Hotly grasping his lance, and surrounded by the enemy, Mahtotohpa delayed a little s.p.a.ce; then he arose and boldly stalked into the lodge and sat by the fire.

Over the coals was hanging a pot of cooked meat; beside the fire were the pipe and the pouch of red-willow smoking tobacco, just as left by Wongatap.

Amidst the dusk Mahtotohpa ate well of the cooked meat; and filling the pipe, smoked calmly, half lying down, on one elbow.

"Who is that man, who enters our lodge and eats of our food and smokes of our tobacco?" he heard Wongatap"s wife ask.

"It is no matter," Wongatap replied. "If he is hungry, let him eat."

That was right. By Indian law a person in need may enter any lodge, and eat, and no questions shall be asked until he has finished.

Mahtotohpa"s heart almost failed him. Had that not been the killer of his brother, he would only have left a challenge, and gone away. But he thought of his brother, and his vows, and his heart closed again.

When his pipe was smoked out, he laid it aside, and gently stirred the fire with the toe of his moccasin, for more light. He dared to wait no longer. On a sudden he grasped his lance with both hands, sprang up and drove it through the body of Wongatap, in the bunk.

With his knife he instantly s.n.a.t.c.hed off the scalp. Then he uttered the Mandan scalp-halloo, and dived for the door. There he paused, for just a second, to look back, that the squaw might see his face--and in the glimmer of fire-light he noted a feather from the lance sticking in the hole in Wongatap"s side.

So back he darted, plucked the feather, and carrying it in his left hand, that the Great Spirit might help him, he ran hard. Wongatap"s wife was shrieking; all the village heard and answered, and the warriors streamed out of the lodges.

The whole night Mahtotohpa ran, while the Arikarees vainly searched for his trail. This day he hid, in the brush along the Missouri River.

The next night he ran again; and on the sixth morning he panted into the Mandan town, with the dried blood of Wongatap on his lance"s blade and the stiffened scalp of Wongatap hanging to its handle.

So that was why he cherished the lance, and that was why he considered the loose eagle"s feather to be a strong medicine from the Great Spirit.

But this was only Number Six, in the twelve recorded deeds of Four Bears.

His next-biggest deed was as follows, and it is bigger, according to white man"s way of thinking. By that deed he won his knife.

Early one morning one hundred and fifty Cheyenne warriors attacked the Mandan town. They took a scalp and many horses before they rode away.

The Mandans had been surprised; but Mahtotohpa rallied fifty warriors and pursued.

The fifty warriors led by Mahtotohpa pursued for a day and half a day.

At noon they sighted the Cheyennes driving the stolen horses; but the Cheyennes were so numerous that the Mandan warriors lost their hearts and wished to turn back.

Not so, Mahtotohpa! He galloped forward alone; he planted his lance in the earth, to the full length of the blade; and making a circle around it with his horse he tore from his clothing a strip of red cloth and hung that to the lance shaft, for a banner.

"If you are cowards, you may go back to the women," he called to his men. "I stay here, where my lance is firm in the ground."

His men were ashamed, and hesitated. Now the Cheyennes had turned and were coming for battle. Their chief saw the planted lance of Mahtotohpa, and Mahtotohpa waiting beside it, and he galloped forward, alone, on his white horse.

"Who is it that has stuck down his lance, and defies the Cheyennes?" he shouted.

"I am Mahtotohpa."

"That is good. Mahtotohpa is a chief. Does he dare to fight?"

"Is this a chief who speaks to Mahtotohpa?"

"I wear scalps at my horse"s bit, and the eagle"s feathers."

"You have said enough," replied Mahtotohpa. "Come. Let us meet."

Forward hammered the Cheyenne chief, riding splendidly in circles, until he dashed in and planted his lance, also, at the side of Mahtotohpa"s lance. That was his answer.

They each drew off a little way, while the Mandan warriors and the Cheyenne warriors gazed expectant. Then they charged like knights in a tournament, and shot at the same moment with their guns. After they had pa.s.sed each other, and had wheeled, Mahtotohpa held up his powder-horn. The Cheyenne"s bullet had smashed it, so that the powder had flowed out.

Having shown, Mahtotohpa flung away his horn, threw his gun to the ground, and setting his buffalo-hide shield upon his left arm, deliberately strung his bow and placed an arrow upon the string.

The Cheyenne chief was a mighty warrior. He likewise cast aside his powder-horn and gun, adjusted his painted shield, prepared bow and arrow. Again they charged. They circled swiftly about each other, performing many clever feats of horsemanship, while their stout bows tw.a.n.ged so fast that the arrows crisscrossed like darting bees.

Some thudded into the thick shields, and the shields bristled with the feathered ends. Some found legs and arms--but that mattered little.

Now Mahtotohpa"s horse reeled and fell, an arrow in his heart.

Mahtotohpa sprang nimbly off. And off from his own horse sprang the Cheyenne chief, that he might not have the advantage.

They plied their bows, on foot. Soon the brave Cheyenne stripped his quiver from his left shoulder and flourished it. It was empty. He tossed it away, and tossed away bow and shield. Then he drew his knife.

"Ai!" responded Mahtotohpa, gladly; and ridding himself of shield and quiver he rushed forward, feeling for his knife, too.

But his knife was not in his belt. He had lost it, or left it at home!

Hah! He could not stop--they had come together--the Cheyenne was upon him. So he fought with his bow. He struck aside the Cheyenne"s thrust, and hit him over the head and knocked him down. They grappled.

It was a terrible fight.

Mahtotohpa clutched for the knife, and the sharp blade was wrenched through his hand, cutting to the bone. The Cheyenne stabbed him many times, and many times Mahtotohpa clutched the knife blade again, before he could tear the haft from the Cheyenne"s fingers.

But suddenly he succeeded, and the Cheyenne died. The warriors of both parties had formed a circle close about, watching. Mahtotohpa staggered up, with the Cheyenne"s scalp and knife, and gave the kill whoop--and thus victory rested with the Mandans.

That was Mahtotohpa"s most famous battle. In another battle he got his name, Four Bears. The a.s.siniboins had put all his warriors to flight; but he stood his ground, and shot his gun and killed an a.s.siniboin, and charged with lance and shield, and made them run off. He took sixty horses, besides the scalp. After this he was called Four Bears, because the a.s.siniboins said that he charged "like four bears in one."

His worst wound he received from the Sioux. They shot an arrow clear through his body, so that the arrow continued on, dropping blood. But he lashed his horse forward, against them, and won another victory.

Such honorable scars he kept covered with red paint, that all who saw might read.

These stories, and others, as pictured by the robe, Mahtotohpa told to Artist Catlin, while Indian trader James Kipp translated the words, and Four Bears acted out the scenes; and they three sat upon the robe itself.

The Cheyenne chief"s knife he gave to Artist Catlin. He also made a copy of the pictures, on another robe, and the knife and the second robe were sent to the Catlin Indian gallery, at Washington, where they doubtless may be seen at this day.

Mahtotohpa"s end came to him as follows:

In the summer of 1837, a great death attacked the Mandan towns. It was the small pox. The Sioux hedged the towns so closely that there was no escape into the prairie. The Mandan men, women and children, thus herded together, died by hundreds.

Mahtotohpa was among the last left. He witnessed all his family and friends stretched cold and lifeless, and he decided to try a sacrifice to the anger of the Great Spirit.

So he dragged his wives and children together and covered them decently with buffalo robes. Then he went out to a little hill, and laid himself down, with a vow not to eat or drink, if the Great Spirit would stay the plague.

On the sixth day he was very weak; but he crept back to his lodge, and again laid himself down, in a robe, beside his family. And on the ninth day, he, too, died.

However, the plague was not stayed for many days. Of the sixteen hundred Mandans in the two towns, only thirty-one remained alive; of all the Mandan nation there were scarce above one hundred; and today they number about one hundred and fifty.