The small boys had been marched to bed at eight o’clock. We, the Middle Five, who, for the first time, were permitted to stay up until ten⁠—a privilege hitherto enjoyed only by the Big Seven⁠—sat around the fire listening to Indian tales told by Edwin in his animated way. There was no light in the room save that which came through the open door of the stove, in front of which the storyteller had taken his place. The flickering fire cast a ruddy light upon the fine features of the boy, and the shadows on the wall danced to the caprice of the restless flames. We laughed heartily at the mishaps of Ish-teʻ-ne-ke, a comical character that figures in the folktales of the Omahas, as they were vividly portrayed in language and gesture.

Outside the wind was moaning and sighing through the trees around the house, at times rattling the windows vigorously, as though threatening to rush in upon us; and from the neighborhood of the graveyard came the mournful sounds of the hooting owl.

In the back part of the schoolroom, where it was dark, sat the Big Seven, carrying on an earnest conversation in low tones, as though to exclude us from their confidence.

The leader of this gang was a youth of peculiar appearance and manner. He was tall and muscular, with prominent nose and cheekbones. Although he took an active part in the amusements and sports of the school, often inaugurating them himself, we never knew him to change the expression of his face, either in pain, anger, or mirth. We five often had talks about the peculiarities of this singular youth. Brush said that “Aleck” (the boys addressed him by this name, for he was called after the Macedonian conqueror) was turned outside in, that all his laugh, anger, and sorrow were inside and couldn’t be seen. Edwin declared that the boy had ceased laughing since the killing of his father by the Sioux, and that he was reserving his laugh for the time when he should take revenge.

The mysterious consultation in the back part of the schoolroom came to an end, and one by one the Big Seven approached the stove and mingled with us. Aleck, who was the last, did not sit down in the space left for him, but drew up a desk and perched on one end of it, resting his feet on the bench where he should have sat. He leaned over, supporting his body with his elbow on his knee, and shaded his eyes with his hand. We could feel that for some purpose he was looking into the faces of the Middle Five.

As the Seven took their places among us, Edwin brought his story to a close, and we fell into silence. After a few moments Aleck cleared his throat, and, without change of attitude, said in the Omaha language, fearlessly breaking one of the rules of the school:

“Boys, to you of the Five I speak. There is not a gang in the school that has not its secrets. You of the Five have yours, no doubt; we of the Seven, who now sit with you, have ours. We respect yours, and we have every confidence that you respect ours. Ordinarily we do not interfere with each other’s affairs; but now that you have the same privilege that we have had, and we are thrown together, we of the Seven think that your gang should unite with ours in a secret that up to this time has been ours alone, and share in its pleasures. Are you willing to join in it?”

“Yes,” answered Brush, knowing as the rest of us did, what this secret was; “we are willing.”

“You of the Seven, are you satisfied with the answer?”

There was silence. “Then,” continued the leader of the Seven, “I must have the answer of each one of the Five.”

Brush again signified his assent, and the rest of us followed. Having arrived at a mutual understanding which awakened in each one a fraternal feeling, there ensued among all the boys a lively chattering. When the fervor of the friendly demonstration abated, Aleck, in his deep voice, said, “Waʻ-tha-dae shu-geʻha!”11

Immediately there was silence, and each one held his breath expectantly, for we recognized the ritual words of “the Leader” in the game, “Obeying the Command,” words which had been sacred to generations of boys who had preceded us.

“Those are the very words,” whispered Edwin to me; “now listen, hear where the Command will come from, and where it will go.”

“The Word of Command approaches,” continued Aleck, with unmoved face; “from the head of the Ne-shu-de12 it comes, wrapped in a black cloud, the mantle of thunder, like the mighty whirlwind it comes; the great trees of the pine-clad mountains bend to its fury; its voice echoes through the valleys, and the animals, big and little, tremble with fear. On it comes, sweeping over the wide plains; the angry lightnings dart from the cloud; it approaches the village of the Ponkas, at the mouth of the Niobrara, passes it and continues its course down the Ne-shuʻ-de; now it has come to the pictured rocks; it reaches the bluffs of the Cut-lake; but on it comes, swifter and swifter it comes; it is now at the old Omaha village, at the graves of the little ones; it comes⁠—it is here!”

There was a pause, and we all waited in suspense. Just then the wind rattled the windows and the owl up in the graveyard hooted.

“George!” called the leader, in a solemn tone.

“Present!” promptly responded George in English, as though answering Graybeard’s roll-call. A ripple of suppressed laughter spread among the boys. Aleck, I doubt not, was giggling inside.

“Edwin!” continued the leader, in the same tone.

“Ah-ho!” said Edwin, giving the response and imitating the voice of a grown-up and serious warrior.

“The Word of Command is before you two,” continued Aleck, “the Leader;” “and it is, that soon after Graybeard has gone to bed you are to go to the village and enter the house of Haeʻ-sha-ra-gae, where you will see a woman making pemmican. You will say to her, ‘Woman! we are the commanded and the bearers of the word of Command. Of you we demand a bag of pemmican. Give willingly, and you shall go beyond the four hills of life without stumbling; there shall be no weariness in the pathway of life to hinder your feet, and your grandchildren shall be many and their succession endless!’ Fail not in your mission. Your way out of the house shall be through one of the windows in our dormitory, and by a rope.”

“It is bedtime, boys, come right up,” called Graybeard, from the head of the stairs. “See that the large doors are bolted.”

When we were in bed, Graybeard went softly downstairs, and we heard him open his door, close it, then lock it. Some of the youngsters were still awake, and, when they heard the closing of Graybeard’s door, began to talk. It seemed as though they would never stop and go to sleep, so that we could carry out the Word of Command. After a while Aleck thought of a plan, and started a game often played by small boys at night; he said, loud enough for the little boys to hear, “Thaʻ-ka!” Brush and the rest of us repeated the word, one after the other, and each of the wakeful little fellows, according to the rules of the game, was obliged in his turn to utter the word, and then there was silence, for no one can speak after he has said the word. Soon heavy breathing among the little ones gave sign that they had entered the land of dreams.

It was near the middle of the night when one by one the members of the Big Seven and the Middle Five noiselessly arose. George tiptoed to a corner and brought out a large coil of rope. We went with it to the window directly over that of Graybeard’s bedroom. I do not know why we selected that window, the only dangerous one in the dormitory, but there seemed to be a fatality about it. Very softly the window was raised; George slipped the noose at the end of the rope around his body, then climbed through the window. Slowly we let him down the three stories to the ground. Then we hauled the rope up again, and let Edwin down in the same manner. We closed the window, leaving space enough for the rope, which remained dangling.

On entering the village, the two boys were met by a pack of noisy curs that snapped and snarled at their heels. As the dogs became bolder in their attacks, the lads struck right and left with the heavy sticks they carried; one dog limped away yelping, and another lay thumping his tail on the ground, stunned.

The door of the house designated by the leader of the Big Seven squeaked loudly on its rusty hinges as the boys swung it open without the ceremony of knocking. A woman at work in one corner of the room looked up at them, smiled good-naturedly, and said in a sympathetic tone:

“Such a dark night as this! On what errand do they come, and little White-chests, too?”

Four men were sitting on the floor around a flickering candle playing a game; they too looked up at the sound of the door.

“Oho!” said the man of the house, who was one of the players, “for a long time you have not entered my dwelling on a visit; I fear you will make it rain! Walk around the stove and break the charm.”

“Don’t mind him,” said the woman, kindly; “tell me what you want. Won’t you sit down?”

The two boys stood hesitating, then George began in a sepulchral voice, “Woman, we are the commanded, the bearers of the Word of Command. We come to demand of you a bag of pemmican. Give plenty⁠—”

“Willingly,” corrected Edwin, in a whisper.

“Willingly, and you shall go beyond the four hills of life without⁠—without⁠—”

“Stumbling,” prompted Edwin.

“Stumbling; there shall be no weariness in the pathway of life⁠—” and so on to the end of the ritual.

The woman clapped her hands, and shouted with laughter, as she exclaimed, “If your cloud and lightning and thunder do all you say they will do, they have more power than I supposed they had! Sit down and wait a while, and I will have some pemmican ready for you.”

“Did those old White-chests teach you all that?” asked the husband. “If they did, they have been stealing the rituals of some of our priests, and⁠—”

“Oh, let them alone!” said the wife; “they came to see me.”

“They came in without knocking on the door; that’s bad luck!” the husband continued in his banter; “before entering a house they should knock, as the White-chests do.”

“Be careful, and don’t spill it!” said the wife, as she handed a bag to George, who thanked her.

“There they come!” said one of the Seven in a loud whisper, as he felt a tug on the rope that was tied to his arm.

We hastened out of bed, being careful not to make any noise. George and Edwin sent the bag of pemmican first, then they were each pulled up and safely landed.

We had built a fire in a vacant room adjoining our dormitory; into this warm room we repaired with our bag, and sat in a circle on the floor, Indian fashion. On a little table stood the one candle allowed us, shedding a feeble light. Two of the boys had stolen down to the dining-room for plates. Alexander, before whom the bag was placed, divided the pemmican equally, while we listened to George and Edwin’s account of their adventure. The plates were passed around; I put out my hand to help myself from my plate, when a member of the Big Seven stopped me. “Wait,” said he; “there is something more to be done.”

Aleck looked up; we all became silent; then he took a tiny bit of the pemmican, and held it toward the sky for a moment as a thank offering to Wakonda, then placed it with great solemnity on the floor in the centre of the circle. This done, we fell to eating, telling stories as we feasted, and had one of the most enjoyable nights of our lives.

From time to time through the winter we had these nocturnal banquets, taking turns in going to the village for our supplies; but misfortune overtook us before the season was fairly over.

One dark night we had our meeting as usual, and the Word of Command came to Lester and to Joel of the Big Seven. When the small boys had gone to sleep, we brought out our rope and let Joel down through the window. Then we put the noose around Lester and proceeded to lower him.

It chanced that Graybeard had lain awake from toothache, and was at that very moment looking through his window, the curtain of which he had neglected to pull down when he retired, and he saw, slowly descending outside, two dark objects; they grew longer and longer, then they suddenly ceased to move. For an instant he felt a slight shock of fright; but quickly recovering, he gradually made out the form of two feet and two legs without a body. He sprang out of bed, threw open the window, and in a severe tone demanded, “What’s this! Who are you; what are you doing?”

Lester struggled frantically to climb the rope; we tried to help him, but a large knot caught the edge of the windowsill, and we could not lift it over, nor could we let Lester down, for one of the Seven had entangled his legs in the coil, and before he had extricated himself, it was too late to save our companion.

“Who are you?” again called Graybeard, grasping the boy by the trousers.

“It’s me, Lester,” replied the lad.

Seeing that the game was up, we gently let Lester farther down, and he entered Graybeard’s room through the window.

In the meantime one of the boys had run softly downstairs to open the hall door for Joel, who had not been discovered.

Graybeard woke us up in the morning at the usual hour, but of the disturbance during the night he said nothing. At breakfast the subject was not mentioned, although we listened with anxious expectation.

To the twelve boys who were engaged in the escapade of the night, it seemed as though the preliminary exercises of the morning school session would never end, so desirous were we to have the punishment, whatever it might be, come quickly and we be rid of suspense. The last name on the roll was called; Graybeard slowly closed the Register, put it in his desk, and during an impressive silence turned his eyes upon us to scan our faces.

“Lester!” said he, at last, “you will step up to my desk, if you please.”

If there was a serious matter on hand, Graybeard always said, “If you please.”

Notwithstanding the very polite invitation extended to him, Lester reluctantly walked to the desk. Every eye but two, those of Alexander, was fixed upon Graybeard and Lester. Aleck had taken out his writing-book and was carefully copying the example given at the head of the page, “Honesty is the best policy.” He took particular pains with the capital H, finishing the last part with concentric circles.

“What were you doing last night,” asked Graybeard of Lester, “when I caught you outside of my window?”

“I was going down to the ground.”

“Were you running away?”

“No, sir.”

“Where were you going?”

“I was going to the village.”

“What were you going to the village for?”

No answer.

“Who was letting you down; someone must have held the rope in the dormitory, who was it?”

No reply.

“If you don’t answer my questions, I shall have to whip you; who else was going with you?”

Lester looked appealingly to Brush, then to Alexander. Aleck was writing the sentence in his book; but, when he heard Graybeard’s threat to whip Lester, he arose without finishing the last word. All eyes turned upon him, and there was a stir among the pupils.

“What is it, Alexander,” asked Graybeard, “what do you know about this strange performance?”

“Lester is not to blame, sir; I made him go out of the window, and I held the rope to let him down.”

“And I helped him to do it,” came from a voice in another part of the room; it was Brush, who had silently risen; “we compelled the two⁠—we compelled Lester to go out of the window.”

“You said there were two boys who were going out of the window, who was the other?” asked Graybeard, determined to find out all the participants in the mischief.

Those of us who knew, looked toward Joel; an expression of fear stole over his face and he anxiously awaited Brush’s answer.

“I did not say that, sir,” he replied; “Lester was going down alone.”

Joel gave a sigh of relief.

“What made you force the boy to go out of the window; where were you sending him?”

“We were sending him to the village.”

“What were you sending him to the village for?”

“I refuse to answer,” was the bold reply.

Graybeard, seeing that there would be no use in questioning Brush, turned to Alexander and asked, “What were you sending Lester to the village for?”

“I was sending him to go there and return.”

“Alexander, I want no foolishness; tell me what you were sending Lester to the village for?”

“I refuse to answer.”

“This abusing of smaller boys by the large ones, and making them do things that are improper, must be stopped; it has gone far enough. Lester, you may take your seat. Frank, take this knife and get me two good hickory switches. Do you know a hickory-tree?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered, as I took the knife. I knew every kind of tree growing around the school, and I had a suspicion that Graybeard did not know the difference between a hickory sapling and some others. I cut two formidable-looking switches of linden, closely resembling hickory. I had time to fully doctor only one of the switches, by driving the knife-blade deep into the wood every two or three inches. When I entered the schoolroom, Graybeard took a glance at the switches, then said:

“Alexander and Brush will step to my desk and take off their coats.”

The two boys stood in their shirt sleeves; I kept watch of Graybeard’s eyes, and saw that he was going to take Brush first; so when he was ready I handed him the fully doctored switch.

“Is that hickory?” he asked, trying it on the air; “I suspect it isn’t.”

I made no reply.

“Stand in the middle of the floor,” said Graybeard to Brush.

He did so. Graybeard brought down the stick heavily on Brush’s shoulders, an inch of the sapling broke; then he struck faster and faster, and at each stroke a piece flew off. Brush stood with clenched fists, determined not to show any flinching; but we could see that he felt keenly the blows. He went to his desk, and buried his face in his arms.

“I am afraid this isn’t hickory,” said Graybeard, throwing on the floor the stump of the switch. “I know this one is,” and he dealt blow after blow on the broad shoulders of Alexander, who gave no sign of pain. The boy stood unmoved, every muscle relaxed, even his hands were open, showing no emotion whatever. The stick was worn out, and Graybeard threw the stump on the floor.

Aleck put on his coat, then, with head uplifted and unfaltering steps, went to his desk, took his pen, and completed the unfinished word of the motto.