Travelers in the Sioux country are frequently entertained with recitals of

INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF TA-TON-KA-I-YO-TON-KA.

Sitting Bull, the famous commander at the Custer massacre, was, during his prosperous years, the chief of chiefs, or supreme head of the nation. He first inherited the office, and was able to retain it because of mental superiority and by reason of the fact that, until the last hope was gone, he assumed an uncompromising position in regard to the encroachment of the whites. Then, too, Ta-ton-ka-I-yo-ton-ka was a medicine man, capable of arousing religious fervor. That he was cruel toward the enemies of his people cannot be denied; but, according to the red man's philosophy, that was simple bravery and loyalty.

The authority of a leader was seldom questioned, although a petty chief was privileged to disregard orders, should he so desire.

Sitting Bull left an autobiography in pictograph. It contained a description of conflicts in which the hero had counted coup on numerous enemies, both white and Indian, and secured their scalps. There were also records of horse-stealing. The signature consisted of the picture of a buffalo in a sitting posture. Little is known of the early history of the chief; his own accounts vary; he seemed to be well educated, and could converse fluently in French and English, as well as in the different Indian languages.

The Custer massacre took place in 1877. After the Sioux war had ended and the savages had surrendered, placing themselves under the protection of the Government, they were retained as prisoners at Fort Randall, South Dakota. The commandant caused a stockade to be erected, but Sitting Bull refused to enter it, selecting, in preference, a strip of bottom land close to the river, for winter quarters, in order that there might be plenty of fire-wood near at hand. In summer, a pleasant location about three hundred yards from the garrison, was chosen, where a guard, composed of one non-commissioned officer and nine men, was stationed. At that time a majority of the prisoners had not learned cleanliness, and for the purpose of improving sanitary conditions, the quarters were inspected daily by the post surgeon and the officer of the day. Every one was compelled to wash each morning. A soldier asserts that some of the Indians appeared heart-broken and became sick and died. Might it not be more just to explain that daily baths in the river, in a cold climate, were the causes of mortality?

A death was followed by the customary rites. On every hill in the vicinity of the camp a woman might be seen and heard, mourning and howling, in the hope that the departed would return to make an assignment of his effects, which were few, inasmuch as the most valuable articles had been lowered into the grave. Among them were usually placed a knife, tin cup, moccasins, blanket and piece of buckskin. The ancient rule of laying the dead upon a scaffold was not permitted to be put into practice.

Burials took place in the day, and at night grand dances were held. Indians on the opposite side of the river were invited to participate. Tin cans, which had been collected and taken to the tepees, served as musical instruments. The noise and confusion were sometimes deafening, dances being kept up almost continuously. Both men and women spent much time in making arrow tips from old iron hoops.

While at Fort Randall, Sitting Bull received an order from the quartermaster for three sacks of hay. Accompanied by a slave wife and a favorite, he presented the order. The large army bed sacks were calmly handed to the man in charge, who refused to fill them, telling the Indian to attend to that himself. The Sioux then turned to the slave wife, commanding her to perform the menial office. She did so with most abject humility, tying the bundle with a piece of rawhide; then the poor creature crawled beneath the huge mass, pushing her head under it first and gradually forcing the burden upon her back. This accomplished, she rose slowly upon hands and knees and at last regained her feet. Being asked, indignantly, why he did not assist the woman, the great chief answered with an expressive grunt.

An army officer, Major McLaughlin, secured several autographs of the celebrated leader, but found it impossible to induce him to sit for a photograph, until he had obtained twenty-five dollars and a white shirt. The shirt proved too small, but the chief fastened it at the back of the neck with a buckskin string. Despite these weaknesses, he was dignified in behavior and apparently unmoved by curiosity, although the room of the officer contained many objects new and strange to him.

During a severe storm, lightning struck a tree near the Indian camp, forty or fifty yards from the tent of Ta-ton-ka-I-yo-ton-ka. He immediately broke camp and removed to summer quarters, saying the evil spirit was after his people. Nothing could convince him that the Great Spirit was not angry with him for leaving Canada, when he crossed to the American side and surrendered, after the Custer massacre, at the Little Big Horn. He said that all the water in the Missouri River could not wash out the white man's stains of crime.

Spotted Tail and Red Cloud were also dangerous to the peace of the northwestern country. Spotted Tail had two attractive daughters, one of whom died on the way to Fort Laramie, while the Indians were going in to surrender. Thomas Dorion, the man who went out as a messenger of peace, desired to marry the girl and she expressed a willingness to become his wife. It was largely due to her influence with her father, that he and Red Cloud consented to accompany the emissary to Fort Laramie to hold council and make a treaty. Her sad life and premature death, which was, no doubt, the result of exposure and the vicissitudes of war, aroused great sympathy. The other daughter, Water Carrier, was much admired by the army officers and received many valuable presents. One of her relatives asserts that the officers seemed infatuated, but that she never manifested any reciprocity. Water Carrier was deeply attached to her father's people and became the wife of Lone Elk. They live at the Rosebud Agency, South Dakota.

The Sioux, like all tribes, are rapidly discarding their ancient beliefs. Government schools have done effective work; and while the number of "squaw men," or those who marry into the nation, is less than in the tribes of the Indian Territory, there is yet a liberal infusion of white blood. The dances, in a revised form, are, of recent years, indulged in by way of recreation or for the amusement of spectators.

IV.
THE KAWS AND OSAGES.

The practice of shaving all of the head except a small place around the crown—the scalp lock, which was reserved for the enemy, should he be able to secure it—was adhered to by the Kaws and the Osages, while the old Sioux law seems to have sanctioned scalping the entire head. However, when compelled to hurry, they took a small section from any part of the head. For the purpose of decorating themselves, many of the Kansas cut the upper and outer edge of each ear, drawing it down so as to form a large ring, reaching to the shoulder. To this circle ornaments were attached. The tribe retained savage proclivities long after their neighbors had become partially or altogether reconciled to the habits of the pale-face; and were tall of stature and physically well developed, but decidedly inferior in mind and morals, being a constant source of annoyance to both the white citizens and more civilized Indians.

One day a golden-haired girl stood by the side of her father, at the door of their home in Kansas City, Kansas, (then Wyandotte) when a number of Kaws filed through the gate and up to the house. Their chief, through an interpreter, formally tendered a horse and several fine blankets in exchange for the "squaw with the hair like the rising sun." Receiving an indignant refusal, he emitted a disappointed "Ugh! ugh!" and turning slowly, rode down the street with his warriors.

A lady who resided at Westport when it was a hamlet of not more than eight or ten houses, was surprised, on entering her kitchen one morning, to see, standing before the stove warming himself, a huge Kaw, entirely nude save for the blanket extended across his outspread arms. Almost in terror, the woman gasped out, "Puck-a-chee! puck-a-chee!" (go away). Deliberately, and with evident amusement at her fright, the savage took his departure.

The main village of the Kaws, that of American Chief, was situated two miles east of Manhattan, Kansas. It was composed of one hundred and twenty dirt lodges, of good size. A large portion of the tribe was located, with Fool Chief, on the north bank of the Kansas River, in and near Topeka. Later, by a treaty with the United States, this land, with the exception of a few hundred acres reserved and divided among those in whom white blood predominated, was ceded to the Government. The majority of the people removed, first, to Council Grove, and then to the Indian Territory.

They delighted, for many years, to talk of

THE VICTORY WHICH MADE WA-HON-GA-SHEE A FAMOUS CHIEF.

There had been frequent, hard-fought battles with the Pawnees, who, being superior in numbers, had usually obtained the victory. However, the Great Spirit punished them when, at last, a small band was discovered, just at nightfall, by a strong party of Kaws.

Revenge, always sweet to the barbarian, was now assured. Surrounding the foe under cover of darkness, the Kaws, commanded by Wa-hon-ga-shee (No Fool), waited patiently for daylight.

Twenty-four hours before going on the war-path a council had been held in the celebrated grove from which the present city takes its name, and every warrior who had joined the preliminary dance, had fasted from that time until the moment of departure. Their leader, together with the medicine men, had long abstained from food, in anticipation of the event. Other matters having been arranged, the line of men rode out of the village, carrying many an anxious good-speed from wives and mothers. Children, half-clothed, huddled together in awe-stricken groups, or sought maternal protection. Old men and maidens gazed with hopeful pride on sons and sweethearts.

Over the plains passed the braves, almost from view, when, by some mischance, their chief slipped and fell. Quickly recognizing an unfavorable omen, he gave the signal for return, and the entire community joined in incantations to dispel future disaster. Again the war party went forth, coming upon the Pawnees, who, all unconscious of approaching danger, lay encamped for the night. Guards had been stationed at proper intervals, and the ponies corralled, in order that they might not wander away.

All seemed quiet until near morning. Faintly the sounds of awakening Nature broke the silence of the prairie. The Kaws began to close in upon the enemy, crawling stealthily through the grass. Gray dawn appeared; then a red streak became visible in the east. The assailants rose with a terrible war-whoop and rushed upon their sleeping victims. Even the guards were surprised. Reports of rifles and fierce shouts from infuriated men mingled with the shrieks of the wounded and dying. Knives struck pitilessly into the breasts of the Pawnees, who, stupefied by the sudden attack, were easily overcome. Blood flowed freely. Deftly a small circle was described upon the head of each one, the scalp torn off, and the reeking trophy attached to the belt of the slayer. Then, when destruction was complete, and death had swept the camp, leaving not a member of the little band alive, the victors gathered up the spoils and journeyed home in triumph. Ninety dead bodies, mutilated examples of the effects of savage warfare, were scattered over the field of battle.

Now, preparations for the dance were in progress. Musicians brought forth flutes and tom-toms—rude drums made from powder kegs with raw-hides stretched over the ends—while the women busied themselves in making ready and cooking meat and cereals for the feast.

The warriors, in a circle, commenced the celebration with low ejaculations and slow movements not unlike a march, gradually increasing speed, and changing step until it became a wild rush of many feet, accompanied by howls of exultation. Then all was still for a moment, and two beautiful girls, dressed in almost Oriental costume, and carrying red fringed umbrellas, broke into the center of the ring and danced with the utmost grace and abandon. Next followed the process of paying debts. It was the custom for creditors to allow debtors the privilege of paying off old scores, at a dance of triumph, by standing in the center of the circle and submitting to sound beatings, at one dollar a blow.

An old squaw had tried in vain to collect the sum of twelve dollars from a young man. Desiring to end her importunities for money, he advanced and stood, the object of all eyes, in stoical forbearance, while she administered, to the full extent of her power, the requisite amount of punishment.

As usual, the Kaws had buried their most valuable goods previous to undertaking the foregoing expedition. First, a large cavity had been made in the ground and the articles placed inside. These were covered with sticks and branches, earth being piled on top and stamped down. In a violent effort to bestow the last blow effectively, the old woman caused this structure to give way and sank into the chasm, to the great diversion of spectators—for the Indians, among themselves, on such a day, were prone to cast dignity to the winds.

Frequently, Osages and Kaws were employed to perform special police duty. It gave them a sense of responsibility that had a tendency to prevent mischief. Even in this capacity, they were governed by superstition. At night, when ready to give place to another watchman, each brave, before going home, went to the fire, gathered a handful of ashes and rubbed it on his head to keep away the witches.

Death was mourned, not only by relatives, but by professionals, hired for a period of two weeks. Pasting the hair on top of the head with mud, they united in a series of groans and wails, dismal beyond description. These strange songs had words, probably recounting the virtues and wonderful deeds of the dead. Wrapped in his blanket and provided with food and drink, trinkets and valuables, with all that he considered most desirable, the warrior was lowered to his last resting-place, a favorite horse having been killed that the spirit might ride to the Happy Hunting Grounds.

The Osages were once the most powerful people west of the Mississippi River. They owned a vast territory and had remained in possession over three hundred years; but were forced eventually to cede the greater portion to the Government. Nevertheless they are the wealthiest of the Indians. The tribe was divided originally into three bands, the Little Osages, the Grand and the Black Dog Band. They were tall and fine-looking, the young, able-bodied men being hunters and warriors, while the old men were doctors and cooks. Upon entering a village, a stranger was expected to present himself first at the lodge of the chief, and there partake of food. A general feast followed. The cook stood outside and called, in a loud voice:

"Come and eat. White Hair (or whomsoever it might be) gives a feast."

When traveling, the Osages made lodges in the shape of wagon-tops, of bent trees covered with skins or blankets.

A native orator, speaking of the good qualities of his people, said:

"Are we brave and valiant? Behold Dakota scalps drying in the smoke of our cabins. Are we strong? Here is the bow of an Osage boy—bend it. Are our women beautiful? Look at them and be convinced."

Despite the fact that civilization has penetrated even remote portions of the United States, and its effects are felt in a greater or less degree by every savage nation, the Osages in the Indian Territory have returned to many of the old barbarous customs. They had a unique creation story. Old people used to talk of a man, the first of the race, who came out of a shell. They said:

"The father of our nation was a snail, who passed a quiet, happy existence on the banks of our own river. His wants were few and well supplied. He seldom hunted, going out only when driven by hunger to seek food, and taking whatever could be most easily obtained. Thus lived our great forefather, the snail."

According to the tradition, there was a storm and the river burst over its banks and swept everything before it. The snail, seated on a log, was carried along down the stream and deposited at last upon a bed of slime. He was contented and had enjoyed the travel, since it had required no exertion. Now, he found himself in a strange country. It was very warm and the sun came out and baked the earth in which he was embedded. It was impossible to move. Then, feeling a change, he began to grow and developed into a man, tall, strong and perfect. At first, the new being was stupefied; but with returning memory, he realized that he had once been a snail, and immediately set out for his former home.

Arrived on the banks of the Osage River, he became faint from hunger. Game was plenty, but he knew not how to catch it. There were birds and fish, but no means of reaching them. He lay down to die. A soft voice broke the silence. The man looked up and saw, mounted on a noble, snow-white animal, a being like nothing seen on earth. It was tall and mighty, having eyes like stars. The Osage trembled. The gentle voice said:

"Why does he who is the kernel of the snail look terrified? Why is he faint and weary?"

"I tremble because I fear thy power and quail before the lightning of thine eye. I am faint because I lack food."

Then said the Great Spirit: "Be composed. The Master of Breath punishes not till sin is committed. Thou hast not sinned; be calm. But art thou hungry?"

"I have eaten nothing since I ceased to be a snail."

The Great Spirit drew from under his robe a bow and arrows, and taught the man to shoot. He killed a deer and was told to cover himself with its skin. The Great Spirit made fire and told him to use it for cooking the meat.

One day, when hunting, the man went to a river to drink, and saw, in the water, a beaver hut, on which the chief of the family was sitting. The animal asked who he was and what he was looking for; and was informed that the Osage had no home and came to the river to quench his thirst. The beaver said:

"You seem to be a reasonable man. You may come and live with me. My family is large and there are many daughters. Should any of them be pleasing in your sight, you may marry." The Indian accepted the offer and married one of the beaver's daughters. They had many children, from whom the Osage people are descended. To this day, the members of the tribe refrain from killing the beaver, which is regarded as sacred.

V.
THE DELAWARES.

The nation had been subjugated by the Iroquois, and bearing the name of "women" was at peace with the world. Although the domination of the other tribes was only temporary, the famous treaty with the Quakers was never broken, during the subsequent years of warfare.

The Delawares were a migratory people. Most of their legends have been preserved by missionaries. The Algonquin myth of the virgin who fell from heaven and became the mother of twins, one light and the other dark, was found among the Lenape, and may be explained as referring to the dawn, which gives birth to day and night.

The divinity Kikeron, the synonym for life, light and action, or energy, was believed to be the first factor of the universe. He originated all things, through the instrumentality of the tortoise, which, in Algonquin pictography, was the symbol of the earth. There was an unexpected depth to this native philosophy. The earth is all-producing, and from it proceeds, directly or indirectly, all animate existence. The tortoise had power to produce everything. From its back a tree had sprung, upon the branches of which grew men.

In the pristine age, the world lived at peace; but an evil spirit came and caused a great flood. The earth was submerged. A few persons had taken refuge on the back of a turtle, so old that his shell had collected moss. A loon flew over their heads and was entreated to dive beneath the water and bring up land. It found only a bottomless sea. Then the bird flew far away, came back with a small portion of earth in its bill, and guided the tortoise to a place where there was a spot of dry land.

The Delawares thought the land was an island, supported by a great turtle, the one that had been their preserver. There was a tradition that many hundreds of years ago their forefathers dwelt in a distant country, far to the west. They traveled east, and at the Mississippi River encountered a race of giants. The wanderers desired to settle between the river and the mountains; but the request was refused. However, they obtained permission to pass through the country. While in the midst of the strange land they were fiercely attacked by the huge people, who were very powerful. Many battles ensued. The enemy erected fortifications; but large numbers of their warriors were killed. The dead were placed in heaps and covered with earth. The giants were finally defeated, and fled, passing down the Mississippi River. The victors took possession of the country.

The nation was then divided into three tribes. One settled on the shore of the Atlantic, one remained in the conquered land, and the third lived west of the Mississippi River. The Atlantic coast Delawares were composed of three clans, the Turtle (Unâmi), the Turkey (Unalâchtgo) and the Wolf (Minsi). Other tribes, the Mohicans and Nanticokes among them, sprang from the Lenape.

The legend of the hairless bear is one of the oldest Delaware stories. It was narrated that in the past, at some remote period, the country was infested with a ferocious bear of immense size. Its skin was bare, with the exception of a single tuft of perfectly white hair on its back. The animal possessed a keen sense of smell, but its sight was defective. The heart of the bear was so small that only an expert hunter could hope to strike it. The people held council and finally decided that the best plan would be to break its back. Experienced hunters formed a party to rid the earth of the monster. They discovered its retreat, made a great noise to attract attention, and scaled a high rock. The bear could not climb the rock but tore at it in a fury. The men discharged arrows and threw stones at the creature until it was dead.

Indian mothers were wont to frighten their children into obedience, by saying:

"The naked bear will eat you."

The pictograph system, which was perfectly intelligible to all tribes, was based upon gesture speech. Rafinesque, a learned but somewhat erratic Frenchman, claimed to have seen a set of wooden tablets, on which was engraved the history of the Lenape, both in picture and in song. The eccentric archeologist prepared a translation of the strange document, which is called the Walam Olum, or Painted Record. Brinton seems inclined to believe it a genuine native production, given orally and written down by some one not thoroughly conversant with the Delaware language. There is a possibility that the priests or medicine men, realizing that their own downfall would come with the adoption of Christianity, were jealous of the missionaries. Having learned to read and write, from the white men, and hoping to gain new power, they may have transmitted the story to wood, in such form as to be readily understood, both by educated and uneducated Indians. The song is rhythmical, and describes the formation of the universe by the great Manito.

At first there was a fog and a watery waste; then the land and sky were formed and the heavens cleared. Each statement is accompanied by a rude drawing or picture. The first part reads:

1. At first, in that place, at all times, above the earth,

2. On the earth, an extended fog, and there the great Manito was.

3. At first, forever, lost in space, everywhere, the great Manito was.

4. He made the extended land and the sky.

5. He made the sun, the moon, the stars.

6. He made them all to move evenly.

7. The wind blew violently and it cleared, and the water flowed off far and strong.

Men and animals were created, and lived peaceably until the coming of an evil spirit, in the form of a serpent, which introduced war, sickness and premature death. Strife and wanderings commenced. The evil Manito brought a flood. A few people, escaping to the back of a turtle, were preserved by Nanabush, or Manabozho. Their protector caused the water to recede and the serpent to depart.

After the deluge the race found itself in a strange northern climate. The people journeyed south, arriving at "Snakeland." They conquered the region; and a long list of chiefs, migrations and wars are recorded. Abundance followed. Then there was a division, some of the nation going south and some east to the salt sea. The three subtribes of the Lenape eventually became established along the Delaware River. The song closes with the advent of the white man.

In 1683 there were six thousand Delawares. Within a century their numbers greatly diminished. In 1724 the white settlements had increased to such an extent that the former owners of the land began to seek homes in Western Pennsylvania.

It was at New Britain, Pennsylvania, that Tamenend—the Delaware chief for whom the Tammany Society, of New York, was named—committed suicide. He had become old and feeble and had been deserted by the tribe. Having failed in an attempt to stab himself, the unhappy old man threw burning leaves over his body, and in that manner, died.

A princess of the Lenape caused a cliff on Mount Tammany to be called Lover's Leap. Her affection for a European was unrequited and, in despair, the girl made the leap of death.

Not far from Mauch Chunk, Pennsylvania, was a clear and sparkling lake. On its bank stood a village of the Delawares. Among the wigwams was one larger than the rest and more commodious. There dwelt the successful young chief, Onoko, a man of wonderful size, strength and daring. Unaided, he had destroyed the bear on Mauch Chunk (Bear Mountain). Happy was Wenonah when he sought her in marriage. Her heart swelled with pride as she entered the richly decorated lodge.

The victories of Onoko in love, in war and in the chase aroused the anger and jealousy of Mitche Manito. One day, as the young people were floating idly upon the lake in their canoe, the terrible Manito arose among the mountains, with a dark look of hatred upon his face and the thunder rolling and crashing about his head, and while lightning darted from his eyes, smote the hills with a mighty hand covered by the magic mitten. The earth shook and a great chasm opened, through which poured a volume of foaming water.

At first alarm, the lovers, glancing upward, beheld the wrathful features, and seeing no hope, awaited death, clasped in a close embrace. The light canoe was swept rapidly away by the deluge; and the Manito, in gloomy satisfaction, retired to the hills. Ever since that time the Lehigh has flowed through the chasm that he made. The name of Onoko was bestowed upon a cascade and glen in the vicinity of Mauch Chunk.

The Lenape gradually drifted to the streams in Central and Eastern Ohio. The epoch of peace had passed and they were no longer "women"; but took a prominent part in the War of the Races. Removing to the valley of the White Water River, in Indiana, they founded six towns. The treaty of Vincennes guaranteed the title to the land forever, nevertheless it was "ceded" to the United States only ten years afterward. The fugitives then sought a home west of the Mississippi; and eventually received a tract at the mouth of the Kansas River. They never fought against the Government after that time. Other nations arrived. The Lenape lived at peace with all except the wild prairie tribes. The old warlike spirit, strong in every Indian, whether civilized or semi-civilized, was appeased by fierce battles far beyond their reservation. Even after the territory had become the property of the white man, the Delawares took pride in detailing such victories as

THE BATTLE OF THE PLAINS.

Nestled among the hills, where the Kansas River empties into the Missouri, lay a village of the once prosperous Lenape, who gloried in the knowledge that, with the exception of a brief period, their people had, from time immemorial, been successful in war. Belonging to the East, they had drifted toward the setting sun, until the early part of the nineteenth century found them, still adhering to antique customs, in Eastern Kansas. Though but the shadow of its former greatness, the nation still retained sufficient numerical strength to keep up hostilities with its ancient enemies, the Sioux. At times, after seasons of rest and recuperation, well-equipped parties had sallied forth, going as far as Nebraska, Colorado or Dakota, in quest of adventure. A furious renewal of the old contest succeeded emigration to the Middle West, and all was made ready for an expedition. Religious rites were performed, and the medicine men promised an easy victory.

Among the Delawares was a chief, who bade fair to equal in fame, the most distinguished of his predecessors. Not many moons before, Ni-co-man had awakened from a dream of conquest and beheld, in the pale light, a shadowy figure wrapped in a blanket of snowy white. Its bony finger motioned the chief to arise and follow. Mechanically, like one asleep, he obeyed the phantom warrior, the strange chill that crept over him increasing with each step. On they went, beyond the confines of the village, toward one of the highest points along the river that shone like silver with reflected brightness. Pausing upon a spot from where the undulating prairie could be seen, reaching for miles to westward, the spirit chief stretched out a ghostly arm and addressed the awe-struck leader.

"Go thou, Ni-co-man, noblest of thy people, and lead them on to glory. Take all thy bravest warriors. Journey west; there shalt thou find, upon the distant plains, our enemies, the Sioux. Rest not until thou hast avenged my death, for by their hands was I, thy father's father, slain."

Slowly he vanished, and Ni-co-man, pondering over these words, returned to his abode. Thenceforward he agitated the question of an advance, with full assurance of meeting and overcoming the murderous Sioux.

Around the council-fire were plans perfected. The pipe of peace was passed from hand to hand. Old men led the discussion while their juniors listened in silent respect. When all the wiser heads had given advice, the youthful braves, in turn, expressed opinions. The latter being unanimously in favor of adopting extreme measures, the council of Ni-co-man prevailed; and having completed arrangements, the flower of the nation, mounted upon mettlesome ponies, went forth, as did the challengers of old, to seek renown.

Over the rolling prairies, the tall grass waving in the sunlight, rode the dusky knights, heavy war-paint giving greater fierceness to faces already glowing with excitement.

The second day, a long distance from the starting place, they stopped at night beside a flowing stream. The tired ponies, relieved of their burdens, were turned out to graze, a guard being stationed nearby. After a meal of savory buffalo meat, and a quiet smoke around the camp-fire, the Delawares, drawing their blankets over their heads, threw themselves upon the ground and were soon wrapped in profound slumber.

At early dawn, ere they had proceeded many leagues, a fresh breeze started from the Southwest, and close to the horizon a faint rose color tinged the sky. This suddenly changed to a lurid hue, as a sheet of flame, accompanied by volumes of smoke, swept rapidly toward them.

"Fly! Tun-dahe Wel-seet-num-et (The God of Fire)!" shouted the Indians, as, turning on the trail, they lashed the horses to the highest possible speed, while the fire made steady headway.

On rushed the fugitives, bending every energy to reach the water; but the breath of the Fire God was at their shoulders. Then the hardy little ponies made a final heroic dash and landed in the creek—safe, all but one. As the terrible cloud passed swiftly over the half suffocated band, they saw the angry spirit in the great, dark, curling chariot, bend low and smite their comrade; and when the seething whirlwind had gone by, he lay, face down, a lifeless heap, upon the blackened cinders. A hasty burial, with few of the usual ceremonies, and the party was traversing the now desolate region, in the direction of the far-away mountains.

They entered what the white man calls the Great American Desert. A level country, the short-grass district, extended as far as the eye could see, on every side. Its monotony was broken by an occasional "draw," where wandering tribes often found refuge in defeat, or lay in ambush, ready to spring out at the approach of foes. These draws were caused by erosion, and may have been the beds of rivers, long since dried up.

The plains were dotted with wild flowers, for in Kansas each weed, at some season of the year, bursts forth in all the glory of rich or delicate blossoms. The fall had brought its wealth of gold and purple, and the buffalo grass, more nutritious when "cured" by the sun and hot winds of summer, had turned to a rich brown, the ruling note of color. Birds, and even the prairie dogs, barking and chattering at the entrances to their underground towns, conformed to the prevailing tint.

The "Loco" weed had gone to seed, and the Indians, well knowing its dangerous properties, kept their horses, while grazing, away from the plant, which is said to cause animals to become "locoed," or insane. A similar effect is produced on human beings, by the use of certain herbs compounded by the medicine men.

Winding through the sandy territory, was the Arkansas River, in the autumn a seemingly harmless layer of reddish brown soil with apparently stagnant water here and there upon its surface. Underneath the quicksand flowed a deep stream, promising certain death to him who essayed to cross with any but the lightest of vehicles.

The travelers had reached the heart of the buffalo country, and an abundance of game was found on every hand. A buffalo hunt, according to an Indian's views, was second only to victorious battle, therefore Ni-co-man called a halt and the entire company joined in a grand slaughter.

The hunters, familiar with the habits of the animals, first arranged themselves in groups in one of the draws, at the foot of a steep embankment or precipice, taking care to be well sheltered. Then a warrior, grotesquely arrayed, and astride a strangely caparisoned steed, galloped toward the herd, frantically waving a bright-hued blanket. The leader, an immense creature, scented danger and took his stand in front of the rest. However, curiosity, which is one of the characteristics of the buffalo, prompted him to draw cautiously nearer the queer figure. The herd followed. Gradually the decoy backed toward the precipice, still gesticulating violently.

At last, the animals, thoroughly frightened, stampeded, accelerating speed as they approached the embankment, over which they rolled and tumbled in the mad effort to escape. Those not injured in the fall, recovered their feet and dashed away to the opposite slope, being easily shot in attempting the toilsome ascent. Thus, the majority were at the mercy of the red men.

The wanton destruction of these beasts at the hands of both Indians and white men is to be deplored. Where, two score years ago, thousands roamed the plains, now nothing remains to prove their having existed save slight depressions in the earth called "wallows," and large numbers of horns, scattered over the ranches. Once in a while the buffalo ring may be seen, still barren of grass. Here the ever watchful sentinel had tramped around and around in a circle. A feast succeeded the favorable termination of the hunt. Only the finest portions of the meat, which resembles beef in flavor, were reserved as food. Tongues were considered a great delicacy.

Up to this time, a few straggling Comanches and Arapahoes were observed, but as yet no traces of the Sioux appeared. Ni-co-man, remembering his vision, still had faith that here, upon the plains, would the enemy be vanquished.

Early one morning a scout came in with the news that, far to the north, a stray band of Sioux had encamped the previous night. In a moment all was excitement. As soon as possible the entire cavalcade, well armed and ready for the fray, was galloping in the direction indicated. At sunset the Delawares halted for rest and food, waiting for darkness to make an attack. But the enemy, too, were watchful; and knowing the presence of danger almost by intuition, had prepared for encounters.

They were in a deep cut, not easily accessible. Where the natural defenses are limited, the natives learn to take advantage of every means of protection. Piling up large masses of hard earth, that had fallen from one portion of the crumbling bank, they had built a rude fortification, which extended entirely across the entrance. In the rear was a narrow pass, with a steep acclivity on either side. Guards were stationed here and on the highest ridges. These gave the alarm as the Delawares, in three divisions, came silently forward at midnight.

Ni-co-man sent a detachment of good marksmen to the top of the embankment overlooking the Sioux, the second was despatched to the rear to force a way through the narrow passage, while he boldly led the remainder to attempt the low earthworks at the entrance. The war-cry of the Lenape now filled the air.

The Sioux, crouching behind the fort and before the opening at the back of the camp, fought savagely. Occasionally marksmen on the elevation picked off one of their men, though it was a somewhat difficult task in the semi-darkness.

Ni-co-man, being taller than his companions, and always at the front, was a welcome target for his wild opponents. Again and again a shadowy figure intervened as the bullets sped toward him. He bore, in truth, a charmed life. As the moon passed under a cloud, for the elements were preparing for a conflict, the Delawares rushed forward, climbing recklessly over the heaps of hardened earth, scattering great lumps right and left. Some of the braves fell, mortally wounded—some pressed upon the retreating Sioux, who found themselves in a trap. The shadowy figure, invisible to all but the chief, was ever present, hewing down the enemy with his great tomahawk.

The sun rose upon a frightful scene. The carnage was over, but ghastly upturned faces, smeared with war-paint and distorted with terror, even in death, told the tale of the night's work. Ere long it sought retirement, and the day grew dark. Ni-co-man gazed at the heavens in wonder. Did the Great Spirit manifest displeasure? A storm followed. Lightning flashed and the ground seemed to shake with thunder. Rain fell in torrents, a most unusual occurrence in that locality.

When the atmosphere had cleared, and the drenched warriors again beheld the battle-field, lo! all blood was washed away. The Great Spirit had stamped with approval the triumph of his chosen people, the Lenape.

Lawrence, a town of more than ordinary historic interest, now the site of the Kansas State University, was built upon land that formerly belonged to the Kaws. At a more recent date the Delawares were established in that vicinity. Haskell Institute, a flourishing Indian school, is now located there. A majority of the nation, at the time of immigration, adhered to tribal costume, and while harmless as far as their white neighbors were concerned, presented a most ferocious appearance. Many of the early settlers of Lawrence were from Eastern cities, where the red man was known by reputation only. The Indians had a fear-inspiring way of peering into the windows of houses, and in order to obtain a better view, would spread out their blankets so as to exclude the light. Not infrequently a white family, while dining, would observe that the room had become unusually dark; and glancing toward the window from which the sunlight had vanished, would behold a hideously painted face, with piercing eyes looking through the glass, in keen interest. This was not at all contrary to Indian etiquette.

The wife of a resident who had the good fortune to secure the firm friendship of White Turkey, a Delaware chief, sat sewing one day, in her rocking chair. It was a tranquil morning in early summer and the air was still. Suddenly a shadow crossed the light, and to her intense fright, three huge Delawares, in all the horror of their picturesque native dress, loomed up before the window. The lady, who had recently arrived from New York City, fainted; and the disappointed visitors sought her husband, informing him that they had merely called to announce the birth of a son—the future chief—named "Solomon White Turkey" in honor of the pale-face family. Years later, the gentleman, while traveling through the Indian Territory, was approached by an aged Delaware, surrounded by his friends, and introduced to a tall, prepossessing young man, who proved to be Chief Solomon White Turkey.

Kansas had been supposed to be permanently secured to the Indians; but the emigrant ever followed in their footsteps, and again the land of the Delawares was sold to the United States, and the people, few in number, took up their abode in the Indian Territory.

VI.
THE WYANDOTS.

The Wyandots and Senecas were closely allied and lived in amity many years. It is said that the long peace terminated and hostilities began through the influence of a woman. One version of the story is that a Seneca maiden loved a young man, whose father, a powerful chief, opposed his son's taking her as a wife. Other suitors were rejected. Then it was declared that the hand of the maiden would be bestowed upon him, only, who should slay the chief. A Wyandot fulfilled this condition and became her husband.

The enraged Senecas flew to arms. An interminable war followed. Their neighbors moved to the vicinity of Niagara Falls. A series of migrations succeeded. At one epoch a portion of the tribe settled near Lake Huron, which was named for them. A part of the Bear Clan always remained in Canada.

For some unknown reason, the other tribes of the Five Nations joined the enemies of the Wyandots. Cooper's novels contain numerous allusions to the undying hatred of the Iroquois toward the Hurons, as they were called by the French, although Wyandot is the proper term.

Always pursued by the Senecas, a majority of the nation became wanderers. In 1701, seeking a new home, they embarked in canoes and passed out of Lake Huron, and into and beyond Lake St. Clair. In the distance a group of white tents was visible. This comprised the city of Detroit. Landing, by order of the head chief, the Indians were received kindly by the governor of the colony. Accepting the protection offered, they found a home in that locality.

After the French territory had passed into the hands of the English, some of the Wyandots settled in parts of Ohio and Michigan. They were divided into clans, named for animals, conspicuous among which were the deer, bear, turtle, porcupine, snake and wolf. The nation originally had twelve of these divisions. Two or more formed a band. It was against the law to marry in one's own clan. Children belonged to the mother's clan; and women were accorded the privilege of voting for chiefs and council.

The head chief, or king, was the highest officer. The succession belonged to the Big Turtle and Deer clans; and every heir to the throne must be of pure Wyandot blood. The last head chief, Suts-taw-ra-tse, lived in the latter part of the eighteenth century.

The primitive religion of the Wyandots was somewhat similar to that of other aboriginal nations. The Great Spirit ruled supreme. There was a God of the Forest, called Sken-ri-a-taun. Once a year a night feast was held, in memory of the departed. Dancing was dispensed with, but all joined in condolence with some lately bereaved family. It was thought that after death, the soul must cross a deep, swift river, on a bridge made of a slight tree, and be compelled to defend itself, repeatedly, from the attacks of a dog. The Dakotas also believed this, but affirmed that the bridge was formed from the body of an immense snake. The prayer of the Huron to a local god—as recited verbatum by Father Brebeuf—throws some light upon the subject of their conception of Deity.

"Oki, thou who livest in this spot, I offer thee tobacco. Help us, save us from shipwreck, defend us from our enemies, give us a good trade and bring us back safe and sound to our villages."

The teachings of the Jesuits were early engrafted upon the original faith.

Few of the oldest Wyandot legends have been preserved. The literary world is indebted to Schoolcraft for the narration of the experience of Sayadio, which gives a glimpse into the spirit world as pictured by Indian fancy.

The heart of Sayadio was heavy with sorrow. His young and beautiful sister had died and he refused to be comforted. Desirous of bringing her back, the young man embarked upon a long and difficult journey to the land of souls. When ready to give up in despair, after many adventures, he met an old man who gave him a magic calabash with which to dip up the spirit, when it should be found. This man, who proved to be the keeper of that part of the land where the maiden dwelt, also gave him her brains, which had been carefully kept.

On reaching the place of departed souls, Sayadio was surprised that they fled at his approach. Tarenyawgo assisted him. The spirits had assembled for a dance and he attempted to embrace his sister, but she straightway vanished with the others. Tarenyawgo then provided him with a mystical rattle to call them back. The taiwaiegun, or drum, sounded, and the notes of the flute could be heard. Immediately the air was full of floating figures, and Sayadio, dipping up the damsel with the magic calabash, despite the efforts of the imprisoned soul to liberate itself, returned to earth.

Friends were invited to the lodge, and the dead body brought from its place of burial to be restored to life. Just before the moment of reanimation, a curious old woman looked into the calabash, and the spirit took flight. Sayadio gazed heavenward but could see nothing. Then, with downcast eyes, he sat in the lodge, deploring that idle curiosity had rendered of no avail his travels to the land of the departed.

Peter Clarke, a native writer, was undoubtedly one of the most reliable sources of information regarding the ancient history of the Wyandots, whose descendants, absorbed by the white race, have permitted the customs and many of the traditions of their forefathers to die out. Until a comparatively recent period many firmly believed

THE LEGEND OF THE WHITE PANTHER.

On the shore of Lake Huron, long years ago, was a deep pool, or spring, in the midst of marshy ground. An outlet into a river allowed the discharge of surplus water. Reeds and tall grasses almost obscured the pond from view, and the scream of the loon and the cry of the reed-bird alone disclosed its presence, until the traveler found himself upon its very verge.

The Wyandots knew of this place, and had little doubt that it was inhabited by a mysterious spirit. Sometimes the water rose and fell, as if stirred by the breathing of an immense animal beneath its surface, then grew suddenly calm. A benighted hunter, passing that way, told of a wondrous light, sparkling like the glow of a thousand fireflies; and of a rumbling sound that shook the earth, announcing that an evil spirit was at work.

A party of the Prairie Turtle Clan camped one day at the spring, established an altar and offered burnt offerings to the strange god. Articles of value, silver ornaments and wampum belts, were cast into the pool and Ce-zhaw-yen-hau was chosen to call up the spirit. Standing in the marsh, with a bow in one hand and a bunch of arrows in the other, he chanted a song; while his companions, in homage to the Hoo-kee, or wizard of the spring, burned tobacco. He invoked the spirit to come forth. A loon arose, screaming and flapping its wings.

"Not you," said Ce-zhaw-yen-hau, and the loon vanished. Next came an otter.

"Not you," said the Indian, "begone! Come forth, you wizard!"

The water rose, as if agitated by some huge body, and a white panther emerged, looking eastward. Piercing its side with an arrow, the conjurer quickly extended a small vessel to catch the blood which trickled from the creature's side. The moment the pan filled, the wounded animal disappeared, and the air vibrated with a rumbling, muttering sound, like distant thunder. Volumes of turbid water came to the surface, indicating the course the monster had taken in passing down the river. Never again was it seen at the pool.

The Prairie Turtle Clan, which had always been considered refractory in disposition, and inclined to be rebellious toward the Good Spirit, now formed a society and deified the white panther. Anyone who divulged the secrets of the association was instantly put to death. The blood in the small vessel coagulated and became dry. This was broken into pieces and distributed among the members to be placed in their medicine bags. The medicine bag was usually made from the whole skin of an otter, a mink, or other diminutive animal. Those who had been led by fanaticism to seek new gods were repeatedly warned by the Catholic priest to renounce the evil spirit, or it would cause their destruction.

"Throw away the baneful substance which came to you from the devil in the form of a panther," he said, "for just as certain as you continue to keep it among you, the time is not far distant when you will be ruined by it, body and soul."

The unmanageable society, however, persisted in worshipping the white panther; and the substance obtained from the demon of the spring, which was used in witchcraft, eventually consumed the members themselves.

Not many years after the episode at the pool, Ce-zhaw-yen-hau turned traitor to the nation, and joined the Senecas. When leading a war-party against his own people, during the absence of the men, he saw two young women working in a field adjacent to the village. In a frenzy of enthusiasm for new friends and of hatred of the old, he slew the two girls, and fled precipitately.

The warriors, returning, pursued with fury, and overtook the murderers, crossing a miry creek. The entire band was destroyed, with the exception of two Senecas. Putting out the eyes of one and cutting off the thumbs of the other, the Wyandots sent them back to their nation to tell the story.

The white panther worshippers were now made objects of revenge, being hunted down and killed, if suspected of carrying the ruinous substance. The Prairie Turtle Clan finally became extinct. Its fate was considered an evidence of the evil effects of being led by superstition to adopt unknown gods.

The Hurons, keen and skeptical, became acknowledged leaders in the councils of nations. When the Ottawas, Chippewas, Pottawatomies and Wyandots formed an alliance for mutual protection, the latter were appointed keepers of the council fire, and the inter-national archives were committed to their care.

Wampum belts designated agreements. Wampum was manufactured from a species of sea-shell and was composed of tubes one-eighth of an inch in diameter and one-half an inch in length. These were fastened together with strong cords or ligaments. Each belt represented a compact, the conditions of which were retained in memory by the chiefs and warriors of the tribe. The beaver belt of the Mohawk, Captain Brant, emblematic of secret enmity, was deemed a pledge, on the part of those who accepted it, to assist in exterminating the Wyandots. A dark colored bead belt, with a red tomahawk upon it, indicated, when exhibited in council, that warfare was in contemplation. These tokens, as well as parchments and other records, were taken to Kansas in 1843, but became scattered and are now the property of private parties.

The Green Corn Dance was celebrated each year, in the month of August. Festivities opened with a great banquet in which corn was the principal element. After all had partaken generously of corn soup, corn bread and meat boiled with corn, the men formed in a circle and the dance began. A wild chant, or Hoo-ah, accompanied the music of the tom-tom and cedar flute; and dried deer hoofs, tied around the legs of the warriors, rattled as they kept time. The cedar flute, a much valued instrument, was composed of two cylindrical pieces of wood, tied together with buckskin thongs. At intervals a sudden change of step and outward turning of faces occurred, every movement possessing deep religious significance.

At the annual corn feast, children and those adopted into the nation, received names, bestowed by the clans instead of by the parents. Each clan had a list of names that it was required to keep in use. A Wyandot historian tells a singular story, which illustrates the belief of the tribe in the necessity of observing this law.

While living, with the rest of her people, at Lower Sandusky, a young girl, gathering strawberries a short distance from the village, was taken prisoner by a party of white scouts. On the second night of her journey in their company, a queer-looking Indian appeared in a vision, and said:

"I come to tell you that to-morrow about noon these white men will meet a party of Indians on the war-path, and have a fight. Then will be your chance to escape and return home. I am not one of your race; I am a frog, although appearing in human shape. Your race has often rescued one of our kind from the jaws of the snake, therefore, it is with grateful feeling that I come to tell you of an opportunity to escape from the hands of these snoring white men, lying around here."

Next morning the march was continued. About noon, as predicted, the Indians came in view and immediately made an attack. In a moment of excitement, the prisoner was forgotten. Without waiting to learn the outcome of the struggle, she ran into the woods and was soon beyond reach of enemies. At dark, the tired and hungry maiden crept into a hollow sycamore tree, through an aperture at its base, and fell asleep. An Indian woman became visible in a dream, and said:

"The day after to-morrow you will meet a party of warriors from your village. Follow their war path northward. I am not one of your race; I am a bear. Say to the people that there are three names belonging to your clan, the Bear Clan, that are not now among you. Keep these names in use hereafter."

The famishing girl spent another night in the woods, and at dawn resumed her travels, striking the war path at mid-day. When the shadows began to lengthen, she met the Wyandots upon this trail. Providing food and replacing the torn clothing and worn-out moccasins with the best that could be obtained in such an emergency, they started her toward home, where a glad welcome awaited the wanderer, and perfect willingness to heed the admonition of her dreams.

In the war of 1812, a portion of the tribe adhered to Great Britain, while the remainder espoused the American cause. Roundhead (Staw-ye-tauh), who lived at the largest Wyandot village in Michigan, and Warrow, the leading chief on the Canadian side of the Detroit River, took an active part on behalf of the British, and were conspicuous in the battle of the River Raisin. Walk-in-the-Water (Mey-ye-ra), maintained strict neutrality, although in sympathy with the Americans.

Big Tree, a Wyandot whose eventful life has made his name a familiar one, warred against the Americans, beginning, when a boy, at Braddock's defeat. He belonged to the Bear Clan and was noted for strength and activity. During a war with the Southern Indians, he was taken prisoner by the Cherokees, in a battle on the Kentucky River. The contest was a bloody one, the combatants laying aside guns, bows and arrows and fighting with tomahawks. Night ended the struggle and both sides retired from the field.

Big Tree was taken from one place to another; at last to the mouth of a river, unknown to him. The Cherokees held council and concluded to burn the prisoner. Before the sentence could be executed, a woman whose sons had been killed in the battle, stepped forward and claimed him. She said:

"You took all my sons with you. Now they are dead and I am left alone without any help. I claim this young man as my son. Will you pity my age and helplessness and release him to me?"

He was given to the widow, but could not forget his own people and was always looking for a chance to escape. The opportunity came while he was out hunting. For three days and nights the Cherokees pursued. The fugitive became faint from want of food. Reaching the Ohio River, he paused a moment and prayed:

"O Great Spirit, help a poor prisoner to swim this river, that he may get home to his own country." Then, tying his gun on his head, plunged into the water and succeeded in getting to the opposite shore. He killed a deer, cooked a part of the meat and rested. After three moon's traveling, the wanderer arrived home.

In his old age, Big Tree became a devout Christian, and often related how he had tried to follow the advice of the old people in the worship of the Great Spirit; how he had feared the "Man in the Clouds"; and had followed, first, the Seneca Prophet, next the Shawnee Prophet, then had gone back to the religion of his fathers; and finally, through the teachings of Stewart, the colored preacher, had gone down on his knees, with the petition:

"O Homendezue, tamentare, tamentare (O Great Spirit, take pity on me, take pity on me)."

Chief Splitlog (To-oo-troon-too-ra), a brother of Roundhead, and also a Royalist, was one of the last to give up the habits of his progenitors. Although a Roman Catholic, he retained, to a great extent, the ancient beliefs of his people. One who was thoroughly familiar with the history of Splitlog, describes the last effort on the part of the chief to observe the old customs, in the following language: