon lose their identity and disappear for ever.

CHAPTER II

MY ADOPTION BY MAD WOLF

One afternoon in midsummer, while riding with Siksikakoan across the plains, we met Mad Wolf near Willow Creek. He was alone and signified his desire to speak with me. He was standing with his blanket drawn closely around him. His long hair tinged with gray fell loosely over his shoulders. From his neck hung a medicine whistle made from the wing-bone of an eagle. In his back hair, a single eagle feather stood erect. When I had dismounted, he warmly shook my hand. For a moment, he gazed into my face with eyes as penetrating as those of an eagle. Then, with head erect, he addressed me in a strong and earnest voice.

The snows of two winters have now passed since you first came to live in my country. I have been watching you continually from the time when you first arrived, and my heart feels warm towards you. I have never taken a son from among the white men, but I now wish to adopt you as my son, because I believe that some day you will become a chief among your people. I am growing old, and it is probable that I will go before you to dwell with the Great Spirit, for you are still a young man. When I am gone you will then be left to help and to advise my people.

Having in a few words made known to Mad Wolf my willingness to become his son, he waved his hand towards the North, and said:

My lodge is out there on the plains. It is on the other side of yonder butte, and cannot be seen from here. Come to my lodge to-morrow, when the sun is high. My relatives will be there; I will hold a ceremonial, in which I will paint you with the sacred red paint, and in their presence adopt you as my son.

The developments of subsequent years have enabled me more fully to appreciate Mad Wolfs serious purpose in adopting me as his son. Prompted by the constant misrepresentation and misunderstanding of the Indian by the whites, his purpose was to seek a white man’s strong friendship, hoping for an alliance that would be productive of sympathy and fidelity to the welfare of his tribe. He wanted a white representative, who had lived sufficiently long among his people, to become familiar with their customs, religion, and manner of life, and would tell the truth about them to the white race.

Upon the day following my meeting with Mad Wolf the sky was overcast. Riding in a northerly direction, I arrived at the ridge pointed out by the chief. I paused on its crest, and looked down upon a small Indian camp. The freshening wind had begun to drive low clouds over the plains, while occasionally a furious gust shook the lodges, firmly anchored by ropes thrown around their tops. The only living thing to be seen was a coyote, slinking away over a neighbouring butte, and the only sign of human occupation was the slender wisp of blue smoke issuing from the top of Mad Wolf’s tipi. During a lull in the wind I heard the subdued and measured sounds of Indians chanting and beating upon drums. As I sat still upon my horse, my mind went back many years, and I pictured to myself the days when the ancestors of Mad Wolf and his followers were the rulers of this entire region, and their lodges were numbered by thousands. When the song had ceased I rode down from the ridge and dismounting, raised the door. A small fire was burning in the center, and in the dim light I saw that a large number of Indians were assembled.

Oki! (come in), cried Mad Wolf Upon entering I found myself in a large, well ordered tipi of about twenty -five feet in diameter. Mad Wolf was seated at the back, — the position of honour. His relatives and friends were on either side, the men to his left, and the women to his right. He greeted me with a warm handshake and said, Ke-a-e-es-tsa-kos-ach-kit-satope (spread the robe out for him to sit down). He wore beaded buckskin leggings and moccasins and from his neck was suspended a medicine whistle. He had a noble countenance, and a large and shapely head, the upper part of his body was bare, his shoulders broad and well formed, and his arms strongly developed, he was in every way a magnificent specimen of Indian manhood. From his piercing glance and the firm expression of his mouth, I knew he was accustomed to command. He had a natural dignity of manner, while conducting the ceremonial, that fascinated me, and I found myself intently watching his every movement.

Next to Mad Wolf, and assisting him in the ceremonial, was Natoya Apau (Blessed Weasel). The expression of his face and eyes told me that he had a kind heart and a good disposition. On my left was Morning Plume, who gave me a smile of welcome and was careful of my comfort, spreading a robe for my seat and watching that I should make no mistake during the ceremonial. Beyond him were Isoko-yo-kinni, Double Runner, Stock-stchi, Bear Child, and Many White Horses. The latter was so named because he made a speciality of white horses and would have no other colour in his herds.

To the right of Mad Wolf lay the sacred bundle of the Beaver Medicine. Next to it sat Mad Wolf’s wife, Gives-to-the-Sun. From the lodge poles over their heads hung the Medicine Pipe and a raw-hide case containing the Medicine Bonnet. To the right of Gives-to-the-Sun were women and children completely filling the circle to the doorway of the lodge.

All sat silently gazing into the small fire, for they were about to commence a religious ceremony. Gives-to-the-Sun spoke in a low voice to a young woman, who arose and, bending over the fire, slowly stirred a large kettle containing a stew of sarvis berries and tongues. Pointing to her, Mad Wolf explained that she was his daughter who would now become my sister, saying also, When she was small, the enemy had captured her, but I followed them and, when they were preparing to kill her, I jumped among them and, striking the enemy down on both sides, rescued her. So we named her ‘Strikes-on-both-sides!’

A large pipe of polished red stone was continually circulating, everyone smoking except the children. The pipe always started from Mad Wolf, who first blew four whiffs to the Sun and four to the Earth, then it was passed to Blessed Weasel on his left, who handed it to me, stem first. After smoking I passed it on to Morning Plume. On its return I handed it to Blessed Weasel, stem first as before, but was corrected by him, with the explanation that, in going towards Mad Wolf, the pipe should have been handed bowl first. No one else seemed to notice this infraction of one of their customs. I was often impressed, in gatherings of the Blackfeet, by the dignified courtesy and genuine nobility of manners on the part of their head men, in passing over, without remark, or notice, any unwitting breach of social or ceremonial observance.

Mad Wolf began the ceremonial by taking a hot coal from the fire with a long forked stick. He placed dried sweet grass upon it and the rising smoke soon filled the lodge with a pleasing fragrance. At this moment the clouds parted in the sky, and the sun came out. The bright rays, streaming down through the top of the lodge, shone upon the ground in front of Mad Wolf. Holding his hands in the sweet smoke of the incense. Mad Wolf passed them along his arms and upon his breast to purify himself, and then chanted:

"To-day, our father (Sun) shines into the lodge, his power is very strong.

"Last night our mother (Moon) shone into the lodge, her power is very strong.

I pray the Morning Star (their Son) that, when he rises at daybreak, he too will shine in to bless us and to bring us long life.

Mad Wolf and Blessed Weasel together led a chorus in which all joined. The women held aloft their left hands and closely watched Mad Wolf, who with bent arms held his hands folded on a level with his head. Then passing his hands along his arms alternately, after their manner of a blessing, he finally folded them upon his breast, and chanted:

"Mother Earth have pity on us, and give us food to eat!

Father, the Sun, bless all our children, and may our paths be straight!

Taking a sacred stick decorated with red paint, representing a cane. Mad Wolf placed it upon his right and left shoulders in turn, and prayed for long life. Blessed Weasel did likewise, handing the cane to me. I laid it upon both of my shoulders while they prayed that I might live to be old. The cane was passed around the circle, all performing the same ceremony. When the stick was returned to Mad Wolf, he and Blessed Weasel with their wives placed their hands upon it and sang a low chant.

Mad Wolf brought forth a small buckskin bag from which he took some red clay, the sacred paint which the Blackfeet believe has power to ward off sickness and to bring long life. When I saw him preparing it in his hands, I knew the moment for my adoption had arrived. There was an impressive silence as he motioned to me and said, Here comes my white son. While kneeling before him, he painted my face on the forehead, chin and both cheeks, representing the Sun’s daily course through the heavens. The forehead represented the rising, and the left cheek the setting Sun. Then taking the beaver skin, he passed it down both sides of my head, shoulders and arms to the hands, ending with an upward movement, by which he imparted his blessing and prayed:

Before you, my father, Great Sun Chief, I now adopt this young man as my son. Let the red paint be like the sunlight to protect and bring him health and strength. May all my people be friendly and protect him that he may be happy as long as he remains among his Indian brothers and sisters. My father, the Sun, who gives us light, keep him from harm when he goes again to his home towards the East. Give him light by day, that his path may be free from danger. If he should go into the wrong trail, lead him safely back, that his path may be firm and down hill to old age. As the sweet smoke of the incense ascends towards the sky, so may our prayers arise and be acceptable to thee, O thou great Sun God!

After the prayer Mad Wolf directed Blessed Weasel to unroll a bundle containing buffalo and elk hides, which were spread out before the men. Large rattles were also distributed among them. Mad Wolf handed me two rattles, saying You are now my son and should take part in this ceremonial. Kneeling on the ancient buffalo hide, I joined with them in the chants and beat time on the hide with my rattles. The first chant we sang represented a porcupine sitting on a hill and watching a beaver at work. The porcupine said: I will take my bow and arrows and kill you. But the beaver jumping into the stream swam off under the water and escaped. We also sang the song of the war eagle, describing it as soaring high in the air above the mountain peaks and at times swooping down towards the earth when seeking its prey. Mad Wolf then danced around the fire with the pipe, singing and, at intervals, blowing upon his medicine whistle. Stock-stchi took the pipe from Mad Wolf. He blew four whiffs to the North, South, East and West, and then, holding the pipe towards the Sun, prayed to the Great Spirit in the Sun for the recovery of his sick child.

Mad Wolf ended the ceremonial at sunset with the prayer:

"Great Sun God! Continue to give us your light that the leaves and grass may grow so that our cattle will increase and our children may live to be old.

Our mother! (the Moon), give us sleep that we may rise again like our father (the Sun). May our lives be strong, and may our hearts feel good towards our white brothers, as we are all your children.

When the wife of Blessed Weasel arose to ladle out the stew, Mad Wolf directed that she set aside for his white son some of the tongue which the Blackfeet consider a delicacy. When the stew had been passed to everyone, I was preparing to eat, when Blessed Weasel motioned to me. Then I noticed that all were waiting. To my surprise it was for a blessing upon the food for, after a short pause, Mad Wolf said: The berries that grow are blessed, for upon them we live. He held a sarvis berry aloft in his right hand and chanted, everyone imitating his motions and joining with him in his prayer to Mother Earth that they might live to see many summers. After each person had planted a berry in the ground, a symbolic act in recognition of the source of their sustenance, they partook of the feast. None of the food was wasted. What remained was gathered together and set aside.

When I was ready to depart for my camp, Mad Wolf said, O-mis-tai-po-kah (White Calf), the head chief, and I are selecting for you an Indian name. I ask you to come again to my lodge in one week. I replied, that next day I would start with Siksikakoan on a hunting expedition into the Rocky Mountains. He sat in silence for a moment and then said:

It is now the moon when the leaves are beginning to turn yellow. I have adopted you as my son, and you have met my family and relatives. On the first day of the full moon, at the time when the leaves are falling, I will be camped on the South Fork of Cutbank River. Come to my lodge on that day, for I will have there the leading chiefs and medicine men. I will hold a sacred ceremonial, and will unroll the ancient Medicine Bundle of the Beavers. We will give you an Indian name, again painting you with the sacred paint, and receiving you into the tribe of the Blackfeet.

CHAPTER III

HUNTING IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS

Early on the following morning, the herd was driven into the corral, the pack and saddle horses selected and roped. In a short time the packs were on and we started across the plains for the mountains. The sky was of the deepest blue. In the clear air the high peaks of the Rockies, white with fresh snow, appeared deceptively near. Siksikakoan led the way, while I followed driving the pack horses. From the start, instead of keeping in line and moving at their usual gait, they persistently straggled off over the plain. It is a peculiarity of most pack horses that, at the beginning of an expedition, they realise the work ahead and spend their first energies in seeking to avoid their task.

They very much resemble men in disposition. First of all, there is the ambitious horse, who is only content when leading the rest, and in that capacity is invaluable; then the reliable hard-working horse, who attends strictly to business; the crafty and lazy horse,