Chapter XVIII: In the Red Man’s Book

The North American Indian is an incorrigible gamester. The passion for play seems to be born with him. Since the advent of the white man he has learned to gamble with cards, but long before he ever saw the paleface he had his own rude games of chance. In Big Bear’s camp one might see gathered on any bright day in the shade of a cart an excited circle—a group of gamblers surrounded by their partisans. Let us take a look at them:

Two men are seated opposite each other on the ground with blankets over their knees. Each has beside him an assistant or partner, and a pile of articles of more or less value which he is prepared from time to time to offer as stakes. Two bits of wood an inch and a half long are the gambler’s cards.

The player of the side having the sticks at the time takes them in his hands, his partner picks up a small drum the size and shape of a milk pan, holding it by parchment strings stretched across its open back and begins to sing, accompanying himself on the drum. The feet of the gambler are doubled up beneath him. He puts his hands beneath the blanket across his knees, brings them out, closed, and in time with the song jolts in his seat like a man in the saddle, bends his head, throws it back, uttering a continual sharp “_Chug-chug! chug-chug!_” somewhat like the steam exhaust of a tugboat. Sometimes he opens a hand, displaying one of the sticks or else showing that it is empty. Again the hand dives beneath the blanket and comes out, perhaps with the stick, perhaps not. He folds his arms on his chest; he flings them out, flashing the hands open and shut. All the while the steady chugging comes from between his teeth and the body jolts up and down. If he is expert the sticks may be passed or shot openly between the hands so dexterously that the opposing players may not see them, though they are generally exchanged under the blanket.

Meanwhile his opponent sits smoking and watching him intently. All the contortions of his _vis-à-vis_ are intended to mislead him. His purpose is to divine correctly where the two sticks are at any given time—whenever he may choose to hazard a guess. If the guess is correct the sticks pass to the other side and a marker is stuck in the sod to represent points added to the number needed to win the stakes then being played for. If he misses the same side retains the sticks and adds a marker to its row, the stakes being put up at so many sticks or markers. The sticks may be both beneath the blanket, both in one hand, or one in either hand. Again, one may be under the blanket and the other in either hand. It is a hard matter for the guesser to recover the sticks once they have passed to a clever opponent. The hands of the juggler are always opened and the sticks shown when a guess is hazarded, to prove it either right or wrong. If right, the sticks are at once tossed over.

Occasionally the guesser receives advice and suggestions from his assistant and guesses accordingly. Or he may be staked, as a white man stakes a novice to play for him at faro or roulette. Signs are the language of the Indian gamester. He claps the back of one hand in the palm of the other, holding up one or two fingers according to his guess. It depends on which hand he thinks holds the sticks which fingers he holds up, those of the left or right hand. If he thinks both sticks are beneath the blanket, he makes a different sign with both fingers down.

Anything he owns may be hazarded—bedding, rifle, knife, moccasins, pipe, tobacco, saddle, horse. He may lose all—may even rise at the last, pull off his shirt and stake it—but he never murmurs. He is hardly a philosopher; he is merely improvident, reckless, a natural gambler. He laughs when he has nothing more to lose and goes away singing, with a jest over his shoulder. The excitement pleases him and satisfies his passion for play. He likes to bewilder his opponent, to show his dexterity in juggling the sticks and little he cares whether he wins or loses. He will not starve, nor will he lack a smoke while there is tobacco or food in the camp. He will simply drop into the lodge nearest his.

Indians in time of war have various methods of signalling. The two in most common use were fire and mirrors. The smoke of the signal fire, built on a commanding height, might be seen for many miles in the clear atmosphere of the prairie. At night the glow itself or its reflection in the sky was equally serviceable. By this method intelligence was carried unbelievable distances in a short time. There is little doubt that Big Bear’s band was apprised through signal fires of the Duck Lake fight and the half-breed outbreak, two hundred miles away, within twenty-four hours of the engagement, while we the whites at Frog Lake did not hear of it for some days. Of course the fires must have relation to some event anticipated.

Mirrors are available only in bright weather and for comparatively short distances, though even flashes from a small mirror may be seen in favourable country for many miles. A given number of flashes conveys definite information of some kind. I have seen Big Bear’s band thrown into a state of feverish excitement, men rushing for their guns, women talking and gesticulating, by a series of flashes telegraphed from a distance of at least five miles.

A word here about the sign language in use among all the Plains Indians. It is a mistake to suppose that there is any similarity between the languages of the various stocks. The Blackfeet, Bloods and Peigans are of the same parent stock and their speech is therefore practically one. The same is true of the Crees, Chippewas and Salteaux; of the Sioux, Cheyennes and the Dakotahs, Stonies or Assiniboines; and of the Chippewyans, Sarcees and Apaches. But a Blackfoot, generally, speaking his own language to a Cree, Sioux, Apache or Crow would have as much chance of being understood as if he were addressing a Hairy Ainu in English. For example, take the simple little English word “No.” In Blackfoot it is _sa_, in Cree _namoya_, in Chippewyan _eeli_ and in Assiniboine _wanitch_.

The Blackfoot gets round the difficulty by “speaking signs.” The fingers of both hands intertwined represent a lodge (crossed poles at top) or a house (log). Sleep is symbolized by placing the head sidewise on the palm of the hand. Numbers are recorded by holding up fingers; opening and shutting the hands once means ten—ten times, one hundred. Closing the hand and opening it suddenly with the fingers extended signifies shooting—the flying shot pellets. Rubbing the palm of one hand on the palm of the other means to “wipe out” (annihilation). The index finger of each hand crooked on either side of the head in the shape of horns suggests the buffalo or cattle.

An Indian comes into a trading post and asks for evaporated apples by touching his ear—it resembles a ring of the packed fruit. Or a front tooth—beans. Each tribe has a sign. The Sioux is the cut-throat—a finger drawn under the chin. The Cree sign is two tongues; two fingers pushed straight out from the mouth—liar. The Peigan publishes his nationality in an alien camp by rubbing his cheek with his fist—he is a painted face. The Crow moves his hands like the wings of a bird. The sign for the Snake Indian is readily suggested by a motion of the hand. The tribal sign for the Apache is not printable.

And so on. There are signs for riding, smoking, baking, boiling, hearing, fighting, running, seeing, eating, drinking; for anger, drunkenness, sorrow, hunger, thirst, weariness, insanity; for the sun, moon, stars, day, night, rain, wind, heat, cold; for birth, life, death—in fact a good sign-talker can speak far more fluently with his hands than many an educated white man can with his tongue. I have seen a Saskatchewan Cree and a Nez Perce from the Columbia seated side by side on the ground, converse for an hour, telling stories of the chase, of love and of war, without speaking a word. It was one of the most graceful, impressive and interesting conversations I ever listened to. Also the quietest.

The paints in use by the Indians also have their significance. The bright vermilion is a holiday paint and denotes cheerfulness in the wearer. The blue is used mainly by way of contrast, in forming stars and emblems upon the features. The yellow is the real war paint. A few moments before the massacre at Frog Lake, Wandering Spirit appeared with his eyelids and lips thickly coated with yellow ochre. It gave him a look of unspeakable hideousness, and was without doubt the signal for the commencement of the tragedy.

Black is the death colour, and in the evening after the massacre the lower parts of the faces of all who took part in it were painted this sombre hue.