Читать книгу The Extraordinary Life and Works of Luther Standing Bear - Luther Standing Bear - Страница 16

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At this time my father was accounted a great man in his tribe and a chief who had the welfare of his people at heart. But he saw that the white men were pushing toward the West, and that sooner or later they would occupy the whole country. He realized that fighting would not get the Indian anywhere, and that the only recourse was to learn the white man’s ways of doing things, get the same education, and thus be in condition to stand up for his rights. My father was a smart man and he looked ahead, and so right here was his turning point.

He took the money the Government had just paid me and started off on a trip. He was gone about ten days, and then he returned all dressed up. He wore a collar, a necktie, a stiff shirt, and even carried a watch and chain. Then he told his wives he had bought lots of things and was going to open a store. He said the goods would arrive in a few days.

Shortly after, a big wagon drove up, drawn by four packing-buffalo (or oxen). We called the oxen ‘pete-wa-quin’ or ‘packing-buffalo.’ All the goods in the wagon, as well as the wagon itself and the oxen, belonged to my father. The man who brought the goods was also leading a beautiful horse.

My elder sister, Zintkaziwin, wanted this horse, but Father told her he had bought the animal for me. She wanted it very badly, however, so I let her have it, as I had one of my own, and did not care. She saw so many pretty things in the wagonload of goods that she went wild over them—just as the girls of to-day act. But I did not hang around to watch anything. I took my bow and arrows and went out to hunt birds.

When I returned from my hunt I was very hungry. My two mothers were extra good to me on this occasion, although I did not realize it at the time. I afterward learned that it was because I had been a scout and had earned all these things that they were enjoying so much; but I never thought at that time of claiming anything myself.

The man who brought all the load now went away, and one of my stepmother’s cousins and I were to take care of these packing-buffalo. He was a big young man, so we drove these packing-buffalo with our ponies. They soon became used to going alongside the animals, and we did not have any trouble with them at all.

By this time it was early spring, and the whole tribe were getting ready to move back to where Rosebud Agency is located to-day. My stepmother got another of her cousins to drive the oxen as we were moving along. His name was High Pipe. Before we started to move, my father bought another wagon and hitched it behind the other one, like a trailer.

High Pipe got all ready to drive. As it was spring he wore no blankets, having on only leggins and moccasins. His shirt-tail was hanging out, and his long black hair was worn in two braids. Over his shoulder he carried a long blacksnake whip. He did not wear a hat.

At that time I could not see anything very funny in the picture presented by this big Indian as he drove that team of oxen; but now, when I think of it, I have to laugh. The dress he wore and his equipment in general were enough to make even a white man smile. I imagine he thought he occupied a very important position.

While we were making this journey I observed that the agent had furnished a four-mule team to carry Spotted Tail’s goods. In addition he had a team of beautiful white horses and a new top-buggy to ride in. When we got back from the Missouri River to the place where Rosebud is now located, we learned that Spotted Tail was allowed to draw credits for fifty dollars from each store on the reservation. A short time later the Government built a two-story frame house for him to live in at the agency. I think this building is yet standing. All this he received from the Government. The other Indians began to wonder how it was that Spotted Tail received all these favors, as nobody else was accorded such generous treatment; but they were kept in ignorance for some time.

When we arrived at our destination the parents of Crazy Horse still had the travois covered with the skin; but they did not build up a tripod at this time. One day we heard that the parents had opened this bundle which was supposed to contain the body of their son, and there was nothing but rags inside! What had they done with the body and where was it buried? Nobody could tell. It was a secret of Crazy Horse’s family. His body was put away without the knowledge of anybody, and where it now reposes no man knows. He was a great man, a good chief, and a wonderful leader. He never had a picture taken in all his life, and his burial place is unknown to any one. Such was the end of one of the greatest men in our tribe.

After our arrival, my father bought a big square tent in which to open his store. Finally the Government erected a sawmill on Little White River, and my father asked the agent if he would have some lumber sawed for him if he would bring in the logs. The agent promised that he would, so my father got some of his friends to go to the timber with him. I did not know anything about this until I saw him bring home some rough lumber from the mill.

After all the lumber was cut, my father sent for one of his cousins from the Pine Ridge Agency, named Lone Wolf, who came and helped him put up a building in which to run the store. They also built racks on which to dry skins which the Indians brought and traded in for goods.

In those days I thought that anything my father did was all right, but as I look back at it now, things seem very different. He really did some funny things while trying to learn the white man’s ways. For example, when he and Lone Wolf built the store, I recall that my father wore one of those little derby hats, and had a blanket tied around his waist, fastened with a belt. This made plenty of pockets to hold the nails.

Lone Wolf did not wear a hat, but he tied his long braids back so they would not be in the way when he drove nails. He had his blanket tied around his waist just like Father. Both wore leggins and moccasins. While Father had his long hair, he did not forget his dignity, but wore an eagle feather on the side of his little derby. Those two men worked upon the roof of the store in their ‘fifty-fifty’ clothes, not realizing how funny they looked.

After they had finished the store, they built a counter and put up some shelves. Father had no scales, but that did not worry him any. He sold so many cups of sugar for a dollar. Fifty cents was the smallest coin in use there at that time.

You white people who have ‘kept store’ know there are always certain customers who do not pay cash, but want credit. It was the same with the Indians. But the manner of my father’s bookkeeping would have made you laugh. He never had a day’s education in his life (from the white man’s standpoint), but he tried to learn. If Running Horse came to the store and wanted credit for ten dollars, Father let him have the amount. Then he would get out his ‘books’ and draw a man’s head with a running horse above it. In front of the man’s face he would draw ten straight lines. If Running Horse came back and paid five dollars on account, then Father would cross off five of the lines.

Running Horse needed no receipt for the money he paid, as it would not be collected again. Crossing out five of the straight lines meant that he had been given credit for five dollars. Father did not need to look through a lot of books to determine what Running Horse owed him. When the other five dollars were paid, Father just crossed out all the lines. There were no receipts given. If Running Horse, or any other Indian, wanted credit in those days, they got it. They did not need to bring any security. Their word was as good as gold; they were still honest and uneducated.

I recall that when the Indians would trade in skins, my grandfather would take his sharp butcher knife and cut out all the fat that had been left on the hide. After the skins had been cleaned properly and dried out, the hides would be hauled away to some place on the Missouri River. Then, when Father returned, he would have more goods with him for the store.

When he went away to attend a council, or for any other purpose, he depended upon me to take care of the store. I would watch out for things very closely—until I had had my fill of candy and ginger snaps, then ‘keeping store’ would become monotonous. I would then tell one of my stepmothers that I was going out. But my father never scolded me for this, because I was the oldest son.

When it came time to issue annuity goods to the Spotted Tail Indians, the Government hauled them out about a mile and a half above the agency on Rosebud Creek. Here all the tipis were put up in a circle, and all the goods were placed in the center of this ring. We were advised that the goods were not to be distributed until the next day. There were many large boxes and several bales of blankets piled high. Several young men were appointed to watch over these goods through the night. They built a fire, and some of the wives of the chiefs cooked nice things for them to eat while they were on duty. We smaller boys went over and climbed up on the bales of blankets and boxes, and thought we had a great time; but it never entered our heads to take anything.

Next day a big council was held, and some good young men were elected to open the boxes and bales. These youths had to be honest, and it was considered a great honor to be appointed on this ‘committee.’ Some of their relatives were so proud that they gave away a horse to express their pleasure that one of their young men had been chosen.

Four other men were appointed who carried clubs. It was their duty to see that nobody interfered with these young men while they were distributing the goods among the Indians.

After the boxes were all opened and the bales of blankets cut, the young men started to distribute the goods. There were yards and yards of blanket goods in blue, black, green, and yellow. The blankets were measured off by one of the young men who would hold out his arms as far apart as possible. The length from finger tip to finger tip, twice, made a good-sized blanket. Each man was entitled to one of these.

While these blankets were being distributed an Indian named Paints-His-Ear-White wanted to exchange a black blanket for a blue one. He tried to make this exchange himself, when he was observed by one of the ‘policemen’ named High Bear, who walked up and knocked Paints-His-Ear-White down. He lay there for several minutes stunned, but when he came to he went right home without waiting to get anything. This was his punishment for disobeying orders.

Then the men were called upon to go to the office of the agent. Here a slip was issued to each man which entitled him to a wagon. But the wagons were at some place down the Missouri River and the Indians must go after them. My father got one of these slips, so one of my uncles and I went after the wagon. On the way we met several of our relatives, all on the same errand. Some men took their whole families. They were all riding their ponies to the place, not realizing the job they would have to get back home with those wagons.

It was a trip of fifty miles, so we made two camps before we reached the place. The Government had shipped these wagons by steamboat to a place called Black Pole, with sets of harness for each. This was the nearest point to the agency. Red Cloud’s people came about twice the distance we did, but they were glad enough to do it in order to secure the wagons.

When the Indians reached Black Pole, they all camped in a circle. The wagons had not been assembled, but the different parts were all tied together. The harness was all in gunny sacks. There were some white men there putting the wagons together. When one was ready they would call out, ‘This wagon goes to’ (calling some one’s name). Then the party would come with his relatives and friends to get the new wagon. The white man handed him one box of axle grease and two sets of harness. Then one of the Indians would get hold of the tongue of the wagon and the others would push.

After each man had got his wagon over to the camp, he would try to harness up his little ponies to it, with those great big collars which hung way down on their shoulders. The Government knew we had no work horses at that time, yet they sent out those big sets of harness, expecting the Indians to use them on little Indian ponies. This was only another of the foolish expenditures of money made by the Government. Other parts of the harness would have to be cut down, but of course they could not cut down the collars, and many of the Indians put a blanket around the pony’s neck to hold the collar in place.

I was very anxious for my father’s name to be called, because I wanted one of those beautifully colored wagons. The boxes were all painted green and the wheels red. They were Studebaker wagons, and were very fine, strongly built ones.

Finally one of the white men called out, ‘This wagon goes to Standing Bear.’ My uncle and I went over and pulled it out of the way, then greased the axles. We did what the white men told us, and it did not seem hard to my uncle. But as I look back and recall how those little ponies looked in those big collars, I have to laugh.

You must remember that this was the first time the Indians had ever tried to use a wagon, and their little ponies had never been harnessed. The poor animals seemed dumbfounded at the strange treatment, and most of the Indians were puzzled to know how they were going to get those wagons home. The ponies pulled and pulled, but the man who had forgotten to grease the axles could not understand what was the matter.

Then the white man came over and told some of the men they must grease their wagons before they tried to drive home. The Indians were all very willing to listen and take advice, so one man got very busy on this job of greasing his wagon, not knowing where to begin. Finally he greased the box all over, and then started in on the wagon spokes. When my uncle and I saw this, we rushed over and laughed at him. However, he was good-natured about it, and had his wife bring some rags to wipe the wagon off.

Then somebody explained to him about greasing the axles. The white man removed the nut that held the wheels in place and showed the Indian how to lift up the wagon a little and pull out the wheel just far enough to show the axle. He thought he understood it very well now, so he got hold of the wheel and gave it a jerk, and off came the wheel and knocked him flat, and the wagon tipped up until one end was on the ground. This man certainly had an awful idea about the ways of civilization.

Finally the man got all four axles greased, and then he loaded up his rations and harnessed his four ponies. But he did not understand about putting a cross-line between the left front pony and the rear right one. He just harnessed them up ‘straight.’ Then he mounted his wagon, as proud as a king, but when he started up his ponies, they divided in the center, and the front ponies came back to look at him.

We all turned in and helped him make another start. The ponies did their best at pulling, but they were too small to haul a wagon loaded with twenty-five hundred pounds. They were used to carrying packs on their backs, but dragging a wagon behind them was a different proposition, and they could not understand it. However, the man got started away from Black Pole at last and was doing fairly well, until he came to a hill down which there was quite a steep grade. Here the ponies became frightened, and so did the Indian. Finally he got down, unharnessed the ponies, and started to ride home on the back of one of them, driving the others. That Indian had had all the wagon he wanted, and he just left it there standing beside the road. All his rations were in it, but he was completely disgusted. He had had enough of ‘civilization’ for one day.

That man never went back for his wagon. Some one else got it, but the owner didn’t care. The agent never said anything to him about the matter. I expect maybe he thought it was a dangerous topic, so he kept quiet.

Some time after this, my father got another wagon, so that made two for us. Then he thought he would take a load of hides down the Missouri River and get more stocks of goods for the store. He told me to drive one team and he would take the other. Both wagons were loaded with dried hides. These were spotted buffalo (or cow) skins. As it was a heavy load, we camped about eleven miles east of the agency on what was known as Antelope Creek. At that time no one lived in that part of the country, and it was very wild.

We were traveling along, trying to reach the Keya Paha, or Turtle Butte Creek, which was straight across the plains. A short distance ahead of us was a small hill. Suddenly over the top of it came four wild-looking cowboys. They were about half a mile distant, and they were on the same road with us.

When Father saw them he stopped his team and came behind his wagon. Noting this, I also stopped my team. When Father came around from behind his wagon I saw that he had his gun. He loaded it quickly to be all ready for trouble. Then he said to me, ‘Son, those men do not look good to me. In case they shoot, then I shall have to fight. If I shoot two of them, then you remain with me, but if you see I am shot first, then you unhitch that black horse and ride back as fast as you can. If these men were Indians, it would be all right for you to help me fight, but I do not want you to be killed by a white man. I am going to drive straight ahead, and you stay close behind me. When I stop, then you watch. Remember, if I am wounded, you go back home.’

Then Father got on his wagon again, carrying his gun across his arm. His horses were trotting now, and I was close behind him. When these men came within about a quarter of a mile of us, they turned their horses in another direction.

I think they must have seen that my father was ready for them, and possibly they thought I was another man with a gun. So they went on their way without molesting us. If they had known I was just a small boy, there might have been a different ending to this story—or it might never have been written at all!

After this little scare, we went on about six miles and camped; but Father did not trust these men. After we had eaten our supper, we hitched up and went off the road about a mile and a half, for the night.

I went to sleep at once, like any healthy youngster, but I do not think my father slept at all that night. Every time I awakened, there he sat with his gun fully loaded. How glad I was when it came daylight and we cooked our breakfast. Then we harnessed up and came back to the road again. Here Father got down and examined the road to see if there were any tracks of these cowboys following us, but there were none. He told me to be on the lookout all the time on this trip, and it was quite exciting, because it seemed as if we were really on the war-path.

We arrived at the Missouri River safe, and there we met some Indians who were just getting ready to leave. Father told them about our experience with the wild-looking cowboys, and what a rough-looking bunch they were and seemed to be looking for trouble. This report seemed to disturb them quite a bit, and after a short consultation among themselves, they asked my father if they could wait for us and accompany us back. He said yes, and, to tell the truth, I felt safer for having these extra men along with us.

When we arrived home we learned that during our absence some bad white men had come into camp and stolen many ponies from some of the Indians. They told Father about what time this happened, and then he came to the conclusion that the men we had seen were out on a pony-stealing excursion and had taken their animals. It was just about such a time as they would have required to reach our camp from where they met us on the road, between Antelope Creek and Turtle Butte Creek.

I have often wondered what they might have stolen from us if they had known my father was alone.