Motion Picture Story Magazine (Aug 1911-Jan 1912)

The Call of the Wilderness (Melies) By HELEN M. COOLIDGE White Buffalo, the chief, was dead. The whole tribe joined in the mourning. A general council had been called to determine which of the several burying sites reported by the scouting party should be selected. The choice had been made of a spot far from the camp, far from any military post, far from road or line of travel of the white men. Sioux braves had selected the poles which the squaws had bound together by thongs of rawhide, to form a platform high among the trees. Over it Starlight herself, Starlight, the daughter of the dead chief, had spread the mat of leaves and rushes. On it, clothed in his richest garments, surrounded by every article which might contribute to his comfort, happiness or appearance in the next world, the body of White Buffalo had been arranged for its entrance into the Happy Hunting Ground. Strong branches attached to the sides of the platform bent over the body like the bows of a wagon. Over these, buffalo hides, securely fastened, made every aperture tight. All the pots and kettles, which were in the way inside, hung from the edge of the platform or from neighboring branches of the tree. Streamers of red and white cloth flapped in the wind to frighten away animals and birds of prey. Nothing had been omitted. Every article belonging to the beloved chief had been destroyed or disposed of. His favorite horse had been slain not far from the burial place, that it might have an eternity of pleasant pasture and carry its master whithersoever he wished to go. "White Buffalo's wives had long preceded him on his journey. None was left to wail the widow's customary lamentation beside the lonely resting-place of her brave. Starlight, the daughter, the child of the plains, the last survivor of the great chief's family, alone remained. Were she but a widow she might go at any hour of the day or night to mourn by the grave of her dead. As a maiden she was bound by tribal social customs that were inexorable. A maiden must not be found alone away from the lodge. She knew it and still she stood, staring with unseeing eyes, off into the land of the great unknown, toward which her father had journeyed. No tears fell from the brown eyes. No gestures of despair gave evidence of her grief. Her arms, still bleeding from selfinflicted wounds, were crossed passively on her bosom. There on the mountainside she stood motionless, unconscious, as wail after wail rent the air, echoing and re-echoing thru the great canyons and wilderness round about her. The purple twilight fell. Night came on, but the vigil did not cease. The mournful cry rang on. The daughter of the wilderness watched and mourned, and returned not to her people. Far down the canyon, John Stuart, the English remittance man, now dignified by a recently acquired prospector's outfit, diligently plied pick and shovel, but to no purpose; tho the loneliness and grandeur of his surroundings appealed strongly to his artistic temperament. Far from road or line of travel of the white men, the scouts had said White Buffalo's last resting-place would be, but John Stuart, scion of a noble British house, shouldered his tools and strode on thru the glory of that mountain splendor, all unwittingly, straight to the bit of clearing where the final scene in the red man's drama of death was being enacted. 21