El Paso daily herald. (El Paso, Tex.) 1881-1901, 1900-06-28
CHAPTER l.

What the great Chief CrowfOOt was
to the Blackfeet was et-Grass to
the Crees. H. was the Seneca of this
great tribe. That was when he was
Sweet-Grass.
At the beginning he was next to
nothing, a wee mite of copper color
ed pagan Cree. His father had been
too Indifferent to even fight well, so he
had been slain like an obese buffalo
bull.
In the hunt there was no warrior to
kill the buffalo for the widows wig
wan. She followed up the others and
cleaned what they left. In times of
plenty this was not so difficult, but
when hunger stalked through the flap
ping tepees of the Indians in the win
ter months the cleaning was nothing,
and existence for the SQuaw and her
little brown papoose became struggle
with the coyOtelike dogs of the camp
for the things the others threw away.
That was the childhood of Sweet
Grass. He did not even own a name.
He was only the nokum's child. No
body had time to even dream a name
for him.
If in the scramble for bits of jerked
buffalo he and the dogs fell out and
he struck his canine rivals, somebody
| would retaliate. The dogs were in the
right of it. 1t was only the nokum's
child, anyway. The dogs belonged to
somebody, after a fashion-so many to
each tepee-but Sweet-Grass was only
| the nokum'S child.
His mother carried wood and smoked
meat for others, stripped the red will
low and made kinnikinick for lazy
braves with lazier wives, and in return
she was allowed to poke through the
offal and find her living there-if she
could. She was like the village poor
woman, with the usual boy, who scrubs
and washes and does all the village
chores.
Sweet-Grass was the boy. AS soon
as he opened his eyes on the pleasant
world he began to discover that life
was u fight.
This conviction deepened as he grew
older, and the village. outcast always
grows old fast. His years outstretched
his stature. At IA he was small, but
hard as nails. Fighting for existence
did not tend to soften him.
At IA he said to the nokum: Mother,
am now a warrior. L have not even Il
name. AS l lie on my buffalo skin at
night the wind whispers to me through
the grass and the purple moose flowers
and asks me what is my name. What
can l answer, mother?
Il answer that l am the nokum' S
child, and the wind laughs and sweeps
away, and the pack dogs howl, and
my heart grows black with anger. If 1
were a maiden, the water you'd trickle
from my eyes, my heart grows so sad.
But l am a warrior, mother, a brave,
and my heart beats hard and fast
against my ribs, and 1 know that it is
knocking that it may grow-grow big
and strong and fierce like Black VOLTS.
Yesterday a big black eagle flew
over the snow mountains, and his shad-
ow swept like a cloud across the grass
that is like the yellow gold. He flew
toward the sun, mother-south toward
! the land of the Blackfoot-and he call
| ed to me. 1 looked up, and saw his
| eyes. They were bright and fierce just
like Black VOLTS.
"But he was looking at me, mother,
and he whistled shrill and sharp, as
| though the Great Spirit called me to
| follow.
Tonight l am going, mother. In
five nights if do not return it will not
matter, for 1 have no name. 1 will
| bring a name if l come back
The nokum's eyes were old and blur
red, the pupil was glazed with blush
cast, and the whites were streaked yell
| low and red, SO not much expression
could creep into them. They did not
tell what she thought; they were like
badly colored beads. Her tongue did
not know how to give expression to
| sentiment; her poor old heart tugged
and strained at its lashings and hurt
her, but she was used to pain. 1t new
er occurred to her to complain because
| of pain.
| So the boy looked in the poor gnarled
| eyes and saw nothing. The white,
| withered lips told him nothing, and he
| thought 1.-The nokum is glad. She
would like her boy to have a name.'
| He took his bow and his knife and
| his tenderly feathered arrows and held
| them in his arms az a lover fondles the
roses he takes to his ladylove. 1t was
a mans bow, for the boys arms were
! like steel-got of the fighting with the
dogs and everything else in the camp.
Cheap little bits of finery he logged
himself out with-trifies of brass tied
in his long black shining hair. 4 little
remnant of beadwork, blue and yell
low and black, that his mother had
saved from the deerskin shirt of his
worthless father, he fastened about his
! neck.
When he was ready to start, the no.
KUN made his young heart bound with
| delight when she handed him a pair of
! delica tely beaded moccaSinS They had