The Pawnees

: Legends Of The Kaw

When the Territory of Louisiana was still the property of France; when

the United States was endeavoring to subdue the savages within its own

domain; a wild and unsophisticated people, to whom the vices of

civilization were as yet unknown, traversed the broad prairies of Kansas

and Nebraska.



The Pawnees, or Pani, were, according to tradition, of southern origin.

The white man found them established in vil ages along the Platte River,

whence they sallied forth, roving over the entire region extending from

the Missouri River to the Rocky Mountains and carrying terror to all who

ventured opposition. None were more relentless in war or more ready to

seek revenge. The word Pani, meaning "horn," was supposed to have

reference to a peculiar custom of wearing the scalp-lock dressed to

stand upright like a horn. The Pawnees were often called "wolves," on

account of a singular aptitude in imitating those animals. When desirous

of noting the movements of the enemy without being detected in so doing,

they frequently put on the skins of wolves and dropped upon hands and

knees as soon as near enough to be observed. Becoming common objects of

the landscape, they remained unnoticed.



The nation was composed of three bands, federated under one chief. In

order of importance, they were the Chau'-i (In-the-Middle),

Kit-ke-hahk'-i (On-the-Hill), and Pit-hau'-erat (Down-the-Stream). These

names were given with reference to the relative position of the

villages. The Ski-di, or Loups, whose history is somewhat obscure,

united with the tribe at some period after it had become settled along

the Platte River. Western men called the different bands the Grand,

Republican, Tapage and Wolf Pawnees. The Ski-di were more intelligent

and fierce than their neighbors. After they united with the tribe, there

were four important villages. The Tuhk-pah-huks'-taht (Pumpkin-vine

Village) derived its name from the fact that once, during the absence

of the people upon a long summer hunt, the pumpkin vines grew until they

climbed over the lodges, almost hiding them from view. This was

considered a miraculous occurrence.



One cold winter, when food was scarce, a band went into camp near the

Loup River. Just below the village large numbers of buffaloes came to

cross upon the ice. The Indians succeeded in killing so many of the

animals that, having dried all the meat required, they preserved the

skins only, leaving the bodies to be devoured by wolves. About this time

a member of a starving band arrived and expressed great wonderment as to

the way in which they had obtained so much meat. Taking him down to the

river, his friends pointed out the spot on the ice where wolves,

standing in a pool of water caused by a slight thaw, were feasting upon

the buffaloes. Going back to his own band, the Ski-di told of plenty in

the other camp, and when questioned as to its location, replied:

"Ski-di-rah'-ru" (Where the wolves stand in the water). From this

incident the second village took its name. The third and fourth were

Tuh-wa-hok'-a-sha (Village-on-a-Ridge) and Tu-hi-'ts-pi-yet

(Village-on-a-Point).



In ancient times the Pawnees had no horses and went hunting on foot.

Arrow heads were made of flint or deer horns. Until a recent date, the

old stone arrow heads were believed to have supernatural power. White

traders introduced those made of iron. The warriors were skillful

marksmen and the bow and arrow remained the favorite weapon as long as

there were buffaloes to kill. The endurance of the Pawnees, when

hunting, was remarkable. In the first place, scouts were sent out to

look up a herd. Having discovered one, they returned with information

regarding its location. The hunters, disguised as wolves, advanced in a

body until within sight, then scattered, forming a large circle, which

gradually became less, as they closed in upon the animals. When near

enough to begin the attack, a man shouted to attract attention, and the

startled buffaloes ran, some one way and some another. Wherever they

turned, an Indian, casting off his wolf skin, sprang up and drove them

back. At length, the Pawnees, yelling and waving blankets and shooting

in the midst of the herd, wore them out. The great beasts, when too

tired to run, were easily despatched.






Before the advent of the trader, all portions of the buffalo were

utilized. Hoes were made from the shoulder blades, needles from bone,

spoons and ladles from the horns, ropes from the hair, lariats from

raw-hide, clothing from the dressed skins, and blankets and tents from

the robes. Pottery was formed from clay mixed with pounded stone,

moulded in hollows in stumps of trees, and baked. Wooden mortars and

bowls were hollowed out by fire.



The Pawnee nation was ruled by a head chief of the Chau'-i band. The

office was hereditary but became difficult to retain if the chief were

unpopular. Each band was governed by four chiefs. Important affairs

were discussed in council, by chiefs, head men and warriors. Personal

character determined position, and the opinions of the majority

prevailed. There was a servant class, composed of young men and boys,

who lived in the families of men of prominence and performed menial

offices.



Breech-clouts, leggings, moccasins and blankets or buffalo robes

comprised the clothing of the men. Their heads were shaved, with the

exception of a narrow strip extending from each forehead to the back of

the head. The ridge of hair, less than an inch in length, was stiffened

to stand upright. From this fell the scalp-lock. The women were

accustomed to wear sleeveless shirts and skirts reaching below the

knees; also robes or blankets when necessary. There was no head

covering, except on great occasions, when some of the men donned

chaplets of eagle feathers. Red and yellow paint were used on breasts

and faces for ornament, while black paint was reserved for war. Boys

were permitted to go nude until ten or twelve years of age; but girls

dressed in little shirts almost as soon as they could walk. Infants were

placed upon boards.



A visitor at the home of a Pawnee chief, in the village on the Kansas

River, about the year 1839, described the toilet of the host's son as

extremely fanciful. On days when there was no hunt, the dandy began at

eight o'clock in the morning, by greasing his entire person with fat,

and painting his face red. Earrings and wampum necklaces were worn, and

yellow stripes adorned breast and shoulders. Armlets were placed above

his elbows and rings upon his fingers. Handsomely decorated moccasins,

scarlet leggings fastened to a belt, and bead garters four inches wide,

formed important parts of the costume. One of the women led his horse

before the tent. Its forehead and shoulders were painted red and a

feather fastened in its tail. Chains of steel were attached to the

bridle and bells to the reins. A scarlet mantle was thrown over the

young man's shoulders, and thus arrayed, with a large turkey feather

fan in one hand, and a whip upon his wrist, he ambled through the

encampment, eliciting admiration on all sides.



At a social gathering, the guest sang for the entertainment of the

Indians, and requested them to give him an example of their songs. The

white man portrayed the result in the following language:



"All rose at once. Each singer began by strange and uncouth sounds, to

work his mind and lungs up to the proper pitch of excitement; and when,

at length, the shrill and terrible cry rose to its full height, its

effect was astounding and sufficient to deafen a delicate ear."



The song, to which the savages kept time with heads and bodies, was

allowed to fall into monotonous cadence, then burst forth into full

chorus, with mingled howls and yells.



In the early part of the nineteenth century, Pawnee courtships were

peculiar. The lover first went to the father's tent, uninvited, and sat

in a corner of the mat for some time, then rose and departed without

speaking. A few days later, he returned, wearing his buffalo robe hair

side out, and sat silent. This was a regular proposal. If the father

desired to reject him at once, no skin was placed for him to sit upon

and no meat was offered him. If the suit met with approval, the rites of

hospitality were extended and feasts were given to obtain the consent to

the marriage, of the relatives of both families. The young man next

presented himself to his bride at the door of her tent, turned and

walked slowly toward his own. She arose and followed him. The ceremony

of marriage was then complete. Presents of horses, blankets and other

valuables were sent to the father of the young woman.



Plural marriage was practiced, the husband being entitled to wed the

younger sisters of his first wife.



In the permanent villages on the Platte River, circular lodges were

built of sod. Every house had a wall seven or eight feet in height,

around which, upon the floor, the inmates slept, each bed being

partitioned or curtained off. Hanging upon the wall or in the space back

of the bed, were the belongings of its occupant. The center of the house

was reserved for cooking, smoke escaping through an aperture in the

roof. Skin lodges were used when traveling or upon the semi-annual hunt.

Each family had many dogs.



After spring planting, the people abandoned their villages for the

summer hunt, returning in time for harvest. Religious ceremonies, with

fervent prayers to Ti-ra'-wa, the invisible yet ever-present Creator,

preceded departure. The Buffalo Dance, executed by the younger warriors,

came next. This continued for three days, when the line of march was

taken up. Tents, cooking utensils and the entire property of the tribe

having been packed on ponies and removed to the vicinity of a large herd

of buffaloes, camp was established and preparations made for curing the

meat when it should be brought in. Approaching to make the attack, a

limited number of chosen men, led by standard-bearers with sacred poles

wrapped in bright colored cloth and ornamented with bead-work and

feathers, advanced first. The remainder of the hunters followed. After

the slaughter, the squaws, with their sharp knives, amid much merriment,

cut and bore away to the camp the most desirable portions of meat.



Ti-ra'-wa, the Pawnee deity, was not personified, being intangible and

in and of everything. The nation did not adore any material substance,

but, like all aboriginal people, attributed to animals an intelligence

sometimes exceeding that of man. As the messengers of God, the

Na-hu'-rac received miraculous power through him, hence were often

implored to intercede with Ti-ra'-wa. In cases of great emergency,

direct intercession became necessary. A party prayed for success and

made sacrifices before starting on the war-path. Victory was

acknowledged by thanksgiving offerings. War parties were made up by

anyone with a grievance, if he had sufficient influence to secure

followers. Frequently scalps taken from the heads of enemies were

burned with much ceremony.



One of the best-known legends, related by George Bird Grinnell,

illustrates the power of animals in changing the fortunes of those who

listened to their behests.



An old woman lived on the outskirts of a village located on the bank of

the Platte River. At one time she had been the wife of a brave hunter

and warrior. During his life there was always a comfortable lodge, as

well as plenty of buffalo meat and robes. No one of the nation was more

successful in stealing horses from the enemy, which was considered a

highly honorable feat. He was killed in a great battle with the Sioux,

and the poor woman had never ceased to mourn. Now, in old age, there

remained but one relative, a grandson of sixteen years. Being reduced to

poverty, they were in the habit, when the tribe moved, of following in

the rear, in order to pick up anything that might have been left behind

as worthless. Once, to the delight of the boy, an old dun horse was

abandoned by its owner. The animal was blind in one eye and had a sore

back and a swollen leg; but was nevertheless valuable to the poor woman,

inasmuch as it could carry the cooking utensils and the worn-out skin

used for a lodge when traveling.



The village was moved to Court House Rock. Soon after arrival the young

men sent out to look for buffaloes returned with information that there

was a large herd in the vicinity, and among the animals was a spotted

calf.



The head chief had a young and beautiful daughter. He announced that

whosoever should kill the spotted calf should marry the girl. Since the

buffaloes were only four miles away, it was decided that the charge

should be made from the village. The one who had the fastest steed would

be most likely to obtain the calf. The poor boy made preparations to

ride the old dun horse. He was ridiculed to such an extent that he

withdrew to the bank of a creek, nearby. The animal turned its head and

said:



"Plaster me all over with mud. Cover my head, neck, body and legs."



The boy obeyed and the horse then ordered that he remain where they were

and make the charge from the creek. The men were drawn up in line and at

the word Loo ah (go), leaned forward, yelled and galloped away. At one

side, some distance away, the dun horse flew over the ground; he seemed

young and strong of limb and sure of foot. As they neared the buffaloes,

he dashed in among the herd and stopped beside the spotted calf. His

rider killed it, and taking another arrow, shot a fat cow, then

dismounting, secured the spotted skin. Cutting out certain portions of

the meat, the boy packed them upon the horse. Putting the skin on top of

the load, he led the animal back to camp. It pranced and curveted and

showed much spirit. The warriors were filled with astonishment. A rich

chief rode up to the boy and tried to buy the spotted robe, but without

success.



Some of the hunters reached the village in advance and informed the old

woman of her grandson's triumph. She could hardly believe the story,

and wondered if they were still ridiculing her boy. His appearance with

the coveted robe and more meat than they had had for many a long day,

ended her doubts; and there were great rejoicings in the tent.



At night the horse spoke to the boy, saying:



"To-morrow the Sioux are coming. There will be a battle. When they are

drawn up in line, jump on me and ride as hard as you can up to the head

chief and kill him and ride back. Ride up to them four times and kill

four of the bravest Sioux; but do not go the fifth time or you will get

killed or lose me."



The next morning, just at day-break, the Sioux rode over the top of the

hill and drew up in line of battle. They were attired in all the

trappings of war, and looked ferocious in their paint. The Pawnees had

no time for decoration, but hastily seized their weapons, cut the

lariats that bound their ponies, sprang upon them and rushed out of the

camp, when at the proper distance, forming in battle array opposite the

enemy.



It was the custom of these tribes, when ready for a fight, to confront

one another in two long lines. After a few moments of silence, some man,

desiring to distinguish himself, rode out from the attacking party and

exhorted his people, telling them of brave deeds in the past and of what

he now intended to do; then, turning quickly, he dashed toward the

enemy, hanging over the side of his pony and riding along in front of

the foe, discharging one arrow after another, in rapid succession. If

the brave were killed, his own people made no sign, until a man rode out

from the other side to challenge; but if he were fiercely set upon, they

united in a general attack.



The boy mounted the dun horse and joined the warriors. They looked

askance but were too excited to make comment. The wonderful horse

galloped out from the line and made for the head chief of the Sioux. The

boy quickly despatched the leader and rode back to the Pawnees. Four

times he went forward, and each time killed one of the bravest of the

enemy. Then, forgetting the warning, the boy charged again. An arrow

struck his horse and the rider had a narrow escape from death. The Sioux

cut and chopped the horse in pieces.



After a spirited conflict, the Pawnees were victorious. The following

day the boy went out to where the horse lay. Gathering up the pieces of

flesh, he put them in a pile, and wrapping himself in his blanket, sat

on the top of a hill not far away. He drew the robe over his head and

mourned. A storm arose suddenly. The wind blew and rain fell. Removing

the blanket from his face, the boy saw the pieces coming together and

taking form. Another storm succeeded. When it cleared away, he beheld a

slight movement of the horse's tail. Then the animal lifted its head

from the ground. After a fourth storm had spent its fury, the horse

arose and its owner hastened down the hill and led it home. It

cautioned him to render perfect obedience in the future, and said:



"Lead me away from the camp, behind that hill. Leave me there to-night

and come for me in the morning."



The boy did as directed and found, standing beside his old friend, a

beautiful white horse.



Leaving the dun horse a second night, the owner discovered a fine black

gelding in the morning. After ten nights, there were ten horses, each of

a different color. The boy was now rich and married the daughter of the

chief. Many years later he became the head of the nation. The old

grandmother was well cared for, and the dun horse, being considered

sacred, was never mounted except at a doctor's dance; but was led around

with the chief wherever he went.



The Pawnees believed that the Na-hu'-rac held council in five places. At

Pa-huk' (White Island) on the south side of the Platte River, opposite

Fremont, Nebraska; under an island in the Platte River, near Central

City (Dark Island), on the Loup Fork, opposite the mouth of Cedar River

(White Bank); and on the Solomon River, Kitz-a-witz'-uk,

(Water-on-a-Bank). This was a mound with a hole in the middle, through

which water might be seen. Articles were thrown in, as offerings to

Ti-ra'-wa. The fifth place, a hole in the side of a hill, was in Kansas.

It was indicated by a rock called Pa-hur' (Hill-that-points-the-Way).



An old story, current among the people, says that in the early days, in

one of the Pawnee tribes, was a boy, smaller than others of his age. He

refused to play with the children, preferring to spend much time alone.

His manner was strange and the child was frequently in tears. The father

and mother observed that he often pasted mud upon his head. This was the

sign of a doctor and designated faith in the earth. As the boy grew to

be a young man he appeared to have something constantly on his mind and

would fast for days, smoking and praying to Ti-ra'-wa during that time.

He doctored those who were ill, and, although rapidly becoming great,

was not proud. Nevertheless, the doctors of the tribe were jealous, and

one of them, a member of another clan, came to visit him. They ate,

talked and smoked together. The older man said:



"Now we will smoke my tobacco."



They did so, and he departed. As the summer weather came on, the young

healer began to feel sick. It was evident that the doctor had poisoned

him. He swelled up with a new disease and prayed almost unceasingly to

Ti-ra'-wa for relief. The people went on a hunt. He ascended a hill to

think and pray; and after making burnt offerings, mounted a horse which

the father had left behind, and journeyed east, instead of following the

tribe.



A few days later, the horse was sacrificed to Ti-ra'-wa and cut down the

back, so that animals could feed upon it. The unhappy young man called

upon the Na-hu'-rac to intercede for him. He traveled east to Pa-huk'

and fell asleep. A strange voice asked what he was doing there. No one

was in sight. The same thing occurred next night. The sick man answered

the voice this time, and begged for pity, but received no reply. The

fourth night something touched him and said:



"What are you doing here?"



There stood a big elk, with black eyes. It informed him that they were

directly over the home of the Na-hu'-rac. One night not long afterward a

bird came, saying:



"Come, let us go to the edge of the cut bank."



He obeyed, and the bird said:



"When I dive down, follow me."



Passing through the water, they soon stood at the entrance of a lodge

and could see a fire within. As they entered, the Na-hu'-rac made their

different noises. A bear was stationed at one side of the entrance and a

snake at the other. The head doctor was a white beaver. As they sat

down, the bird said:



"I have brought this man here and want you to take pity on him."



Taking the man's pipe, the bird held it out to the beaver. The white

beaver hesitated, but finally took the pipe. All the animals made a

sound, as if to say, "Loo-ah" (good). The beaver passed the pipe to

the other Na-hu'-rac and each one made a speech, saying that he had not

power to heal. None had the power. The elk then took the man to another

lodge but he was not cured. From there they went to the Loup River, to

the island in the Platte River and at last to the lodge under Center

Island; but without avail. The principal doctor said that the lodge at

Pa-huk' was the head. The bird took the man back.



The white beaver stood up and announced that he had sent the man to

others in order to see if they were equal to the lodge at Pa-huk'; then

going to the ground-dog, he extended the pipe. The ground-dog reached

out its paws, took the pipe, smoked and commanded the Pawnee to go and

sit opposite the fire. He was ordered to stand up while the Na-hu'-rac

sang and the ground-dog danced. Next they told him to lie down with his

feet toward the door. The head ground-dog jumped over him and was

observed to have a large piece of flesh in his mouth. Another dog

followed, and another, each eating a piece of flesh, until all had

passed over. This was kept up until they had eaten the swelling. The man

seemed to be dead. The head doctor spoke to the bears; they arose and

sang, then jumped on the body, shaking and pulling it around. After a

while the blood began to flow and the man breathed. He was entirely

restored to health and remained some time with the Na-hu'-rac, learning

their medical secrets. They told of the sky-house of Ti-ra'-wa and said:



"He made us; he made everything. Blow a smoke to each of the four

doctors; but blow four smokes to Ti-ra'-wa."



The man went home and got beads, pipes, tobacco and buffalo meat and

taking them back, threw them into the river to be carried down to the

Na-hu'-rac lodge at Pa-huk'; then he went to visit the doctor who had

made him ill. He said:



"When you visited me, we smoked your tobacco. To-day we will smoke

mine."



After smoking, the young medicine man went down to the river and blew

upon the ice, and in a moment, the river was full of blood. It was the

blood of the wicked doctor, whose dead body was found in the lodge,

perfectly hollow. The blood had gone into the river. The favorite of the

animals eventually became one of the most famous healers ever known in

the nation.



Priests and doctors were not identical. Priests were the mediums of

communication with Ti-ra'-wa and knew what was inside the sacred

bundles. The medicine man was called upon in case of sickness or injury.

The sacred bundles, many of which were of great age, hung opposite the

door of every house. On certain occasions, the contents formed a part of

religious ceremonies.



The Pawnees believed that the earth was first inhabited by a race of

giants, so large that they could carry buffaloes upon their backs. These

people did not acknowledge Ti-ra'-wa and grew more and more wicked. He

was angry and caused the water to rise and the ground to become soft

and the giants sank into the mud. The large bones found at different

times were thought to be their skeletons. A new race was created, from

which all nations sprang.



The Ski-di band offered human sacrifices to the morning star. A young

captive, taken in war, was selected and fattened, being treated kindly

during the days of preparation. He was permitted to know nothing of the

fate in store, until the four days' feast and dance. Old men at the ends

of the village called upon each male person to prepare bow and arrow and

be ready for the sacrifice. When the fatal day arrived, every woman had

a lance or stick, and every man held a pipe in one hand and bow and

arrow in the other.



At the west side of the village, two posts with cross poles were set up,

to which the captive was bound, hand and foot. Behind him came a man

carrying a buffalo heart and tongue, followed by a warrior with a

blazing stick, one with a bow and sacred arrow of flint, and another

with a stuffed owl. Wood was piled around upon the ground beneath the

cross poles. The man with a blazing stick lighted the fire. When it had

burned to the center of the pile, below the captive, the warrior with

bow and arrow stepped forward and shot him through, under the arms, so

that the blood would drip down upon the fire. The buffalo heart and

tongue were then placed upon the blaze. The man with the owl seized a

torch and burned the body four times, after which each male person

present shot an arrow into it, and each woman struck it with a stick.

The flesh was consumed by fire, while the people prayed.



John Greenleaf Whittier left, among his papers, a poem that has

immortalized



A LEGEND OF KANSAS.



Night had fallen upon the broad prairie--a moonless night. The chill air

vibrated with noise of barbarous laughs and yells. The measured tramp of

heavy feet and the Hoo-ah, Hi-yah of excited dancers seemed fiendish.

Dark, weird-looking figures might be seen, dimly, by the light of a

camp-fire; and in the center of the frenzied throng was a maiden, silent

and defiant. Around her feet was piled fuel for the sacrifice, for had

not the wise men of the Pawnees, who hold communion with the other

world, decreed that she should die by slow torture, to atone for

cruelties practiced by her father, a fierce chief of the Kansas Indians?

The innocent girl might not hope for pity at the hands of her nation's

bitterest foes; but she could show them how fearlessly her father's

daughter could face a horrid death; could shame their sons and warriors

by a brave, unmoved demeanor; and even now, as a small blaze started up

from the outer edge of the pile of sticks and began to creep slowly

toward the captive, the clear tones could be heard above the din,

chanting her own funeral hymn--the death song of her people.



Once in a while some old, decrepit squaw, with shrill and penetrating

voice, would heap fresh taunts upon the victim; and as the fire

brightened, upon the dusky faces might be seen the gleam of savage

hatred and of satisfied revenge. Wilder grew the howls; and still the

mournful tones resounded above the shouts of triumph. The flames closed

in around her, and they leaped up higher, toward the cross poles to

which she was bound, flashes of light revealed more fully the pale set

face of the doomed one. Now, she could feel the hot breath of fire.

Where was the Kansas chief? Had he taken refuge in the mountains of the

West and left his helpless daughter at the mercy of the enemy? Was all

hope lost? No, her quick ear caught the sound of horse's hoofs, muffled

by the soft prairie grass. The captors, with senses dulled by liquor,

kept up their shrieks of exultation. Though her heart was beating

loudly, she dared not cease the song. A moment and a brave young rider,

on his father's swiftest steed, dashed in among the dancers, hurled the

firebrands from around her and cut the thongs that bound the maiden. A

moment more, and they were safe without the startled crowd, flying over

the flower-strewn prairie, toward the country of the Kaws. In the words

of the great poet:



"Where the Kansas wanders free

By the willowy Siskadee

There their pictured tent is spread,

With the soft fur carpeted;

And that sweet young mother there

Smiling through her lavish hair,

Oft shall sing her hunter's glory,

Oft shall tell his daring story,

Till the listening Kansas maid,

Lying listless in the shade,

Dreams, perchance (for wild or tame

Woman's romance is the same),

Of some hero's circling arm

Shielding her from deadly harm;

And the Indian boy anear,

Leaning on his fishing spear,

Sees that same coy maiden bound

On the Pawnee's hunting ground--

He, upon his father's steed,

Hurrying at her cry of need--

Feels her arms around him thrown,

Feels her heart beat with his own,

And her soft breath, quick and low,

O'er his dark cheek come and go--

Hears behind the Pawnee yell

Fainter on the breezes swell--

Sees with joy the morning's beam

Flashing from his native stream,

As he drops his courser's rein

By the Kansas tent again."



John B. Dunbar, who, in relating the story, asserts that the captive was

a Comanche girl, has preserved the Indian song in honor of

Pit-a-le-shar'-u, the hero. The oft recurring portion



Lu! ti-wak'-o-le

We-tut-i-wit-a

Pit-a-le-shar'-u,



when translated, reads:



Well, he exclaimed,

You see I am come,

I, Pit-a-le-shar'-u.



Although among the fiercest of the prairie Indians, the Pawnees never

carried on an organized war against the Government. They were, however,

always on hostile terms with the Sioux, Kaws, Osages, Iowas, Sacs and

Foxes.






In a beautiful wooded region, near the Missouri River, were the villages

of the Iowas and Sacs. A vast extent of prairie reached west and

southward. The Indians lived in huts of bark stretched over poles.

Implements for out-door work consisted of the "squaw-axe" and hoe,

purchased from traders. Iron camp kettles, wooden bowls and ladles were

the only utensils for domestic use. The tribes still clung to barbarous

customs when the Highland mission was founded; and their teacher

narrated that, at one time, a great feast was given in his honor. The

principal article of food was a savory soup. He mentally congratulated

himself on having been presented with a dish so pleasing to the taste

that he might show due appreciation of the honor conferred upon him.

Suddenly one of the hosts, in broken English, said:



"Dig deep, dig deep!" The guest did so, and dipped up a ladleful of

white worms.



Missionaries found it difficult to check the wild propensities of their

pupils; and the war of extermination continued until stopped by the

United States Government. The diary of Father Irvin, who established the

school, makes special mention of a war in 1839, and a skirmish in which

nine Pawnees were slain near Arago, Nebraska. This was, doubtless,

considered of great importance, inasmuch as the prowess of the Pawnees

made it a difficult matter for less formidable warriors to win a

victory, if the sides were equally divided as to numbers. Highland

University is now located upon the war trail over which the party

passed.



Like others of the Sioux family, the Iowas indulged in dances before

setting forth on the war-path; and upon the return, the women executed

the Scalp Dance, in which they carried, attached to poles, not only the

scalps of enemies, but also fingers, toes and other mutilated portions

of bodies.



During the period of general, if not united, efforts against the

Pawnees, there was a conflict in which a small band was besieged on all

sides, supposedly by the Sioux. The weaker party took refuge in a

ravine, where the sunflowers grew tall, and, protected by the thick

stalks, which turned the balls aside, made a brave fight for life. After

repeated attacks, the assailants withdrew, bearing the body of their

leader, who had been killed in the struggle. The Pawnees regained their

town without the loss of a man.



As immigration increased, settlers took possession of parts of their

reservation. It was the old, pitiful tale. The tribe, reduced by war and

famine, relinquished its land and reluctantly departed for the Indian

Territory. Being an agricultural as well as a courageous people, the

last of the Pawnees have developed into excellent farmers. Maize, which

was called A-ti'-ra (mother), proved, after all, to be their best

friend.