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Updated: May 13, 2025
I can protect my body and my shadow the Good God has come to Wo-pe-ni-in." II. The Brown Bat Proves Itself Big Hair and his son, White Otter, rode home slowly, back through the coulees and the pines and the sage-brush to the camp of the Chis-chis-chash. The squaws took their ponies when they came to their lodge.
The squaws concealed the arms while the warriors raged, but the Chis-chis-chash in that day were able to withstand the new vices of the white men better than most people of the plains. On one occasion, the Bat was standing with a few chiefs before the gateway of the fort. M. Papin opened the passage and invited them to enter.
The Chis-chis-chash rode in a perfect line and when within a hundred yards gave shrill ki-yi's, lashed their whips and the ponies clattered through the dust. It would be all over with the three luckless trappers in an instant. When nearly half the distance had been consumed three rifles cracked.
He knew now that he must go to the westward to the western mountains, to the Inyan-kara, where in the deep recesses lay the shadows which had eaten his. They were calling him, and as the sun sank to rest, White Otter rose slowly, drew his robe around him, and walked away from the Chis-chis-chash camp.
This one replied that he did and sent for the man who had been dead. The council sat in silence with its eyes upon the ground. From the commotion outside they felt an awe of the strange approach. Never before had the Chis-chis-chash been so near the great mystery.
The mourning paint was washed from each face and the old pipe-men said: "The Bat will be a great leader in war his medicine is very strong and he eats fire." The chiefs and council withheld their discipline, and the Fire Eater grew to be a great man in the little world of the Chis-chis-chash, though his affairs proportionately were as the "Battles of the Kites and Crows."
He had died with his warriors. When the lodges lay covered with snow the Chis-chis-chash sang songs to the absent ones of the Fire Eater's band. Through the long, cold nights the women sat rocking and begging the gods to bring them back their warriors. The "green-grass" came and the prophet of the Red Lodges admitted that the medicine spoke no more of the absent band.
The sun was barely stronger than the lodge fire when from far away on the hills beyond the river came a faint sound borne on the morning wind, yet it electrified the camp, and from in front of the Fire Eater's tent a passing man split the air with the wolfish war-yell of the Chis-chis-chash. As though he had been a spiral spring released from pressure, the Fire Eater regained his height.
The sacred symbols of the body, their signs and ceremonies, were given him, and he had become a pillar in the Chis-chis-chash social structure. The nights were growing cold, and occasional bleak winds blew down from the great mountains, warning the tribe to be about its mission.
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