Black Hills (S.D. and Wyo.) -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Frontier and pioneer life -- United States -- Fiction
At last he discerned the dimly blazed trail, rocky and dangerous
enough, which dropped sheer away into the underbrush below. He locked
the brakes and turned sharply down to the right. The descent was
hazardous, bumpy, exceedingly noisy. For this reason, it was not until
he had reached the level ground at the bottom of the cañon and the
clash of iron tire against stone had ceased, that he became aware the
ravine was already occupied. A sound of voices and laughter floated up
through the thin screen of leaves. As the half-breed's vehicle pushed
out toward the creek itself, he saw that he had unwittingly stumbled on
a camp of Indians up in the Hills on one of their annual jaunts after
teepee poles.
Once a year they make these excursions. The whole band--men, women,
children, ponies, dogs, and household goods--goes along. It is an
outing. The women fell and strip the long slender saplings. The men
loaf lazily in front of their temporary shelters or ride about the
Hills to the various camps, giving war dances for nickels and silver
pieces. The occasion is eminently peaceful.
Of such a nature was the gathering which Michaïl Lafond came upon in
the level of the little cañon. The wigwams had been pitched either
side of the old overgrown road. Children had cut away the slight
underbrush to clear a round smooth park of perhaps thirty yards
diameter, in the circumference of which were crowded the persons and
household belongings of four score people. Near the centre stood the
chief's lodge distinguished by a shield and spear. The whole was a
facsimile of a plains camp, except that here the whole affair was in
miniature--little wigwams, little kettle-tripods, little space--for the
camp was but temporary. Perhaps a score of men were idling about,
dressed in blue overalls and old flannel shirts. Moccasins and no hats
left still a slight flavor of savagery. The women were clothed for the
most part in dirty calico prints. The children had on just nothing at
all.
Lafond cursed a little excitedly as he became aware of this not
unpicturesque gathering. It was plainly out of the question to leave
his horses and wagon in the creek bottom as he had intended; and it was
now equally impossible to waylay the prospectors at the top of the
grade. A shot would bring out the entire band. The situation was much
complicated, for just beyond lay the rolling treeless foothills. More
bad luck!
Still the half-breed remembered it was yet many miles to Rapid; and an
ambush would not be impossible in some one of the numerous gullies that
seamed the foothills. He must hurry his tired horses up the steep
slope in order to emerge on the main road ahead of Knapp and Buckley.
"How!" said the nearest warrior, raising his hand palm outward.
"How!" replied Lafond gravely.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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