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Shortly after the killing of Crazy Horse, my father came home one day with a new gun and a six-shooter. He told me to take good care of these because they belonged to the soldiers, but that I could use them if I cared to. Needless to say, I did! I strapped that six-shooter right onto my belt. There was a fine holster in which to carry the gun, and I felt as proud as a peacock to be sporting a real six-shooter, just like a young man, although I was but ten years of age at that time.

I was very anxious to try the six-shooter to see how well it would shoot. So I got a few of the boys together and we went out rabbit-hunting. I did not care whether we shot any rabbits or not, for the loud report of the gun was all I wanted. It was like your Fourth of July to me. The other boys stood around to listen to the noise, and I could see that they were anxious to shoot the gun. So I gave each one a chance, and we had a real picnic.

Soon after this we were compelled to move toward the Mini Sose or Mud Water River, which the white people call the Missouri. The Spotted Tail Agency was located there. We were now supposed to go to the old Ponca Agency, which was located below the Yankton Agency on the west side of the river, the Yankton Agency being located on the east side. We heard the Red Cloud Agency was to be moved also. They were following the Big White River to the Missouri.

Our first move from Beaver Creek was not very far. There I saw lots of cattle (or spotted buffalo as we called them) being driven alongside our camp. There were also a great lot of wagons with blue boxes on them. These were dragged six or eight miles. Then I learned that these cattle were for us to eat as we moved along, and that the wagons were loaded with rations. So we were not worried, as we had plenty to eat, and were not in any hurry about getting to our destination.

It was now late fall and getting very cold, and finally snow began to fall. We were pretty well used to the hard winters, so we did not mind this very much. Even though the Government was compelling us to move, they were beginning to treat us very nicely at this time. General Custer had been killed for trying to take our land from us by force; so now the Government was trying another plan. Our Indians knew this, and acted quite independent. Whenever the camp moved, the Indians chose the place to stop, and when they moved again, the agent did not have very much to say to them, for he knew better. We went either on horseback or on foot; but we had very fine times in those days.

When we came to the Little White River, where Rosebud Agency is now located, that country was full of game. The deer were so plentiful that they often ran right through our camp. I had plenty of good times here with my six-shooter. I never killed a deer with it, but as long as it made a loud report I was satisfied.

Shortly after this my father told me I had been selected to act as a scout for the soldiers. Then I began to notice that several of the young men among us were carrying six-shooters just like mine. I think I was the youngest scout the United States Government ever employed—and I did not even know I was a scout!

The idea of moving our band was because the Government had several men scheming to get our land away from us. It appears that if they could persuade enough of the Sioux to keep these two agencies on the west side of the Missouri River, from the mouth of Big White River down to the mouth of the Niobrara, then the Government would jump in with some sort of agreement to be signed. Then some of the crooked chiefs among our people who were standing in with the whites would be given some ‘fire-water,’ calico, and promises, and after they were good and drunk they would sign off what did not belong to them alone. This would be done without the knowledge of the other chiefs. As long as there were enough chiefs present to obtain the necessary signatures, it made no difference to the Government whether they were drunk or sober. The agreement would be signed and the Sioux would lose their land. This happened more than once.

When we got to the Missouri River, we discovered that it was no place for us. It was nothing like the place on Little White River; but the Commissioners tried to argue the chiefs into the belief that this land was very good for farming; but what did we care—or know—about farming at that time? We did not need to. Everything necessary for our comfort and needs grew wild in our own land. Why move us here where there was nothing? We wanted plenty of game, wood, and water.

Now that we were at the Missouri River and found it was not the place for us to stay, we tried to be contented for the winter. The parents of Crazy Horse moved away from us a short distance. They built up a tripod to which they fastened the body of their son, wrapped in a blanket and covered with a skin. In the old Indian days, a dead body was never allowed to touch the ground, but was fastened to a tripod. We wondered when they were going to put the body of Crazy Horse away, but we never asked questions. It was their son, and they had the right to do as they thought best with his body.

We remained here for the winter. Then one day my father said he thought it would be much better if we moved to where the Poncas formerly camped. They were at a place called ‘Opa Wojula,’ or ‘Planting Creek.’ At this place there was plenty of wood and good water. So we moved there. At this place we found many white men’s houses.

One day several of us boys went to one of these houses on our ponies, just out of curiosity. At first we sat on our ponies at some distance, but as we grew more courageous we went closer and peeped in through the windows, from beneath our blankets.

The Poncas who had lived there had moved farther down the Missouri River, between Sioux City and Omaha, Nebraska. Some of these people settled in Nebraska and called themselves ‘Omahas.’ But those who went on down into Oklahoma called themselves ‘Poncas.’ But they were all of the same tribe.

When they left these houses some of our mixed bloods moved in. While we boys were examining the different houses, I came across some relatives of ours. They were very nice to me, inviting me to get off my pony and come inside for something to eat, and it was quite a treat to see the inside of a white man’s house.

While I was talking with them, a strange-looking man entered. He was dressed in a long skirt, like a woman, but he was a man. He shook hands with every one, even including myself. As he shook my hand he also patted me on the shoulder. All the time I was trying to figure out whether it was a man or a woman, as I had never seen any one dressed this way before.

This man with the skirts started talking to the mixed bloods, but I could not understand a word of his talk. Then one of the mixed bloods told me: ‘Plenty Kill, this Holy Man likes you, and he wants you to come and stay with him a few days. You will have to tell your father about this; so next time you come, bring your father with you.’

So I went home and told my father all about this ‘Wicasa Waken,’ or ‘Holy Man,’ with the skirts, and what he had said to the mixed bloods about me. Then my father said: ‘We will go to-morrow and I will see what this Holy Man wants of you. Perhaps he wants to give you something.’

Early the next morning Father and I started away to visit Louis Bernard, the mixed blood with whom I had talked. When we reached his house, Louis sent for the Holy Man, who presently came in and talked with my father, through Louis, who could speak both Indian and the white man’s language.

The Holy Man said to my father, ‘I like your son, and I want him to stay with me a few days.’ Then Father asked the interpreter if he thought it would be all right for me to stay with this Holy Man. Louis said, ‘Yes, it will be all right.’ So Father took my six-shooter and said I could stay. He led my pony back to camp, but I remained with this Holy Man. He fixed some nice things for me to eat, and I waited for him to motion me to sit down.

As we sat down to a table I was all ready to eat right away, but the Holy Man did not begin to eat at once. He sat there a minute, making some motions with his hands. Whatever he did, I imitated him, not understanding what it meant. I realized later that he was blessing the food for us. When night came, he fixed a place for me to sleep. I got into bed, but he motioned for me to get out and kneel down with him. I did, but watched him all the time. He clasped his hands and by motions gave me to understand that I was to do the same. Then he moved his lips and I did the same. He was praying, but I did not know how to pray his way.

Next morning he took me to another building, which had crosses made of wood inside and out. There were many other people in this house. There were seats all around the inside, like an Indian council. The Holy Man motioned me to sit down. Soon more people began to come in. They were mostly mixed bloods in their blankets; but a few were white people. The Holy Man then came out with another man. They both talked, and I observed that the Holy Man had a cup or bowl which was very shiny. There was water or some sort of liquid in it, and in his other hand he had something like a whisk broom. As he walked near the people, he started sprinkling them with this fluid which he sprayed about with the little broom. He got ready to throw some on me, but I covered my head with my blanket and did not get wet.

Next day he took me to the Missouri River and we got into a boat and were carried to the other side. Here we got into a wagon with a driver, and were carried to the Yankton Agency, near the present town of Greenwood, South Dakota.

It was evening when we reached Greenwood, and was getting very dark. The Holy Man secured a boat and we got in. The water was very rough, but a white man was to row us across the river. The waves were very high, and both men were frightened and commenced to yell. I was all ready to swim in case the boat went down.

When we got across, we left the boat and went on to a fort. This post was located on the Missouri River just below Chamberlain, South Dakota. The Holy Man visited all the soldiers. He talked to several men with brasses on their shoulders. Then we went through long halls with beds along the sides. I stayed close behind the Holy Man, just like a little puppy following its master. After we had made the rounds of this place, he shook hands with all the men and we came out again.

It was now very dark, but we went back to the boat, where the white man was waiting to row us back to the other shore. The waters had calmed down and we had no trouble; but I was very glad when we got across in safety.

Next morning the driver of the wagon brought us back to the place we had started from with him. Then we took the boat home to our own shore. When we reached the Holy Man’s house, I sneaked out and ran home to my father. That was the first and last time I was with this Holy Man.

My people were all very glad to see me, and of course wanted to know what I had been doing while I was away, and if the Holy Man had given me anything. I told my father and my stepmothers about the trip. My grandfather happened to be there and heard my story. He listened to my experience and then said, ‘Maybe that man with the woman’s dress tried to drown you in the Mud River.’ My grandfather did not like the idea of this strange man taking me away on a trip like that without the knowledge of my parents.

Then Father said: ‘I did not think this man would take you away on a trip like that. He only told me he liked you and wanted you to stay with him a few days. He will never see you again.’

Since then I have often thought that my father went to the Holy Man’s place and told him something, because he never came to look for me again.

While I was away I had left my six-shooter with my father. One of my reasons for hurrying home was because I wanted that pistol. So this was the first thing I asked for after relating my experience. Father then said he had returned both the six-shooter and the rifle because they belonged to the soldiers. It was certainly a disappointment to me to come home and not have my six-shooter again.

Then my father told me in two days more I was to go to the soldiers and they would give me some money. I inquired what I was to receive money for, and Father said it was because I had been a scout for the Government for a whole winter. This came as quite a surprise to me, as I did not know I had been working for the Government.

So on the second day I got on my pony and rode up to the fort at the old Ponca Agency. I found a crowd of people there, so I sat on my pony some distance away watching everybody. Once in a while an old man would come out of a house and call a name, and the person whose name was called would go into the house and in a little while come out with some green paper and silver money rattling in his hands.

Presently the old man came out again and asked, ‘Is Ota Kte here, Standing Bear’s son?’ But I kept quiet and stayed back until every one urged me to go into the house. So I slid off my pony and went in, because I did not want any of my people to think I was afraid of the white soldiers.

When I entered the place, there sat a soldier with stripes on his shoulders. Another soldier sat beside him. All the other men in the room were white men, and they had big books in front of them. The man with the stripes seemed to be the ‘big man.’ He looked at my name, and then he sized me up. The man sitting next to him counted out some money. The other men in the room were white traders who had given the Indians goods on credit, knowing they were scouts for the Government and had money coming to them.

When my name was called and the man was counting out the money, all these traders were looking through their books to see if there was any account against me. They shook their heads from side to side like a ‘sunsunla,’ or donkey. Then the money was pushed toward me, but I did not touch it. Then the interpreter said to me, ‘Take it, it all belongs to you.’ So I put my blanket against the edge of the table and scooped the money in. As I was ready to leave, the interpreter said something to the two men with the books, and they replied to him, whereupon he said to me, ‘All right, go on.’

When I got outside, and before starting for home, I saw some Indians going into a store, so I followed them in. They were all busy buying calicoes, blankets, shawls, paints, and various other things; but I was looking at the candy and apples. But as I did not know how to use the money I did not buy anything. I finally came out, jumped on my pony, and rode back to camp.

After I arrived at our tipi there sat my grandfather, my father, and my two stepmothers. My father was sitting on a blanket between his two wives, and they were all eating. I turned my pony loose and went in. My father raised his head and asked, ‘Son, did you get the money?’ I answered by pouring it all out into the blanket. Everybody in my family was so happy to get this money; but to this day I do not know how much I got.

CHIEF STANDING BEAR AT THE CUSTER SEMICENTENNIAL

EXERCISES, 1926