Washington standard. [volume] (Olympia, Wash. Territory) 1860-1921, 1883-06-15
CHIPETAs ADDRESS.
A Literal Translation by Bill Nye of W.
oming Territory

/ People of my tribe, the sorrowinc
widow of the dead Ouray speaks to
You. She comes to you, not as the
j squaw Of the dead chieftain to rous,
you to war and victory, but to weer
with you over the loss of her peoplt
and the greed of the pale face.
i The fair Colorado, over whose
rocky mountains We have roamed and
; hunted in the olden time. is now over
run by the silver plated Senator and
the soft-ryed dude.
We are driven to a small corner OF
the earth to die. while the oppressol
digs gopher holes in the green grass
and sells them to the speculator of
the great cities toward the rising
! sun.
Through the long, cold winter my
people have passed, in want and
cold, while the conqueror of the
peaceful Ute has worn $3.50 night
shirts and filled his pale skin with
! pic.
Chipeta addresses you as the weep
ing squaw of the great man whose
bones will one day nourish the GU
cnmber vine. Ouray now sleeps be
meath the brown grass of the canyon,
where the soft spring winds may stir
the dead leaves and the young coyote
may come and monkey DER his grave.
Ouray was ignorant in TIE ways of
the pale face. He could not 90 to
Congress. for he was not citizen of
the United States. He had not taken
out his second papers. He was a
simple child of the forest, but he
stuck to Chipeta. He loved Chipeta
like a hired man. That is why the
widowed squaw weeps over him.
A few more years and / shall join
Ouray-my chief, Ouray the big in
jun from away up the gulch. His
heart is still open to me. Chipeta
could trust him, even among the
smiling maidens of her tribe. Ouray
was true. There was no funny bu 81
ness in his nature He loved not the
garb of the pale face, but won my
heart while he wore saddle blanket
and look of Woe
Chipeta looks to the north and the
south, and all about are the graves of
her people. The refinement of the
Oppressor has come, with its divorce
ana schools and gin cocktails and
flour bread and fall elections, and we
linger here like boil on the neck of
fat man.
Even while talk to you, the damp
winds of April are signing through
my vertebr;e and I've got more pains
in my back than a conservatory.
Weep with the widowed Chipeta
Bow your heads and howl, for our
harps are hung on the willows and
onr wild goose is cooked.
Who will be feft to mourn at
Chipeta's grave? None but the
starving papooses of my nation. We
stand in the gray mist Of spring like
dead burdocks in the field of the
honest farmer, and the chilly winds
of departing winter make us hump
and gather like burnt boot.
All we can do is to wall. We are
the red skinned walters from Wall
town
Colorado is no more the home of
the Ute. 1t is the dwelling place of
the bonanza Senator, who doesn't
know the difference between the plan
of salvation and the previous ques-
tion.
Chipeta cannot vote. Chipeta can
not pay taxes to a great nation, but
you will he apt to hear her gentle
voice, and her mellow racket will fill
the air till her tongue is cold and
they tuck the buffalo robe about her
and plant her by the side of her dead
chieftain, where the south wind and
the sage hen are singing.
THE OTHER SIDE.
She sobbed as if her heart would
break, and the kind hearted neighbor
who dropped in for a friendly chat
could not comfort her
Had she received bad news from
her relations or friends? No.
Were her children causing her
trouble? No.
Difficulties in church? No.
Perhaps her husbands business
was not prospcring? But that was
not it; her husband had never been
80 fortunate in business as now.
Finally it came out that her hus
band had stopped drinking, and that
was the source of her grief.
He is so changed now," she tear
fully explained. From a lively,
kind-hearted man he has become
morose, cross and stingy. Why,
when he was about half full he was
one of the cheerfulest men you ever
saw, and he never came home without
remembering to bring something.
Why, I've let him in many a time at
2 and 3 o'clock in the morning, when
he would drop right down in the par
lor and go to sleep on the oilcloth,
but l could always depend on finding
a turkey, or can of oysters, or ham,
or something lying alongside of him.
Yes, he was a good man when he was
drunk. He was fuller'n a goose when
he bought the piano and my watch,
and everything else that cost more
than fifteen cents. But that's all
over with now. and l wish l was
dead" and she burst forth into a
fresh flood of tears and refused to be
cOmforted.
A THRIFTY MAN.