XIX: The Story of Green-blanket Feet

XIX

The Story of Green-blanket Feet

And he wooed her with caresses,
Wooed her with his smile of sunshine,
With his flattering words he wooed her,
With his sighing and his singing.

Hiawatha

Cogewea soon returned to the teepee in dry habiliments and with a show of her old gaiety. Seating herself on the vacant buffalo robe, she spoke:

“Well! my little Stemteemä, what is it to be⁠—praises or a scolding? The Shoyahpee did not know that turning the Swa-lah-kin would bring a storm and when I told him what he had done, he pitched the thing into the river hoping to stay the Sun’s anger.”

The aged woman made no reply but drew assiduously at the little stone pipe which Mary had filled for her. She continued in silence until the kinnikinnick was exhausted and then stowing the pipe away, she began impressively:

“My grandchildren! I am now old and cannot stay with you many more snows. The story I am telling is true and I want you to keep it after I am gone.

“Green-blanket Feet was my best friend and she told me this tale after she came back to our tribe from the Blackfeet. I remember her as a girl. How comely! how graceful. Eyes clear as the mountain stream; reflecting innocence and the dreamer. Cheeks blooming as the dusky wild flower of spring, with hair in two braids, reaching to her knees. Her feet were small and shapely. The pride of every Indian woman is the gift of a small foot. Hers was a generous heart and a confiding nature. But wayward, of adventures in the deep forest she had many. Her father and mother had died, leaving her no other protector but an old aunt, with whom she lived. This aunt could not compel her to stay in the teepee and sit on her feet like the other maidens of her tribe. She was trouble-free until she met her fate in the false Shoyahpee.

“My friend was at the spring in the woods, when she first saw the pale face. He carried a gun and had killed a deer. He spoke with a soft voice, but the tongue was strange. His words she could not understand, but the signs he made were pleasing. His eyes were afire with greed, but the young is ever blind. The buttons on his capo, blazed as the sun. She brought him to the lodge of the aunt, where he left the deer as a gift and then went away.

“The following sun the white man came to visit at the lodge near the spring, and many more sundowns was he there. He planned until the girl gave her heart to him. She soon deserted her aunt, her people for the Shoyahpee, who lived at the fort.

“Yes, my friend left her own kind to dwell with her white husband among the pale faces. After many moons, a papoose came, a girl. She was glad to see the little Shoyahpee, nearly as white as its father. A snow passed and another papoose came; this time a boy. The mother was now wearing the white man’s manner of clothing and was eating his food. She often longed for her people. She sometimes visited them in their lodges and her children kept warm her heart.

“The blow feel when her youngest child was two snows old. The white husband came to her while she was making moccasins for her little girl and said:

“ ‘Woman! listen well my words. I am called away; far towards the rising sun. It is from my Chief, whom I can not refuse. It is at his bidding that I go. If you want to care for our children, you can travel with me, but you may never see your own people again. You can stay here, but I will take the papooses and go. I am not coming back.’

“My friend’s head drooped and tears visited her eyes, the first since childhood. She now realized the true gravity of taking a man not of her own kind, what it really meant to her life. She must make choice between him and her own race, desert or cling to her own children. He was not good to her, but her little papooses! She could not let him take them from her. She would go with him as far as he would permit.

“It was only a few more sundowns when the Shoyahpee with his wife and papooses rode away accompanied by another pale face with a cayuse pack train. The woman had promised her people that she would never forget them, that some day she would return. Her voice trembled as she said goodbye, then she rode swiftly away. The youngest papoose Robert, was laced on his cradle-board and hung to the horn of the saddle. Kitty, the oldest, sat behind her mother, secure in the binding folds of a shawl. The names were those given the children by their white father. I saw this mother ride away without once looking back. It was many moons before I beheld her again and this is what she told me:

“ ‘When I went with my white man, I felt as if I were dying. Leaving my people was harder than had I let him go back alone to his kind. Only for my children did I go. I was heartsick! Every tree, every little bush spoke to me; every stone called to me as I passed the nooks where I had first met the Shoyahpee. The birds sang in tones of sadness and the water’s fret was wailing. But I clung to my little ones and followed my hated husband from sundown to sundown; camping on the trail. I watched closely and learned the country as we passed. I might come back to my people.

“ ‘We traveled till the big mountains were crossed and we reached the wide, flat lands where there are no trees and but little water. We were among strange tribes, enemies of the Okanogans. We saw buffalo roaming in great herds. There was other wild life which reminded me of the land of the Okanogans. Every sun, my mind grew heavier until I could hardly endure to go farther. But when I looked at my papooses, I could not leave them alone with their white father.

“ ‘The Shoyahpee grew meaner to me as we trailed. He beat me! kicked me out from the night camps. One sun I made my mind brave to turn back and I lingered behind the pack train. When he saw this, he called me to hurry! I thought: “What shall I do?” I whirled and rode hard back over the trail. I was flying to my people with my little ones. But not for long was the race. The pale face followed, shooting. My cayuse fell, shot through the body and killed. I pitched to the ground, stunned by the shock and unable to rise. The pale face came up and beat me with his quirt. He kicked me where I lay and called me vile names. This made me hate him as a reptile of the dust.

“ ‘I now had to walk, carrying my baby on my back. Kitty rode behind her father and sometimes slept, bedded and tied on one of the horse-packs. I was watched in every movement. I was made to walk ahead on the trail and at night do all the work about camp. A few sundowns more of this, when I determined to run away in the dark with my baby. I grieved to leave my little girl, but what else could I do! I had noticed the eye of the Shoyahpee and he meant thus to treat me after bringing me from my distant home. He intended killing me when near the journey’s end. Better to live with one of my children than die and leave them both. I could carry my baby.

“ ‘I remember the time! It was clear and hot, as we resumed our travel. Over the plain which seemed to have no end, we hurried. I was tired when the evening came. I was glad for the chance to rest.

“ ‘I have wondered if other than the squaw mother can know the heart ache and yearning for her young. I knew that this was to be my last sundown with my oldest child. I talked to my papooses, talked in our native tongue. Although Kitty, the oldest, had seen but three snows, she seemed to understand me. In her baby way, she cooed, nestling on my bosom. I tried to impress her that whatever might come in the snows ahead while with her white father, she should ever remember her Indian mother. I knew that it was not for me to attempt stealing her from the pale face. I never could carry both children back across those wide, desolate plains. I feared for him to keep me and the papooses. Bad tempered, he carried a gun and he slept but little at night. He forever watched until he thought I was asleep.

“ ‘I recall the night! The evening was starlight, no moon in the sky. I lingered long at the campfire, playing with my oldest child as a farewell. Kitty appeared to comprehend and clung to me as never before. I had settled my mind to take my youngest papoose no difference what might come. At last Kitty fell asleep from exhaustion and I sat holding her in my arms. Her father called to me angrily to bring her to bed which I did. I hugged her and kissed her brow, although this is not the custom of our race as with the whites. I whispered in her sleeping ear: “Oh! my little child! Life from my own being! do not forget your Indian mother.” Kitty murmured in her sleep; I could not catch the words. Was it a spirit’s voice? I gazed at her longingly for a moment, then went out from the tent; dropping the door-flap behind me.

“ ‘I walked to the fire where lay my youngest papoose, ready wrapped on his cradle-board. He was sleeping! Once more I turned hungrily to the white man’s tent⁠—not for him⁠—but for the child I loved as my life. But my people! They were calling! as I stood by the dying embers out there on the boundless plain. I could hear their voices coming to me from the Westland. I would go! for I was not wanted by the white man, who would sometime kill me if I stayed.

“ ‘I had some food tied in a handkerchief, a very small amount. I took up my papoose and walked slowly out from the dim fire light. When hidden by the shadows, I placed him on my back and threw my green blanket over him. Then I ran swiftly away. Halish, a wolf breed dog that we had with us, came to me from hunting on the prairie. I glanced back to see the two pale faces bounding from the tent, each with a gun. They made after me and the fright, I think, caused me to drop into a badger hole large enough to shield me from sight.31 The dog stopped over me and I pulled him down close to me. I was glad that he was the color of brown. Though half wild, he appeared to know, for he lay perfectly still. The two men passed by, cursing loudly. I could have reached out and touched my white husband, nor did he suspect my place of hiding. The Great Spirit must have favored me, for my papoose did not move nor make a sound. I think, too, that he was awake.

“ ‘The pursuing pale faces fired their guns into the night darkness and threatened me, but to no effect. Then they coaxed for me to come out from the shadows, but I was so afraid that I hardly breathed. Twice the wolf-dog showed his gleaming fangs, but he did not growl. I did not tremble, but I knew what it meant should my Shoyahpee husband find me. I had long known that he was keeping me only to care for our children and not that he had love for me. I was told by the other pale face, that he had a white squaw far away, who bore him no papooses. I had been lured from my own kind by this stranger with the voice of the wood-bird, but whose tongue, like that of the serpent, was forked and false.

“ ‘The two men kept stirring all night and it was nearly coming day before I dared move. The great dog still lay guarding me. My little papoose awoke at times, but I hushed him by taking him to breast and covering his head. I partly raised from my crouched position and looked towards the tent. The Shoyahpee father was sitting by the fire, rocking Kitty in his arms. Just then she put her little hand to her eyes and I knew that she was crying. I lifted myself and thought to go back to the camp. But as I drew near, I heard the mean words of the man, concerning me, what he meant to do should he ever catch me. I had lived with him long enough to understand his language in part, and to know what he was saying. I was afraid to go nearer.

“ ‘I gazed yearningly at the group, then turned to the sunset. I did not dare look back. I would fail, my heart would grow weak in the resolution to leave if I again saw my child crying. The grave, faithful Halish was with me as I tramped. The sun rose high and gleaming before I stopped to rest and watch back over the trail. The white men might follow me, I thought; but I never saw them more.

“ ‘I walked and camped for many sundowns, till I came to a small bush, where we had stopped before and where I knew to find water. I drank! as did the dog. It was so cooling from the hot sun. I determined to stay and rest for a while. I spread my blanket and stretched in the shade. I bathed my papoose and self in the water. I thanked the Great Spirit that He had protected me so far.

“ ‘But my food was gone. Ofttimes I was hungry and would have starved, had not Halish caught rabbits and brought them to me. I made sage brush fires by striking flints which I have found on the plain. At this bush camp, I was roasting a rabbit on a stick stuck in the ground by the fire, when suddenly the wolf dog jumped up and looked keenly in the direction that I was to go. That made me look also and I saw a thick cloud of dust coming towards me; a big cloud. As it drew near, I heard a deep rumbling roar like a storm and at once I knew my danger. Halish barked, then lifted his head and howled mournfully. I snatched up my papoose and ran out from the way of the stampeding buffaloes. My breath was almost gone before I cleared their way. With lowered heads they passed so close that I could have struck them with my hand. Halish, leaping ham-stung a young bull and soon had it killed. Amid the turmoil and dust, I saw the half naked Blackfeet riding hard upon the flanks of the herd; shooting and thrusting with the spear. I threw myself down quickly, but Halish, who stood snarling with the front feet on his kill, was seen. I prayed to the Great Spirit but He seemingly had forgotten me, for the Blackfeet came riding towards me. Halish sprang in front of me, his back bristling and teeth bared. The leader of the Blackfeet raised his gun but before he could fire, I was shielding the dog with my own body. The gun was lowered, when I had quieted my protector, and I was made prisoner. When my captors saw the young bull killed by the wolf-dog, they were pleased and this, I think, caused them to spare his life. I was surprised to see so many hunters. It was an annual hunt and their camp was not far away. They took me! and I rode one of the ponies. I could not understand their language. Their tongue was different from that of the Okanogans.

“ ‘I was brought to the Chief’s lodge, which was made of tanned buffalo skins, painted and decorated with tul-le-men.32 The Chief, an old man, had seven wives, the youngest a mere child of fourteen snows. He called his warriors and they had a council over me. This lasted for some time, but at last through signs, they made me to comprehend my fate. A prisoner for life, I was consigned to the Chief’s lodge to wait on all his wives and relations. I was a slave.

“ ‘I stayed with the Blackfeet one snow, till the sun shone warm again and the prairie grass was green. My papoose was now walking, running about the doorway of the lodge. He resembled his sister and I loved him the more for it. But I hated the memory of his white father, who had lured me from my people; who had brought me all this trouble. To think of him was bitter.

“ ‘I was treated badly by the women of the Blackfeet. A slave for all of them, ofttimes I had not enough to eat. I used to steal pemmican for my papoose, when he would be crying with hunger. Much of this hardship, I think, was because I had chosen a Shoyahpee husband instead of one of my own kind; that my child was half white. The Great Spirit must have been displeased with me.

“ ‘One sundown when my child was playing in the teepee, he fell into the fire. His clothing, which I had brought from the Okanogan country, was of the white man’s make and burned more quickly than buckskin. He fell! I ran to him but it was too late. His hair was blazing and his little moccasined feet were roasted as meat. For only one moment he clung to me, and then was gone forever.

“ ‘My heart was broken. I could have borne to live with the Blackfeet the rest of my life, if only my baby had been spared to cheer my days. For, were they not of the same race as myself? Though enemies of the Okanogans, they were Indians and far different from the hated Shoyahpee, whose very touch was taint to our blood. Then I reasoned that it was better that my child go, than to grow up a despised breed and a slave to an enemy tribe.

“ ‘Only a few sundowns passed after I had buried my papoose⁠—buried him alone under a clustering thorn⁠—when I determined to leave the Blackfeet. All the young warriors were out hunting the buffalo and only a few old men and women left in the village. There was one aged woman, the mother to the Chief’s favorite wife, who was very cross to me. She usually sat on the opposite side of the doorway from me. I saw my chance. The sun had passed the center of the sky, was on the downward trail and it was hot. All the women but this one were outside the lodge shading themselves while I worked. I noticed my old enemy sitting across the way. She was nodding in her sleep, a la-quhia33 in her hand. She had been eating dried meat soup. I glanced to the doorway before stepping around the fireplace in the center of the lodge. I slowly took the la-quhia as she held it. I picked up her pot of soup and ate as fast as I could. I was hungry! almost starving. Finally I left the la-quhia and drank from the pot. When it was empty, I replaced it at her side, leaving the la-quhia as if she had dropped it. I then went back to my own place.

“ ‘The old woman awoke to find her soup all gone. She looked at the pot, then at me; but she seemed not to understand what had become of the broth. Soon she was again nodding. I reached to the back of the lodge where was kept the Chief’s bows and arrows. His te-kee-sten34 hung by the side of the war pipe. I threw the te-kee-sten to the ground. I stepped on it! Then I drew one big breath through the sacred pipe, but left it hanging where it was. I took the bows and arrows for future use. Slinging the quiver over my back, I placed an arrow to the bowstring and came out of the teepee painted with the Chief’s own tul-le-men. I ran for the river, then deep, swift and muddy from heavy rains. I was a good swimmer and did not fear the water.

“ ‘The distance was not far and I heard the war whoops of the old warriors in pursuit and the women calling as they followed after. Even the dogs joined in the chase. Turning, I let fly an arrow at the foremost man, striking him in the shoulder. This checked the hunt and being a fleet runner, I kept well ahead of the enemy. I flew down the slope as light footed as the deer in our Okanogan forests. Gaining the river, I dashed into the flood. I was not afraid! Brush was overhanging the current under a low bluff and I made a hurried dive for it. My Spirit protector remembered me. I caught a limb and held there with the grip of renewed hope. I brought my head out of the water under the bushes for breath. Three Blackfeet were standing on the bank above me talking. I was now able to understand most of their language and I could hear them well. One said that I must be drowned, while another one thought that I was hiding under the bushes. He walked onto the bush, almost over me, but it bent to the water and he drew back. I do not know! Maybe he did not want to get his moccasins wet or was afraid of being drowned. He backed up the bluff where they all sat down and watched for me till the sun was hidden in darkness.

“ ‘I was glad when nightfall came to my rescue. My hands were numb and my limbs stiff from the chill of the water. My strength almost gave way but I called on my secret powers to aid me. I must reach my people⁠—calling to me from the land of the Okanogans. I drew myself from the flood by the bushes, but I lost the bow and arrows. I was defenceless as I started for home, guided by the stars. I was off the trail that I had followed with the Shoyahpee a snow before. I walked all night and all the next sun, before stopping to camp and rest. I traveled suns and suns over the great plain and was often very hungry. Losing the bow in the river, I could shoot no game.

“ ‘I wished for Halish, but the mighty wolf dog was dead. Some of the Blackfeet had gone far to hunt the woods-deer and took him with them. A mountain lion attacked a young hunter and the dog fought for him. Both dog and lion were killed, but the Blackfoot escaped, disabled for life. I missed my old companion’s help and watchful guard.

“ ‘It was too late for the eggs of the prairie birds, but I dug roots and sometimes found a few berries. Once I saw a great eagle swoop down and kill a young antelope not far from me, but could not fly with it. I fought the savage bird and took the fawn of goodly size. It furnished me with food for some days. My moccasins were worn out and I made new ones from the skin, cutting it with a sharpened stone. My awl was a pointed bone and the sinew was thread. But the hide was tender and the jagged rocks often passed over, cut them to pieces. I was now glad that I did not leave my green blanket behind when I escaped from the Blackfeet. I tore strips from it with which to wrap my feet. I passed the tribes of the Pend d’Oreilles, Kootenais and the Flatheads. All were good to me. They supplied me with dried berries and meat and I traveled on. I was going home!

“ ‘I was glad when I came in sight of the big river we love so well. I like the salmon better than I do the meat of the buffalo.35 I love the wooded mountains more than I do the treeless plains so endless. The land of the Blackfeet is not so fair as that of the Okanogans.

“ ‘But my heart is buried with my little papoose in the wakeless sleep; and I long for the child who went with her white father. But I am to blame! I preferred him to my own people and he drove me away. I pray to my Great Spirit to favor me in seeing my child again. I now have children of my own kind, but they do not take the place of my first born with its unknown fate.

“ ‘When I reached my people, they were all glad to see me. My feet were bare except for the worn strips of my once fine four-point36 Hudson Bay blanket. This is why I am called by my tribe, “Green-blanket Feet.” The name connects me with the false tongued Shoyahpee of other snows. It is the strong, clinging memory⁠—hated thing⁠—which recalls the face of the one I once loved; whose words I believed. The blanket was his gift when I first went to him. Let the maidens of my tribe shun the Shoyahpee. His words are poison! his touch is death.’ ”37

The Stemteemä’s story was finished; her audience had listened in rapt silence to the end. Several moments passed before she again spoke:

“Cogewea; you must be more careful of that Shoyahpee. I do not like to have you with him so much. You must quit going with him alone. It is against the rules of our race for a maiden to do so. You must stop it! He only seeks to harm you. The fate of Green-blanket Feet is for you; my grandchild unless you turn from him.38 Wisdom ever visions well.”

Cogewea’s ivory teeth closed firm and her tapering fingers dug into the shaggy buffalo robe before she ventured self defense:

“The wisdom of the Stemteemä is of the past. She does not understand the waning of ancient ideas. The young bird flies more sprightly than do the old. The Shoyahpee girls go out with their men friends and nobody cares.”

The grandmother was silent for long, before making solemn reply:

“Wisdom comes with the passing of the snows. My head has been frosted by the breath of time. The nestling knows not the wide trails of the air. Winged danger abounds where the hawk is abroad. The Shoyahpee women may cling to their ways. The Nation they bear speaks loudly of wrong.”

Then, after another interval of silence, she concluded gravely:

“The grandchild is not full Shoyahpee. She is only half! She must forget her white blood and follow after her Okanogan ancestors. To their women there came no shame.”

While Cogewea felt she should respect the words of her venerable monitor, she rebelled at the thought that she must not love the fair skinned Easterner too well.

Notes

³¹ Not at all an improbable story. Such cavities are often met with in the loose desert soil; usually formed by the caving of the earth where two or more burrows are in close proximity or actually joined. ↩

³² Okanogan for war paint. Used not only for personal decoration, but in inscribing history and symbolic signs on teepees, implements of war, and other objects of certain character. ↩

³³ Okanogan for ladle or spoon; usually made of wood or horn. ↩

³⁴ The te-kee-sten or “medicine-cane,” along with the war pipe⁠—and perhaps the peace pipe⁠—were sacred and not to be touched by woman. To do so was to destroy their magic and bring possible disaster to the individual owner or tribe, as the case might be. There were, however, exceptions to this rule. (See note 8.) Green-blanket Feet actually desecrated the objects as depicted in the text. In breathing through the pipe, she invoked evil spirits and defeat upon the hereditary enemies of her own tribe. Casting the “medicine” cane of the Chief to the ground and using his war paint on her own person, was to humiliate and disgrace him in the eyes of his own people. Had she been captured, death, if not torture, would have been her portion.

The private “medicine” is invariably buried with the Indian’s body. In December, 1915, I saw two păh’-tash or “medicine” canes interred with the body of We-yallup Wa-ya-cika⁠—noted Chief and medicine man of the Yakimas. One was made from the slender sprout of the hard wood, lo-tsa-ni, whereon a grotesque and twisted growth of the larger end had been cunningly carved into a clever representation of an antlered deer. Barring three brass-headed nails used in delineation of the muzzle and front feet of the animal, the păh’-tash was without superficial ornamentation. The other stick was a light penant staff with a crooked handhold; such as is used by school and class-fraternities. It still retained some of the gaudy paper covering, and aside from the solitary eagle feather and a bit of white ermine skin with which it was surmounted, it was wholly of white man origin. ↩

³⁵ As a food commodity, the salmon was, to the Salishan and Shahaptian linguistic families of the great Columbia River basin what the buffalo was to the Siouan or plain Indians. Both enter largely into the legends and religious cult of the respective tribes. ↩

³⁶ Four-point: referring to the short stripes, or bars woven into the corner of the blanket, designated as “points.” The highest number is five, which, perhaps owing to its conjunction with the “Five Rules of Speel-yi,” is greatly prized. The “points,” however, pertain solely to the dimensions or weight of the blanket, the lowest being three, while four represents the intermediate size. The pattern was introduced by the Hudson Bay Company, nor have I ever seen one that was woven in the States. The favorite color is a white field with black border and stripes.

The Arrow Lake Indians, as well as kindred tribes, manufactured robes or blankets from the fur of the rabbit and the soft fleecy hair of the wild mountain goat. The material was laboriously twisted into long, heavy strings or cords and woven in square mesh, making a very complete and warm wrap or covering. Of these examined⁠—goat-hair⁠—only two, comparatively modern and coming from British Columbia, showed any trace of artificial coloring. Commercially dyed wool yarn had been used, the designs knitted into the original fabric. One showed a wreath done in pale red, the other a center-field of blue. ↩

³⁷ With but few exceptions the early traders, individual and incorporate, were not only inordinately immoral⁠—marrying after the tribal custom native women only to abandon them at pleasure but they were, to all intents, scarce short of legalized banditti. When the Hudson Bay trading post at Old Fort Okanogan was at its height, the Indians came with loads of priceless furs which were piled equal in build to the object of their fancy, and it was called an “even swap!” Thus for a cheap, smooth-bored flinklock gun of the musket type⁠—oftimes six or seven feet in length⁠—the Company received a pack of the finest variety of skins stacked solidly the standing height of the worthless firearm. Into the hands of the simple minded natives came fabulously priced beads, cheap ornaments and gaudy cloth; blankets, weapons, ammunition and other articles of fancied or passing needs, including foods of doubtful quality, and into the coffers of the shrewd and unscrupulous traders poured the wealth of a nation. Nor has the looting ceased! The methods have only changed to suit the ever shifting conditions of the years. ↩

³⁸ In the Stemteemä’s narrative of Green-blanket Feet, the author has purposely incorporated incidents connected with two or three different occurrences. The story as preserved by the immediate descendants of the unfortunate woman and as given me by her granddaughter, Mrs. Susan Winegarden, née Hunter, follows:

One of the traders sent to the Okanogan from St. Louis, was Robert Pelkey. To the Post came Sophie Antwine, a comely maiden of the Arrow Lake band. These Indians have always been noted for their light complexions and pleasing manners. Young Pelkey and Sophia became fast friends and later married in accordance to the tribal rite. This was nothing unusual. Adventurers, traders, and army men⁠—especially officers⁠—often took “wives” from among the natives. The women entered such unions in good faith, but with the men the “contracts” were to be ignored upon personal convenience. Military men who afterwards won international fame during the Civil War left progeny of mixed blood among some of the Columbia River tribes.

To the Pelkeys, two children were born: Robert and Kitty. On these pledges the Indian mother lavished all the love inherent with motherhood. But her happiness proved fleeting! The husband soon tired of his dusky wife, and planned secretly to desert her. Not wishing his children to grow up as Indians, he determined to steal them away and take them back to his old home to be educated. They were then about two and three years of age.

One day Sophia first missed her babies, and then her husband. She learned that he had left with the children by pack train for Fort Benton on the Missouri River. This frontier post was the nearest river embarkation for the East. The recreant spouse made the journey in safety and without encountering hardships other than usual to a trip of its kind in those days.

When the wife and mother realized the full extent of the blow, she became possessed with the sole thought of recovering her little ones. With no preparation and without any goodbyes, she immediately set out on foot; following the trail where, ever “just ahead” was being borne all that was dear and sacred of earth to her. Feeding on berries and roots, sometimes stopping with friendly tribesmen or at a settler’s cabin⁠—but more often sleeping in the open⁠—starving! she resolutely held to the long, lonely way.

But the wanderer fared well through this first part of her travels, as compared to what she was destined to endure. An enemy country must be crossed. The Blackfeet, Sioux, and other plains tribes were warring, killing or taking captive any who came their way. Having been warned by the friendlies, Sophia was ever alert to possible dangers; but at the cost of valuable time. On one occasion she found herself between two opposing war parties, and for three days was compelled to hide in nothing more than an abandoned badger-den. Often she sought refuge in the brush and timber along streams and “washouts”; but through it all she undauntedly pressed onward. Her moccasins worn to shreds, she tore strips from her blanket⁠—green in color⁠—with which to encase her feet. From this, she was subsequently sobriqueted by her tribe, “Green-blanket Feet.”

Weary and famished, the woman at last arrived at Fort Benton. Directed to the boat landing, she hurried there only to see the steamer just loosed from its moorings, backing into midstream. Standing on the deck with others, was her unfaithful husband with their two children. With outstretched arms, the wailing mother stood on the shore and watched her babies until they had faded in the distance. The relentless Missouri had aided in the consummation of another tragedy.

Sophia was now alone and friendless and far from home. She had fought a fearful fight and lost; and now, penniless and without a single backward glance, she faced the sunset on her long, dreary return tramp. Her lagging footsteps were no longer buoyed by the incentive of loved ones “just ahead.” The same fierce struggles were encountered, as empty-handed she plodded back to a broken home and her waiting people. As the journey neared the end, so did the green blanket. Strip after strip had been torn away to furnish protection for her feet. When she at least reached the Okanogan, the Hudson bay blanket was but a memory, but “Green-blanket Feet” had become a reality. The annals do not reveal a more pathetic incident of mother devotion.

In time, Sophia Pelkey was married again in accordance to the Indian mode and had five children. Her last husband, a white renegade, in a drunken rage one day stabbed her to death. When the older children entered the cabin, they found their mother and her baby lying side by side; both in sleep, from which the one would never awaken. She had always kept her children with her, save only when they attended the mission school.

In St. Louis with their paternal grandmother, Robert and Kitty Pelkey found home and schooling. The father eventually drifted West and settled in Walla Walla, Washington; and when his children had reached early maturity, he sent for them.

Kitty married Alonzo Hunter, sergeant in the U.S. Army and stationed at the military post near Walla Walla. It is averred that at the time of her marriage, the girl was not aware of her Indian descent. By accident, she and her brother met Mr. Charles Brown, a later son of Green-blanket Feet, who acquainted them with the history of their Indian blood.

The Hunters moved to Missoula, Montana; and to them three children were born; John, Charles and Susan. The mother died when Susan was but three years old. The boys were placed in a Government school and later given allotments on the Flathead Reservation, where they were still recently residing. Susan was taken into the family of a Montana pioneer and at the age of seventeen married Mr. Rolla Winegarden. They settled in the land of her Indian ancestry, in northern Washington.

Robert Pelkey, Sr. died in Missoula, about 1898⁠–⁠1900. Robert Pelkey, Jr. died a few years later. He was a printer by trade and worked for various newspaper firms of Montana. He had achieved some prominence as a writer, when his career was cut short by drink. His three children now reside about Iron Mountain, Montana.

As a sample of Indian Bureau administration, it is interesting to note that while the two brothers and other relatives of Susan Winegarden, née Hunter, have been granted land allotments as recognized tribesmen, she has been denied this right, notwithstanding the Flathead Indian Council voted her a member of the tribe. But as absurdly unjust as such “ruling” may seem, even though she had resided with a white family, it has its counterpart in scores of similar cases on the different reservations.

Kathryn Maud Wilcox, born September 13, 1910, was refused allotment on the Yakima Reservation, although her older sister, Ruby, as well as Georgia, a younger sister, were both allotted as Indians. The father is a mixed-blood, and an allottee. ↩