第27章 TWO STRIKE(1)

It is a pity that so many interesting names of well-known Indians have been mistranslated,so that their meaning becomes very vague if it is not wholly lost.In some cases an opposite meaning is conveyed.For instance there is the name,"Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses."It does not mean that the owner of the name is afraid of his own horse --far from it!Tashunkekokipapi signifies "The young men [of the enemy]fear his horses."Whenever that man attacks,the enemy knows there will be a determined charge.

The name Tashunkewitko,or Crazy Horse,is a poetic simile.

This leader was likened to an untrained or untouched horse,wild,ignorant of domestic uses,splendid in action,and unconscious of danger.

The name of Two Strike is a deed name.In a battle with the Utes this man knocked two enemies from the back of a war horse.

The true rendering of the name Nomkahpa would be,"He knocked off two."I was well acquainted with Two Strike and spent many pleasant hours with him,both at Washington,D.C.,and in his home on the Rosebud reservation.What I have written is not all taken from his own mouth,because he was modest in talking about himself,but Ihad him vouch for the truth of the stories.He said that he was born near the Republican River about 1832.His earliest recollection was of an attack by the Shoshones upon their camp on the Little Piney.The first white men he ever met were traders who visited his people when he was very young.The incident was still vividly with him,because,he said,"They made my father crazy,"[drunk].This made a deep impression upon him,he told me,so that from that day he was always afraid of the white man's "mysterious water."Two Strike was not a large man,but he was very supple and alert in motion,as agile as an antelope.His face was mobile and intelligent.Although he had the usual somber visage of an Indian,his expression brightened up wonderfully when he talked.In some ways wily and shrewd in intellect,he was not deceitful nor mean.

He had a high sense of duty and honor.Patriotism was his ideal and goal of life.

As a young man he was modest and even shy,although both his father and grandfather were well-known chiefs.I could find few noteworthy incidents in his early life,save that he was an expert rider of wild horses.At one time I was pressing him to give me some interesting incident of his boyhood.He replied to the effect that there was plenty of excitement but "not much in it."There was a delegation of Sioux chiefs visiting Washington,and we were spending an evening together in their hotel.Hollow Horn Bear spoke up and said:

"Why don't you tell him how you and a buffalo cow together held your poor father up and froze him almost to death?"Everybody laughed,and another man remarked:"I think he had better tell the medicine man (meaning myself)how he lost the power of speech when he first tried to court a girl."Two Strike,although he was then close to eighty years of age,was visibly embarrassed by their chaff.

"Anyway,I stuck to the trail.I kept on till I got what Iwanted,"he muttered.And then came the story.

The old chief,his father,was very fond of the buffalo hunt;and being accomplished in horsemanship and a fine shot,although not very powerfully built,young Two Strike was already following hard in his footsteps.Like every proud father,his was giving him every incentive to perfect his skill,and one day challenged his sixteen-year-old son to the feat of "one arrow to kill"at the very next chase.

It was midwinter.A large herd of buffalo was reported by the game scout.The hunters gathered at daybreak prepared for the charge.The old chief had his tried charger equipped with a soft,pillow-like Indian saddle and a lariat.His old sinew-backed hickory bow was examined and strung,and a fine straight arrow with a steel head carefully selected for the test.He adjusted a keen butcher knife over his leather belt,which held a warm buffalo robe securely about his body.He wore neither shirt nor coat,although a piercing wind was blowing from the northwest.The youthful Two Strike had his favorite bow and his swift pony,which was perhaps dearer to him than his closest boy comrade.

Now the hunters crouched upon their horses'necks like an army in line of battle,while behind them waited the boys and old men with pack ponies to carry the meat."Hukahey!"shouted the leader as a warning."Yekiya wo!"(Go)and in an instant all the ponies leaped forward against the cutting wind,as if it were the start in a horse race.Every rider leaned forward,tightly wrapped in his robe,watching the flying herd for an opening in the mass of buffalo,a chance to cut out some of the fattest cows.This was the object of the race.

The chief had a fair start;his horse was well trained and needed no urging nor guidance.Without the slightest pull on the lariat he dashed into the thickest of the herd.The youth's pony had been prancing and rearing impatiently;he started a little behind,yet being swift passed many.His rider had one clear glimpse of his father ahead of him,then the snow arose in blinding clouds on the trail of the bison.The whoops of the hunters,the lowing of the cows,and the menacing glances of the bulls as they plunged along,or now and then stood at bay,were enough to unnerve a boy less well tried.He was unable to select his victim.He had been carried deeply into the midst of the herd and found himself helpless to make the one sure shot,therefore he held his one arrow in his mouth and merely strove to separate them so as to get his chance.