Cogewea, the Half-Blood

Cogewea, the Half-Blood

By Mourning Dove.

Table of Contents

1. Titlepage
2. Imprint
3. Dedication
4. To the Reader
5. Cogewea, the Half-Blood
   1. I: Cogewea the Half-Blood
   2. II: The Roundup at Horseshoe Bend
   3. III: A Range Idyl
   4. IV: Cogewea Hires the Tenderfoot
   5. V: The Tenderfoot’s Bronco Riding
   6. VI: The Fourth of July
   7. VII: The “Ladies’ ” and the “Squaw” Races
   8. VIII: The Indian Dancers
   9. IX: Under the Whispering Pines
   10. X: Lo! The Poor “Breed”
   11. XI: At the Teepee Fireside
   12. XII: On Buffalo Butte
   13. XIII: A Visit to Stemteemä’s Teepee
   14. XIV: The Dead Man’s Vision
   15. XV: The Superior Race
   16. XVI: On the Old Buffalo Grounds
   17. XVII: Frenchy—Toy of the Cowboys
   18. XVIII: Swa-lah-kin
   19. XIX: The Story of Green-blanket Feet
   20. XX: A Tragedy of the Range
   21. XXI: A “Geezar” in Camp
   22. XXII: Back to the Ranch
   23. XXIII: The Basket Social
   24. XXIV: The Second Coming of the Shoyahpee
   25. XXV: Voice of the Autumn Leaves
   26. XXVI: Stemteemä Consults the Sweat House
   27. XXVII: The Forked Tongue of the Shoyahpee
   28. XXVIII: The Sentinel at the Rock
   29. XXIX: Stemteemä’s Dream of the Soma-ash-hee
   30. XXX: The Cost of Knowing
   31. XXXI: A Voice from the Buffalo Skull
6. Endnotes
7. Colophon
8. Uncopyright

Imprint

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To the memory of
my great grand father, See-whelh-ken, venerated chief of the Schu-ayl-p^k; the song of whose good deeds will forever mingle with the mighty roar of the falls of Swa-net^k-qah, and the mournful soughing of the mountain pine: earth’s primitive nobleman who, in peace welcomed the coming of the pale face, only to witness the seeds of destruction scattered wide among his own once strong and contented people. To him and to the crowded death huts and burial cairns of a nation is this volume most endearingly dedicated by one who ever yearns for the uplifting of her most unhappy race.

To the Reader

The author of Cogewea occupies an unique sphere in the literary field. So far as the writer of this sketch is aware, she is the first Indian woman to enter the realms of fiction. Believing that the reader would be interested in a brief portrayal of her life and ancestry, she was at last prevailed upon to let the same here be entered. This was not attained without difficulty. Her racial sensitiveness shrank from what she termed “unwarranted presumption.”

Hum-is’hu-mā: “mourning dove,” was born while her mother and maternal grandmother were crossing the Kootenai River in a canoe near Bonner’s Ferry, Idaho, about 1888. Her people at the time were on their way from Fort Steel, British Columbia, traveling by packhorses to the States. She bears a remote strain of good Celtic blood, dating back to the earlier advent of the Hudson Bay Company into the Northwest. This, in a measure, accounts for her deep sympathy so manifest throughout her book for the mixed-blood, the socially ostracized of two races.

Mourning Dove is a maternal great granddaughter of See-whelh-ken, head Chief of the Schu-ayl-p^k, or Schwelpi; Schoyelpi⁠—spelled in various ways⁠—now embodied with the Colvilles, including the Okanogans proper. She is identified with the latter tribe, whose language she speaks.

See-whelh-ken’s tribe resided at the Swa-net^k-qha: “big river falls,” known in history as Les Chaudière, or Kettle Falls, of the Columbia River. The Okanogan appellation, however, applied to the stream in its entirety, so famed in legendary lore. These Falls have ever been renowned for their great fishery, and the Schu-ayl-p^k were generally blessed with an abundance of salmon. The Chief was noted for his generous distribution of fish to the less fortunate bands and tribes remotely situated. Regarding the fishery as a direct provision of a benign Spirit-ruler, he deigned not, at any time, to accept compensation for the food. The beautiful sentiment of ceremonial gift-exchange so universal among all the tribes, should not be confounded with sordid commercial barter. To this day the older Indians⁠—even to the distant surrounding tribesmen⁠—speak of the great See-whelh-ken, of the “big heart,” so strong is the memory of he who, in other snows drove famine from the door. Tall, well proportioned with strong, pleasing features, he ruled with a firm, though just hand. Stressed on communistic ideals, his every action was governed by magnanimous wisdom.

Descended from an ancient line of warrior-chieftains, See-whelh-ken saw the advent of the white man into his domain, and was ever that alien’s most steadfast friend. It was owing greatly, if not wholly to his influence that his own, and neighboring tribes maintained friendly