A Lothario of the Prairie

In the winter of ’81 a large camp of Sioux Indians under command of Chief Yellow Gall went into winter quarters near Poplar River, Montana. their temper was such that in mid-winter the troops attacked them. After a day’s fighting the camp surrendered. They belonged in reality to Sitting Bull’s following. A few weeks after the surrender the young bucks were detained for a fortnight under military control at Camp Poplar River where my husband was then stationed. They were allowed certain liberties, among which was the privilege of going to the trader’s store to dispose of any skins not destroyed when the troops burned their camp. We were having zero weather; indeed, it was some thirty below; but we had become accustomed to severe cold, and enjoyed it. Nevertheless, it was easy, in the dry clear atmosphere, to freeze carelessly exposed parts of one’s anatomy. We had to be particularly careful about wrapping up well on going out of doors. It was no unusual circumstance for one to freeze a nose, ear or finger.

I had all sorts of wraps and the like. My coat, which reached away below my knees, was made of buffalo calf, with beaver trimmings, and a high collar. This thoroughly protected my neck and ears. Then I had a cap of muskrat fur. It fitted down over my head below my collar, and its big side tabs covered my ears. It had a deep visor, too, that warded off the chill air from my eyes and face. Indeed, when attired for an outing I was so closely wrapped that nothing was visible except an edge of the bang above my forehead and a small oval of my face. I also wore German socks that reached to my knees. With such an outfit one was neither graceful nor agile, but nothing less would enable one to endure the low temperature. In this costume I accompanied my husband and another officer to the Indian trader’s store on one of our walks. A number of Indians stood about waiting their turn with the trader, while others bargained for goods in return for their furs and peltrie.

While the officers transacted some business I glanced casually around the room. In doing so my eye accidentally caught that of a young buck. He was a well built brave, of medium height. He had good features and an intelligent expression. His discomfiture as my eye caught his made it plain that he had been watching me. He was richly dressed after the fashion of his people. His costume was picturesque, though not unusual for an Indian. His thick scarlet blanket hung open in the warm room, disclosing the details of his dress. His bracelets and belt were of heavy leather studded in a neat design with brass tacks brightly polished. From his neck hung a breastplate that reached to his waist. It was made of a broad, flat chain of clay shells of various lengths. Here and there an elk tooth dangled by way of additional ornament. The shells were white, like bone, and were the shape and thickness of pipe stems, As was customary, he worse his hair in two long braids, decked with strips of fur. Leggings cased his lower limbs from the knee down. They were sumptuously ornamented with fur strips and mink tails. His moccasins were finely wrought in gray-colored porcupine quills. Altogether, he was a typical Beau Brummel of the prairie.

He continued to watch me, scarcely taking his eyes away. At last his steady gaze grew rather embarrassing, especially so when the officers began joking about it. One of them said:

“That fellow looks as though he would like to have your picture.”

At that my husband, always ready to tease, though very clever with his pencil, picked up a piece of brown wrapping paper and rapidly made a sketch of me as I stood. The likeness was a striking one, full of sketchy dash. There was so little diversion that insignificant happenings magnified into events. So, when the sketch was finished it, of course, had to be passed around and commented upon by my friends in the store. Someone showed it to the young buck who had been the innocent cause of the picture and merriment. he was delighted at sight of it, and clapped his hands, saying:

“Wash tala, wash tala. Miah wah chink.” (“Good, good! I want it.”)

The joke had gone so far that as a climax my companions asked if they might give it to him. I could do nothing gracefully but continue the spirit of the party and consent. After he had it we were all curious to know what he would do with it. We watched, and were much amused at his next move. As soon as he could edge his way to the counter he approached the trader and engaged him in a barter. He brought out his pelts one at a time, after the Indian fashion, completing and closing the bargain with every pelt, as if it were his last, and demanding a present (sinta) every time. He seemed to confine his purchases to various bright and varied colored calicoes, buying a half yard or so of each. Then he rolled the sketch with painstaking care and wrapped it in each piece of cloth successively, until it must have been covered with a dozen or more thicknesses. My husband suggested that it would be a courteous act to recognize the care he bestowed upon it by thanking him. I did so, and exchanged several sentences with him in his native tongue which seemed to please him exceedingly. Upon leaving the store I bought him a package of tobacco, to his further delight and satisfaction.

In a few days the Indian prisoners left Poplar River, and were established in a camp near Fort Buford, some sixty miles away.

I saw no more of him before they left, and the incident passed from my mind, until a few weeks later, when visiting at Fort Buford. It was a very bleak and barren station, especially at that time of year, late winter, with the ground yet under nearly two feet of snow on the level. The only possible out-of-door sport for ladies was sleighing, and with no place to go that was not very satisfactory, until the scheme of arranging bob-sled parties to visit the Indian camp, four miles out, was inaugurated. There was no other place of interest -- indeed, not a habitation except the forlorn stage ranches -- nearer than my own post. So one afternoon during my visit seven or eight of us arranged to attend a big feast dance that the Indians were to hold that day. The ride was delightfully exhilarating. There we were on the great open prairie, the snow-covered rolling country stretching away as far as the eye could reach in every direction. The four brisk mules whirled us along at a beautiful pace, kicking up a cloud of fine ice, so hard were the particles of snow in the frigid temperature. We were all in excellent spirits, and the party was a jolly one.

as we entered the Indian village it presented an interesting sight even to us who were accustomed to such scenes. The few substantial log buildings were used for stores, and for a dance “shack.” The tipis were constructed, some of unbleached muslin, others of skin, and still others of flour sacks sewed together and showing the brand of flour in the most unexpected places. Had the latter been pitched in an inhabited country they would have proved very unique advertisements. Volumes of blue smoke curled out from the lodge tops, showing above the tall willows, and ascended almost vertically. As compensation for the dreadfully low temperatures we generally had no wind with it. The scanty warmth of the dancing room was very welcome to us as we entered it. The dancers were just gathering. The “band” was already there, and presented a gaudy sight as they squatted around their tom-toms, which they gently and almost inaudibly beat, as though in the process of tuning. Soon the men removed their blankets, revealing their lithe and muscular forms painted for the most part in bright colors, some blue, others yellow, and still others red, green or white, in a few cases relieved by fantastic designs in contrasting colors. Their faces were decorated with stripes and blotches of different colors; some showing the “coup” mark (a kind of half moon), polka dots, or the like.

Our party on its entrance was naturally the cynosure of all eyes; but one of the “musicians” exhibited more persistent curiosity than any of the others. He never took his eyes off of us. Sitting beside me was Mrs. “Jimmie” Bell, a very beautiful woman -- pretty Emily Bell, acknowledged one of the belles of the army. Indeed, if there are any more beautiful than she anywhere, I have failed to find them in two trips around the world. She turned to me and said:

“Gid, you have a mash in the ‘band.’ Se that young buck looking at you there?”

I protested, thinking he was looking at her. Each of us insisted that the other was the attraction, and while our good-natured raillerie amused the other members of our party, the young Indian continued to stare at us, until we began to feel somewhat uneasy. The Indians in this camp had participated in the Sitting Bull uprising and in most of the raids for the past five years. We knew some of the bucks were still in an ugly mood. It was not beyond possibility or precedent that they might conclude to settled some of their grievances by an attack upon our little party. However, the officers assured us that there was no danger, and were in the habit of swallowing our hearts, being as loath to show the white feather as our husbands. So we tried to believe our escorts were really as unconcerned as they pretended to be. Nevertheless, we were anxious.

All at once the Indian who had kindled our fears suddenly arose, dropped his drumsticks, threw aside his blanket and rushed from the house. His actions and manner greatly increased our uneasiness. In a few minutes, however, he was back again. As none of his companions seemed to partake of his apparent excitement, our uneasiness gave way to mystification. It was only a minute, for he made straight toward us, and, stopping directly in front of me, grasped both my hands in his. I was terrified beyond expression, and fear I made a poor effort to conceal it. However I took courage when one of the officers said to me, in English:

“Don’t let him see that you are afraid he’s all right, but don’t act frightened.”

Before he finished his sentence, the young buck’s earnest face had relaxed, and his countenance was beaming as he pressed my hands, exclaiming:

“How cola. Jontay squeah meto wah?” (“How are you my sweetheart?”)

This speech put the whole party at ease, and sent them into a gale of merriment. I was so rejoiced that all danger had vanished that I was unconscious of my confusion until he took from under his blanket a roll of calico. Standing before me, he began to unroll the bundle. as one print of calico after another was exposed to view, I remembered the rough sketch my husband had drawn in the store at Poplar River a couple of months before, and its presentation to an Indian.

Not until then did I recognize through his fantastic paint the gallant of the trading store episode. He made a great “how-de-do” over my picture and over me, and seemed to think I had come to camp especially to see him. The only thing for me to do was to make him a present unless I wished to offend him. That there were no stores for miles around, and no place to spend money caused us to carry very little money about with us on the plains. On this occasion our purses were very light, and although I appealed to the entire party in taking up a collection right there for the joyful young buck, all we could raise was 45 cents. The amount was so small that I was almost ashamed to give it to him, but made up by a promise to send him some tobacco when I got home by the captain in charge of the camp, whose duty it was to visit the camp daily. I fulfilled my promise the next day, and the captain told me the Indian inquired after me, and begged for permission to leave camp to come and see me. He was a prisoner of war, and of course such an indulgence was out of the question, so he was told that I had returned to my own post.

I never again saw my gay admirer, but it was many moons before I was free from good-natured teasing from my friends. The incident now stands out in my experience as a conspicuous example of the gentle sentiment I so often observed beneath the mantle of dignity and stoicism which were the prominent, outwardly observed characteristics of this really noble primitive people.