with the old women and the dogs. He asserted that the first medicine-man had
failed, because his shield warded off the rain-clouds; the second, who wore a
head-dress made of a raven’s skin, because the raven was a bird that soared
above the storm, and cared not whether the rain came or stayed; and the third,
because the beaver was always wet, and required no rain. But as for him, Wak-a-
dah-ha-ku, the red lightnings on his shield would attract the rain-clouds, and his
arrow would pierce them, and pour the water over the thirsty fields.
It chanced that, as he ended his oration, a steamer, the first that had ever
ploughed the Missouri river, fired a salute from a twelve-pounder gun, as she
passed the Mandan village. To the Indians the roar of the cannon was like the
voice of thunder, and their joy knew no bounds. The successful medicine-man
was loaded with valuable gifts; mothers hastened to offer their daughters to him
in marriage; and the elder medicine-men issued from the lodge, eager to enrol
him in their order. But, from the roof of the lodge, where he had taken his stand,
Wak-a-dah-ha-ku discovered the steamer, as she dashed up the river, and
discharged her gun again and yet again. He hastened to address the chiefs and
people, explaining that the sounds they heard were not those of thunder, but that
his potent medicine had brought a thunder-boat to the village. To the river-bank
rushed the wondering population, and the rest of the day was spent in a fever of
excitement, in which the rain-maker was forgotten. Just before sunset his quick
eyes discovered a black cloud, which, unobserved by the noisy multitude, swiftly
came up from the horizon. At once he assumed his station on the roof of the
lodge; strung his bow and made ready his arrow; arrested the attention of his
fellows by his loud and exultant speech; and as the cloud impended over the
village, shot his arrow into the sky. Lo, the rain immediately descended in
torrents, wetting the rain-maker to the skin, but establishing in everybody’s mind
a firm and deep conviction of his power.
All night raged the storm; but unhappily a flash of lightning penetrated one of
the wigwams, and killed a young girl. The newly-made medicine-man was
sorely terrified by this catastrophe, which he feared the chiefs would impute to
him, making him responsible for the girl’s death, and punishing him accordingly.
But he was a man of much astuteness, and early in the morning, collecting three
of his best horses, he mounted the lodge-roof again, and for a third time
addressed the people of his tribe.
“Friends,” he said, “my medicine was too strong, I am young, and I did not
know where to stop. I did not regulate its power. And now the wigwam of Mah-