Part 33 (1/2)

Stabs-by-Mistake (that was really the name of the old chief, and not a joke of Mills') now beckoned Pete into the middle of the circle. Two or three young braves danced around him, while the drums beat and all the Indians shouted and sang, and then the braves seized him, pretended to grab something from him with their hands, and ran with this imaginary thing to some bushes outside the camp. They disappeared in these bushes, speedily reappeared holding up their hands to show they were empty, and came back to the circle.

”I suppose they dropped his old name in the bushes!” Joe laughed.

”Sure,” said Mills.

Now Stabs-by-Mistake rose to make another speech. Pete stood before him, and he talked for two or three minutes right at him, with many gestures, while the Indians listened. The boys could see that he had not yet given him a new name, and all the Blackfeet were waiting, excited, to see what the new name was going to be. Finally, Stabs-by-Mistake laid his hand on Pete's shoulder and spoke very solemnly. Then he spoke the new name. As he spoke it, he gave Pete a great slap on the back as a sort of period to his oration, and at the same instant the entire circle of Indians broke out into shouts of laughter. Pete looked sheepish, and came back toward the Ranger, red and grinning.

”Well, what's your name now?” Mills asked.

”He made a big talk about giving me the name of a great chief, gone to the Sand Hills long ago, and then he said it was Lazy-Boy-Afraid-to-Work. That's why they are all laughing.”

Mills laughed, too. ”He's got your number, Pete,” said he.

Now another chief was making a speech, and Pete grinned at Mills.

”You're in for it now,” he chuckled. ”Yellow Wolf says they're going to give you an Indian name.”

”Oh, help!” Mills exclaimed.

He was led into the circle, looking uncomfortable and shy with so many tourists gazing at him. But the boys knew he would rather have cut off his right hand than hurt the Indians' feelings by refusing. For him, the ceremony was much more serious. There was no laughing, and Yellow Wolf made a grave and evidently impa.s.sioned speech to the tribe, who listened and applauded. They did not go through the comic ceremony of taking the Ranger's old name out into the bushes, but instead they sat him down in a smaller circle of the chiefs, and pa.s.sed an Indian pipe around. Then, standing once more, they danced and sang, and finally Yellow Wolf gave him his new name, with a slap on the shoulder, while the crowd expressed approval. Then a gorgeous feathered head-dress was put on his head, instead of a hat, and when he finally rejoined the boys, he was still wearing this.

”What's your name?” Tom asked.

”What is it, Pete?” said Mills.

”Tail-Feathers-Coming-Over-the-Hill,” said Pete. ”He was a fine Indian, too--medicine man.”

”I thought so,” Mills answered. ”I thought I recognized it. Well, boys, I suppose I'm a Blackfoot now! You know” (he added this in a lower tone) ”they are grateful to me because in the hard winter last year I didn't prosecute one of 'em for killing a sheep, but got the government to send 'em some food, so they wouldn't have to poach.

Tail-Feathers-Coming-Over-the-Hill was a fine old Indian. I'm proud to have his name.”

”It's some name!” the scouts laughed.

Now that these ceremonies were over, the Indians fell to dancing again, and the beat of the three drums, the calls and songs, rose on the air.

Seeing the crowd of tourists about, and filled with fun and good spirits, the Indians started the squaw dance, the dance in which the women and even the larger children of the tribe take part. The three drummers stood in the middle, pounding their sheepskin drums, and around them, in a ring, holding hands or linking elbows, everybody facing inward, the Indians revolved by a curious little side step with a bend to the right knee, in time to the TuM-_tum_, TuM-_tum_, of the drums.

Every moment or two a couple of chiefs or braves would dart out of the circle, seize some white woman or girl, and drag her laughing back into the ring. Then the young squaws began to run out and grab white men. Two Indian maidens seized Joe, while Tom got his camera hastily into action.

”Now, look pleasant, Joey!” he laughed. ”We'll have this picture enlarged for the Scout House--Joe and the Indian maidens!”

The girls placed Joe in the circle, and he began to revolve with the rest. One of the girls beckoned at Tom, as much as to say, ”Shall we get him?”

Joe nodded, and the girl spoke to another squaw maid on her left, and the two of them left the line and seized Tom, also, keeping fast hold of his hands and dragging him with much laughter into the revolving ring.

Before long as many as two hundred people, Indians and white, old folks and young, men, women and children, were all revolving in a great circle about the three drummers, who were beating violently, singing, shouting.

The Indian women began to sing, also, a strange tune, with only one phrase, repeated over and over. Of course, the boys could not understand the words, or even tell for sure sometimes whether there were any words.

But the tune got into their heads. They could never sing it afterwards just as the Indians did, for the Indian scale, the intervals, are different from ours, but they could come somewhere near it, as they danced around their camp.

The squaw dance lasted until the ”pale faces” began to get tired and drop out of the ring. Then the Indians went back to their former solo dances, their other songs, their general jollification and curious games. But the three drummers, without any rest, kept right on pounding and shouting and singing, as if nothing could tire them. They were still at it when the scouts had to return to their duties at the camp, and all that evening, too, they kept it up.