--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Anderson, Hugo B. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 14 number: 7 published: 1911-05 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Hugo B. Anderson, "Wild Justice Under Law," *Improvement Era* 14, no. 7 (May 1911): 613–618.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1407unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1407unse start_page: 613 end_page: 618 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1911-05) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1407unse publication_year: 1911 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1911, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Wild Justice Under Law Wild Justice Under Law. BY HUGO B. ANDERSON. Some early traders in the trail of Lewis and Clark to the great Northwest, impressed with stories of the wealth of an Indian tribe which inhabited a high plateau arising abruptly from the left bank of the Clearwater river, turned aside to make investigations. They discovered the Nez Perce prairie, used by the Nez Perce Indians as a roving ground and a pasturage for ponies. Finding no water fit to drink on the plateau, they pushed on to its western extremity, where they descended abruptly for a thousand feet into a narrow gulch, in the bottom of which trickled a small, sparkling stream. Here they established a trading station, and because the place from above resembled a well, they called the spot Cul de Sac, which interpreted means "hole in the ground." Whether the suggestion of drink in this name had a bad effect upon the post, or whether these Indians had a particularly strong natural craving for alcohol, I do not pretend to say, but at any rate this much is certain, Culdesac became a noted place for the distribution of fire-water to the red man, and the early white settlers of Culdesac are to be held responsible for many misdeeds of the red man, and much of his apparent harshness and cruelty, even down to the present time. I. Near the doorway of a wigwam, on the banks of the Clearwater river, burned a fire of pine, whose flickering light half revealed a dense background of timber and the outline of high cliffs beyond. At the opening of the wigwam stood a squaw, listening intently for some sound through the darkness of the 614 IMPROVEMENT ERA. night. Within, a boy of eight years rolled about on a blanket. The thud of a horse's hoofs broke the silence of the night. A pony and rider emerged from the darkness. At the entrance of the wigwam, the rider, uttering a wild shout, half fell, half dismounted from his panting steed. As he gave the reins to the woman, he staggered. The light of the fire disclosed an insensible, reeling expression in his black eyes. She approached him, and speaking in her native tongue pointed despairingly at an empty pot near the fire and then to the child within. The red man made no answer save a low grumble, but picking up a thin, pointed rod, used by the Indians for spiking salmon, he threw back his broad shoulders, and, with a futile attempt at bodily control, started for the river. The squaw seized his arm, but with a heavy thrust he forced her back, grasped a burning fagot of pine from the fire and stumbled on to a canoe at the water's edge. The woman uttered a low cry. The boy sprang from the blanket, and rushing to her side stationed himself between her clasped hands. Together they watched the burning fagot glide out through the darkness over the waters of the river. Occasionally the light fell upon the Indian, as his great bulk rocked from side to side in his tiny skiff. The light began to move slowly down stream. He had ceased to paddle, and was holding the torch at the end of the boat to attract the salmon. Then the light was raised, disclosing the Indian at full height in the rear of the boat, with spike raised to strike. He reeled. The fagot shot downward like a falling star, and was extinguished. There was a splash, as if a huge stone from the opposite cliffs had fallen into the deep waters of the river. All was dark and silent. The squaw's arms tightened around her boy. Motionless they listened, silent ages it seemed. A screech owl somewhere in the darkness made a hideous noise, which was echoed, as if in mockery, from side to side of the deep canyon. The squaw and the boy stood apart. They raised their arms and gazed heavenward to the Great Spirit. Long they stood. "It was the fire-water of the white man," murmured the squaw. WILD JUSTICE UNDER LAW. 615 The two broke forth into cries, and danced wildly about the fire. II. It is a striking fact that the doctrine of the solidarity of the race, which civilized peoples today use as the basis of their systems of ethics, is a belief of most savages. If one of their tribe dies by the hand of a stranger, the stranger's tribe is held responsible, and one of the tribe, it matters not whether he be the guilty one or no, must die to pay the debt. It is a sort of wild justice which we call tribal revenge. But before Robin Blackeagle had developed to sufficient size and strength to call upon the white man to pay the penalty of his father's death, these demands of wild justice had been tempered by the obligations of law and love. The great United States government had made of the Nez Perce prairie an Indian reservation, and Robin had lived for ten years at the expense of the government in an Indian school. Here he had been taught by a fair girl of the white race, several years his younger—Elaine, the schoolmistress of Nez Perce post. She was slender, with brown hair and blue eyes, and he was ,big and strong, with glossy black hair, and eyes as black as night. The tender look in her large, deep eyes had inspired the savage, boyish mind of Robin to greater things. He had studied and toiled onward and upward, as only a big soul impelled by the love of a woman can. Slowly his dream to become the leading spirit of his tribe was realized. His striking personality and intellectual strengh attracted the attention of officials, and he was appointed Indian deputy in the employ of the government to enforce its laws on the reservation. Then, because of the things the girl had done for him, she learned to love him. And he loved her because of the man she had made of him. So now he was having a frame house built, like the houses of the white man, on the bluff overlooking the Clearwater river, and the tiny valley at its side where he spent his savage boyhood. She had promised to leave her father's pine-surrounded cabin, beside the clear lake in the canyon above Culdesac, and share with him his prairie home. Nor was this a small sacrifice, for the girl's mother had died while she was yet a child, and she, living apr.rt with her 616 IMPROVEMENT ERA. father in the seclusion of their mountain home, had grown to love him with a double love. That the girl could break so great an attachment and give up her school ties for an Indian, created no little wonder and interest among the country folks around. So when Columbus Triplets invited the young people of Culdesac to the wedding ceremony of Robin Blackeagle and his fair and popular daughter Elaine, they came in a body to his mountain retreat. The town minister was there. In the little, low room of the log cabin, lighted by the pale glow of a single oil lamp, he placed the fair hand of Elaine in the strong, dark one of Robin, and made . them husband and wife. Robin folded the girl in his strong arms, and embraced and kissed her tenderly, while the young people shouted until the hills rang. III. As soon as the Nez Perce prairie was set apart as an Indian reservation, the government prohibited, under heavy penalty and imprisonment, the use or sale of liquor within its borders. When Robin Blackeagle became Indian deputy for the government, the enforcement of the regulation fell into his hands. The thoroughness with which he performed his duty in this regard was more than once the cause of official commendation. Nevertheless, as in most prohibition territory, there were violations of the law, especially among the older settlers. And the tendency among the townsfolks was to allow this "bootlegging" to go on, and to excuse their conduct on the ground that the old-timers could not become accustomed to the new regime, and would soon all be dead anyway. By a curious irony of fate, the father of the fair Elaine was one of the old regime, who, in spite of the law, persisted privately in an attempt to uphold the former name of Culdesac. Columbus Triplets was not an attractive man. In fact, it was a stock joke of the country that Nature seeing the poor job it had made of Columbus, had given him his beautiful daughter by way of evening things up a little. One of his eyes was curiously turned inward. He had a very red face, which some Culdesac folk were in the habit of saying, with a sly glance, he did not acquire through the use of water from his mountain spring. It wa WILD JUSTICE UNDER LAW. 617 known also that Triplets took frequent trips away to neighboring towns, where he would be gone for several days, and sometimes even weeks. It was not a great surprise to the young people, therefore, when, amid the festivities of the wedding ceremony, a clinking of glasses was heard and Columbus Triplets brought forth from a side door a box of beer. "Come!" he shouted, "on such an occasion it is only fitting that we drink to the health of the bride and my new son-in-law." The bottles were popped open, the glasses filled. "All together, three cheers for the bridal pair!" cried Triplets. "Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" And the little cabin was almost lifted from the ground by their shouts. But Robin had turned suddenly ghastly pale and left the room. Once outside, he gave a wild cry and rushed to the little fresh-water lake. His brain whirled. He could not collect his thoughts. He grasped his head with both hands and found it hot almost as a flame, notwithstanding the cool night air. He looked out across the still water. Was it a reality or only a fancy of his fevered brain? He saw the light of a torch, out in the darkness, moving slowly above the lake, then falling to the water with a great splash, leaving all dark and still. "My father, my father!" he cried. As if in answer, a screech owl in the tree above him gave its hideous shriek. Once again he threw his arms heavenward and called to the Great Spirit. The laughter of the revelers brought him to his senses. "Elaine, my wife! Must it be your father?" He tore his hair and wildly stamped on the ground. But he was no longer a civilized man. Once again he was a red man, with all the instincts and passions of his race. He stole to the cabin, threw open the door and cried, "Hold!" The laughter ceased, the glasses were dropped, as all turned to the entrance. The pale light fell upon his tall figure. His chest heaved like that of a sobbing child. His thick black hair was dishevelled and his eyes were set and glassy. 618 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "By authority of the United States government, I place Columbus Triplets under arrest." Amid a dead silence he stepped forward, and slipped the handcuffs on his prisoner. Without a parting word to his wife, or a glance to right or left, he stalked forth into the darkness with the man who was to pay inadequately the obligation of his people for the death of an Indian. IV. The frame house overlooking the Clearwater river stands empty and uncared for. Beside it is a wigwam, from the top of which smoke curls upward. At the opening in front sits Robin Blackeagle, dressed in moccasins and blanket,with long braids of hair at his back. He is no longer government deputy. He is scorned by the white man for doing the thing which white man's law and Indian instinct compelled him to do. With savage insight he feels the superficiality of civilization and the injustice of its ways. But happy, unconsciously, because he has fulfiled the law of his nature, he sits and watches the river below winding through its narrow valley, waiting for the days, months, years to pass, until he shall be taken by the Great Spirit to the hunting grounds of his father. And the white man passing by, forgetful of the sin of his own people, and utterly ignoring the motives of the Indian, tells of his cruelty in deserting the fair Elaine, and remarks' to his comrade, assuming great wisdom and insight, that it is useless to endeavor to educate a savage, because he always returns to his savage ways, to the sorrow of some white who has made a sacrifice for him! The Call. "There's something gets to stirring in my blood this time of year, A kind of restless longing which with words I can't make clear, As if the meadrw grasses and the woods and brooks around Were speaking to my spirit and calling from the ground. Grandmother kindly hustles round, and fixes tonic tea, As if my inner works and things were what was troubling me; But no medicine she knows, or things that doctors make, Can cure that restless feeling when the buds begin to wake." —Arthur W. Peach.