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HORSES were not plentiful in
the northern country at the time of which we write. However, White Buffalo's
father had a few. And among them one of the best in the land. This horse was
known in all the camp as fleet and long-winded. His name was Blackfoot. He
had been taken during battle from the Blackfeet. The war party had travelled
far before they came into the vicinity of the camp of the Crees, and this
horse's hoofs were worn out, and smooth with the crispy grass of the
southern and western plains. And when the enemy made their charge, and the
Crees were defending their camp, and finally turned their enemies back, this
horse was abandoned by his owner, and fell into the hands of White Buffalo's
father, he being foremost in the race, and he caught the horse and took him
into camp, and was rejoiced to find that when his hoofs were grown and the
horse was recuperated from the long journey, that he possessed one of the
best horses in the country. It was a great day when White Buffalo was told
by his father:
"My son, you can ride
Blackfoot today when we come to the buffalo. Come, now, let its see what you
can do on the back of a horse."
White Buffalo very well knew that the horse was
sure, and that if there was any fault in the hunt it would be owing to his
own lack of skill or want of courage. So every boy and girl in the camp
would say. But knowing White Buffalo as they did they did not prophecy any
failure for him, but it was a proud morning for our young hunter when with a
company of his people he rode away from the camp astride an ordinary pony,
and leading Blackfoot by his side, even as men were wont to do, thus sparing
their runner to the last moment. Only those who have had similar experience
can imagine how the boy did feel.
"Now, then, put your saddles on your runners,
and see to your girths and stirrup strings, and look to your bowstring. See
that they are true and strong. Straighten your arrows, make ready your guns.
Sharpen the flint. Rasp up the steel. Put fresh powder in the pail. Now, be
smart!" Thus spoke the
captain of the hunt. And presently White Buffalo was on the back of the
famous Blackfoot, and Blackfoot was quivering with his nerves all astrung as
he looked across the plain on the familiar scene, and watched the great herd
moving to and fro, and listened to the big bulls roaring like thunder, and
pawing the earth, and shaping the dust pans, which seen a hundred years
later are as evidence of our story. White Buffalo felt his horse gathering
himself tinder him, and seeming to say, with a quiver of his powerful frame.
"Yes, White Buffalo, it is up to you to do the
killing, for we verily will give you the chance. We have taken bigger men
than you into the heart of the fleeing herd, and it remains to be seen
whether they were better skilled than you are."
This was the challenge which rang in White
Buffalo's ears as he sat that horse on that glorious morning in the early
days of the last century. And now the captain of the hunt gave the signal,
and the party moved towards where the dust was rolling up in clouds
heavenward, for mother earth was being pounded and scraped and scratched,
and she seemed to shake herself in her revolution, and left great clouds of
dust in her course. Blackfoot instinctively felt the quality of the boy-man
he was carrying. The noble horse had carried many men from his colthood
until even now he was in his maturity and strength. He had studied human
nature, and being a great horse his perceptions were also great, and today
by his every move he was saying to himself, "This is no common fellow who
bestrides me now." A
few canters forward, and man and horse became consonant, one felt the other,
each to the very depths of his nervous being said, "Aha, we have found each
other." The horse was saying, " I will run as never before. I will keep in
reserve sufficient wherewith to watch badger holes and dust pans, and rough
country we will charge over. I will help the noble boy to pick the fattest
in the herd. I am old in this work. He is but now venturing. I will coach
him. I will give him time to draw his bow and let fly his arrow." Thus
Blackfoot soliloquized, and White Buffalo, feeling the elastic stepping, the
free movement, the whole-souled response of his noble steed to the faintest
touch of his knee or hand, to the swaying of his body and life, said to
himself, "I will do my best. I will try and shoot my straightest. The Great
Spirit will help me. The Evil Spirit will not withstand me. And Blackfoot
and White Buffalo will make the people of our lodge proud today."
On they rode. Now it was a sharp canter, now the
little company of hunters were all abreast, the captain a short distance in
advance of the line. The outskirts of the herd were bounding in towards the
great masses. Thousands were beginning to move quickly. Tens of thousands
were all on the qui vive, and the earth seemed to tremble. The rolling,
galloping, surging, stampeding mass and crash of huge life, gathering up for
this race away from its strongest enemy, the puny child of feeble man. And
yet, thus it has been since the commission went forth, and the great words
were spoken into the ears of the beginnings of the human family: "Subdue
it." Leviathan trembles at the voice of the man child. The king of the
beasts stands abashed, and his courage oozes away at the glance of him born
of woman. "Mind over matter"; and today this little company of northern
Indians, leaving their forest homeland and venturing into the borders of the
great plain, armed with only bow and quiver, and here and there a single-barreled
flintlock pot-metal gun, charged forth, and tens of thousands of monster
bulls and countless numbers of cows and young stock dash away with all their
speed to flee the presence of this wonderful being. Now our hunters have
been given the signal, and every horse is loosed. Each rider is bowed on the
neck of his steed, and soon they are in the dust cloud, and close upon the
herd, and the hunter starts in to pick his game. Here the great skill is
manifest. Many a man could kill, but only a few could pick under the
excitement and medley of the great run of the buffalo on the plain. White
Buffalo felt through his whole being the excitement of the race. With his
left hand he holds a bow and a couple of arrows. With his right he guides
his steed, but with such a horse as Blackfoot there was little need of this.
At this time ordinary bridles had not come into the great west. Lariat in
the mouth and the loop of this over the neck of the horse, and the balance
of its great length carefully coiled and tucked under the belt of our boy
hunter. Thus man and horse are parting the herd. White Buffalo is silent,
but he is sending telepathic messages to the brain of Blackfoot, and
Blackfoot's little ears move back with quick assent, and his every action
says, "Just let me know the one you pick; just touch me with your knee,
right or left; never fear, White Buffalo. Heed not badger holes, I am
looking out for them.'' And presently White Buffalo sees a magnificent
animal. It is the first summer hunt, and the bulls are prime, and this great
huge monster, who had caught the eye of the young hunter, is thundering away
through the herd as fast as his wind and speed will let him. But already
Blackfoot has noted White Buffalo's choice, and now again he sends the
message to his rider. "Steady your nerve, my boy be ready, don't pull the
bow until I tell you." And White Buffalo glances along the arrow to see if
it is straight, and he drops his lariat upon the horses neck, and he settles
his thin moccassin-covered feet with a mighty grip upon the wooden stirrup.
And with every muscle and nerve tense, he waits a signal from his horse. The
big bull now knows he is the picked one, and being chased, and he spurts in
the race for life. But Blackfoot is coming up stride upon stride. His jump
is one and one-half of that of the bull. Sometimes double is the leap of the
strong elastic horse. and now he sends the signal and the boy feels the time
has come. And again the message, "Pull, pull and let go." and White Buffalo
pulls, and with unerring skill the arrow speeds its course, and, penetrating
the hide of the huge beast, it goes on and on into the vitals of its game.
"Well done. White Buffalo." says Blackfoot.
"Well done, my boy, I am proud to carry, you on my back. Pick another," and
White Buffalo, exultant in the success of his first shot, as he sees the
bull stagger, and the blood gushes from his nostrils in full volume. He
hurriedly looks at the topography of the place. The little sloping hill, the
curve of the valley, thus he marks the spot. And now again his quick eye is
upon the herd, and soon he sees a better animal than the first one, and at
once, with a touch of his knee, he sends his willing steed straight for his
game. But now one of the other hunters has caught sight of the same big
bull, and as he is near to the course of the animal's run, he thinks he can
catch him and make him his prey. However, he has not reckoned with
Blackfoot, for the noble horse feels that it is his chance to show speed and
win the race against his fellow-horse. And away he rushes and with every
jump he fills White Buffalo's heart with gladness. For he and White Buffalo
are gaining fast. A few more jumps and they are abreast the rival and his
rider, and the latter wisely turns for other game, as Blackfoot and White
Buffalo fly past and quickly catch their second prize. Back twitches
Blackfoot's ear, and White Buffalo is all ready.
If Darwin could have seen those toes grip those
stirrups, and every muscle in this boy make ready to stand in order to
become the more certain in his aim, he would have said:
"And it is not so long since."
Once more the bow is pulled the arrow's length,
and again with a sharp, rich twang he lets it go, and as before it enters
where it should, and piercing the mortal spot, does its work. And a second
stronger thrill of joy and conquest stirs White Buffalo's heart and brain.
"Bravo, my young rider!" again speaks the old
hunting warrior horse, and again White Buffalo looks among the thousands,
and encouraged with his previous choice, becomes more critical, and looks
and looks, and presently says to himself, "Ah, there is the one I want to
kill." And again he touches Blackfoot with his knee, and off like an arrow
from the bow speeds the self-trained willing horse after the game set before
him. And now, for the third time, the signals come, "Make ready!" and White
Buffalo pulls the arrow from the quiver on his back and looks along it to
see if it is straight, and Blackfoot gathers speed at every jump and says:
"Now, pull your bow, let go your arrow," for
Blackfoot knew vastly more of distance and of this kind of hunting than
White Buffalo possibly could. Again the big bull is mortally hit, and the
boy checks his steed and pulls him up, and both horse and rider watch the
death throes of their kill. Soon some of the other hunters come and admire
the boy's choice, and help him to straighten up the monster. This is no
small task, for its requires a strong lift to straighten up and make ready
for skinning and butchering one of these kings of the plain. Then White
Buffalo went back to his second and first kills, and on the way met the
following from the camp with the pack horses and dogs, and his people were
glad when they saw the result of our hunter's first race after the great
herds.
His First Big Run
When White Buffalo had turned over his killed to
the women and boys who had brought the horses and dogs which were to pack
the meat home, lie gave his attention to Blackfoot, whom he rubbed and wiped
down and caressed as a dear friend, and talked to him and the horse
understood and responded in his way. The boy was proud of the horse, the
horse was proud of the boy. However, just then who should gallop up but
Kenabikwawan, or Snake Skin, a boy about the same age as White Buffalo, but
who had always since they were little children together tried to match and
surpass White Buffalo if he could in all games in childhood, and later in
trapping and hunting, but had been outclassed and left behind by White
Buffalo, and because of this had grown to hate his rival. Today he had been
filled with envy as he heard many speak in tones of pride and praise because
of White Buffalo's manner of riding his father's horse, and the quickness
and deftness of his killing the three great bulls. And now he could not help
but vent his spleen upon the little group who were gathered around skinning
and cutting up the large animals.
"Aha," said he, "And is this one of White
Buffalo's starvelings? Where were his eyes when he had so large a herd to
pick from? Anyone riding a horse like Blackfoot should kill better meat than
this. Say, White Buffalo, don't let Blackfoot look this way. It will hurt
his feelings to see how poor the meat is which you have killed from his
back. Take your horse away, White Buffalo, or he never will let you ride him
again!" Thus he mocked and jeered at White Buffalo's first kill from the
back of the great running horse.
White Buffalo heard Snake Skin mocking and
jeering, and, being modest, thought perhaps he had come short in his choice
and pick. But just then an old hunter rode up and exclaimed as he looked at
the splendid meat that was now spread on the plain:
"Woh, woh! Who killed this fat beast? I have not
seen one as good for many a day." And White Buffalo's heart was cheered, and
Snake Skin remounted his horse and rode away. feeling greater hatred than
ever towards his fellow. There was great rejoicing in the lodges when the
tidings were brought in of White Buffalo's splendid run. His friends among
the boys and girls in the camp were full of our hero's exploits.
"Why," said one, "He never missed a shot!"
Yes," said another, "He only used three arrows
and killed three great bulls, and ran but a little way."
Then another fellow came running up. ''I was
there I rode in to see the fun. I saw White Buffalo make the charge. Oh, how
quick he picked the first bull! And the horse seemed to pick the bull at the
same time. My, my! What a horse Blackfoot is! He gains speed with every
jump. I saw my friend fire his first shot. I saw the bull stagger and fall
aside. I saw White Buffalo pick another. Why, it was just as if I were
sitting on a horse beside him. I saw Blackfoot catch him quick. Again I
watched my friend pull the bow. I was too far away to see the arrow fly, but
I know that the bull was hit. Soon he dropped aside. Then I knew that White
Buffalo saw another. I seemed to feel the horse jump under me as Blackfoot
rushed away after this one. I was riding as fast as my horse would take me
to watch this glorious sport. Again I knew that my friend had shot, for I
saw the great big bull stagger and drop aside. I tell you, boys, I felt
happier than if I could do such deeds myself, because this was our boy chief
whom we love, and who always leads us in that which is strong and brave."
And this chatter and description rang like sweet
music in the ears of the father and mother, as they sat within the lodge and
listened to the story of the hunt from their people. Both the horse and
rider were dear to the hearts of these parents.
White Buffalo being praised was a familiar tale,
but this new enterprise in which their son had been so successful, it truly
filled their hearts with joy. Later on that evening older men and hunters
brave and skilful dropped into their lodge, and eulogy and praise were meted
out both to the horse and his youthful rider. Said one renowned hunter:
"After this, we older men must look out for this
young blood who has startled us today with his pluck and skill." "Yes," said
a wise old man, "We are glad to know that you, White Buffalo, will be able
to lead our young men on the great plains as well as in the woods."
After the guests left that night, the father
quietly spoke and said:
"I am glad, my child, that you did so well
today. Your mother and I are very proud. We thank the Great Spirit for
giving us a son like you are. We hope for you skill in hunting, and brave
deeds in war. Keep your heart warm, my son; act friendly to everybody, and
never do anything that you would be ashamed of. And now that you have shown
that you are a good horseman, and did so well in your first race after
buffalo on the plain. you can call Blackfoot yours."
And the boy looked up, and the father saw a full
measure of gladness and joy in his son's eye. No more words passed between
these happy parents and the grateful child. Thus the morning and the evening
of this eventful day in the life of our hero passed away. Many days like
this followed, and White Buffalo grew and waxed strong. Blackfoot was as the
apple of his eye. Miles and miles he walked and ran and saved his horse for
the race that was sure to come. |
