lament over the unlucky destiny of his tribe, and I pitied him with all my heart.”
The day before Catlin arrived at this village this old chief's son—the young Hongs-kay-de—had created a great sensation in the community by accomplishing a most startling amount of bigamy in a single day. Being the chief's son, and having just been presented by his father with a handsome wigwam and nine horses, he had no difficulty whatever in ingratiating himself with the fathers of marriageable daughters, and had, with ingenious slyness, offered himself to and been accepted by four successive fathers-in-law, promising to each of them two horses—enjoining on them profound secrecy until a certain hour, when be would announce to the whole tribe that he was to be married. At the time appointed he appeared, followed by some of his young friends leading eight horses. Addressing the prospective father-in-law who stood nearest him, with his daughter by his side, he said, “You promised me your daughter: here are the two horses.” A great hubbub immediately arose; the three others all springing forward, angry and perplexed, claiming his promises made to them. The triumphant young Turk exclaimed, “You have all now acknowledged your engagements to me, and must fulfil them. Here are your horses.” There was nothing more to be said. The horses were delivered, and Hongs-kay-de, leading two brides in each hand, walked off with great dignity to his wigwam.
This was an affair totally unprecedented in the annals of the tribe, and produced an impression as profound as it could have done in a civilized community, though of a different character—redounding to the young prince's credit rather than to his shame—marking him out as one daring and original enough to be a “Big Medicine.” Mr. Catlin says that he visited the bridal wigwam soon afterward, and saw the “four modest little wives seated around the fire, seeming to harmonize very well.” Of the prettiest one—“Mong-shong-shaw” (the Bending Wil-
