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animals have also given warning. The curlew is not singing; many
song birds gathered early into flocks; prairie larks have disappeared;
the skins of otter, mink, and beaver are heavier than usual; and the
jack rabbits are already turning white.”

Next morning I stopped work in the forest to go on a hunt for

mountain goats. I took my saddle horse and followed a stream
through a canyon, into a basin with precipitous walls. There I left
Kutenai and started to climb the mountain on foot. I came to an
exquisite alpine meadow above timber-line, with a carpet of ferns
and green grass. Little mountain chipmunks were gathering seeds
from alpine plants, scampering and chattering in the warm sunlight.
Then a hoary marmot gave a piercing whistle from his rock tower on
a cliff, where he lay watching for enemies. Other marmots in their
feeding grounds along the mountain side took up the cry and ran for
shelter to near-by cliffs and boulders.

That day was strangely warm for the northern Rockies. Although late
in the autumn, the sky was clear and the wind blew softly from the
south. I ate my lunch of dried meat and bread beside a mountain
torrent that had its source in an icy cavern and snowdrifts. It crossed
the meadow and rushed tempestuously down a sheer and winding
chasm to an unbroken cliff, where it leaped forth and fell into the
valley a mass of spray, carrying chunks of ice which crashed upon
the rocks far below.

Then I lay behind some gnarled and stunted firs to watch for game.
The surrounding country with its crags and towering precipices was
an ideal home for big horn and white goats. From my exposed place
on the shoulder of the mountain, I had a far-stretching view—a wide
panorama of unnamed [126]peaks all towering into the blue, of
valleys, emerald lakes, green forests, and white snowfields.
It was then so late I had given up hope of getting any game that day.
Suddenly I caught sight of moving objects on a snowfield at the head
of a valley. Through my glasses I saw a herd of five goats led by a
large billy. They were the whitest things I have ever seen. It was only
because of their jet-black horns that I could see them on the snow.
Never shall I forget my feeling of exhilaration to see those wild
animals in their native haunts, and my eagerness to get one for a
hunter’s trophy.

They were coming my way. They were traveling fast and were
headed for a grassy knoll high above me. I waited until they were out
of sight behind a shoulder of the mountain, then left my ambush and
climbed with all my might. I crept along the side of a low ridge, hiding
behind clumps of alpine fir and juniper. With my large 45–70 rifle,
rope, and cartridge-belt, I had a heavy load for climbing. The ascent
was steep and covered with broken rocks. Because of the high
altitude, I was soon winded and felt weak in the knees. But my only
chance for a shot was to reach the knoll first.

When I was close to the spot, I threw myself behind a patch of

juniper—not a moment too soon. Before I could raise my rifle, the
head of a billy appeared over the edge of the slope. First he took a
look around; the others were behind and not in sight. Then he took a
bite of grass and stepped into view. I raised my rifle very slowly, very
carefully, and threw a cartridge into the barrel. The sound alarmed
him, for he threw up his head. I fired and hit him behind the shoulder.
He bounded into the air. I sent my second shot into another goat,
wounding him. With my third shot, I killed the first goat; and in the
meantime the second billy had disappeared. Then I saw him going
up the mountain with discouraging agility. I followed and came upon
a nanny [127]with two young kids. I walked within a few feet, while
they stood calm and unconcerned. The kids were beautiful little
animals, like woolly toy goats. They stalked back and forth, wagging
their ears and looking at me in a puzzled way. They were consumed
with curiosity and hopped up on a big rock to get a better view. I
wanted to stay and watch them, but went instead to find the
wounded goat.

By blood marks I tracked him up the mountain towards some

precipices. He ran to a series of ledges, made by the outcroppings of
the rock strata. I saw him jump from one shelf to another, and hit him
with a bullet. But, with vitality like that of a grizzly bear, he kept
going. In the excitement of the chase, I never thought of danger and
followed him along the shelves. He jumped to a lower series of
ledges. If he went farther, I would lose him, so I leaned over the
precipice and fired. The place where the goat stood was so narrow I
thought he would roll over the precipice; but he fell dead in his
tracks.

Then the difficulty was to get to the place where the carcass lay. With
my rope in one hand and clinging to the rock wall with the other, I
crawled along the tier of ledges. I could hear the rocky débris from
my feet crashing on the boulders at the foot of the abyss. At last I
reached the goat on the narrow ledge. But I had trouble in skinning.
The carcass weighed two hundred pounds, and in such cramped
quarters it was hard to turn over. With hide partly off, the goat smell
was nauseating. But there was no escape. In front was a precipice
which had a strange fascination, but I dared not look over. At my
back was the rock wall which had such a slant I could not stand
erect. Having unjointed the head and finished the skinning, I crawled
from the carcass and sat down to rest.

Then, for the first time, I saw that a storm was gathering. Dark clouds
were settling over the mountains. The air was [128]sultry; and from
the look of the sky a heavy snow was coming. I must hasten to a
place of safety before the storm set in.
With lariat I lashed the head of the goat, with its long sharp horns,
inside the pelt, threw one end of the rope to the shelf above, climbed
up and pulled the bundle after me. The return trip was more difficult
and dangerous; I had not the excitement of the chase to help. On
hands and knees I crawled along the narrow ledges and climbed
from tier to tier. I came to a buttress which blocked the way. I clung
to the cold wall with my fingers and clutched the scant projections of
the cliffs. It gave me a sickening sensation, when they crumbled and
hurtled into the abyss.

On one of the shelves, I came to a steep pitch in the floor. I shoved

the pack before me, but it began to slide. Quickly I freed myself from
the rope. I lay flat and heard the dull thud of my pack as it struck far
below. I thought all my labor was in vain; that the head had been
ruined by the fall. But I found it at the foot of the precipice, saved
from serious damage by the thick fur of the pelt. Then I skinned the
other goat; the two heads and pelts in one pack made, with my rifle,
a heavy load.

By the time I reached my horse on the floor of the basin, snow was
beginning to fall. And when I got back to camp, the timbered
mountain slopes were all white. That night we had the first heavy
snow of the season. But in the morning the clouds lifted and unveiled
the cliffs and canyons and high peaks.

Then I went forth for camera pictures, following the tracks of birds
and animals in the snow. The valley was filled with winter scenes of
wonderful beauty. As the sun rose over the mountains, icicles and
ice draperies pendent from cliffs and trees glistened like diamonds in
its bright rays. The branches of firs and pines drooped with heavy
burdens of snow. The undergrowth was covered with delicate
draperies; boulders [129]and fallen trees had smoothly rounded caps.
Brooks were covered with ice, crystal clear—with here and there
snow arches and arcades and other marvelous ice structures.

Tracks of coyotes and timber wolves crossed and recrossed the trail.
I saw footprints of a snowshoe rabbit; they resembled snowshoe
tracks, because of the long fur on its feet; and the tiny tracks of mice
and their tunnels in the snow; where rabbits had played and a
squirrel had left a cone. There were tracks of willow ptarmigan; of a
little “crying hare”; and the splay footprints of a wolverine, called
“Mountain Devil” by the Indians, because of its meanness and
wonderful cunning.

But our work in the forest was brought to a sudden close by my

narrow escape from death. Little Creek and I were felling together a
large spruce. He was chopping on one side and I on the other. When
the tree began to fall, I saw it coming my way and jumped for a place
of safety. But the top unexpectedly struck a leaning tree, throwing
the butt of our tree into the air; and then it came rolling down towards
us. It narrowly missed Little Creek. I heard him give a mighty yell; but
there was no escape for me. The trunk of the tree hurled me to one
side, and then the light went out.

When I opened my eyes, Little Creek was bending over me. I

thought my end had come; I could not breathe, neither could I move.
Then my breath slowly returned. I sat up and tried my limbs; to my
surprise I could move them all. But my clothes were torn and soaked
with blood. The jagged butt of the great tree had struck me as it
rushed past, making a ragged wound six inches long in my side; and
that scar I shall always carry. If I had been a few inches nearer the
tree, I would have been crushed. [130]
[Contents]
CHAPTER XVII
 THE BLIZZARD

That fall the good weather lasted until late on the plains. The days
passed clear and calm, as if waiting for a wind to bring the change.

One morning in November, I left my lodge at Mad Wolf’s home in the

valley, to ride after stray horses and cattle. The day was mild for so
late in the year. As I rode northward along the foot of the mountains,
a warm wind came from the east and clouds gathered over the
Rocky Mountain range from north to south. But overhead the sky
was still clear.

At midday I stopped to eat beside a small stream about twenty miles

from the ranch, letting my horse, Kutenai, graze in a meadow. While
stretched on the grass, I saw a great halo unusually bright, of orange
tinged with blue, appear around the sun; with large sun dogs
showing on both sides; and dull gray clouds, like a leaden roof,
spread over the entire sky. These were bad weather signs. So I
saddled my horse and started for home at a gallop.

The sky in the north became as black as ink, with bands of mist
hanging low. I felt a blast of cold air and drops of rain, and saw dark
clouds coming down from the north. They had a strange and
ominous look, rolling over and over, spreading out and trailing along
the plain and reaching upwards toward the zenith.

Then the blizzard came, straight from the north, with wind and cold
and snow. In the blinding storm I lost all sense of direction. In vain I
looked for landmarks—ridges, coulees, buttes, or streams—
something familiar to mark my course. My heart sank and I felt in a
panic. In the [131]thickness of the storm, everything looked strange. I
lost my way, going eastward toward the open plains instead of south.
Then I recognized a familiar rock pile on a butte; and came finally to
a broad table-land, an exposed plateau, which I knew was ten miles
north of the ranch. It stretched from the foot of the mountains to the
open plains, and south to Mad Wolf’s home in the valley. Across its
level surface the wind had an unbroken sweep from the north.

Through deep snow my horse climbed to the summit of the plateau.

And all the time the wind was blowing a gale from the north with
squalls of hurricane force, bearing stinging sleet and snow in blinding
clouds.

By this time Kutenai looked like a snow horse. He was covered with
white hoar-frost from head to foot, having holes for his eyes and
nose. Long icicles hung from his muzzle and from his sides and
matted his tail. He struggled through the deepening snow, losing
courage and going more and more slowly. He belonged to a mild
country across the mountains, and was a stranger to the plains and
blizzards.

Then to save his strength and to warm my chilled hands and feet, I
dismounted and tried leading him. But he acted strangely, as if blind.
He reared and plunged and lay down in the snow. So I mounted
again; with whip and spurs I forced him to move forward.

Night came on, with the snow above the knees of my horse. The sky
was banked in darkness and the pitiless snow pelted me fiercely with
every blast. People who have not felt a winter blizzard on the
northern plains can never know what that struggle was.

I had strange sensations, as though I could not breathe; I felt

suffocated, as if smothered by the snow. It blew down my neck and
sifted through my clothes; it filled my eyes and mouth. A dense white
pall was about me. There was nothing to see—not a patch of grass,
nor a stone, only [132]a dense whiteness. I thought I was going blind;
my head swam. So I began to shout, just to hear the sound of my
own voice. Suddenly I felt tired and lost hope. I thought how good it
would be to lie down in the snow; it was useless to fight that blizzard.

I was roused by my horse floundering deep in a snowdrift. He

struggled a moment; then lay still and began to groan. I struck him
with my whip and tried to drag him out by the reins; I seized him by
the neck and pushed him to and fro, trying to work him loose; I
shouted and prodded him with my spurs.

Roused by my rough treatment, he no longer groaned. He grunted

and tried hard to free himself. And with my help, he finally struggled
from the drift, shook himself, whinnied, sneezed several times to
recover his composure, and was ready to move on. From that
moment he was a different horse.

At last came a lull in the storm. The wind went down and the snow
ceased. Overhead the moon shone through lowflying clouds and
gave me the right course. During that lull I crossed the plateau—just
in time; the blizzard came from the northeast with greater force. But
we were safe in the river valley, protected from the wind by high
cutbanks, groves of big trees and thickets of willows. I knew my way
and came safely back to Mad Wolf’s ranch.

Throughout that night the blizzard raged. But my lodge with its inside
fire was a safe refuge. In my warm blankets I felt a delicious
surrender to fatigue; I fell asleep listening to the roar of the wind, the
beating of snow and sleet.

Next day, when I looked out, drifts were piled around the lodge, with
the ground swept clear in spots. Dense clouds of snow were being
driven by the gale and whirled high into the air; sky and plain were
merged in a vast expanse of whiteness. [133]
During those long days of storm, my Indian father and his friends
passed their time by the lodge-fire, telling legends and stories of
adventure. They gossiped about friends and neighbors; talked of
their daily life—horses and cattle, hunting, and religious ceremonies.

The women amused themselves by gambling with four bones, which

they threw upon the ground and called by name. Men used four
hiding-sticks of bone, one marked with a black ring. They had two
sides, each with a leader who was an expert in handling the bones.
The side with the bones drummed with sticks on the lodge-poles;
they sang songs while they played, and made jibes and tried to rattle
the guessers. These gambling songs were sung with spirit and a
marked rhythm, beginning in a low tone and increasing in volume,
until it reached a high pitch; then sank again to a low pass,
alternately rising and falling and gradually died away. In this way the
play went on until one side lost all the counting-sticks. The players
wagered weapons, horses, saddles, sometimes their tepees and
everything they possessed.

Children liked to coast on snowdrifts down the steep slopes of the

valley, on a sort of toboggan made of animal ribs lashed to cross-
sticks; or they sat on pieces of rawhide and held up the front with
their hands.

Boys spun wooden tops in the soft snow, driving them over the
surface with whips having lashes of buckskin or bark. They also
played a game on the ice, using smooth stones like tops. They
played in pairs, spinning the stones by whipping and driving them
together. The top which spun the longest was the winner. They used
pebble tops on hard snow, making them jump while spinning across
the holes, by striking them with their whips.

On a stormy night, I sat with the Mad Wolf family around a

comfortable lodge-fire, listening to the beating of snow and sleet. It
was just the night for ghosts. In the roar of the [134]storm, everything
sounded strange and mysterious. The singing of burning wood in our
fire was like far-off voices. The bawling of the frightened cattle and
barking of our dogs seemed faint and far away.

Suddenly a violent squall shook the tepee and the door blew open.
The old woman Gives-to-the-Sun cried out:

“A ghost came in! I felt its cold touch! See the smoke whirl! And the
dogs gave the ghost-bark.”

Said Strikes-on-Both-Sides, my Indian sister:

“Of late many ghosts have been around. They do not like the Sand
Hills. They are restless and come back to visit their old haunts. The
night we camped on Two Medicine, the ghost of our old friend
Running Rabbit came from a clump of trees and frightened our
horses. His ghost was so near we feared he might touch us.”

“And why were you afraid of that?” I asked.

“It is sure death to be touched by a ghost,” said my Indian sister. “I

remember after Running Rabbit died, his ghost came back and took
his wife to the Spirit World. She and her daughter were on their way
to the home of Bull Calf. The mother felt a cold touch and turned to
look. Suddenly she fell to the ground and lay as if dead. When her
spirit came back, she said to her daughter: ‘Your father came and
touched me. He wants me to go back with him.’

“Soon after that the old woman died; and her relatives believe that
Running Rabbit took her. The ghost of that old man has been
bothering many people who live on Two Medicine. Strange he should
become so mean. He was so good and kind when alive.”
“There are many ghosts in Two Medicine Valley,” said Gives-to-the-
Sun. “People talk all the time of seeing them. Not long ago, Old
Person was riding down the river to the home of Little Plume. The
night was dark. When he came to the grove of cottonwoods, where
the body of White Quiver [135]lies in the branches of a tree, his horse
jumped and snorted. As he rode away, he heard a queer voice from
the tree say:

“ ‘Old Person, why are you so long in coming to the Spirit World? I
am still waiting for you.’

“Soon after that Old Person became ill and died. I heard of another
ghost that bothered the families of Big Wolf and Buffalo Hide. It kept
them awake all night. It came from the trees and roused the dogs.
They gave the ghost-bark; they growled and sniffed the air. That
ghost cried like an owl and pulled their door open. Next morning they
found the reason. They saw a dead body in a tree close to their
camp. It was the unhappy spirit of a man who was murdered by his
jealous brother.”

Then Mad Wolf told of an experience he once had with a ghost:

“When I was a young man, I went off to sleep alone. I walked all day
and fasted. I wanted to have a dream and to get power. At night I
came to a forest on the mountains and made a shelter of branches.
As I lay alone in the dark, I thought of many things—of wild animals
and of ghosts, the evil kind, which twist the mouths of people and
make them crooked; they pull their tongues back into their throats
and kill them, and shoot with their finger nails. I lay awake and heard
strange noises—coughing and laughing and whistling by ghosts.
Finally a ghost came near. I begged it to pity me and offered it my
pipe to smoke. Then I fell asleep; and in my dream that ghost gave
me power to doctor the sick.”
Another stormy evening a lively crowd of Indians came into my lodge
and sat around the fire. Two Guns, son of the head-chief White Calf,
with his wife and family were there, also the family of Mad Wolf. Two
Guns and his wife were [136]great talkers and fond of repartee. He
was in a good humor that night and said, to make the others laugh:

“I see your lodge has a black top like a stormy sky. It must be a bad-
weather-lodge and the cause of this big storm.”

“That cannot be,” I replied. “We have often used it when there were
no clouds and the country was dry.”

Said Two Guns: “Is it because you come from the smoky-city that
your tepee smokes so badly?” At this joke the crowd all laughed, and
he said: “White Weasel, tell us what the medicine of your tepee
forbids your doing.”

I replied: “There are so many things I could not begin to tell.”

At this every one was pleased. They all liked the repartee. The
young wife of Two Guns was preparing her pipe for a smoke, so I
offered her my tobacco bag. Her husband said:

“Lookout! White Weasel! If you mix any love-medicine with that

tobacco, I may lose my wife.”

I told him it was already too late. He laughed and said:

“If your love-medicine acts that quickly, I shall probably lose her
before we get home.”

That night by the lodge-fire, Mad Wolf told us about the origin of his
Winter, or Snow Tepee. He said:
Legend of the Snow Tepee

“There was once an Indian who hunted in winter, far out on the open
plains. He saw a person running on foot from the north, shooting his
arrows, and after him came the blizzard. After that the Indians knew that
Bad-Old-Man brings the winter; also that Good-Old-Man brings the warm
wind. When the chinook blows in winter, we say: ‘Good-Old-Man is
running down from the mountains with the warm wind.’

“Good-Old-Man and Bad-Old-Man keep chasing each other backwards

and forwards throughout the winter. But in spring Good-Old-Man has the
victory. [137]

“The Supernatural Person who makes the winter storms and blizzards
gave us the Snow Tepee. It is not often seen in our summer camps,
because it is a bad-weather-lodge and has power to bring storms. It came
to our people many years ago during a big storm; in this same moon—the
beginning of winter.

“The ducks and geese had gone south; the last of their flocks had
disappeared many days before. It was time for winter, but the air was still
warm. A band of hunters went on the open plains to hunt buffalo. An
Indian named Sacred Otter and his young son had good luck. After they
had killed many buffalo they started to skin them. They were hard at work
on the carcass of a big bull and had taken off the hide, when Sacred Otter
saw black clouds coming towards them, spreading out and rolling over
and over. He knew it was a Charge Storm—a terrible blizzard—and there
was no time to get away. So he made a rude shelter with the green hide
and carcass of the bull. They both got inside; the snow quickly covered
them; and in spite of the bitter cold, they were warm and comfortable
under a huge drift.

“Then Sacred Otter fell asleep and dreamed he was traveling on the
plains. He came to a large tepee decorated with strange pictures. The top
was yellow, for the color of the sky at sunset; a cluster of seven green
discs was on the north side to represent the constellation of the Great
Bear—the direction the blizzards come from; at the back a red disc for the
Sun, from the center of which hung a buffalo tail; around the bottom was a
yellow band with green discs, the color of holes in ice and snowdrifts, and
the peaks of the Rocky Mountains. At the tips of the ear poles were
bunches of crow feathers with small bells, which tinkled in the wind; and
over the door a buffalo head in red, with green eyes—the ice color.

“While Sacred Otter was looking at these pictures, he heard a voice say:
[138]

“ ‘Who is it that stands outside my tepee? Why don’t you come in?’

“He opened the door and saw a large fine-looking man seated at the back,
smoking a pipe of black stone. His hair was white and he wore a long
white robe. The stranger directed Sacred Otter to a seat near the door and
continued smoking in silence. His face was painted yellow, with a red line
across the mouth and another across the eyes. He had a black feather in
his hair; round his waist an otter-skin with small bells attached, and on his
breast a minkskin. Finally the stranger spoke, saying:

“ ‘I am the Maker-of-Cold-Weather and this is my Snow Tepee. It is I who

send the blizzards, the snow and cold from the north. For the sake of your
young son who was caught with you in the blizzard, I am going to pity you
and spare your life. I give you my Snow Tepee with its pictures; also this
black stone pipe, and my supernatural power goes with it. When you get
safely back to your camp, make a new lodge and paint it with pictures like
those you see on mine.’

“The Cold Maker taught Sacred Otter the songs and prayers that went
with the ceremony of the Snow Tepee, which should be used for the
healing of the sick. He also instructed him to place horse tails on both
sides of the door for good luck—to keep his own horses and to get more
from his enemies; and to wear a minkskin as a charm when he went to
war, to keep him from being injured.

“Then Sacred Otter awoke. He saw that the blizzard was going down and
knew the Cold Maker would keep his promise. As soon as he got back to
his camp, he made a model of the Snow Tepee with its pictures and
decorations—just as he saw it in his dream. And, when spring came, the
time the Indians make their new lodges, Sacred Otter made and painted
the first Snow Tepee. Since that time we have always believed in its power
—to heal those who are ill and to protect its inmates from sickness and
danger.”
[139]
[Contents]
CHAPTER XVIII
 SNOW-BOUND

The scout and his family were snow-bound at the Agency and could
not get back to their ranch. The prairies were impassable with deep
drifts; high winds blew day after day from the north. Meanwhile with
Yellow Bird I looked after their live stock, and rounded up the cattle
and horses which wandered in the storm.

Then, another terrible blizzard came in the night. The roar of the
wind in the cottonwoods sounded like ocean surf in a heavy storm.
When I awoke in the morning, the light in the cabin was strangely
dim. With a sense of foreboding I opened the door. A heavy snow
was falling, coming straight down. It covered the fences and lay on a
level with the cabin windows. The great depth of the snow showed
on the roofs of the low-lying sheds and on the rounded banks of the
river. A swift current was running, with an ice gorge against the foot
log, which backed up the water and covered the meadow with a
small lake.

First we opened a path to the sheds, and fed hay to the cows and
calves. Then we dug a log from the snow and sawed it into blocks for
firewood. The air was thick with falling snow and it was growing
colder. So we made ready to hunt for cattle on the plains where they
were exposed to the full force of the storm.

Yellow Bird rode his big roan horse, I a powerful sorrel. I wore a
beaver-skin cap with the hood pulled down, a woolen scarf about
neck and face, coyote-skin gloves, leather coat and felt boots; only
my eyes were exposed. [140]

When we were ready, our horses stood all humped up because of

the cold. They were in a bad humor, ready to make us pay dear for