Before the advent of the trader, all portions of the buffalo were utilized. Hoes were made from the shoulder blades, needles from bone, spoons and ladles from the horns, ropes from the hair, lariats from raw-hide, clothing from the dressed skins, and blankets and tents from the robes. Pottery was formed from clay mixed with pounded stone, moulded in hollows in stumps of trees, and baked. Wooden mortars and bowls were hollowed out by fire.

The Pawnee nation was ruled by a head chief of the Chau´-i band. The office was hereditary but became difficult to retain if the chief were unpopular. Each band was governed by four chiefs. Important affairs were discussed in council, by chiefs, head men and warriors. Personal character determined position, and the opinions of the majority prevailed. There was a servant class, composed of young men and boys, who lived in the families of men of prominence and performed menial offices.

Breech-clouts, leggings, moccasins and blankets or buffalo robes comprised the clothing of the men. Their heads were shaved, with the exception of a narrow strip extending from each forehead to the back of the head. The ridge of hair, less than an inch in length, was stiffened to stand upright. From this fell the scalp-lock. The women were accustomed to wear sleeveless shirts and skirts reaching below the knees; also robes or blankets when necessary. There was no head covering, except on great occasions, when some of the men donned chaplets of eagle feathers. Red and yellow paint were used on breasts and faces for ornament, while black paint was reserved for war. Boys were permitted to go nude until ten or twelve years of age; but girls dressed in little shirts almost as soon as they could walk. Infants were placed upon boards.

A visitor at the home of a Pawnee chief, in the village on the Kansas River, about the year 1839, described the toilet of the host's son as extremely fanciful. On days when there was no hunt, the dandy began at eight o'clock in the morning, by greasing his entire person with fat, and painting his face red. Earrings and wampum necklaces were worn, and yellow stripes adorned breast and shoulders. Armlets were placed above his elbows and rings upon his fingers. Handsomely decorated moccasins, scarlet leggings fastened to a belt, and bead garters four inches wide, formed important parts of the costume. One of the women led his horse before the tent. Its forehead and shoulders were painted red and a feather fastened in its tail. Chains of steel were attached to the bridle and bells to the reins. A scarlet mantle was thrown over the young man's shoulders, and thus arrayed, with a large turkey feather fan in one hand, and a whip upon his wrist, he ambled through the encampment, eliciting admiration on all sides.

At a social gathering, the guest sang for the entertainment of the Indians, and requested them to give him an example of their songs. The white man portrayed the result in the following language:

"All rose at once. Each singer began by strange and uncouth sounds, to work his mind and lungs up to the proper pitch of excitement; and when, at length, the shrill and terrible cry rose to its full height, its effect was astounding and sufficient to deafen a delicate ear."

The song, to which the savages kept time with heads and bodies, was allowed to fall into monotonous cadence, then burst forth into full chorus, with mingled howls and yells.

In the early part of the nineteenth century, Pawnee courtships were peculiar. The lover first went to the father's tent, uninvited, and sat in a corner of the mat for some time, then rose and departed without speaking. A few days later, he returned, wearing his buffalo robe hair side out, and sat silent. This was a regular proposal. If the father desired to reject him at once, no skin was placed for him to sit upon and no meat was offered him. If the suit met with approval, the rites of hospitality were extended and feasts were given to obtain the consent to the marriage, of the relatives of both families. The young man next presented himself to his bride at the door of her tent, turned and walked slowly toward his own. She arose and followed him. The ceremony of marriage was then complete. Presents of horses, blankets and other valuables were sent to the father of the young woman.

Plural marriage was practiced, the husband being entitled to wed the younger sisters of his first wife.

In the permanent villages on the Platte River, circular lodges were built of sod. Every house had a wall seven or eight feet in height, around which, upon the floor, the inmates slept, each bed being partitioned or curtained off. Hanging upon the wall or in the space back of the bed, were the belongings of its occupant. The center of the house was reserved for cooking, smoke escaping through an aperture in the roof. Skin lodges were used when traveling or upon the semi-annual hunt. Each family had many dogs.

After spring planting, the people abandoned their villages for the summer hunt, returning in time for harvest. Religious ceremonies, with fervent prayers to Ti-ra´-wa, the invisible yet ever-present Creator, preceded departure. The Buffalo Dance, executed by the younger warriors, came next. This continued for three days, when the line of march was taken up. Tents, cooking utensils and the entire property of the tribe having been packed on ponies and removed to the vicinity of a large herd of buffaloes, camp was established and preparations made for curing the meat when it should be brought in. Approaching to make the attack, a limited number of chosen men, led by standard-bearers with sacred poles wrapped in bright colored cloth and ornamented with bead-work and feathers, advanced first. The remainder of the hunters followed. After the slaughter, the squaws, with their sharp knives, amid much merriment, cut and bore away to the camp the most desirable portions of meat.

Ti-ra´-wa, the Pawnee deity, was not personified, being intangible and in and of everything. The nation did not adore any material substance, but, like all aboriginal people, attributed to animals an intelligence sometimes exceeding that of man. As the messengers of God, the Na-hu´-rac received miraculous power through him, hence were often implored to intercede with Ti-ra´-wa. In cases of great emergency, direct intercession became necessary. A party prayed for success and made sacrifices before starting on the war-path. Victory was acknowledged by thanksgiving offerings. War parties were made up by anyone with a grievance, if he had sufficient influence to secure followers. Frequently scalps taken from the heads of enemies were burned with much ceremony.

One of the best-known legends, related by George Bird Grinnell, illustrates the power of animals in changing the fortunes of those who listened to their behests.

An old woman lived on the outskirts of a village located on the bank of the Platte River. At one time she had been the wife of a brave hunter and warrior. During his life there was always a comfortable lodge, as well as plenty of buffalo meat and robes. No one of the nation was more successful in stealing horses from the enemy, which was considered a highly honorable feat. He was killed in a great battle with the Sioux, and the poor woman had never ceased to mourn. Now, in old age, there remained but one relative, a grandson of sixteen years. Being reduced to poverty, they were in the habit, when the tribe moved, of following in the rear, in order to pick up anything that might have been left behind as worthless. Once, to the delight of the boy, an old dun horse was abandoned by its owner. The animal was blind in one eye and had a sore back and a swollen leg; but was nevertheless valuable to the poor woman, inasmuch as it could carry the cooking utensils and the worn-out skin used for a lodge when traveling.

The village was moved to Court House Rock. Soon after arrival the young men sent out to look for buffaloes returned with information that there was a large herd in the vicinity, and among the animals was a spotted calf.

The head chief had a young and beautiful daughter. He announced that whosoever should kill the spotted calf should marry the girl. Since the buffaloes were only four miles away, it was decided that the charge should be made from the village. The one who had the fastest steed would be most likely to obtain the calf. The poor boy made preparations to ride the old dun horse. He was ridiculed to such an extent that he withdrew to the bank of a creek, nearby. The animal turned its head and said:

"Plaster me all over with mud. Cover my head, neck, body and legs."

The boy obeyed and the horse then ordered that he remain where they were and make the charge from the creek. The men were drawn up in line and at the word Loo ah (go), leaned forward, yelled and galloped away. At one side, some distance away, the dun horse flew over the ground; he seemed young and strong of limb and sure of foot. As they neared the buffaloes, he dashed in among the herd and stopped beside the spotted calf. His rider killed it, and taking another arrow, shot a fat cow, then dismounting, secured the spotted skin. Cutting out certain portions of the meat, the boy packed them upon the horse. Putting the skin on top of the load, he led the animal back to camp. It pranced and curveted and showed much spirit. The warriors were filled with astonishment. A rich chief rode up to the boy and tried to buy the spotted robe, but without success.

Some of the hunters reached the village in advance and informed the old woman of her grandson's triumph. She could hardly believe the story, and wondered if they were still ridiculing her boy. His appearance with the coveted robe and more meat than they had had for many a long day, ended her doubts; and there were great rejoicings in the tent.

At night the horse spoke to the boy, saying:

"To-morrow the Sioux are coming. There will be a battle. When they are drawn up in line, jump on me and ride as hard as you can up to the head chief and kill him and ride back. Ride up to them four times and kill four of the bravest Sioux; but do not go the fifth time or you will get killed or lose me."

The next morning, just at day-break, the Sioux rode over the top of the hill and drew up in line of battle. They were attired in all the trappings of war, and looked ferocious in their paint. The Pawnees had no time for decoration, but hastily seized their weapons, cut the lariats that bound their ponies, sprang upon them and rushed out of the camp, when at the proper distance, forming in battle array opposite the enemy.

It was the custom of these tribes, when ready for a fight, to confront one another in two long lines. After a few moments of silence, some man, desiring to distinguish himself, rode out from the attacking party and exhorted his people, telling them of brave deeds in the past and of what he now intended to do; then, turning quickly, he dashed toward the enemy, hanging over the side of his pony and riding along in front of the foe, discharging one arrow after another, in rapid succession. If the brave were killed, his own people made no sign, until a man rode out from the other side to challenge; but if he were fiercely set upon, they united in a general attack.

The boy mounted the dun horse and joined the warriors. They looked askance but were too excited to make comment. The wonderful horse galloped out from the line and made for the head chief of the Sioux. The boy quickly despatched the leader and rode back to the Pawnees. Four times he went forward, and each time killed one of the bravest of the enemy. Then, forgetting the warning, the boy charged again. An arrow struck his horse and the rider had a narrow escape from death. The Sioux cut and chopped the horse in pieces.

After a spirited conflict, the Pawnees were victorious. The following day the boy went out to where the horse lay. Gathering up the pieces of flesh, he put them in a pile, and wrapping himself in his blanket, sat on the top of a hill not far away. He drew the robe over his head and mourned. A storm arose suddenly. The wind blew and rain fell. Removing the blanket from his face, the boy saw the pieces coming together and taking form. Another storm succeeded. When it cleared away, he beheld a slight movement of the horse's tail. Then the animal lifted its head from the ground. After a fourth storm had spent its fury, the horse arose and its owner hastened down the hill and led it home. It cautioned him to render perfect obedience in the future, and said:

"Lead me away from the camp, behind that hill. Leave me there to-night and come for me in the morning."

The boy did as directed and found, standing beside his old friend, a beautiful white horse.

Leaving the dun horse a second night, the owner discovered a fine black gelding in the morning. After ten nights, there were ten horses, each of a different color. The boy was now rich and married the daughter of the chief. Many years later he became the head of the nation. The old grandmother was well cared for, and the dun horse, being considered sacred, was never mounted except at a doctor's dance; but was led around with the chief wherever he went.

The Pawnees believed that the Na-hu´-rac held council in five places. At Pa-huk´ (White Island) on the south side of the Platte River, opposite Fremont, Nebraska; under an island in the Platte River, near Central City (Dark Island), on the Loup Fork, opposite the mouth of Cedar River (White Bank); and on the Solomon River, Kitz-a-witz´-uk, (Water-on-a-Bank). This was a mound with a hole in the middle, through which water might be seen. Articles were thrown in, as offerings to Ti-ra´-wa. The fifth place, a hole in the side of a hill, was in Kansas. It was indicated by a rock called Pa-hur´ (Hill-that-points-the-Way).

An old story, current among the people, says that in the early days, in one of the Pawnee tribes, was a boy, smaller than others of his age. He refused to play with the children, preferring to spend much time alone. His manner was strange and the child was frequently in tears. The father and mother observed that he often pasted mud upon his head. This was the sign of a doctor and designated faith in the earth. As the boy grew to be a young man he appeared to have something constantly on his mind and would fast for days, smoking and praying to Ti-ra´-wa during that time. He doctored those who were ill, and, although rapidly becoming great, was not proud. Nevertheless, the doctors of the tribe were jealous, and one of them, a member of another clan, came to visit him. They ate, talked and smoked together. The older man said:

"Now we will smoke my tobacco."

They did so, and he departed. As the summer weather came on, the young healer began to feel sick. It was evident that the doctor had poisoned him. He swelled up with a new disease and prayed almost unceasingly to Ti-ra´-wa for relief. The people went on a hunt. He ascended a hill to think and pray; and after making burnt offerings, mounted a horse which the father had left behind, and journeyed east, instead of following the tribe.

A few days later, the horse was sacrificed to Ti-ra´-wa and cut down the back, so that animals could feed upon it. The unhappy young man called upon the Na-hu´-rac to intercede for him. He traveled east to Pa-huk´ and fell asleep. A strange voice asked what he was doing there. No one was in sight. The same thing occurred next night. The sick man answered the voice this time, and begged for pity, but received no reply. The fourth night something touched him and said:

"What are you doing here?"

There stood a big elk, with black eyes. It informed him that they were directly over the home of the Na-hu´-rac. One night not long afterward a bird came, saying:

"Come, let us go to the edge of the cut bank."

He obeyed, and the bird said:

"When I dive down, follow me."

Passing through the water, they soon stood at the entrance of a lodge and could see a fire within. As they entered, the Na-hu´-rac made their different noises. A bear was stationed at one side of the entrance and a snake at the other. The head doctor was a white beaver. As they sat down, the bird said:

"I have brought this man here and want you to take pity on him."

Taking the man's pipe, the bird held it out to the beaver. The white beaver hesitated, but finally took the pipe. All the animals made a sound, as if to say, "Loo-ah" (good). The beaver passed the pipe to the other Na-hu´-rac and each one made a speech, saying that he had not power to heal. None had the power. The elk then took the man to another lodge but he was not cured. From there they went to the Loup River, to the island in the Platte River and at last to the lodge under Center Island; but without avail. The principal doctor said that the lodge at Pa-huk´ was the head. The bird took the man back.

The white beaver stood up and announced that he had sent the man to others in order to see if they were equal to the lodge at Pa-huk´; then going to the ground-dog, he extended the pipe. The ground-dog reached out its paws, took the pipe, smoked and commanded the Pawnee to go and sit opposite the fire. He was ordered to stand up while the Na-hu´-rac sang and the ground-dog danced. Next they told him to lie down with his feet toward the door. The head ground-dog jumped over him and was observed to have a large piece of flesh in his mouth. Another dog followed, and another, each eating a piece of flesh, until all had passed over. This was kept up until they had eaten the swelling. The man seemed to be dead. The head doctor spoke to the bears; they arose and sang, then jumped on the body, shaking and pulling it around. After a while the blood began to flow and the man breathed. He was entirely restored to health and remained some time with the Na-hu´-rac, learning their medical secrets. They told of the sky-house of Ti-ra´-wa and said:

"He made us; he made everything. Blow a smoke to each of the four doctors; but blow four smokes to Ti-ra´-wa."

The man went home and got beads, pipes, tobacco and buffalo meat and taking them back, threw them into the river to be carried down to the Na-hu´-rac lodge at Pa-huk´; then he went to visit the doctor who had made him ill. He said:

"When you visited me, we smoked your tobacco. To-day we will smoke mine."

After smoking, the young medicine man went down to the river and blew upon the ice, and in a moment, the river was full of blood. It was the blood of the wicked doctor, whose dead body was found in the lodge, perfectly hollow. The blood had gone into the river. The favorite of the animals eventually became one of the most famous healers ever known in the nation.

Priests and doctors were not identical. Priests were the mediums of communication with Ti-ra´-wa and knew what was inside the sacred bundles. The medicine man was called upon in case of sickness or injury. The sacred bundles, many of which were of great age, hung opposite the door of every house. On certain occasions, the contents formed a part of religious ceremonies.

The Pawnees believed that the earth was first inhabited by a race of giants, so large that they could carry buffaloes upon their backs. These people did not acknowledge Ti-ra´-wa and grew more and more wicked. He was angry and caused the water to rise and the ground to become soft and the giants sank into the mud. The large bones found at different times were thought to be their skeletons. A new race was created, from which all nations sprang.

The Ski-di band offered human sacrifices to the morning star. A young captive, taken in war, was selected and fattened, being treated kindly during the days of preparation. He was permitted to know nothing of the fate in store, until the four days' feast and dance. Old men at the ends of the village called upon each male person to prepare bow and arrow and be ready for the sacrifice. When the fatal day arrived, every woman had a lance or stick, and every man held a pipe in one hand and bow and arrow in the other.

At the west side of the village, two posts with cross poles were set up, to which the captive was bound, hand and foot. Behind him came a man carrying a buffalo heart and tongue, followed by a warrior with a blazing stick, one with a bow and sacred arrow of flint, and another with a stuffed owl. Wood was piled around upon the ground beneath the cross poles. The man with a blazing stick lighted the fire. When it had burned to the center of the pile, below the captive, the warrior with bow and arrow stepped forward and shot him through, under the arms, so that the blood would drip down upon the fire. The buffalo heart and tongue were then placed upon the blaze. The man with the owl seized a torch and burned the body four times, after which each male person present shot an arrow into it, and each woman struck it with a stick. The flesh was consumed by fire, while the people prayed.

John Greenleaf Whittier left, among his papers, a poem that has immortalized

A LEGEND OF KANSAS.

Night had fallen upon the broad prairie—a moonless night. The chill air vibrated with noise of barbarous laughs and yells. The measured tramp of heavy feet and the Hoo-ah, Hi-yah of excited dancers seemed fiendish. Dark, weird-looking figures might be seen, dimly, by the light of a camp-fire; and in the center of the frenzied throng was a maiden, silent and defiant. Around her feet was piled fuel for the sacrifice, for had not the wise men of the Pawnees, who hold communion with the other world, decreed that she should die by slow torture, to atone for cruelties practiced by her father, a fierce chief of the Kansas Indians? The innocent girl might not hope for pity at the hands of her nation's bitterest foes; but she could show them how fearlessly her father's daughter could face a horrid death; could shame their sons and warriors by a brave, unmoved demeanor; and even now, as a small blaze started up from the outer edge of the pile of sticks and began to creep slowly toward the captive, the clear tones could be heard above the din, chanting her own funeral hymn—the death song of her people.

Once in a while some old, decrepit squaw, with shrill and penetrating voice, would heap fresh taunts upon the victim; and as the fire brightened, upon the dusky faces might be seen the gleam of savage hatred and of satisfied revenge. Wilder grew the howls; and still the mournful tones resounded above the shouts of triumph. The flames closed in around her, and they leaped up higher, toward the cross poles to which she was bound, flashes of light revealed more fully the pale set face of the doomed one. Now, she could feel the hot breath of fire. Where was the Kansas chief? Had he taken refuge in the mountains of the West and left his helpless daughter at the mercy of the enemy? Was all hope lost? No, her quick ear caught the sound of horse's hoofs, muffled by the soft prairie grass. The captors, with senses dulled by liquor, kept up their shrieks of exultation. Though her heart was beating loudly, she dared not cease the song. A moment and a brave young rider, on his father's swiftest steed, dashed in among the dancers, hurled the firebrands from around her and cut the thongs that bound the maiden. A moment more, and they were safe without the startled crowd, flying over the flower-strewn prairie, toward the country of the Kaws. In the words of the great poet:

"Where the Kansas wanders free
By the willowy Siskadee
There their pictured tent is spread,
With the soft fur carpeted;
And that sweet young mother there
Smiling through her lavish hair,
Oft shall sing her hunter's glory,
Oft shall tell his daring story,
Till the listening Kansas maid,
Lying listless in the shade,
Dreams, perchance (for wild or tame
Woman's romance is the same),
Of some hero's circling arm
Shielding her from deadly harm;
And the Indian boy anear,
Leaning on his fishing spear,
Sees that same coy maiden bound
On the Pawnee's hunting ground—
He, upon his father's steed,
Hurrying at her cry of need—
Feels her arms around him thrown,
Feels her heart beat with his own,
And her soft breath, quick and low,
O'er his dark cheek come and go—
Hears behind the Pawnee yell
Fainter on the breezes swell—
Sees with joy the morning's beam
Flashing from his native stream,
As he drops his courser's rein
By the Kansas tent again."

John B. Dunbar, who, in relating the story, asserts that the captive was a Comanche girl, has preserved the Indian song in honor of Pit-a-le-shar´-u, the hero. The oft recurring portion

Lu! ti-wak´-o-le
We-tut-i-wit-a
Pit-a-le-shar´-u,

when translated, reads:

Well, he exclaimed,
You see I am come,
I, Pit-a-le-shar´-u.

Although among the fiercest of the prairie Indians, the Pawnees never carried on an organized war against the Government. They were, however, always on hostile terms with the Sioux, Kaws, Osages, Iowas, Sacs and Foxes.

In a beautiful wooded region, near the Missouri River, were the villages of the Iowas and Sacs. A vast extent of prairie reached west and southward. The Indians lived in huts of bark stretched over poles. Implements for out-door work consisted of the "squaw-axe" and hoe, purchased from traders. Iron camp kettles, wooden bowls and ladles were the only utensils for domestic use. The tribes still clung to barbarous customs when the Highland mission was founded; and their teacher narrated that, at one time, a great feast was given in his honor. The principal article of food was a savory soup. He mentally congratulated himself on having been presented with a dish so pleasing to the taste that he might show due appreciation of the honor conferred upon him. Suddenly one of the hosts, in broken English, said:

"Dig deep, dig deep!" The guest did so, and dipped up a ladleful of white worms.

Missionaries found it difficult to check the wild propensities of their pupils; and the war of extermination continued until stopped by the United States Government. The diary of Father Irvin, who established the school, makes special mention of a war in 1839, and a skirmish in which nine Pawnees were slain near Arago, Nebraska. This was, doubtless, considered of great importance, inasmuch as the prowess of the Pawnees made it a difficult matter for less formidable warriors to win a victory, if the sides were equally divided as to numbers. Highland University is now located upon the war trail over which the party passed.

Like others of the Sioux family, the Iowas indulged in dances before setting forth on the war-path; and upon the return, the women executed the Scalp Dance, in which they carried, attached to poles, not only the scalps of enemies, but also fingers, toes and other mutilated portions of bodies.

During the period of general, if not united, efforts against the Pawnees, there was a conflict in which a small band was besieged on all sides, supposedly by the Sioux. The weaker party took refuge in a ravine, where the sunflowers grew tall, and, protected by the thick stalks, which turned the balls aside, made a brave fight for life. After repeated attacks, the assailants withdrew, bearing the body of their leader, who had been killed in the struggle. The Pawnees regained their town without the loss of a man.

As immigration increased, settlers took possession of parts of their reservation. It was the old, pitiful tale. The tribe, reduced by war and famine, relinquished its land and reluctantly departed for the Indian Territory. Being an agricultural as well as a courageous people, the last of the Pawnees have developed into excellent farmers. Maize, which was called A-ti´-ra (mother), proved, after all, to be their best friend.

III.
THE SIOUX.

Among these Arabs of America, the chiefs were not possessed of undue power. They might suggest, but seldom enforced; and usually depended for influence upon popularity with the people. The Indian is by far the most ardent advocate of liberty.

If a Dakota died, his nearest friend killed an enemy. The dead were laid upon scaffolds and allowed to remain a certain length of time, after which burial took place. The grief and devotion of a savage wife are brought out in the old legend of Eagle Eye and Scarlet Dove.

Eagle Eye was the son of a famous war prophet who lived many years ago. The young brave was a bitter foe, a warm friend and a wise counsellor. Scarlet Dove, whom he chose as a wife, was distinguished for goodness as well as for beauty; and in the eyes of her father, was worth the finest of horses and blankets. Eagle Eye did not hesitate to pay the required price; and, according to custom, prepared a lodge for his bride. Only a few moons after the marriage they joined a hunting party passing down the Mississippi River.

One day as the husband, watching for deer, crouched behind some bushes, a comrade accidentally shot an arrow into his heart. The lamentations of Scarlet Dove could be heard from afar. She cut and lacerated her flesh in a terrible manner; and wrapping the body of her loved one in skins, put it upon a temporary scaffold and sat beneath. The hunting party moved. She carried the dead upon her back, and at every camp erected a scaffold. At length they reached home, the sorrowing bride still bearing her precious burden. She procured forks and poles and built a strong scaffold. Hanging from this, was discovered a few days later, the body of Scarlet Dove.

Mirrors, when first introduced among the Dakotas, were regarded as sacred; and women were denied the privilege of gazing therein. As a consequence, the young men of the nation became the more remarkable for vanity, decking themselves out to an unusual degree with savage finery. An eagle feather, with a red spot, denoted the killing of an enemy. A notch cut in the edges of a feather painted red indicated that the throat of an enemy had been cut. One who had seen a fight, even though he might not have participated, was allowed to mount a feather. Horses' tails, beads, wampum and a variety of paints were also used by way of decoration.

The women were hard-working and submissive. Plural marriages being fertile sources of discontent, suicides were not infrequent.

Anepetusa was an unfortunate wife, whose sad story has become a part of the traditional history of Minnesota. When young and beautiful she became the bride of a Dakota hunter. For a time all was peace and contentment in the lodge. Anepetusa was a happy wife, and her joy was increased by the birth of a child. The boy grew strong and handsome, as the years passed by; but, at length, a deep shadow fell across the threshold of the forest home. A second wife was purchased, and came to share the humble habitation. All the world seemed dark to the now-neglected woman. The child was her sole remaining comfort. An expression of deep sorrow settled upon the once beautiful features, yet no murmur escaped her lips. Grieving in silence, she followed her lord and master upon a hunting expedition. He appeared utterly indifferent to this devotion. They approached the Falls of St. Anthony. Taking the child by the hand, Anepetusa walked out into rapid water and entered a canoe. As they pushed into the swift current she chanted an unearthly dirge. A moment afterward the astonished husband saw her go over the falls. His heart was stricken with terror by the wild ringing of a death song that could be plainly distinguished above the roaring of the waterfall.

From that time forth, so the Dakotas said, the spirit of an Indian wife, with a child clinging around her neck, might be seen darting into the spray; and her death song was heard in the moaning of the winds and the raging of the waters.

Each Dakota was supposed to have four souls. At the extinction of physical life, one remained in or near the body, another was lodged in a bundle containing hair and clothes of the deceased, kept by relatives and thrown into the enemy's country, the third passed into the spirit land, and the fourth entered the body of a child, plant or animal.

The following petition, translated by a United States interpreter, was a typical prayer of these primitive people:

"Spirits, or ghosts, have mercy on me; and show me where I can find a bear."

All unusual occurrences were regarded as good or evil omens. In crossing a lake or other body of water, the Dakotas filled their pipes and invoked the winds to be calm. According to Schoolcraft, they did not believe in the transmigration of souls. Worship was in a natural state. There were no images of wood. A stone was picked up, placed a few rods from the lodge, an offering of tobacco or feathers was made, and an entreaty for protection from some threatened evil.

O-an-tay´-hee, the supreme god, was regarded with the utmost reverence. His name, like that of Jehovah of the Israelites, was seldom spoken. He created the earth. Assembling the aquatic tribes, he commanded them to bring up dirt from beneath the water, at the same time proclaiming death to the disobedient. This would indicate that the Indian, as well as the modern scientist, realized the fact that the earth was in a liquid state at one period. The beaver and other animals forfeited their lives. At last the muskrat went down and, after a long delay, returned with some dirt, from which the earth was formed.

Taking one of his own offspring, O-an-tay´-hee ground him to powder and sprinkled it upon the earth; many worms came forth; they were collected and scattered again and matured into infants; these, having been collected and scattered, became full-grown Dakotas. The bones of the mastodon were assumed to be those of O-an-tay´-hee; and in some medicine bags, small portions were preserved among the sacred articles.

Hay-o-kah was a powerful deity, who could kill anything he looked upon, with his piercing eyes. There were four persons in this godhead. The first was tall and slender, with two faces. In his hands were a bow streaked with red lightning and a rattle of deer claws. The second, a little old man with a cocked hat and large ears, held a yellow bow. The third had a flute suspended from his neck; and the fourth, invisible and mysterious, was the gentle breeze which "swayed the grass and rippled the water."

Taku-shkan-shkan, unseen but ever present, was a revengeful, dissimulating, wicked searcher of hearts. His favorite resorts were the four winds.

Wah-keen-yan, a god in the form of a huge bird whose flapping wings made thunder, lived in a tepee on a mound rising from a mountain-top in the far West. His tepee, guarded by sentinels clothed in red down, had four openings. A butterfly was stationed at the east, a bear at the west, a fawn at the south and a reindeer at the north. He fashioned the first spear and tomahawk and attempted to kill the offspring of O-an-tay´-hee, his bitter enemy. When lightning struck, it was supposed that the latter was near the surface of the earth and Wah-keen-yan had fired a hot thunderbolt at him.

Captain Eastman writes of Unk-ta-he, the God of Water, and Chah-o-ter´-dah, the Forest God, who lived in a tree on a high eminence. His house was situated at its base. By a strange power of attraction, he drew birds, who performed the duties of guards.

Chah-o-ter´-dah was the relentless foe of the Thunder God. Indian fancy has pictured many a spirited battle between the two. It was said that the God of Thunder often came racing along, hurling lightning at a tree, to kill the Forest God, who, having been warned, had taken refuge in the water. Then Chah-o-ter´-dah ascended a tree and hurled his lightning at his adversary to bring him down to submission. The Forest God possessed a crooked gun, with which it was possible to shoot in any direction around the earth.

The God of the Grass, Whitte-kah-gah, was formed from a weed, pa-jee-ko-tah, which had the power of causing men to have fits, as well as to give success in hunting.

Wa-hun-de-dan (Aurora Borealis, or Old Woman) was the goddess of war.

The Dakotas believed in numerous fairies of the land and water, in the shape of animals, with ability to perform various services for mankind; and in frightful giants, in whose honor were established many feasts and dances. There was a clan called the "Giant's Party." Men only participated in the ceremonies of this organization. On stated occasions, they went hopping and singing around the fire, over which kettles of meat were boiling. Every few moments, one would put in a hand and pull out a piece of meat, which he ate, scalding hot. After it was all eaten, the dancers splashed hot water on one another's backs, crying out "Oh, how cold it is!"

The impression among the people was that the god would not permit his clan to be injured by these rites.

In some feasts of the Dakotas, everything was sacred. Not a morsel of meat was permitted to fall to the ground, otherwise the spirits would be displeased and some calamity might befall. Bones were gathered up and burned, or thrown into the water, out of reach of the dogs and so they could not be trampled on by the women. Sometimes a present was bestowed upon the one who ate his dishful first. This caused much haste, as soon as eating began, accompanied by a great blowing, stirring and grunting.

The Medicine Dance, instituted by O-an-tay´-hee, was conducted as the proceedings of a secret society. War prophets and medicine men, waw keen, were revered as demi-gods. They were believed to have led spiritual existences, enclosed in seeds, something like those of the thistle, which were wafted to the abode of the gods, with whom the waw keen sustained confidential relations. They received instruction in the magic of the spirit-land and went out to study all nations; then, selecting a location, were born into the world.

When, at the proper time, a person signified his desire to join the priesthood, he was initiated by the Medicine Dance. First, the candidate must take a hot bath, four days in succession; then he was taught the uses of medicine and its mysteries by the old men of the society; after which, he was provided with a dish and spoon. On one side of the dish was carved the head of some animal, in which lived the spirit of Eeyah, the Glutton God. The owner always thereafter carried the dish to the Medicine Dance. He was taught the use of paints and must always appear in the dance, decorated in the same manner. The paint was supposed to have supernatural virtue and caused an object to become invisible or invulnerable. In battle, it was regarded as a life preserver.

Before beginning the dance of initiation, ten or twenty prominent members spent the night dancing and feasting. In the morning, the tent was opened. The candidate, painted and nude, with the exception of breech-cloth and moccasins, was seated on a pile of blankets, an elder being stationed in the rear. The master of ceremonies, bag in hand, approached, ejaculating, "Heen, heen, heen!" and raising the bag to a painted spot upon the breast of the novice. Suddenly the latter was pushed forward and covered with blankets. The dancers collected around him. The leader, throwing off the covering, chewed a piece of the bone of O-an-tay´-hee and sprinkled it over him. Dancing around the candidate, the members patted his breast until he heaved up a shell, which had been placed in his throat. Life was now fully restored; and the shell was passed from hand to hand for examination. Ceremonies closed with more dancing, continued until four sets of singers, with gourds, drums and rattles, had been exhausted.

War parties were made up by anyone injured. The head of the party was a great medicine man or prophet, or one distinguished in some way. The war chief made a dance every three or four nights, before the party marched. All who chose might join, and anyone was at liberty to return, should he so desire, after the party started. War paint was red and black in color, and the dance was executed by men.

Women performed the Scalp Dance, in which scalps, mounted upon poles, were carried. The Sun Dance was another popular festivity, and has been said to be the cause of the weak eyes, noticeable among the devotees.

When the Sioux were in a complete state of barbarism, strange as it may seem, they maintained a high standard of morality. Violation of the code was invariably followed by complete loss of rights in the tribe. At certain celebrations, maidens proclaimed their purity by joining in the dance. Coming in contact with the white race, the Indians first adopted their vices, then, as civilization advanced and the younger members of the tribes returned from schools and colleges, they began to emulate the virtues of their conquerors.

Taking the Degree of Manhood was a savage custom adhered to by the Dakotas until a recent date. When youths had attained proper age, they proved a right to the degree by torturing themselves in different ways. Sometimes a skewer was driven through the arm and heavy articles hung upon the projecting ends. The flesh was cut and bruised. If an aspirant bore the pain without flinching, he was deemed worthy of all privileges accorded to men. These practices have been discontinued by order of the United States Government.