After the ceremony Mad Wolf reclined upon his couch and smoked with
half-closed eyes. I sat near him, gazing at the sacred Beaver Bundle,
thinking of its mysterious power over the Indian, and its strange
superstitions handed down through many generations. There was a long
silence; the fire burned low and twilight settled over prairie and
camp. Finally Mad Wolf knocked the ashes from his pipe. He signed for
me to help him remove the robe which covered the Beaver Bundle. For a
moment he allowed me to gaze upon it, when the robe was reverently
replaced. Then Mad Wolf said earnestly, as though he were thinking back
into the distant past:
“Before the white men came into our country, we lived content, and were
happy in our religion. We worshiped the Sun. In those days we had many
powerful chiefs and wise men. There were no white men, and we wandered
wherever we pleased. We had plenty of food. We killed buffalo in great
numbers by driving them over cliffs, and the young men who were good in
the buffalo drives were famous.
“The information I have came from wise men of the older generation, and
what they told me was true. Never before have I talked in this way to a
white man; I have always been afraid to trust them. But I tell you
these things, because I believe in you. I feel towards you as a father
to a son. I want to hand down my secrets through you.
“I come from a long-lived family. My father’s name was Big Bonnet and
that of my mother, Bear Woman. My father taught me many things; but he
died when I was ten years old. In my youth I was wild, like many
others, and I was still a young man when I had a narrow escape from
death. When the danger had passed, I felt glad to be alive. I looked up
to the Sun and made my first vow. After that I became thoughtful and
wanted to do something to help my tribe. The following summer at the
Sun Dance, when many people were assembled, I stood before them and
made known my vow. Then for the first time I took part in the
ceremonies in the sun lodge; and I have continued to do so ever since.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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