ERE is an untold tale of the Red Man, as spoken by Dewy Beard, an Oglalla Sioux, who sits alone to-day, bullet-scarred and sad, while in the drifting blue from his tepee fire come images of that glory which has departed from his race. It is true, though running counter to the lore of the white man, the reason whereof lies hid beneath army influence.
Once a dashing leader led his troop against a subtle foe, was outgeneraled, and his men annihilated in fair fight, leaving naught but a blood-soaked hillside and a shining memory. This was "."
Years passed, and a few starving Sioux, bound toward an agency for protection and succor, were surrounded by three times their number of soldiers, who demanded their dying chieftain as hostage. They gave him; then, puzzled and frightened, while busied in laying down their arms, they were massacred by the men in blue and brass, leaving nothing but bodies of babes and women and defenseless men, with a name upon the yellowed page of history, "."
The buffalo were gone. All the Indians were hungry. One day as I sat with my father in his tepee, a messenger came saying a Savior for the Sioux had appeared to one in the far land of the setting sun, who promised to bring again the buffalo and antelope and to send the white man from out of the land where we hunted in the old time.
This messenger was holy. He told us if we danced and prayed the Savior would appear.
"Does this mean that we shall fight again with the white man?" my father asked. "It is not good to speak so of war."
"No," said the messenger, "there is no talk of battles. When the Great One comes, the white people will go away, and in the land will be many things to eat."
"Let us see this thing," said my father to us. "The Great White Chief at Washington has broken his word, for he took our lands, saying we should have food as long as we lived. We are starving, while our families eat nothing but the wild turnips." So we went to White Clay Creek, where the Indians danced the ghost dance, and we danced also, I, my father, and all my brothers. There were many people about the medicine pole. As they danced they threw dust to the heavens in handfuls, and fanned it with their blankets, singing to the Savior. They did this for many hours, till some of them fell. There were young women who took part, also, and these stood in a line within the circle, then at a signal ran toward a goal, pursued by the medicine men, who struck them with a great ball so that they fell. There were drums beating and the sound of great singing, while people whirled and whirled till they dropped in a trance and were dragged from beneath the feet of the others. When they arose they spoke in an unknown tongue. Many danced till they died, while others seemed to die, but did not. These appeared to be holy, claiming to have seen mysterious things, and saying that the Savior had promised to bring again the golden days. The women wore ghost dresses, as did some of the men, shirts of cotton cloth with magic on them, painted and blessed by the medicine men, so that no harm could come to him who wore one—not even bullets of the white man.
Before long I observed that it was bad Indians who saw these sacred images each time. These and the medicine men were the only ones, so I spoke to my father.
When the Spirit would not come to any of us, he said, "My sons, it is strange that we do not see the Savior. I am told they dance better at the Cheyenne Agency. We may see the Holy One there." So, with Kicking Bear, we went to the tepees of Big Foot; but there it was the same, for the mystery came not to any of our family.
Soon after our arrival soldiers came and camped close by, about five hundred of them. Our chief counseled with the officer, saying:
"My friend, why do you camp so close?"
That one replied: "You are dancing the ghost dance, and I fear you will do wrong."
"No, we intend no harm. If we do nothing but dance, that cannot be any one's business but our own," said Big Foot.
"The agent at Pine Ridge is frightened and has called for many soldiers. He says you are bad, and I have come out to stop this."
"I will go away from here," said Big Foot, "and my people will go with me; but we are good Indians and do not want you to follow us. We will dance to the Holy Spirit if we wish, but we will do no harm."
"You must have a pass if you leave the reservation," said the white man, at which my father, who had come to the soldier's tent with Big Foot, said: