Hamlin_Garland_River_s_Warning_part1
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Hamlin Garland: The River's Warning (1902) – Teil 1

Wir besuchten das Lager von Big Elk am Washetay und faulenzten im Tipi des Häuptlings als die Sonne unterging. Überall war das Lachen der Kinder und das leise Gemurmel der Frauen, die über ihre Arbeit sprachen, zu hören.

Hunde und Babys balgten zusammen auf dem Rasen, Gruppen von alten Männern erzählten Geschichten und der schmackhafte Geruch von frisch gebackenem Brot lag in der Luft.

Der Indianer ist ein soziales Wesen und von Natur aus abhängig von seinen Gefährten. Er hat keine Zeitungen, keine Plakate, keine Flugblätter. Seine Nachrichten werden mündlich weitergegeben, deshalb gibt es den "schweigsamen Indianer" nicht.

Sie sind oft hervorragende Redner, dramatisch, flüssig, humorvoll. In einem Lager wird viel gelacht. Die Männer scherzen, erzählen Geschichten, bei denen sie sich selbst auf den Arm nehmen, verspotten diejenigen, die angeben und gehen leicht vom Humorvollen zum Ernsthaften und Geheimnisvollen in ihrem Glauben über.

Es ist diese, für den Stamm so notwendig Schwatzhaftigkeit, die es einem roten Mann so schwer macht, ein Geheimnis zu bewahren.

Kurz gesagt, ein Indianerlager ist nicht so viel anders wie ein Dorf auf dem Land, wo nichts als die örtliche Zeitung gelesen wird, und wo Tratsch der sicherste Weg ist, um herauszufinden, wie die Welt sich bewegt.

In beiden Dörfern gibt es die gleiche Gruppe alter Männer mit Geschichten aus der Vergangenheit, aus Kriegszeiten, denen die jungen Männer mit kaum verborgener Ungeduld lauschen.

Wenn ein Fremder in die Ortschaft kommt, freuen sich alle Geschichtenerzähler und wappnen sich aufs Neue. Ich nehme deshalb immer die Rolle des aufmerksamen Zuhörers ein, wenn ich ein Lager des roten Mannes besuche.

Big Elk war kein alter Mann, noch keine sechzig Jahre alt, er war aber ein Geschichtenerzähler, dem alle zuhörten, denn er war ein abenteuerlustiger Jüngling gewesen, impulsiv und waghalsig, aber auch großzügig und freundlich.

Er war von Natur aus ein stattlicher, alter Mann, aber er trug seine billige Hose so lässig und sein Hut war so kaputt, dass er aus der Ferne am Tag einem Landstreicher ähnelte.

In dieser Nacht, als er ohne Kopfbedeckung im Tipi saß und seine Decke um die Lenden geschlungen, war er bewundernswert. Sein Kopf war groß und den Bildern von Ben Franklin nicht unähnlich.

"Seht ihr", erklärte er, "in jenen Tagen, in der Zeit des Krieges mit den Wilddieben, wurde jeder Junge dazu erzogen, den weißen Mann zu hassen, der in unser Land kam, um unsere Büffel zu töten.

Wir hörten, dass diese Männer für Geld töteten, wie die Soldaten, die kamen, um gegen uns zu kämpfen und daher verachten unsere Väter sie.

Ich habe gehört, dass den weißen Jungen gleichfalls beigebracht wurde, uns zu hassen und so kämpften wir, wenn wir uns trafen.

Der weiße Mann betrachtete uns als eine neue Art von Großwild, das man jagen konnte und wir betrachteten ihn als einen Wolf, der dafür bezahlt wurde, uns auszurauben und zu töten. Das waren finstere Tage.

"Ich mag ungefähr 22 Jahre alt gewesen sein, als der alte Indianeragent zum ersten Mal zum östlichen Ufer des Canadian kam und sich dort niederließ. Ich erinnere mich, dass mein Vater ihn besuchen ging und lachend zurückkam.

Er sagte:" Er ist ein dünner alter Mann und kann seine Zähne in Teilen herausnehmen und wieder zurücktun", und das amüsierte uns alle sehr. Wie ihr wisst, ist die oberen Zähne herauszunehmen, bis heute unter uns die Gebärde für einen Agenten.

Wir kümmerten uns zu der Zeit nicht um den Agenten, weil wir reichlich Büffelfleisch und Häute hatten. Einige aus dem Lager gingen rüber und bekamen Zuteilungen, das ist wahr, aber andere gingen nicht. Ich tat so, als ob ich sehr gleichgültig sei, aber ich war verrückt danach zu gehen, weil ich niemals das Haus eines Weißen gesehen hatte und niemals dicht neben irgendeinem Weißen gestanden hatte.

Ich hörte die anderen über viele großartige Dinge dort drüben erzählen- und sie sagten, da wären auch weiße Frauen und Kinder.

Ich war damals sehr ehrgeizig, eine große Tat zu vollbringen und hatte mich zum Anführer von vierzehn rücksichtslosen jungen Kriegern, wie ich einer war, gemacht. Ich saß im Tipi herum und rauchte, und eines Nachts sagte ich: "Brûder, lasst uns zur Agentur gehen und die Pferde stehlen."

" Das ließ jeden aufspringen. "Gut, gut!" sagten sie. "Führe uns. Wir werden folgen. Das ist der Mühe wert."

"Die weißen Männer sind nur wenige und feige", sagte ich. "Wir können reinflitzen und mit den Pferden abhauen, und dann, meine ich, werden die alten Männer uns nicht mehr Jungen nennen. Sie werden in ihren Liedern von uns singen. Danach werden wir im Rat gehört werden."

Sie waren alle begierig zu gehen, und in dieser Nacht verschwanden wir heimlich aus dem Lager und sattelten die Pferde und ritten über die Prärie fort, deren Gras bis zu den Fesseln reichte. Genau die Zeit für einen Überfall. Ich fühlte mich wie ein großer Häuptling, als ich meinen Trupp schweigend durch die Nacht führte. Meine Brust schwoll vor Stolz wie bei einem Puter an und mein Herz war kämpferisch.

"Am nächsten Tag, etwa um die Mittagszeit, kamen wir in Sichtweite des Dorfes des weißen Mannes und, sich ein wenig nach Norden wendend, führte ich meine Bande ins Lager, einige Meilen oberhalb der Agentur.

Hier sprach ich mit meiner Truppe und sagte: "Ihr bleibt nun hier, ich werde allein gehen, den Feind ausspähen, seine Krieger zählen und den Kampf planen. Ihr könnt euch ruhig aussruhen und Kraft schöpfen, während ich weg bin."

Die Augen Big Elks funkelten als er fortfuhr. "Ich dachte, ich wäre ein mutiger Bursche, um das zu tun und ich ritt davon und versuchte, unbesorgt auszusehen. Ich war sehr neugierig, die Agentur zu sehen. Ich war wie ein Kojote, der ins Lager kommt, um die Fleischbrocken auszuspähen."

Diese Bemerkung verursachte ein Gelächter, das Big Elk ignorierte. "Als ich den Fluss durchwatete, blickte ich rechts und links und zählte die hölzernen Tipis," ( Er machte ein Zeichen von dem Dach) - " und ich fand sie nicht so zahlreich wie ich gehört hatte.

Als ich dem Ufer hochritt, kam ich an einer weißen Frau vorbei, und ich schaute sie mit scharfen Augen an. Ich hatte gehört, dass alle weißen Frauen weiß und wie krank aussehen.

Das, fand ich, war wahr. Diese Frau hatte gelbe Haare und war dünn und blass. Sie hatte keine Angst vor mir - sie schien mich nicht zu bemerken und das überraschte mich.

"Dann kam ich an einem großen Holztipi vorbei, das sehr schmutzig und verräuchert war. Ich konnte einen Mann sehen, völlig schwarz, der auf etwas herumhämmerte. Er machte ein Geräusch, Klank, Klank, Klack, Klank, ich stand an der Tür und schaute hinein.

Es war alles wunderschön. Darin gab es Pferde und dieser schwarze Mann befestigte eiserne Mokkasins an den Füßen der Pferde.

Ein Arapahoe stand dort und ich sagte in Zeichensprache: "Warum tun sie das?" Er antwortete: "Damit die Pferde über die Felsen gehen können, ohne ihre Hufe abzunutzen."

Das schien mir eine feine Sache zu sein und ich wollte mein Pony in dieser Art beschlagen lassen. Ich fragte, wo der Agent war, und er zeigte in Richtung einer langen Fahnenstange an der ein rot-weiß-blaues Stoffstück flatterte. Dahin ritt ich. Dort waren einige Cheyennes an der Tür, die mich fragten, wer ich sei und woher ich käme. Ich erzählte ihnen irgendeine Geschichte und sagte: "Wo ist der Agent?"

" Sie zeigten mir eine Tür und ich ging hinein. Ich bin vorher nie in einem Tipi eines weißen Mannes gewesen und ich bemerkte, dass die Wände stark waren und die Tür Eisen darauf hatte. "Oh!" sagte ich, "Das sieht wie eine Falle aus. Leicht hineinzugehen, schwer wieder herauszukommen. Ich denke, ich werde sehr friedlich sein, während ich hier bin."

Der Agent war ein kleiner alter Mann - ich hätte seinen Rücken mit einer Keute brechen können, wie er so mit dem Rücken zu mir saß. Er achtete nicht auf mich, bis ein Halbblut hereinkam und sagte: "Was willst du?"

"Ich möchte den Agenten sehen." "Da ist er, schau ihn an", und er lachte.

Der Agent drehte sich um und streckte seine Hand aus. "How, how", sagte er. Wie heißt du?

Er machte ein sehr freundliches Gesicht und ich ging zu ihm und nahm seine Hand. Ich konnte seine Sprache nicht verstehen, aber das Halbblut half mir. Wir redeten. Ich dachte mir eine Geschichte aus. "Ich habe gehört, du gibst den Cheyenne Dinge," sagte ich, "deshalb bin ich wegen meines Anteils gekommen."

" Wir geben den guten, roten Menschen", sagte er. Dann redete er lieb zu mir. "Meine Leute sind Quäker", sagte er. "Wir haben wie die roten Menschen Vorstellungen - aber wir ziehen nie in den Krieg. Deshalb hat mich der Große Soldat, der Große Vater in Washington, hierher geschickt.

Er möchte nicht, dass seine Kinder kämpfen. Ihr seid alle Brüder mit verschiedenen Lebenswegen. Ich bin hier, um deinen Leuten zu helfen," sagte er, "und ihr dürft nicht mehr in den Krieg ziehen."

"Alles, was er zu mir sagte war gut - es nahm all das Feuer und die Bitternis aus meinem Herzen, und ich schüttelte die Hände und ging weg, mit meinem Kopf in Gedanken gebeugt. Er war so gütig wie mein eigener Vater.

" Ich hatte vorher nie so weiße Leute gesehen; sie waren alle freundlich. Sie gaben mir zu essen; sie sprachen freundlich mit mir. Keiner stellte eine Waffe her. Alle bereiteten sich darauf vor, das Land zu bestellen. Sie waren nett zu den Tieren, und alle alten Cheyenne, die ich traf, sagten: "Wir müssen tun, was dieser gute, alte Mann sagt."
unit 1
Hamlin Garland: The River's Warning (1902) – Part 1.
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The Indian is a social being and naturally dependent upon his fellows.
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He has no newspapers, no posters, no hand-bills.
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His news comes by word of mouth, therefore the "taciturn redman" does not exist.
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They are often superb talkers.
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dramatic, fluent, humorous.
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Laughter abounds in a camp.
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The men joke, tell stories with the point against themselves.
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When a stranger comes to town all the story—tellers rejoice and gird up their loins afresh.
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It is always therefore in the character of the eager listener that I visit a camp of red people.
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His head was large.
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and not unlike the pictures of Ben Franklin.
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Those were dark days.
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and there sat down.
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My father went to see him, I remember, and came hack laughing.
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To this day, as you know that is the sign for an agent among us to take out the upper teeth.
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"We did not care for the agent at that time for we had plenty of buffalo meat and skins.
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Some of the camp went over and drew rations, it is true, but others did not go.
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"This made each one of them spring to his feet.
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'Good, Good!'
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they said.
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'Lead us.
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We will follow.
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That is worth doing.'
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'The white men are few and cowardly,' I said.
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'We can dash in and run off the horses, and then I think the old men will no longer call us boys.
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They will sing of us in their songs.
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We shall be counted in the council thereafter.'
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Just the time for a raid.
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I felt like a big chief as I led my band in silence through the night.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 7 years, 3 months ago
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My bosom swelled with pride like a turkey-cock and my heart was fierce.
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 7 years, 3 months ago
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You can rest and grow strong while I am gone."
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Big Elk's eyes twinkled as he resumed.
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"I thought I was a brave lad to do this thing and I rode away trying to look unconcerned.
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I was very curious to see the agency.
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I was like a coyote who comes into the camp to spy out the meat rocks."
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This remark caused a ripple of laughter, which Big Elk ignored.
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As I rode up the bank I passed near a white woman and I looked at her with sharp eyes.
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I had heard that all white women looked white and sick-like.
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This I found was true.
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This woman had yellow hair and was thin and pale.
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She was not afraid of me—she did not seem to notice me and that surprised me.
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"Then I passed by a big wooden teepee which was very dirty and smoky.
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I could see a man, all over black, who was pounding at something.
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He made a sound, clanks clank, cluck-clank, I stood at the door and looked in.
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It was all very wonderful.
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There were horses in there and this black man was putting iron moccasins on the horses' feet.
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"An Arapahoe stood there and I said in signs: 'What do they do that for?'
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He replied: 'So that the horses can go over rocks without wearing off their hoofs.'
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"That seemed to me a fine thing to do and I wanted my pony fixed that way.
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I rode that way.
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There were some Cheyennes at the door, who asked me who I was and where I came from.
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I told them any old kind of story and said, 'Where is the agent?'
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"They showed me a door and I went in.
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'Ho!'
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I said, 'This looks like a trap.
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Easy to go in, hard to get out.
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I guess I will be very peaceful while I am in here."
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He paid no attention till a half-breed came up to me and said.
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'What do you want?'
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" 'I want to see the agent.'
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" 'There he is, look at him,' and he laughed.
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"The agent turned around and held out his hand.
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'How how,' he said.
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What is your name?'
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"His face was very kind, and I went to him and took his hand.
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His tongue I could not understand, but the half-breed helped me.
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We talked.
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I made up a story.
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'I have heard you give away things to the Cheyennes,' I said, 'therefore I have come for my share.'
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"We give to good red people,' he said.
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Then he talked sweetly to me.
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'My people are Quakers,' he said.
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'We have visions like the red people—'but we never go to war.
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Therefore has the Great Soldier, the Great Father at Washington, put me here.
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He does not want his children to fight.
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Thou are all brothers with different ways of life.
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I am here to help your people,' he said, 'and you must not go to war any more.'
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He was as kind as my own father.
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"I had never seen such white people before; they were all kind.
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They fed me; they talked friendly with me.
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Not one was making a weapon.
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All were preparing to till the soil.
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Hamlin Garland: The River's Warning (1902) – Part 1.

We were visiting the camp of Big Elk on the Washetay and were lounging in the teepee of the Chief himself as the sun went down. All about us could be heard the laughter of the children and the low hum of women talking over their work.

Dogs and babies struggled together on the sod, groups of old men were telling stories and the savory smell of new-baked bread was in the air.

The Indian is a social being and naturally dependent upon his fellows. He has no newspapers, no posters, no hand-bills. His news comes by word of mouth, therefore the "taciturn redman" does not exist.

They are often superb talkers. dramatic, fluent, humorous. Laughter abounds in a camp. The men joke, tell stories with the point against themselves. ridicule those who boast and pass easily from the humorous to the very grave and mysterious in their faith.

It is this loquacity, so necessary to the tribe, which makes it so hard for a redman to keep a secret.

In short, a camp of Indians is not so very unlike a country village where nothing but the local paper is read and where gossip is the surest way of finding out how the world is wagging.

There are in both villages the same group of old men with stories of the past, of the war time to whom the young men listen with ill-concealed impatience.

When a stranger comes to town all the story—tellers rejoice and gird up their loins afresh. It is always therefore in the character of the eager listener that I visit a camp of red people.

Big Elk was not an old man, not yet sixty, but he was a story teller to whom everybody listened, for he had been an adventurous youth, impulsive and reckless, yet generous and kindly.

He was a handsome old fellow natively, but he wore his cheap trousers so slouchily and his hat was so broken that at a distance in the day-time he resembled a tramp.

That night as he sat bare-headed in his teepee with his blanket drawn around his loins, he was admirable. His head was large. and not unlike the pictures of Ben Franklin.

"You see in those days," he explained, "in the war time with the game robbers, every boy was brought up to hate the whiteman who came into our land to kill off our buffalo.

We heard that these men killed for money like the soldiers who came to fight us, and that made our fathers despise them.

I have heard that the white boys were taught to hate us in the same way, and so when we met we fought.

The whiteman considered us a new kind of big game to hunt and we considered him a wolf paid to rob and kill us. Those were dark days.

"I was about twenty-two, it may he, when the old man agent first came to the East bank of the Canadian. and there sat down. My father went to see him, I remember, and came hack laughing.

He said: 'He is a thin old man and can take his teeth out in pieces and put them back,' and this amused us all very much. To this day, as you know that is the sign for an agent among us to take out the upper teeth.

"We did not care for the agent at that time for we had plenty of buffalo meat and skins. Some of the camp went over and drew rations, it is true, but others did not go. I pretended to be very indifferent, but I was crazy to go, for I had never seen a whiteman's house and had never stood close to any whiteman.

I heard the others tell of a great many wonderful things over there—and they said there were white women and children also.

I was ambitious to do a great deed in those days and had made myself the leader of some fourteen reckless young warriors like myself. I sat around and smoked in teepee, and one night I said: 'Brothers, let us go to the agency and steal the horses.'

"This made each one of them spring to his feet. 'Good, Good!' they said. 'Lead us. We will follow. That is worth doing.'

'The white men are few and cowardly,' I said. 'We can dash in and run off the horses, and then I think the old men will no longer call us boys. They will sing of us in their songs. We shall be counted in the council thereafter.'

"They were all eager to go and that night we slipped out of camp and saddled and rode away across the prairie which was fetlock deep in grass. Just the time for a raid. I felt like a big chief as I led my band in silence through the night. My bosom swelled with pride like a turkey-cock and my heart was fierce.

"We came in sight of the white man's village next day about noon, and veering a little to the north, I led my band into camp some miles above the agency.

Here I made a talk to my band and said: 'Now you remain here and I will go alone and spy out the enemy and count his warriors and make plans for the battle. You can rest and grow strong while I am gone."

Big Elk's eyes twinkled as he resumed. "I thought I was a brave lad to do this thing and I rode away trying to look unconcerned. I was very curious to see the agency. I was like a coyote who comes into the camp to spy out the meat rocks."

This remark caused a ripple of laughter, which Big Elk ignored. "As I forded the river I glanced right and left, counting the wooden teepees," (He made a sign of the roof)—"and I found them not so many as I had heard.

As I rode up the bank I passed near a white woman and I looked at her with sharp eyes. I had heard that all white women looked white and sick-like.

This I found was true. This woman had yellow hair and was thin and pale. She was not afraid of me—she did not seem to notice me and that surprised me.

"Then I passed by a big wooden teepee which was very dirty and smoky. I could see a man, all over black, who was pounding at something. He made a sound, clanks clank, cluck-clank, I stood at the door and looked in.

It was all very wonderful. There were horses in there and this black man was putting iron moccasins on the horses' feet.

"An Arapahoe stood there and I said in signs: 'What do they do that for?' He replied: 'So that the horses can go over rocks without wearing off their hoofs.'

"That seemed to me a fine thing to do and I wanted my pony fixed that way. I asked where the agent was, and he pointed toward a tall pole on which fluttered a piece of red and white and blue cloth. I rode that way. There were some Cheyennes at the door, who asked me who I was and where I came from. I told them any old kind of story and said, 'Where is the agent?'

"They showed me a door and I went in. I had never been in a white man's teepee before and I noticed that the walls were strong and the door had iron on it. 'Ho!' I said, 'This looks like a trap. Easy to go in, hard to get out. I guess I will be very peaceful while I am in here."

"The agent was a little old man—I could have broken his back with a club as he sat with his back toward me. He paid no attention till a half-breed came up to me and said. 'What do you want?'

" 'I want to see the agent.' " 'There he is, look at him,' and he laughed.

"The agent turned around and held out his hand. 'How how,' he said. What is your name?'

"His face was very kind, and I went to him and took his hand. His tongue I could not understand, but the half-breed helped me. We talked. I made up a story. 'I have heard you give away things to the Cheyennes,' I said, 'therefore I have come for my share.'

"We give to good red people,' he said. Then he talked sweetly to me. 'My people are Quakers,' he said. 'We have visions like the red people—'but we never go to war. Therefore has the Great Soldier, the Great Father at Washington, put me here.

He does not want his children to fight. Thou are all brothers with different ways of life. I am here to help your people,' he said, 'and you must not go to war any more.'

"All that he said to me was good—it took all the fire and bitterness out of my heart and I shook hands and went away with my head bowed in thought. He was as kind as my own father.

"I had never seen such white people before; they were all kind. They fed me; they talked friendly with me. Not one was making a weapon. All were preparing to till the soil. They were kind to the beasts, and all the old Cheyennes I met said, 'We must do as this good old man says.'