At once the women began to take down the lodges and pack the ponies. Buffalo had been discovered about fifteen miles to the southwest, and orders had been issued to move the village to the creek on which they were feeding, while the men should go on at once and make the surround. Our teamster, to whom the Indians had already, from his occupation, given the name “Jackass Chief,” was directed to move with the camp; and leaving everything save guns and ammunition belts in the wagons, we joined the crowd of men who were riding out of the village.

The scene that we now beheld was such as might have been witnessed here a hundred years ago. It is one that can never be seen again. Here were eight hundred warriors, stark naked, and mounted on naked animals. A strip of rawhide, or a lariat, knotted about the lower jaw, was all their horses’ furniture. Among all these men there was not a gun nor a pistol, nor any indication that they had ever met with the white men. For the moment they had put aside whatever they had learned of civilization. Their bows and arrows they held in their hands. Armed with these ancestral weapons, they had become once more the simple children of the plains, about to slay the wild cattle that Ti-ra´-wa had given them for food. Here was barbarism pure and simple. Here was nature.

A brief halt was made on the upper prairie, until all the riders had come up, and then, at a moderate gallop, we set off. A few yards in advance rode the twenty-four soldiers, at first curbing in their spirited little steeds, till the horses’ chins almost touched their chests, and occasionally, by a simple motion of the hand, waving back some impetuous boy, who pressed too close upon them. Many of the Indians led a spare horse, still riding the one that had carried them through the day. Often two men would be seen mounted on the same animal, the one behind having the lariats of two led horses wound about his arm. Here and there a man, with his arm over the horse’s neck, would run along on foot by the side of the animal which was to serve him in the charge.

As we proceeded, the pace became gradually a little more rapid. The horses went along easily and without effort. Each naked Indian seemed a part of his steed, and rose and fell with it in the rhythmic swing of its stride. The plain was peopled with Centaurs. Out over each horse’s croup floated the long black hair of his rider, spread out on the wings of the breeze. Gradually the slow gallop became a fast one. The flanks of the horses showed here and there patches of wet, which glistened in the slanting rays of the westering sun. Eight, ten, a dozen miles had been left behind us, and we were approaching the top of a high bluff, when the signal was given to halt. In a moment every man was off his horse, but not a pony of them all showed any sign of distress, nor gave any evidence of the work he had done, except by his wet flanks and his slightly accelerated breathing. Two or three of the soldiers rode up nearly to the top of the hill, dismounted and then peered over, and a moment later, at another signal, all mounted and the swift gallop began again. Over the ridge we passed, down the smooth slope, and across a wide level plain, where the prairie dogs and the owls and the rattlesnakes had their home. Through the dog town we hurried on thundering hoofs, no doubt amazing the dogs, and perhaps even arousing some slight interest in the sluggish, stupid snakes. Bad places these to ride through at such a pace, for a little carelessness on your horse’s part might cost him a broken leg and you an ugly tumble. But no one took much thought of dog town or horse or possible accident, for the minds of all were upon the next high ridge, behind which we felt sure that the buffalo would be found.

And so it proved. Just before reaching it we were again halted. Two of the soldiers reconnoitered, and then signaled that the buffalo were in sight. The tired horses were now turned loose and the extra ones mounted. As we rode slowly up over the ridge, we saw spread out before us a wide valley black with buffalo. Two miles away, on the other side, rose steep ragged bluffs, up which the clumsy buffalo would make but slow progress, while the ponies could run there nearly as fast as on level ground. It was the very place that would have been chosen for a surround.

At least a thousand buffalo were lying down in the midst of this amphitheater. Here and there, away from the main herd on the lower hills, were old bulls, singly and by twos and threes, some of them quietly chewing the cud, others sullenly pawing up the dust, or grinding their battered horns into the yellow dirt of the hillsides. Not the slightest notice was taken of us as we rode down the slope at a pace that was almost a run, but still held in check by the soldiers. The orders for the charge had not yet been given. Our line was now much more extended than it had been; each man pressing as far forward as he dared, and those on either flank being so far ahead of the center that they were almost on a line with the soldiers. We had covered perhaps half the distance between the hilltop and the buffalo, when some of the outlying bulls seemed to observe us, and after looking for a moment or two, these started in rapid flight. This attracted the attention of the herd, and when we were yet half a mile from them, they took the alarm. At once all were on their feet. For a moment they gazed bewildered at the dark line that was sweeping toward them, and then, down went every huge head and up flew every little tail, and the herd was off in a headlong stampede for the opposite hills. As they sprang to their feet, the oldest man of the soldiers, who was riding in the center of the line, turned back toward us, and uttered a shrill Loo´-ah! It was the word we had waited for.

Like an arrow from a bow each horse darted forward. Now all restraint was removed, and each man might do his best. What had been only a wild gallop became a mad race. Each rider hoped to be the first to reach the top of the opposite ridge, and to turn the buffalo back into the valley, so that the surround might be completely successful. How swift those little ponies were, and how admirably the Indians managed to get out of them all their speed! I had not gone much more than half-way across the valley when I saw the leading Indians pass the head of the herd, and begin to turn the buffalo. This was the first object of the chase, for in a stampede, the cows and young are always in the lead, the bulls bringing up the rear. This position is not taken from chivalric motives on the part of the males, but simply because they cannot run so fast as their wives and children. Bulls are never killed when cows and heifers can be had.

Back came the herd, and I soon found myself in the midst of a throng of buffalo, horses and Indians. There was no yelling nor shouting on the part of the men, but their stern set faces, and the fierce gleam of their eyes, told of the fires of excitement that were burning within them. Three or four times my rifle spoke out, and to some purpose; and one shot, placed too far back, drew on me a quick savage charge from a vicious young cow. My pony, while a good cattle horse, was new at buffalo running, and his deliberation in the matter of dodging caused me an anxious second or two, as I saw the cow’s head sweep close to his flank. It was far more interesting to watch the scene than to take part in it, and I soon rode to a little knoll from which I could overlook the whole plain. Many brown bodies lay stretched upon the ground, and many more were dashing here and there, closely attended by relentless pursuers. It was sad to see so much death, but the people must have food, and none of this meat would be wasted.

Before I turned my horse’s head toward the camp, the broad disk of the setting sun had rested on the tops of the western bluffs, and tipped their crests with fire. His horizontal beams lit up with a picturesque redness the dusky forms which moved about over the valley. Up the ravines and over the hills were stringing long lines of squaws, leading patient ponies, whose backs were piled high with dark dripping meat, and with soft shaggy skins. Late into the night the work continued and the loads kept coming into the camp. About the flickering fires in and before the lodges there was feasting and merriment. Marrow bones were tossed among the red embers, calf’s head was baked in the hot earth, fat ribs were roasted, ka´wis boiled, and boudins eaten raw. With laughter and singing and story telling and dance the night wore away.

Over the plain where the buffalo had fallen, the gray wolf was prowling, and, with the coyote, the fox and the badger, tore at the bones of the slain. When day came, the golden eagle and the buzzard perched upon the naked red skeletons, and took their toll. And far away to the southward, a few frightened buffalo, some of which had arrows sticking in their sore sides, were cropping the short grass of the prairie.

THE PAWNEE IN WAR.

I. ENEMIES AND METHODS OF WARFARE.

They were brave men, but brave after their own peculiar fashion. Their courage was not displayed in the same way as that of the white man. They thought it folly to expose themselves unnecessarily. An enemy was to be surprised, and killed, while asleep if possible, or shot through by an arrow from behind. To meet him in what we call fair fight, when there was a chance to kill him from an ambush, would have seemed an insane or desperate proceeding. And yet, as has been shown by some of the stories already narrated, they often faced death with a calmness and an indifference which indicated the highest physical courage.

It has been very well said that the purpose of the Indian in his warfare was to inflict the greatest amount of injury on his enemy with the least possible risk to himself.

In the old time wars, the participants exercised the greatest prudence and caution. They took no risks, where risks could be avoided. It was more glorious for a war party to kill a single enemy without receiving a wound, than to kill a dozen, if thereby they lost a man. The warrior, who led out a war party, and brought it back without loss, received credit. His skill as a leader was praised, and his influence grew. A leader, who lost men, lost also prestige; the chiefs withdrew their confidence from him, the young men might decline after that to join his party.

When the Pawnees came into the northern country they found it occupied by the Poncas, the Omahas and the Otoes. According to their custom, they attacked these tribes, and, after a resistance more or less prolonged, conquered them. The Poncas appear to have made the most stubborn fight against the invaders, and it is related that they made an alliance with the Sioux against their common enemy. From time to time there would be a cessation of hostilities, and peace would be made, but this never endured long.

There still exists among the Pawnees a triumph song, composed after a treacherous attack on the Pawnees by the Poncas during a time of peace. Mr. Dunbar’s remarks on this song are so interesting that I quote them in full. He says, “The Pawnee has a song, constituting the finest satirical production in the language, relating to an attempt that the Poncas are said to have once made to recover their independence. Their warriors in a body, so the account states, made a pretended visit of peace to the village of Chau-i, at that time the head band of the Pawnees. After lulling to rest, as they supposed, the suspicions of the Chau-i, according to a preconcerted plan, they made an attack on them, but were signally discomfited. In commemoration of the victory then achieved, the Pawnees composed this song, and the presumption is that such a remarkable production would not have originated and maintained its position permanently in their minds without a good historic basis.” This is the song:

“The keen satire of the interrogation is exquisite. It conceives of the Poncas as quietly laughing in their sleeves, during their ostensibly amicable visit, in anticipation of the summary retribution that they expected to inflict upon their oppressors.”

At last the Poncas, Omahas and Otoes were effectively subjugated, and were permitted to live on the borders of the Pawnee territory, and under the quasi-protection of that tribe.

In the old days before the coming of the whites the Pawnees had no enemies near at hand. They had conquered all surrounding nations, and claimed and held the country from the Missouri River to the Rocky Mountains, and from the Niobrara, south to the Arkansas River or to the Canadian. Then, when they wished to go to war, they were forced to journey either to the Rocky Mountains to fight the Utes, or up the Missouri to attack the Crows, or down into Mexico to plunder the Spaniards, or into Texas to steal horses from the Comanches, the Wichitas and other southern tribes. Then the war parties were great bodies—sometimes one thousand men—and all on foot. Afterward, as settlements approached them and other tribes were driven into their country, and the different Pawnee bands were crowded together, their campaigns diminished in importance, the war parties became smaller and smaller, until at last only half a dozen men would start out, and sometimes a single individual would go off by himself to steal horses.

The Pawnees were true Ishmaelites. They had no friends upon the prairies save those whom they had conquered and held by fear. Foes swarmed about them. To the north were the different bands of the Dakotas and the Crows; to the west the Utes, with the Arapahoes, the Kiowas and the Cheyennes; and to the south the Comanches, Cheyennes, Kiowas, Kansas, Osages, and their relations the Wichitas. With these last they were long at war; for the Pawnees and Wichitas had forgotten each other’s existence, or rather each tribe was wholly ignorant as to what had become of the other. Only a tradition of the old relationship still remained. The kinship was rediscovered within the last thirty years, when some Kaws came north on a visit to the Pawnee village, and brought with them a Wichita, who had been visiting at the Kaw agency. The Pawnees found that this man spoke a language nearly like their own, and at length discovered that the Wichitas were a part of their own people. Attempts were made to establish a peace, and to renew their old friendly relations, but the fact that the Wichitas were so closely allied to the Comanches, Kiowas and Cheyennes made it very difficult for the tribes to come together on a friendly footing. Hostilities still continued therefore, nor was a lasting peace made until the visit of Wi-ti-ti le-shar´-uspi, already described.

As a result of this well nigh universal hostility, the Pawnees were constantly being attacked, and were constantly losing men, women and children. Mr. Dunbar, who has taken pains to collect some facts bearing on this point, says:

“Probably, not a year in this century has been without losses from this source (warfare), though only occasionally have they been marked with considerable disasters. In 1832 the Skidi band suffered a severe defeat on the Arkansas from the Comanches. In 1847 a Dakota war party, numbering over seven hundred, attacked a village occupied by two hundred and sixteen Pawnees, and succeeded in killing eighty-three. In 1854 a party of one hundred and thirteen were cut off by an overwhelming body of Cheyennes and Kiowas, and killed almost to a man. In 1873 a hunting party of about four hundred, two hundred and thirteen of whom were men, on the Republican, while in the act of killing a herd of buffalo, were attacked by nearly six hundred Dakota warriors, and eighty-six were killed. But the usual policy of their enemies has been to cut off individual or small scattered parties, while engaged in the chase or in tilling isolated corn patches. Losses of this kind, trifling when taken singly, have in the aggregate borne heavily on the tribe. It would seem that such losses, annually recurring, should have taught them to be more on their guard. But let it be remembered that the struggle has not been in one direction against one enemy. The Dakotas, Crows, Kiowas, Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Comanches, Osages and Kansas have faithfully aided each other, though undesignedly in the main, in this crusade of extermination against the Pawnee. It has been in the most emphatic sense, a struggle of the one against the many. With the possible exception of the Dakotas, there is much reason to believe that the animosity of these tribes has been exacerbated by the galling tradition of disastrous defeats which Pawnee prowess had inflicted upon themselves in past generations. To them the last seventy years have been a carnival of revenge.”

Mr. Dunbar regards the constant warfare against their many enemies as one principal cause of the rapid diminution in numbers of the Pawnees, and, no doubt, it was a cause; but a far more important one was the sapping of the tribe’s vitality by contact with the whites. Their villages lay almost directly in the path of trans-continental emigration, and it was the introduction of spirits and the special diseases contracted from the whites which weakened the tribe, and made the tough and sinewy Pawnee a ready prey to sickness and death.

Although so ferocious to people of their own color, the Pawnees have ever been at peace with the whites. Bad men among them have, no doubt, sometimes stolen horses, but the tribe has never carried on an organized war against the Government. While they have often been provoked by wanton outrages inflicted on them, yet they have always borne themselves peaceably and mildly, and sought redress by legal or persuasive, rather than by hostile measures.

There is one instance on record which, while it shows their ferocity, exemplifies also their natural justice, and deserves to be repeated. This is the story of the Rawhide.

In the year 1852, among a small party of emigrants, who were crossing the plains on their way to California, was a man who had frequently asserted that he would kill the first Indian he saw. While the train was camped on a small creek flowing into the Elkhorn, a young squaw was seen, who belonged to the neighboring Pita-hau-erat village. Some accounts say that she came to the camp to beg, others, that she was going to the stream for a bucket of water. At all events, she was seen by the emigrants, who bantered the young man to carry out his boast that he would kill the first Indian he saw. He shot and killed the woman. The train moved on during the night. On the following day the tribe learned of this wanton butchery. They pursued the train, and surrounding it, demanded the murderer. He was at once given up, and a council was held, at which his fate was decided. The train was ordered back to the scene of the murder, and there, in the presence of his horrified companions, the Pawnees proceeded to flay the murderer alive. After this had been done, the emigrants were permitted to proceed on their journey. The stream on whose banks this act of grim justice took place is still known as Rawhide Creek.

Not only have the Pawnees never been at war with the whites, but, for the past twenty-five years, they have been their allies in every serious Indian war which has taken place east of the Rocky Mountains.

The Pawnee was taught to deal in ambuscades and surprises, yet he could fight in the open, too, if necessity demanded. Sometimes they had pitched battles with their foes, but their weapons were very primitive, and such combats were—in view of the numbers engaged on either side—comparatively bloodless. Between the years 1860 and 1870 such battles frequently took place near the Pawnee village, when the Sioux, who were far more numerous than the Pawnees, would come down from the north to try to destroy the village. Many a time I have heard from the lips of grizzled warriors the stories of these battles. Sometimes the enemy would come down in small parties, and steal horses, or kill squaws who were working in the corn patches, but at other times large bodies of warriors would approach the village without any attempt at concealment.

About sunrise the Sioux would ride up over the hills in a line fronting toward the village. They appeared mounted on their best ponies, clad in their most elaborate war costume, and wearing long war bonnets of the feathers of the war eagle, which almost swept the ground as their horses curveted along to the music of the monotonous but thrilling war chant. At the instant of their appearance the Pawnee village would begin to stir like a disturbed ant hill. The shouts of command by the men, the piercing calls from women, the alarmed and excited shrieks of the children, the neighing and heavy hoof-beats of the horses, the barking and howling of the dogs, as they were kicked out of the way, made a very Babel of sounds. The men snatched their arms, and springing on their horses rode out on to the plain to meet the enemy, while the women and children, after the horses had been secured, mounted to the tops of the dirt lodges to watch the fight. The Sioux, when they had come into full view, stopped, and sat there on their horses, proud of their brave attire, and courting admiration. The Pawnees, too, if time permitted, would don their finest war dresses, though often they fought naked, and elaborately paint themselves and their horses. As the Pawnees rode toward their enemy, the Sioux slowly advanced toward them, both with extended front. Each party chanted its songs of war, and uttered yells of defiance. While they were still six or seven hundred yards apart they halted, and stood facing each other. After a short wait, a warrior from one side or the other rode out before the line and addressed his party. He opened his speech with some remarks derogatory to the foe, and in praise of his own people. From these generalities, he passed to a consideration of his own excellent qualities, told of what he had done in the past, and what he now intended doing, and when he had finished speaking, he bent low over his horse’s neck, and rode furiously toward one end of the enemy’s line. When he had come within easy bowshot, he usually turned his horse’s head, and rode as hard as he could down along the line, leaning down, half hidden by his horse, and discharging arrow after arrow at the enemy. They also shot at him, as he flew by, and as he rode along, those whom he had passed dashed out in pursuit, until the whole party were riding after him as hard as they could go. If he passed along the line without injury, he turned his horse toward his own party, and rode back, his pursuers following him but a short distance. If, however, he was wounded by the arrows shot at him, and fell from his horse, or if his horse was hit and disabled, or if, on account of the greater speed of their ponies, it seemed likely that the enemy would overtake him, the whole body of his tribe made a headlong charge to rescue and bring him off. The enemy were as eager to take his scalp as his own people were to save it, and the opposing warriors came together in a hot melee.

There was little twanging of bow strings, and not much thrusting of lances; for the most part the fighting was at quarters too close for this, and the combatants pounded at each other’s heads with hatchets, war clubs, whip handles, bows and coup sticks. Bruises were given and received, sometimes a few men were gashed with hatchets and lances, and occasionally a man was killed. If the man about whom the struggle was taking place was scalped, his party at once drew off, leaving his body, which had now ceased to have any interest for them, in the hands of the enemy. If, however, he escaped scalping, his friends and foes soon separated and withdrew to their former positions. Then, after a breathing spell, a man of the other party rode forward, and made his speech, and the charge and general attack might be repeated.

Occasionally a very daring or desperate man, instead of riding down the opposing line, would charge through it, and as he reached it would let fly an arrow at some particular man, and count coup on, and scalp him as he dashed by. He would at once be surrounded by foes, who did their best to kill him, while his own tribesmen would charge upon them, and for a short time the struggle would be very fierce. A brave man, killed and scalped, was mutilated in all conceivable ways by the enemy, and was often cut up into small pieces.

In this way the battle might go on for the greater part of a day with varying fortunes, but without the loss on either side of more than a man or two, until at last one party or the other would become discouraged, and would break and run.

The Sioux in their attacks on the Pawnee village were never the victors. They were always defeated and driven back, and often, in the pursuit, two or three times as many men were killed as in the actual battle. It was but natural that the Pawnees should have been successful in this defense of their village, for in such fights they felt that they must conquer. Defeat to them there meant the loss of all that they possessed, the slaughter of their women and children, and the destruction of their village. Besides, if defeated, they had no place to retreat to. They would fight to the death.

Their fierce courage and their fighting qualities were well shown on one famous occasion. The tribe had gone off south on the buffalo hunt, and there were left in the village only some of the sick, the old men, and a few boys, women and children. Among the sick who remained was Ska-di´ks (Crooked Hand), a Skidi brave, recognized as a leader in battle, and one of the bravest warriors in the tribe. The Sioux had learned of the departure of the Pawnees with all the fighting men, and had planned to come down, kill all the people left at home, and destroy the village.

One morning, to the dismay of those who had been left behind, six hundred of the very best of the Sioux warriors rode slowly into view over the hills, and down on to the plain above the village. They made no charge, for it was unnecessary to hurry about killing the few women, the old men and the sick who were to be their unresisting victims. They wished to prolong the agony of these wretched Pawnees, whose scalps were already theirs, and whose village would soon be only a few heaps of smoking ruins. As they rode slowly down the hill there was no clink of steel nor rattle of harness, only the soft rustling of the prairie grass under the unshod hoofs of their spirited war ponies, but this sound was drowned by the ominous music of their triumphant war song, which, now loud, now low, was faintly borne on the breeze to the fated village. Very deliberately they came on, singing as they marched, proudly, like conquerors, while the sun glittered on polished lance-head and gleaming hair plate, and the wind blew out the fringes of their white war shirts, or gaily tossed the streaming plumes of their superb war bonnets.

The news of their appearance was brought to Crooked Hand, where he lay sick in his lodge. At once he threw aside the robe in which he was wrapped, and as he rose to his feet, he cast away from him by the same motion his sickness. His orders were quickly issued, and as promptly obeyed. The village must fight. Tottering old men, whose sinews were now too feeble to bend the bow, seized their long disused arms and clambered on their horses. Boys too young to hunt, whose bodies had never been toughened by the long journeys of the warpath, whose hearts had not been made strong by the first fast, grasped the weapons that they had as yet used only on rabbits and ground squirrels, flung themselves on their ponies, and rode with the old men. Even squaws, taking what weapons they could—axes, hoes, mauls, pestles—mounted horses, and marshaled themselves for battle.

The force for the defense numbered two hundred; superannuated old men, boys and women. Among them all were not, perhaps, ten active warriors, and these had just risen from sick beds to take their place in the line of battle. But then this little force had a leader. Crooked Hand, mounted on a superb war pony, was as cool and unconcerned as if he were about to ride out to a band of buffalo, instead of leading a force of old men and children against six hundred of the best warriors that the Sioux could muster.

At that time the Pawnee village was encompassed by a high sod wall, and some of Crooked Hand’s people wished to await the charge of the Sioux behind this shelter, but their leader would not permit this. He said to them, “We can conquer the Sioux anywhere.” So Ska-di´ks led his forces out to meet the attack in fair open combat on the plain, on the same ground where so many times the Pawnees had routed their enemies. As the Pawnees passed out of the village on to the plain, the Sioux saw for the first time the force they had to meet. They laughed in derision, calling out bitter jibes, and telling what they would do when they had made the charge; and, as Crooked Hand heard their laughter, he smiled, too, but not mirthfully. He knew what perhaps the Sioux had forgotten, that his people were single-minded, and that they would fight until they died. Their strokes would be for their homes and lives.

The battle began. It seemed like an unequal fight. Surely one charge would be enough to overthrow this motley Pawnee throng, who had ventured out to try to oppose the triumphal march of the Sioux. But it was not ended so quickly. The fight began about the middle of the morning, and, to the amazement of the Sioux, these old men with shrunken shanks and piping voices, these children with their small white teeth and soft round limbs, these women clad in skirts, and armed with hoes, held the invaders where they were; they could make no advance. A little latter it became evident that the Pawnees were driving the Sioux back. Presently this backward movement became a retreat, the retreat a rout, the rout a wild panic. Then, indeed, the Pawnees made a great killing of their enemies. Many an old man, whose feeble legs had long refused to bear him on the warpath, again quavered his war cry, again counted coup upon his enemy. Many a boy, who had never shed the blood of any creature larger than a prairie chicken, that day struck his enemy, and with shrill childish voice shouted his whoop of triumph, as he tore away the reeking scalp. More than one woman, used only to pounding corn and dressing robes, that day counted her coup, and when the tribe returned, told what she had done, and changed her name like a warrior.

To the Pawnees that day was like the day of Thermopylæ to the Greeks.

Crooked Hand, preëminent among the heroes of that fight, with his own hand killed six of the Sioux, and had three horses shot under him. His wounds were many, but he laughed at them. He was content; he had saved the village.

The same indomitable spirit here shown has characterized the Pawnees always. For generations they fought as their fathers had fought, in their own way, with their native enemies, but when they were enlisted in the Government service, and trained in the white man’s ways of war, they adapted themselves readily to their new conditions.

A body of men braver than the Pawnee Scouts, under Major Frank North and his brother Luther, never rode on horses. They were far better than any white soldiers that ever fought on the plains; for, besides their natural courage, they had at their finger ends all the wonderful wisdom of the savage. They could tell, as it seemed by instinct, where a trail would lead, where the enemy that they were pursuing would camp, what were his plans. They had the endurance of their prototype, the wolf. No labor was too severe, no journey too long, if its end was a battle with their foes. Their courage, their discipline, their knowledge of the plains, their acquaintance with the habits of their enemies, their endurance, made them superb soldiers; but, perhaps, more than all this, and yet a part of all this, was the absorbing devotion and trust which they felt for Pa´-ni Le-shar, their white leader. Through all the years that they followed him, he never led them but to victory; through all these years he never lost a man in battle, and the belief of the Pawnees in his ability and his success was like the devotion felt by the Grande Armée for Napoleon.

II. PA´-NI LE-SHAR AND HIS SCOUTS.

Frank North was born in Ohio, March 10, 1840. When about fifteen years of age he accompanied his family westward to Council Bluffs, and a little later across the Missouri River into Nebraska. At about this time, his father, who was a surveyor, was lost in a snow storm, and the responsibility of caring for his family fell in large measure on the boy. Soon after this he obtained employment as clerk in the trader’s store at the Pawnee agency, and thus made the acquaintance of the tribe. His strong character early brought him to the notice of their principal men, and almost before attaining manhood he had become a person of influence in the councils of the Pawnee Nation.

In the year 1864 Frank North was authorized to enlist a company of Pawnee scouts to be employed against the bands of hostile Indians, whose depredations were at that time becoming very troublesome. The command was organized that autumn, and did some service along the old emigrant trail. It was not until the summer of 1865, however, that it saw any serious fighting. In that year General Connor of California commanded a large expedition to the Powder River country, and the Pawnee scouts accompanied him and rendered brilliant service.

Later, during the building of the Union Pacific Railway, the depredations of the hostile Sioux, Cheyennes and Arapahoes became so serious along the line of the road that the Government authorized Mr. North to enlist a battalion of scouts from the Pawnee Nation, and offered him the command with the rank of major. Several companies of these scouts were so enlisted, and for years the battalion did good service on the plains and in the mountains in Nebraska, Kansas and Wyoming, serving under Generals Auger, Emory, Carr, Royal, Mackenzie and Crook, some of the most successful Indian fighters in that Department. The Pawnee scouts were everywhere, and at all times brave men, good soldiers and victorious warriors. The amount of property saved to the Government, the settlers and the railroad through the efforts of Major North’s command can scarcely be computed. In all his service of almost constant fighting, extending over a period of more than ten years, he never lost a man on the battle field, and this caused him to be regarded by the Pawnees as divinely favored.

It is impossible within the limits of a few pages to give even a sketch of the services performed by Frank North and his scouts. Two or three isolated episodes in his career will show something of the constant danger and hardship of the life he led, and of the courage, coolness and determination of the leader and his men.

Such an episode, memorable alike for its danger, the completeness of the victory gained, and the fact that it won for him the title by which he was ever after known among the Pawnees, marked his first campaign. It was in the Powder River country, and Captain North had started with a detachment of his scouts in pursuit of a party of Indians, whose trail he had found. For some weeks his men had been hard worked; and at this time their horses were so jaded that although they had come within sight of the Cheyennes, they were unable to overtake them and force them to a fight. Captain North, who was mounted on a fresh horse, rode far ahead of his men, who were constantly falling further and further behind. At length, realizing the futility of continuing the pursuit, North dismounted, fired a parting shot at the Indians, and was about to ride back toward camp, when the fleeing Cheyennes, about twenty-five in number, turned and charged him. He then discovered that he had outridden all his men. Not one of them was in sight. Hastily dismounting, he prepared to receive the enemy, and firing as they advanced killed one. The rest sheered off, and rode out of rifle shot, and then formed again for another charge. Feeling for a cartridge to reload his rifle, North made the startling discovery that he had but three left, all the others having been lost during his rapid ride. He found, too, that his horse had been wounded by a ball from the Cheyennes, and was in no condition for running; indeed, it could not be ridden. His situation seemed well nigh hopeless, but he prepared to make the best of it, by retreating on foot, leading his wounded horse as a shelter, from behind which to fight. When the Cheyennes charged him he would face about, raise his gun to his shoulder, as if about to fire, and the Indians, who had already tasted the quality of his lead, would drop down behind their horses, and sheer off, never coming so close to him as to make it necessary for him to use one of his precious cartridges. After a long weary walk of twelve or fifteen miles, during which his moccasin-shod feet were cruelly lacerated by the thorns of the cactus, over which he walked, his pursuers left him, and he reached his command in safety. No sooner had he arrived at the camp than, taking a fresh horse and ordering out a well-mounted detachment of his men, he set out in pursuit of the enemy. All that afternoon they rode hard, and when night fell, dismounting a couple of Pawnees to follow the trail on foot, the pursuit was still kept up. Just after daylight, as they rode out into a little park in the mountains, a tiny column of blue smoke rising from a clump of cottonwood trees showed where the hostiles were camped. The Pawnees rode steadily forward in double file in military fashion; and the Cheyennes, supposing that they were white soldiers, jumped on their horses and rode out on to the open hillside where they formed a line of battle to meet the enemy. The Pawnees rode quietly onward until they were quite near the Cheyennes, and then loud and clear their ringing war whoop broke out upon the morning air. When the Cheyennes heard this war-cry, which told them that the attacking party were Pawnees, their hearts became like water, and they turned and fled. Already, however, seven of their number had fallen before the Pawnee bullets, and the fresher horses of the Pawnees easily overtook the tired ones ridden by the pursued. Of that party of Cheyennes not one escaped, and with twenty-seven scalps, and all the plunder, the victorious Pawnees returned that afternoon to their command.

Among the captured property were thirty-five horses and mules, some of which had been taken from a party of fifteen soldiers, killed to a man by these Cheyennes but a few days before; there were also the scalps of these soldiers, and wearing apparel belonging to white women and children, which justified the belief that they had recently massacred a party of emigrants.

It was on the occasion of the scalp dance which followed this victory, and when the Scouts were changing their names, as was the custom after a successful encounter with the enemy, that the Pawnees gave to Major North the title Pa´-ni Le-shar (Chief of the Pawnees), a name which has been borne by only one other white man, General John C. Fremont, the Pathfinder.

The story of the killing of Tall Bull, and the fight with Turkey Leg’s band of Sioux, illustrate the readiness and the daring of Major North in battle. Tall Bull was a chief who commanded a large village of renegade Sioux and Cheyennes, who had given great trouble by their depredations. Major North, with his Pawnees and some white United States troops, had been looking for this village for some time, and at length succeeded in surprising it near Summit Springs. The village was captured in the charge and many of the hostiles killed. Others fled or concealed themselves in the ravines and washouts, which seamed the prairie, and made a desperate fight. The Pawnees were scattered about in little parties, killing the Indians thus concealed, when Major North and his brother came riding rapidly along, side by side, over the open prairie. They had approached within fifty or sixty yards of a narrow steep-walled ravine, of the existence of which they were ignorant, when an Indian raised his head above its side and fired. The ball whistled between the heads of the two riders; Major North threw up his hands and reeled in the saddle as if about to fall, and the Indian’s head disappeared from sight. Springing from his horse, the Major handed his bridle rein to his brother and directed him to ride away at a gallop. The tramp of the two horses sounded more and more faintly on the hard ground, and the Indian, thinking that the whites were riding off, raised his head to note the effect of his shot. North’s rifle was already leveled at the spot where the head had disappeared, and as the black hair came into view the finger pressed the trigger more and more closely, and as the eyes appeared above the ground, a ball pierced the brain of Tall Bull. A hundred yards up the ravine was found his war pony, stabbed to the heart, and by it sat his squaw, awaiting with Indian patience whatever fate might come to her.

During one of the summer hunts, on which Major North accompanied the Pawnees, they were one day scattered out over the prairie running buffalo, when all at once North heard the whistle of rifle balls and saw the dirt thrown up about his horse by the bullets. He called to a Pawnee near him to tell those boys to be more careful about shooting. The Pawnee looked in the direction from which the balls were coming, and after an instant called back, “They are Sioux, you had better run.” It was a large party of Sioux under the Chief Turkey Leg.

North and the Pawnee rode for the bluffs near at hand, and before reaching them were joined by C. D. Morse, his brother-in-law, and half a dozen Pawnees. The little party was surrounded by the Sioux and took refuge in a shallow washout at the head of a ravine, where they were somewhat sheltered from the enemy’s fire by the sunflower stalks and the low edges of the bank. Their horses were at once killed, and the Sioux, who were numerous, became very bold, charging up to the edge of the washout, and shooting down into it.

They were led by an Indian, apparently of some importance, who was conspicuous by a large American flag which he carried. This man was constantly exhorting his men, and would lead them part way on the charge, turning off, however, before coming within range of the washout, where North and his brother-in-law, with the seven Pawnees, were lying concealed. After each charge he would ride to the top of a hill near at hand, and make a speech to his warriors. It occurred to Major North that if he could kill the man who carried the flag the other Sioux might lose some of their courage. As they were retiring from a charge, therefore, he crept cautiously down the ravine, concealed by the long grass which grew in its bed, until he had come within rifle range of the hill from which the leader was making his speech, and by a careful shot killed him and regained the shelter of the washout without injury.

Disheartened by the fall of their leader, the Sioux made no further attempt to kill the besieged company, but after a little desultory long-range firing drew off, so that North and his little party regained the main village in safety.

The Pawnee Scouts were last called out in 1876, when General Mackenzie fought the hostile Cheyennes in the Powder River country; and, led by Major North and his brother, they made that famous charge on the village which inflicted on the hostiles the crushing blow from which they never recovered. How Pa´-ni Le-shar held his men under fire that day, when the bullets were raining on them from the hillsides, was told in a letter written to me by a participant in the fight. “For cool bravery,” it ran, “he beats anything that you ever saw. Why, at one time we were under such hot fire that even our scouts wanted to run, and to tell you the truth, I felt sort of that way myself; but Frank just straightened himself up on the old black horse and said, very quietly, ‘The first one of my men that runs I will kill.’ They didn’t run.”

If the full story of Major North’s life were written it would constitute a history of the Indian wars in Nebraska and Wyoming from 1860 to 1876—a history so complete that there would be little left to add to it. Wherever the hostile Indians were worst there Frank North was to be found at the head of his Pawnee Scouts, doing the hardest of the fighting, and accomplishing work that could have been done by no other body of men.

From his long service in the army Major North was known to all officers who have ever been stationed in the field where his operations were conducted, and by all of them he was admired and respected. He was closely connected with the growth of the State of Nebraska. Several times he represented Platte county in the Legislature, and the strength and uprightness of his character won the confidence of all who knew him. He died at his home in Columbus, Nebraska, March 14, 1885, aged forty-five years.

His was a singularly lovable nature. If the stronger manly points of his character inspired respect and admiration, not less did his gentleness and consideration for others win the deepest affection. He was modest almost to diffidence, and it was with difficulty that he could be induced to speak of his own heroic achievements. And yet his face told the story of the power within the man.

The secret of Major North’s success in commanding the Pawnees, who loved him as much as they respected him, lay in the unvarying firmness, justice, patience and kindness with which he treated them. He never demanded anything unreasonable of them, but when he gave an order, even though obedience involved great peril, or appeared to mean certain death, it was a command that must be carried out. He was their commander, but at the same time their brother and friend. Above all, he was their leader. In going into battle he never said to them, “Go,” but always “Come on.” It is little wonder, then, that the devotion felt for him by all the Pawnee Nation, and especially by the men who had served under him in battle, was as steadfast as it was touching.

III. WAR PARTIES.

It has already been said that the highest ambition of the Pawnee young man was to be successful in war. His whole training, all his surroundings, caused him to believe that this success was the only thing worth living for. Life at best he regarded as hard enough, and only the fame to be acquired by the performance of brave deeds could sweeten it so as to make it endurable. To convey a notion of the way in which these war parties were originated, and of the manner in which they were led, I give here stories told me by three brave men who in the old days led out many war parties. The three stories were taken down from the lips of the narrators. Only one who is familiar with scenes in an Indian camp can conceive how much these stories lose by being put into cold type. As heard from the lips of the Indian, they have accessories of surroundings, voice and gesticulation, which add tremendously to their vividness and their interest. Your Indian is a real actor, and in telling a story he throws himself into his tale, and helps out his vocal speech with a sign vocabulary which almost tells the whole story to one who is ignorant of the language.

In the middle of the lodge the fire is burning, and over it hangs the pot which is ever bubbling. At the back of the lodge, opposite the doorway, sits the host, and above him to the lodge poles are tied the sacred bundles, their buckskin coverings black with the smoke and wear of years, perhaps of centuries. To the left of the host are the most important guests, and the other inmates of the lodge are scattered about here and there, the women being nearest the door. The host hands the pipe to some young man, who carefully fills it, and soon it is passing around the circle. Then a few remarks are made by the older men, and some question is asked which starts discussion. After that comes a pause, and then a middle-aged warrior begins a story. He is They-know-that-Leader, and he tells how he took the horses:

“They tell me that my father was a warrior, and in his time led out many war parties. In my young days I went out with war parties as a volunteer many times.

“In my trips with warriors I had closely watched their ways and movements. I had learned from them how to shoot and how to travel so as to escape discovery. I made three trips as leader. I resolved one time, just as we were setting out on the summer hunt, that during the hunt I would lead a party off on the warpath. I made my plans, but I waited first to make the sacrifice. At that time we did not go far; we came back to the village because the Sioux were about us on the hunt.

“On a certain day I played all day the stick game (Satsa-wi-kah-tūsh). In the afternoon I had lost everything I had. Late in the afternoon I called a few of the young men to sit down with me. When they had come and sat down with me, there were only a few. I said to them, ‘I have called you together to let you know that I am poor in mind. I want to find out if Ti-ra´-wa will take pity on me and help me. I intend that you and I shall go off somewhere on the warpath. Make your preparations to start in two days. Get your moccasins filled with food, get your awls and sinews, your arrows and your bows.’

“On the day I had set, in the night, we went out from the village, having with us the old man who had performed the ceremonies of the sacred things that I was to have with me. On the outskirts of the village, we stood in a row, and the old man prayed for our success. Then we were ready to start.

“Different war parties had gone out before I started, but I considered to see if there was not some way in which I could beat them. I made a plan by which I got ahead of them. We traveled fast, and went up to Grand Island to get some arrows—for my young men had but few arrows—and also to get some provisions. The next morning we again started, and went as far as we could that day. At night I performed ceremonies, as I had been directed. I filled a pipe and smoked to Ti-ra´-wa, as we have always done. That is the first thing we have to do. Then I told some of my young men to build a fire, and others to go off to a distance to watch.

“On a war party some one was always taken along who could shoot well. This time we had no one except myself. The next day I killed an antelope, but I did not sacrifice then, because those are not animals which we sacrifice. We had been gone three nights more before I killed anything more. The fourth day I killed a buck deer, and I sacrificed it. From that day on I never killed anything.

“After I had been out nine days I stole the horses. It was not always the same about stealing horses. It was not always done in the same way. It was daytime when my scouts discovered that there were people about; they saw signs of a village. They told me afterward that they had heard reports of guns during the day. They had not come back to tell me of this, but had gone by. I was coming on behind with the young men, when all at once I heard the report of a gun. As soon as I heard it I stopped, and sent two spies out to see what it was, and whether a camp was near. They wandered about in the timber, and came back and said that they saw nothing. I told my men that we would go off to a distance and wait there during the night. We waited there until morning, and when the sun got up we heard the report of guns in different directions, and sometimes coming toward us. We went to a cañon, and hid in the plum brush, and ate plums. Of course we were afraid, but we ate the plums. We thought that this might be the last time we would ever have any plums. They were shooting all about us, and seemed to be coming closer. In the afternoon, the shots stopped, and they went on to their camp.

“While we were hiding here, many of the party feared that we had been seen. They wanted to start back as soon as it grew dark, but I deceived them. I told them that I was very thirsty, and that we would have to go down to a certain place near the river, and get a drink of water. After night we started, and as we were going along, we heard a dog bark. We stopped and sat down, and I told my companions that two men, whom I called by name, were to go and steal horses. ‘But,’ I said, ‘I am going with them to look after them.’ I told them to pull off their leggings and moccasins, because the brush was dry and caught on them, making a noise. We went together to a certain place near the village, and then these young men told me that they had been there the day before and had been discovered. Then they turned around and went back to where the party were hiding, but I went on to the village.

“When I came close to the village everything was still; the people were asleep. Where I entered the camp, there was a little timber growing, and here I stopped. While I was considering what I should do, a girl came out of a lodge, but she went away from me. If she had come toward me I should have killed her, for she would have discovered me. After the girl had entered a lodge, I went into the camp to where there were some horses. I drove them out of the camp. Six went back, and I drove nine to where I had left my party. The two that I had ordered to steal horses for me were there. When I came to the place, and found all my men there, I said to them, ‘This is very good. I have stolen some horses for you. Now I will go back and get the rest of them for you.’ One of the other men persuaded me not to go again, but to let him go. He did so, and brought the six other horses.

“It was the custom, if it was very difficult or dangerous to go to a place to steal horses, for the leader himself to go and do the work.

“After two nights on the return journey I divided the horses among the men. It used to be the custom after a party had been successful and brought back the horses for them to change their names. After this trip my name was changed to ‘They-know-that-Leader.’ It was the custom among the Pawnees if they brought in horses to make an offering. We felt that we owed something to Ti-ra´-wa, and we gave a horse to the priest, the old man who had performed the ceremonies. I was gone but thirteen days, and returned to my tribe.”

After him follows A-ka-pa-kish—Pities-the-Poor. He, too, tells his story, and explains why one of his war parties was unsuccessful:

“My father told me, if I should ever want to go off on a war party, to humble myself, and not to let a day pass without praying to Ti-ra´-wa by my smokes. I must always remember to pray to Ti-ra´-wa to give me a strong will, and to encourage and bless me in my worship to him. Even when I was eating I must always remember to pray to him. This I must do for some time before starting out.

“At one time I felt that I was poor, and I resolved to go off on the warpath. A warrior, whom I knew, went out and took a lot of horses. He had been as poor as I. I believed that this man had got his horses because he had prayed to Ti-ra´-wa, and I thought, ‘If I pray to Ti-ra´-wa, why may I not do the same.’ So I prayed. No one else knew what I intended. After I had made up my mind, I selected another man, one whom I could trust, and called him to tell him of my resolve. I made him sit by me in the lodge, and said to him, ‘I want you to sit by me to-day, and smoke, and learn my intention.’ After we had smoked, I said to him, ‘My friend, I want you to know that we are on the warpath. We are going out to look for some horses.’ After he had smoked, the other man replied, saying, ‘Brother, it is well. Let us ask Ti-ra´-wa to take pity on us, to help us on our war trip, and to let us bring home many horses.’ We two were the leaders.

“Some time after we had talked together, and made up our minds what we would do, we selected certain young men that we could depend on, and told them that we were on the warpath. This was done in this way. We selected a pipe with which to have a sacred smoke, filled it and smoked. Then we called together into the lodge the others, who did not know our purpose. After they had assembled, I filled the pipe, and said, ‘We are going on a war party. We have filled this pipe, and must decide what is to be done.’ Then I passed the pipe to the man who sat next to me. If he wished to join us he smoked, and passed it to the next man. It was not allowed for any one to smoke unless he would go with this party. Some might refuse the pipe, saying, ‘I have decided to go with another party.’ The smoking of the pipe was a promise that the leader could depend on the man who smoked.

“They used to have a certain ceremony to follow before starting out on the warpath. It was something handed down, a special manner of praying to Ti-ra´-wa that he would bless them in their warfare.

“At last everything was ready for the start. The young men had their packs made up. They carried cooked pounded corn, and pounded buffalo meat mixed with tallow; and sometimes the loads were heavy. Some would carry ten pairs of moccasins, each one stuffed full of corn, or pounded buffalo meat. They were well fed. The loads were so heavy that at first we would only make short marches. The leaders had to see that the young men were not overworked.

“When all was ready, the priest who performed the ceremonies met us. He brought with him the sacred bundle which we were to take with us. At night when it was all still, after every one was asleep, the ceremonies were performed. We smoked and worshiped to the east and west, and to the north and south, and prayed for success.

“On that night we started, and went as far as we could; and the next day, toward evening, when we stopped, we dug out a fire-place, like the one in a lodge, and we two leaders sat by it, facing the east, while before us were the sacred things. The leader has to be a good orator, he has to speak to his young men, and advise them well, encouraging them to be strong-hearted. He would speak to them and say, ‘We have but a short time to live, so while we are on this trip let us determine to be single-minded. Let us all look to Ti-ra´-wa, who is the ruler over all things, and ask him to take pity on us, and bless our warpath. We must respect the animals that the ruler has made and not kill any of them; no birds, nor wolves, nor any creeping things.’ Not a night passed but that, after we were seated in a circle, I would talk to the party, and pray, and hope that Ti-ra´-wa would bless us and take pity on us, and that we might be the party that would have good success. On my war parties I had to watch at all times, even when I was resting, to see that my young men should, before they slept, pray to Ti-ra´-wa that they might dream something good, and that it might come to pass.

“The old priest who had performed the ceremonies, and had let me take the sacred things, had told me to kill a particular kind of animal, a deer, and sacrifice it. I sent some spies ahead to look over the country, and a messenger came back from them, saying that they had seen some animals. He did not describe them, and I ordered the messenger to have the hunter kill them. I heard the report of a gun. The hunter with two shots killed three. They were antelope. When the hunter came to me he told me what he had done, and described the animals which he had killed. They were not the animals I had been directed to kill for the sacrifice. I hesitated, for I did not know what to do. I did not wish to eat these animals before the sacrifice had been made. To do this is bad. It troubled me. I was troubled, because if we ate them it would look as if we cared nothing for Ti-ra´-wa. Finally we ate what had been killed, and made no sacrifice. Afterward we killed two more and ate them, and still made no sacrifice.

“One night I dreamed that the hunter had shot a buffalo. It fell, but as we went up to it, it got up and ran off. We went on for eight days, and had made no sacrifice to Ti-ra´-wa. One day my scouts saw a man sitting on a hill. Some of them wanted to shoot at him, but the others said ‘no.’ They came back to tell me about it, and when they had returned to the place where they had seen him, the man was gone. The man had seen my spies. Not far off was a village, and the warriors in it came to look for us, but we ran away. They hunted for us, but we had got out of their sight. After this we came back home.”

Curly Chief, second chief of the Kit-ke-hahk´-i band, is the last, and he tells how he sacrificed a scalp:

“It was in the fall, before the winter buffalo hunt was made, that I thought I would go on the warpath. Every little while I would call a few men to sit down with me, and would tell them that I had it in mind to go on the warpath.

“The people went out on the winter hunt and killed buffalo, and while they were on their way back to the village, I started on the warpath with a number of young men. From the camp we went south to the Arkansas River. When we reached that river, it began to snow, and the snow fell six feet deep. We stopped in one place eleven days, till the snow got less deep. From there we went on to the sandhills by the North Canadian. One day as we were going along, we saw far off three Indians on foot. They were Kiowas. Probably they had been on the warpath and had lost their horses. We attacked and killed them. They did not fight. We killed them like women. Then, indeed, we divided the scalps, and made many of them. From there we started home, and found the tribe camped on the Solomon River. When we reached home there was great joy, and we danced the scalp dance.