Cogewea sat squaw-fashion on the bearskin in Stemteemä’s teepee, her daily visit with hot food for the old grandparent. She was telling her of the riders; jokes played, of the horses and dogs, nor did she forget the children. She was awaiting Densmore, who was to join them for the promised story. At last he came and called:

“May I come in?”

“Is the door-flap fastened that the pale face must beg like a Blackfeet slave prisoner for entrance? None ever knocks at the teepee door. The Indian home is also the home of the peaceful stranger; nor is an enemy, when once within its walls, to be molested.”

Densmore recognized the voice, and lifting the blanket-shutter, stooped through the low entrance. Cogewea pointed to a worn buffalo robe and gravely motioned him to be seated, as she spoke:

“If you visit here in our wigwam, you must affect the role of a genuine ‘buck.’ Throw your veneered manners aside and be a real Injun. Command me to bring you water in a basket-cup, let me regale you on dried fish and meat; berries, camas and bitterroot. You must eat till you are completely filled and when you depart, take with you any remaining food and the robe on which you have rested. This, in recognition of the honored visit you have made us. Such was the custom among the tribes snows ago before we were ruined by an alien, rum-flavored civilization.”

“Were such the usages under all conditions of tribal life?”

“Sure! Carried away with you every robe that you may have used while visiting a neighbor, and gave likewise when receiving company. If this was olden times, I would have all of Stemteemä’s robes and blankets up at the house ere this. I am here at least three times a day and seldom miss sitting down for a few moments’ chat. You must excuse me,” she continued as she shifted position, “while I stretch my numbed limbs. I am a young squaw but I guess modern life has disqualified me for the ways of the teepee.”

Cogewea now reclined, head resting in her hand, elbow braced on the ground. The aged woman spoke scoldingly in her own tongue; the words coming quick and sharp, with impressive gesticulations. The girl’s reply was also in Okanogan, as she drew her feet under her skirts. Densmore listened with manifest uneasiness. He surmised that the grandmother was averse to his presence and that he was the object of the disquieting colloquy. From the intonation, he was very sure of this. Cogewea read his thoughts and addressed him:

“I beg your pardon for thus discoursing in an unfamiliar language. We are all only mortal and at times perhaps a little conceited with ourselves. I know about how you feel and I am speaking from experience. When people converse in a tongue that I do not understand, I always conjecture that I am the subject of conversation. Doubtless this is ofttimes a mistake. I was just receiving a calling down from this dear old soul. Some more of her ancient ideas. She was chiding me for exposing my ankles in your presence.”

“If her contravention is in deference to me, she is unnecessarily perturbed. I am not at all averse to⁠—”

“It was the custom in other snows,” Cogewea broke in hastily, “before that⁠—to us⁠—misnomer civilization came, that a young unmarried woman must sit, if occasion demanded, on her feet in her parent’s teepee from morning until nightfall. Aside from her immediate relatives, no man must ever see her ankles. Should this at any time happen, the girl was given to the man for nothing. Considered of no future value, she became a reproach to her family. Conditions might exonerate the maiden from direct blame, but yet she was disgraced. Did a man take unwarranted advantage to thus embarrass a girl, dire results to himself would likely follow, unless her people could be placated by his taking her to wife.14 This is why Stemteemä was scolding me. She is fearful lest I lose my money-value, which I am afraid is not much.”

The teepee was rippling with the musical laughter of the “forward girl,” and again the chiding voice of the aged squaw gave warning of disapprobation; which caused Densmore to shake with suppressed merriment. Cogewea recovered her self composure and after conversing with her grandmother for a few moments, during which time the old woman appeared placated, she explained more fully that in tribal days the girls were bartered, going to the man who could produce the greater amount of wampum, ponies or other worldly goods; and that the daughter of a chief brought the most to her parents; because she was considered as a “princess.” The Stemteemä was at one time a winsome princess, trafficked to the wealthiest fighting man of the Arrow Lake tribe; a man who had reached middle life, while she loved a dashing young warrior of her own tribe, an Okanogan. The latter fell victim to the rage of the husband, when he found that the younger man held the affections of his comely wife. A husband had the right to kill any man who sought to take from him his wife, while on the other hand should a warrior desire the wife of another, they could duel for her.15 If the husband fell in the fray, the victor took his place at the teepee fireside among the papooses and the other squaws, when more than the one woman.

“If that was the manner of your people in past years,” observed Densmore, “and since we are trying to play true Indians, I can possess you without the price of beads and horses, for which I am thankful, living as I am on the charity of your brother-in-law. But I hope to be earning my salt now soon. When my arm is out of bandages I shall ask you to teach me to ride. The accomplishment of that feat is the ambition of my life.”

“Most assuredly!” was the answer, eyes twinkling, “but don’t try mounting a ‘bronc’ until you have learned to manage a gentle cayuse.”

“I certainly had my lesson that time!” was the retort with a tinge of bitterness. “I can ride an ordinary horse, but I had no idea that it was breaking untamed horses you were referring to when you asked me if I could ride. But after the mistake, I could not explain without your thinking me afraid and a coward. When the boys jeered me that day, to make affairs still worse, you laughed also. Then I didn’t care! I grew desperate and didn’t give a rap what happened. But let that go! How about that ankle usage? Can I not claim you on that score?”

“Oh! stop kidding!” was the rather piquant reply. “If we were to follow the old native idea, if you wanted me for your squaw, you would first have to humor my people, from Stemteemä down to uncles, aunts and cousins, including both parents if they were living. Then, if all were satisfied, the wedding would take place, but not after the manner of the whites, with swell dinners, wine and dancing; honeymooning and such baubles of fashion. No minister of the gospel would tie the ‘divine’ knot, to be broken later in the divorce courts. The ceremony would be:

“ ‘Here, warrior! take your wife. Support her! but let it be with her own help. Protect her! and if any man comes between you, you have the right to kill him.’

“That is all the ceremony there would be. No book-form invocation, no sacerdotal blessing of the ‘higher’ order. The ritual of my progenitors must enter into any marriage of mine.”

While the barbaric entered into this primitive conception of wedlock as explained by Cogewea, perhaps it was as near right in its essence⁠—considering the educational status of the two peoples⁠—as that of this Nation, with its double-standard of morals and its Reno hackle. It was in vogue the centuries; and there was no lost virtue among the tribes as now. No woman dared go wrong;16 and her bonds of matrimony were more sacred to her than if a halfscore Christian ministers had forged the mystic knot. In this day, it requires but a few dollars in some crafty lawyer’s pocket to sunder the “holy bonds” which unite as “one” in the sight of God and the angels. The casting of stones is at best precarious.

Cogewea was neither pagan nor heretical in her philosophic deductions. She believed in the one Divine Ruler, nor did she accept any substitute. But she was at a loss about the churches. There were so many of them! all differing in creed and all claiming to be in the right. Fighting each other! mauling with the gospel-club. Her people Roman Catholics, she was alone on the trail; having no choice of denominations. Where was the difference? All were trending towards the same goal⁠—the same plain. The Great Spirit of her race and the God of the white man were the same Deity, only under different names. However, the Indian had the greater respect for his Divinity, never reproaching nor finding fault with Him. Her conviction was: “Let everyone choose their own path” and live true to their own concepts; for somewhere and somehow all traits converge to but one common channel. Life, as pertaining to this existence, is a mere chance, a potential gamble. Mingled sunshine and shadow⁠—mostly shadow. Birdsong and wailing⁠—mostly wailing. The finale: A leap into the dark! Impressive obsequies⁠—provided you have left the price⁠—and the bouquets you missed on the way.

A covetous light had come into Densmore’s eyes, which escaped the notice of Cogewea. But not so with Stemteemä, who sat opposite him. A close reader of character, it was not necessary that she comprehend any part of the conversation in determining the motives of her pale faced visitor. Apparently unheeding, she discerned and understood, as the Easterner again took up the topic in which he was now deeply engrossed:

“Cogewea, do you really mean what you say about the marriage ritual of your ancestors governing your union?”

“Why should I toy with the flames?”

Evidently puzzled by her enigmatic answer, Densmore hesitated long before venturing to reply:

“Perhaps you’re right, doubtless you are right! I don’t know. I am no student of theology, but we are agreed on the marriage question. That ankle process. It is great! Why not⁠—”

“Sure!” was the coquettish interruption. “A peculiar world, this, with its varied peoples, rites and customs. Whether the consummation of bride-catching depends upon the consummate skill of a plains horseman and the superior fleetness of his mount; or the Bushman’s ability to surprise and knock out the two front teeth of the object of his affections with a club; or a tribesman’s fleeting glance at an exposed ankle; the nuptial bonds are perhaps as effective as those of the anthemed ceremony, law-invoked and ofttimes baptized with a Bacchanalian flow of wine. Whatever the mode of procedure, the primal objective is the same throughout all nature; the nesting birds of the air and the denning creatures of sea and land included. All must be equally guided and sanctioned by a Divine cause ruling universally. But seemingly, married people seldom get along harmoniously. They do not respect the solemn, codified altar vows; which, mayhap in cases are too exacting. Selfishness is at the bottom of all such troubles. I would prefer remaining an old maid, although the Indians do not approve of bachelor-girls running loose about the country.”

“Neither do I,” agreed Densmore with a laugh. “They look too lonesome! I have turned Injun and am ready to take you according to the ancient manner of your tribe. What do you say?”

“I have explained the terms,” was the laughing reply. “First please my relatives. Begin with Stemteemä. She heads the list.”

Before Densmore could respond, the grandmother again spoke sharply to the girl, which stopped further conversation.

“I think that you had better ‘skiddo’!” said Cogewea. “Stemteemä is growing uneasy of your presence. She says that she has been through smoking long ago, but we have not asked her for the story and now she will not tell it today. To humor her you must hike! Go! She wants to lecture me, I know, or she would not be so anxious for me to remain alone with her. You can feel sorry for me.”

The Easterner would have demurred, but was silenced by a gesture. He left the lodge in a very ill frame of mind. Chagrined and disappointed, he had failed to fathom the girl. It was several minutes after the door-flap closed before the Stemteemä broke silence.

“My grandchild! you talk too much to that pale face. He does not mean right by you! he is having sport with you. He wants to make a fool of you, that all the young people may laugh. You think he has love because he follows you. Not so! He is blinding you with false words. He is here to cheat you; all that any white man wants of the Indian girl. It is only to put her to shame, then cast her aside for his own kind⁠—the pale faced squaw. Do not be foolish! my Cogewea. Do not bring grief to my old age; do not wound my heart. You are too free with all men, especially this strange Shoyahpee. I do not like him! His eye speaks the lie. You must not be so much with him. If his intentions were good, he would want to take you to the priest and marry you. All that the pale faces desire of Indian women, is pleasure and riches. When they get these, they marry back among their own race. I have lived many snows and I see the right way. You have heard my words.”

“My grandmother,” spoke Cogewea after due silence, “do not mistrust me. I have not wronged in dealings with this Shoyahpee. I do not forget your counseling of other suns. I will always remember and I may stumble, but I shall never fall.”

“The young bird needs the protection of its mother’s wing,” rejoined the old woman solemnly, “for the hawk is ever near. I know that you mean right, my grandchild; my heart tells me that. But I dream of you often and my guiding spirits point me the trouble lurking along your way; that this white man is seeking your undoing. You will be wronged! His tongue is forked; his breath is poison. His eye lowers dark with evil. Child of my daughter! be warned! Have care of your actions! be afraid of this stranger! I am old, and I want to die happy. But this can not be if I see you on the desolate trail of a living death. My heart is sick! I can say no more.”

Tears were welling from eyes as yet undimmed by years. The Stemteemä had always been suspicious of the Caucasian, and her long contact with the race had well justified her antipathy. A good judge of character, she distrusted Densmore as a dangerous companion for the impulsive, free-speaking girl under her care. Cogewea was visibly affected when she again vouched safe to speak.

“Now Stemteemä! you misunderstand. I think Alfred is a good man. I have never heard him utter a word that could be termed ungentlemanly. We were only talking about the Okanogans of long ago, when they were married without the priests; in the snows that you once knew.”

“I once heard him say that he gambles. You think that I cannot understand the white man’s language, but I do some of it. A man who gambles will not be a good provider for his family.”

“Please, Stemteemä!” coaxed Cogewea, taking the wrinkled hand in her own, soft and tapering. “Do not be mad at him! He wants to hear stories of long ago, when you were a child. You will tell him some, won’t you? I will translate into his own language.”

The ancient woman pondered long before answering. There was a struggling with memory. With eyes partly closed and gazing into space, her face betrayed no emotion. She had drifted back nearly a century⁠—to childhood days by the rolling tide of the mighty Swa-net^k-qah. She again hears the roar and rumble of the great waterfall and the laughter of children playing. She hears the scalp-halloo, announcing the victorious return of the foraying war party. She sees, as the sun sinks in the west, the hunters entering the village, staggering under the spoils of the chase. She sees the women toiling at the river’s edge, stripping and curing the stores of golden salmon. She visions the festive gathering and the dance; the council fire and the winter-evening story telling. All this! then the sombre reality of tribal decadence sweeps a dark and lowering cloud over the silvery dream of the past. The former Princess of the Okanogans starts! passes her hand across her brow and speaks as by inspiration:

“Yes! I will tell this Shoyahpee a tale of the long ago. I will tell him of the coming of the pale face; when the tribes were many and strong. When the warriors were brave and did not turn from the enemy. When the women were true; and virtue like a plumed bird, adorned every maiden’s brow. Yes! I will tell him of the invasion by the despoiler, and of the wasting of my people. Of the dawn of the night which burst on the Okanogans, heavy with the vapors of death, from over the trail of the sunrise, I will speak and you shall interpret my words.”