Page:The life and adventures of James P. Beckwourth, mountaineer, scout, pioneer, and chief of the Crow nation of Indians (IA lifeadventuresof00beckrich).pdf/262



HILE we were indulging in a display of our captured horses while encamped outside the fort, the Spotted Antelope, one of my relatives, came to me, and intimated that I had better visit the fort, as they had lost six men by the Black Feet. He was in mourning-paint for the victims, because the whites were his friends. I dismounted, and passed through the encampment on my way to the gate. As usual, I found my father's lodge, in which my little wife resided, pitched nearest to the fort, with the other lodges of my various relatives grouped in a row, their contiguity to my parent's lodge being graduated by their propinquity of kin. I found Pine Leaf seated by my wife, amusing herself with the Black Panther (whose civilized patronymic was Little Jim), while almost all the other women were dancing. I delayed a moment to inquire why these two women were not dancing with the others. Pine Leaf, with solemn air and quivering lip, said, "Your heart is crying, and I never dance when your heart cries."

"Neither do I," said the little woman.

This was a greater concession than the heroine had ever made to me before. She had told me that she would marry me, and she had frequently informed my sisters and my little wife of a similar intention; but this promise was always modified with a proviso—a contumacious "if," which could never be avoided, "I will marry the Medicine Calf," she would say,