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A Runaway
Vacation had come, and the Indians were about to start on their annual summer buffalo hunt. Some of the scholars were to accompany their parents, and others, after a brief home visit, were to return to the school and continue their studies while the tribe was away.
In the three villages there was great hurry and bustle in every family. Pack saddles were brought out of the caches where they had lain through the winter. The task of mending them fell to the older people of the household, while the younger folk busied themselves in retrimming their more ornate trappings. Goods not necessary for the journey were stored away, and the dwellings were made ready for the long absence.
At last there remained but one day before the time set for the departure of the tribe. In the afternoon I bade my parents goodbye, and reluctantly returned to the school. Quite a number of the boys and girls had already come back, among them Lester and Warren. Brush had not left the school, so on my arrival I received from the three boys the usual greetings we accorded each other when one returned after an absence. We four paced the long front porch, arm in arm, for a while, and then went and sat down in the shade of a tree.
“Where is Edwin?” asked Brush; “isn’t he coming back?”
“No,” I replied; “his mother wanted him to; but his father didn’t want to leave him behind, so he’s going on the hunt.”
“He’ll have lots of fun,” said Warren; “I wish I could go!”
The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Brush borrowed the superintendent’s spyglass, and we went to a high point whence we could watch the movements of the people in the village nearest the school. We took turns in looking through the glass. Already the head of the great caravan had gone behind the first hill, but my family had not yet started. We looked toward Edwin’s house, and saw that the people were just moving. It was a wonderful sight to us, the long procession on the winding trail, like a great serpent of varied and brilliant colors. At last I saw my father mount a horse and move forward, the rest of the family followed him, and I watched them until they finally disappeared beyond the green hills. It was nearly noon when the end of the line went out of sight.
While the movements were going on in the village, we could hear the neighing of horses, the barking of dogs, and the hum of voices, but now there was a stillness in the deserted village which brought upon us a sense of loneliness that was hard to overcome. We slowly returned to the Mission and ate our noonday meal without speaking. There seemed to be a general depression among the remaining pupils at the school. A silence pervaded all the surroundings which made each boy wish to retire from the other and to be alone.
At breakfast, the next morning, there was the same sense of stillness; even the superintendent and the teachers at their table seemed to be homesick, and they passed the dishes to each other in silence. The reading of the Scriptures and the prayer of the superintendent was in a tone that added to the gloominess which had taken possession of our simple little souls.
As we were slowly marching out of the dining-room, when the worship was over, the superintendent stopped Brush and said to him:
“I want you to go after the mail this morning; go on horseback so as to get back soon. I have some work for you to do this afternoon. Take Dolly, and use the large saddle; the other one needs mending.”
“Let’s go down to the spring,” said Lester to Warren and me.
So while Brush went to the barn to saddle up, we three went to the spring and sat under an elm that stood near by.
“Say, boys, I’m going to the hunt!” said Lester, startling us with the sudden announcement; “I heard that two families down at the Wood-eaters’ village can’t get away for two days yet, and I’m going down there so I can go with them. The Omahas always wait on the Wa-tae,8 for those that are last.”
“If you’re going, I’m going too,” spoke up Warren; “I don’t want to stay here.”
“If you two go, I’m going!” I exclaimed.
“All right, let’s all go then,” said Lester, rising. “We must hurry up; someone might see us!”
We followed a narrow path that led through a ravine just beyond the spring. We were in the greatest excitement; every little sound aroused within us the fear of detection, and we frequently sought for a hiding place, while we carefully avoided all well-beaten paths. Silently we plodded our way through the bushes until we came to a hill where there were no trees, then we ran as fast as our legs could carry us for another wooded place.
We stopped a moment when passing to take a look at the village. Silence prevailed. Not a living thing was astir. Three whirlwinds chased each other along the winding paths between the houses, making funnel-shaped dust clouds as they sped on.
“The ghosts have entered the village,” said Lester, in our own language, and in a melancholy tone; “they always do that as soon as the living leave their houses!”
Entering the ravine for which we were making, we continued our journey. The nettle weeds caused us much suffering, for we were barefooted, and wore short trousers. We came to an opening; before us lay the road to the Agency; we looked cautiously around, then started to cross it to go into another ravine that headed toward the big village, when the snorting of a
