They had come to see the buffalo.
But they did not say so. An Indian is a stoic. He has both imagination
and sentiment, but the latter he conceals. And this was the explanation
they gave me for the Indian agent:--
I knew that, back in my home, when a friend asked me to come to an
entertainment, I must go or that friend would be offended with me. And
so it was with the Blackfeet Indians--they had been invited to this
round-up, and they felt that they should come or they would hurt the
feelings of those who had asked them. Therefore, would I, Pi-ta-mak-an,
go to the Indian agent and make their peace for them? For, after all,
summer was short and winter was coming. The old would need their
ration-tickets again. And they, the braves, would promise to go back to
the Reservation and get in the hay, and be all that good Indians should
be.
And I, too, was as good an Indian as I knew how to be, for I scolded
them all roundly and then sat down at the first possible opportunity and
wrote to the agent.
And the agent? He is a very wise and kindly man, facing one of the
biggest problems in our country.
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