Little Lame Doctor
In 1872, the Osage tribe was forcibly displaced from their Kansas home to their present day location in Pawhuska, OK. Among them was a man known as Lame Doctor, or Little Lame Doctor (Wah-Kon-To-Ke).
Some historical documents say Lame Doctor’s name is pronounced “lah-may,” like the French word for blade, but it was reported in 1872 that “he is quite lame and only about 20 years old,” so perhaps he had a physical disability that affected his gait and was in fact lame, not lamè.
White invaders who encountered the young warrior described him as a “mean injun” with “a very bad and desperate character.” Lame Doctor may not have had much hospitality for the white men invading Osage land, and he was accused of leading groups of attackers and plunderers that white invaders called “renegades and outlaws of the worst kind.” However, the worst documented crime the group committed that I found was the alleged theft of a pair of shoes and a coat.
Lame Doctor was also described as sullen and independent. His father being murdered in front of him by white men during a morning hunt was likely when this sad and protective demeanor emerged.
The government agent placed on the Osage reservation in 1878 kept detailed journals of his time there, including stories about Lame Doctor’s life, his struggles, his eventual (perhaps reluctant) acceptance of the foreign concepts and rules that were forced upon the Osage, and his death.
Excerpt from Wah’Kon-Tah: The Osage and the White Man’s Road, Chapter 10 “Lame Doctor’s Cross,” copyright University of Oklahoma Press, republished with permission
“Long time ago I was little boy. When I was about this high,” ([Lame Doctor] held his hand off the floor, and the Major [Laban Miles, Osage agent] judged that he must have been about eight or nine years of age) “many of my people were out in country to west. Every year they go there to hunt buffalo. Many times leaves have become red on trees and my people go there to hunt. There was much buffalo meat in lodge of my father. One day he said to me, ‘My oldest son we go to find deer along stream.’ We found many deer along stream. Sun was not high. We saw white men who were hunting deer. There were three of these white men with hair on their faces. They talked with my father in talk of hands. I said I do not like these white men.
“Suddenly these white men caught my father’s arms and tied him to a bush with some rope. These three white men went off and turned around. They shot my father with their guns until he lay dead. His head would not touch ground. He was tied to bush with white man’s rope. My heart was like drums at dance. I ran away and hid, but white men did not want to find me. Soon they rode away and I came out. I saw blood drop from my father’s mouth. I said my father is dead. My throat was very dry but I did not want water. I could hear my heart beating like drums at dance.
“I said I will go to camp. But I could not find camp. I started running. I ran for long time. I said I am not tired. Sun went down, and I kept on running. Soon it was very dark but I did not feel tired. I was running. I could not see, but I did not fall. I said I am not tired. My father is dead I said. These white men killed my father, but I said I do not know where camp is.
“For long time I was running in darkness but I did not feel tired. Soon I heard barking of dogs and I said camp is there. People were dreaming I believe. I come to my father’s lodge. It was dark and cold. I went to bed but I did not sleep. Always I could see my father. I could see his head that did not touch ground. I could see blood that dropped from his mouth like leaves of sumac. For long time I lay there with my eyes shut, but I could see head of my father that did not touch ground.
“Soon I was very angry. I said why did I run away? Why didn’t I kill these white men who killed my father.
“Pretty soon I heard voice, and I was afraid. Pretty soon I was not afraid, and Great Spirit came to me. He put ban on me that I should kill ten white men. I must kill ten white men to avenge my father. Many times leaves have come to trees since that time. It is long time, but that ban is still on me. Great Spirit has never taken that ban from me. All my life I have tried to keep that ban. I have said I will avenge my father. I must kill seven white men. I have already killed three white men. Now it is different. There are white men all around. Some of these white men are good white men I believe. It is not so that all white men are bad. At Fort Smith there is man who will hang me if I am caught before I kill seven white men. It is bad for one of my people to let white man hang him with rope.”
For some time Lame Doctor sat motionless. Then the Major spoke, “My friend I listen to your story with heavy heart. I have thought much about this thing. Your trouble is in my heart.” The Major placed his hand on his chest, then he continued, “It was bad for these white men to kill your father. Wah’Kon-Tah will punish them I believe. It was evil spirit who came to your father’s lodge that night long time ago, I believe. I believe it was evil spirit who put this ban on you. It is bad thing that you have killed these three men. Many times you must pray to Great Spirit for forgiveness I believe. He will punish men who killed your father.”
“I will think about this thing. I will think much about that which you have said. I believe that it is not good that I kill these seven white men.”
Sometime later the Major received word from Lame Doctor that he wished to see him. He drove immediately to the Arkansas river where Lame Doctor had his lodge, and when he arrived Lame Doctor seemed glad to see him. After the meal they sat by the fire and talked of many things as was the custom, before coming to the “main talk.” Soon Lame Doctor said: “I have thought much about this. I have thought much about the things which you have said. It is good if I join church of my people. But my mind is bothered. To join church of my people it will take much beef. It will take much beef to feed people who will come. It will take many presents for medicine men. I am poor man.
“All my life I have had this ban. Many people have come to me and they have said, ‘It is bad thing, this thing which you are doing. It is bad thing to kill white man. White man will say that all Indians kill white man.’ I did not answer them, and they said much about me that is not good.
“I am poor man. I can give no beef for feast. I have no presents for medicine man. I have thought much about this thing. I said perhaps my friend will help me do this. I said he will give these things for me.”
The Major did not expect this turn in events, though he sat gravely for some time. His intense interest seemed to drown the humor in the situation. He spoke: “My friend I am poor man too. I do not have this beef and these presents which you talk about. I have seen these feasts. I believe you can pray to Wah’Kon-Tah without these things. I believe that Wah’Kon-Tah will see things that are in your heart and it will be all right.”
Tulsa World, November 5, 1922
“I do not know how to say these things to Great Spirit.”
“You must pray to Wah’Kon-Tah and he will see that your tongue is straight. He will see what is in your heart and will forgive you. I believe that it is not necessary to give these presents to medicine man. I believe if you go out on hill and pray to Great Spirit it will be all right.”
For some time they sat there in the darkness. The Arkansas was in flood tide, and the odors of mud and rotted vegetation came to them on the air currents. With the exception of the spirited chirruping of a tree frog, the night voices seemed sleepy. Then Lame Doctor spoke again: “I do not know about this thing.” Again the Major attempted to make him see that it was within himself that the trouble lay, and that he could clear his conscience as soon as he had something to cling to; some faith to which he could turn, but it was difficult to make this man see this. It was difficult to wean him from the traditional rites of his native religion, and make him see that the medicine men were not necessary as mediators. He attempted to think of some simile which would make this clear to him but none came to his mind.
They sat thus far into the night, and just before they rolled into their blankets Lame Doctor said: “I will think about these things which you have said. I will think about all which you have said about this thing. I don’t know about this.”
Some months later the Major heard that Lame Doctor was camped about six miles west of the Agency, and the conversations coming to mind, he suddenly felt a desire to talk with him.
He found Lame Doctor’s camp at the edge of Timber hill, at the head of a small ravine where water was plentiful. He drove up to the lodge and Lame Doctor came out, showing in the expression of his face that he was glad to see him. When they were seated on some blankets under the shade of a tree, Lame Doctor said: “It is good that you have come. I have thought much about this thing that you have told me, and my heart is light when I think about this. The Great Spirit has taken away this ban I believe. My heart is light. I feel it swell when I think about this.”
They sat for a long time and talked of the Great Spirit and his children, and of the white man and the white man’s God. They came to the conclusion that they were the same; that there was one God for all people, but that the Indian saw him one way because he was an Indian, and the white man saw him another way because he was a white man. They concluded, these two, under the shade of a blackjack tree on the edge of the prairie, that the Great Spirit could look into every heart and see what is there, and that if the heart is clean like the June prairie after a rain, there is no need to talk to the medicine man.
The next time the Major heard of Lame Doctor was during the time of the autumn payment. He had eaten his evening meal and had started down the hill to do some work in the office, so that he might be in readiness for the disbursement on the following day. He stopped suddenly in the thick dust of the road, when he heard the throbbing of drums as they came floating up from the creek bottoms. He stood for some moments to listen, then continued the descent.
It was dark in the little valley and there was no one visible of whom he might ask the meaning of the drums, so he decided to go down to the camps. He turned down the dusty road to the bottoms. He could smell the delightful odor which is the blending of campfires and cooking meats. He thought the camp seemed very quiet as he approached; not even a dog announced his coming through the darkness. He could see the fires light up the lodges, and once someone came out of a lodge and the fire inside was visible for a second, making grotesque shadows on the rear walls. The drums beat incessantly; with a monotony that was fascinating. A dark figure stood out suddenly as it moved among the lodges, and the Major addressed it, saying, “How.”
“How,” said the tall dark figure.
“I have come to see about this thing. I have come to see who is sick.”
The figure answered: “It is Lame Doctor who is sick. He is there,” and he pointed to a lodge standing off to itself.
The camp seemed to be full of medicine men, and the Major could hear the chanting of the prayers coming from the lodge indicated by the dark figure. He came to the door of the lodge and looked in. There was an air of heaviness on the inside. The chanters sang the prayers lugubriously, and the drums seemed to plead hopelessly. He thought of the drums on other occasions. He had always thought it remarkable how many of the emotions of man, the simple beating of drums could express. They could express the ecstasy of full-blooded victory; they could express the calm well-being of the social dances, and they could excite men to battle. Then, as tonight, they could make an inscrutable appeal to Wah’Kon-Tah, the Great Mysteries; softly, sadly, as when the heart beats become prayers.
He saw Lame Doctor lying on some skins on the other side of the fire, and of all people in the lodge, only Lame Doctor noticed the entrance of the great bulk of the Major. “How,” he said feebly. “It is good that you have come.” And he motioned the Major to sit down with him. Then he waved his arm to the medicine men and they stopped the chanting and left the lodge, and as they left the Major noticed that each had a present that had been given him for his services. Lame Doctor saw that he had noticed these presents, and he said: “I have little time here. It is good. I am ready to go away. Great Spirit has taken ban away I believe. Great Spirit has forgiven me.”
He paused for a moment as though to gain strength, then he pointed toward the door with his eagle-wing fan: “I did not tell them to come. My wife told them to come. They came because he* wanted them to come. I am not troubled about these things. I remember the things we talked about. I remember the things which you have said. Tonight I shall go away.”
*Throughout the book, the Osage use male pronouns when referring to any person.
After saying this he lay quietly, with his gaze fixed on the domed roof. After a while the Major began to look around the lodge. The flickering flame suddenly showed the figure of Lame Doctor’s wife; a silent, motionless figure lit up by the whimsical flame dance; her shadow on the back wall of the lodge, going through the antics of an evil spirit. Her figure as she sat there was like some symbolic statue in an ancient temple; a symbol of human grief, accepting the inevitable from the hand of Wah’Kon-Tah. The Major thought that this motionless Indian woman in the lodge of her dying husband, was the embodiment of all that man has said of the cutting of human ties by death. He wondered about the thoughts of this woman who was unaware of his presence, and a great sadness came over him, and he felt that there was something lodged in his throat. He looked again at the figure on the skins, but it had not changed its position. He suddenly made himself believe that he had duties elsewhere, and he arose and left the dark lodge upon which Wak’Kon-Tah had laid his hand.
He made his way up the dusty road, turning at the corner of the trader’s stores, then climbed the hill to the residence. He had decided that it was too late to go to the office. When he arrived home, his wife met him at the door: “Thee has been working at the office?”
“No,” he said, “it is Lame Doctor—he is dying—I have been down there to see him”
“Oh,” she looked solicitously at him, then she said, “Thee is upset.”
“No—I wouldn’t call it that—I—he’ll probably die tonight.”
They walked upstairs together.
The Major lay in bed. He could not sleep. He could hear the pleading drums down in the bottoms, and though he knew that they were subdued, the sound was carried along on the stillness of the autumn night. He thought of Lame Doctor lying there uncomplaining, awaiting the will of Wah’Kon-Tah. He thought of the firelight playing spasmodically on the slightly bowed figure back in the shadows of the lodge. On the stillness the coyotes sent up their chorus from Cedarvale hill. Querously they yapped to the night, as though they too were wondering about the mysteries of life and the thing called death.
It was during the darkness just before dawn that the Major awoke from a half sleep. He was suddenly wide awake and listened intently, then he heard it; it came on the cold air like the hunting cry of the wolf, yet it was like the wolf call only in that it was sustained at a high pitch, but unlike the cry of the wolf, it seemed to carry all that men had thought through the ages, of life and death and the sorrow of the human heart; this cry of the mourner which came from the blackjack hills across the creek.
He dressed quietly without disturbing the household, and went down to the lodge of Lame Doctor, where he met the wife as she came out. She came up to the Major and said: “It is good that you have come. My heart is heavy. Last night my husband told me that he wanted his body given to you. He said you would bury it in grave of white man. He said he wanted this thing. My heart is heavy. He is Indian, my husband. He will go to heaven of Indian. But they will say in heaven of Indian, ‘Who is this man? Who is this man who has not marks of band on his face. Who is family of this man, who has no marks on his face. Surely this man has no people.’ My heart is heavy about this thing. I have thought about it. I said it will be good if I can paint face of my husband. I said my husband will be lost in heaven of Indian if I do not do this thing. I said it will be all right if we paint face of my husband; if we wrap blanket around my husband. He wanted to be buried in white man’s grave. I said it will be all right. I said we will paint face of my husband and he will not be lost in heaven of Indian.”
The Major replied: “That is good I believe. We will have white man’s coffin made. We will take your husband to burying ground. You will wrap him in his blanket. You will have his face painted with marks of tribe. You will have his face painted with marks of band. I believe that he will not be lost in Happy Hunting Ground.”
The wife of Lame Doctor turned and went back into the lodge.
Already the Indians had begun to gather to prepare Lame Doctor for his long ride to the Happy Hunting Ground.
Where is Lame Doctor buried?
Lame Doctor’s burial location is not publicly known, but may be known to the Osage. The Major wrote that he could hear “the mourning chant from the hills across the creek.” It’s possible that he was buried in a “white man’s coffin” where Pawhuska City Cemetery now stands, on a small hill one mile from the Osage Agency location. It’s also possible that he was buried somewhere else near Pawhuska.
Lame Doctor’s life story is not unique for Osages at that time. In the decades leading up to the Osage Indian Murders (“Reign of Terror”), countless Osages and other natives were brutally slaughtered by white invaders, leaving families severed and lives destroyed. Many Osage children had their lives violently defined by the horrific acts of white men, but they were reduced to being “mean” or “sullen and independent” people. Lame Doctor was one of them.
This page contains material copyrighted by the University of Oklahoma Press and was posted with permission. I encourage you to purchase the book for more fascinating stories and Osage history.
Resources
Wah’Kon-Tah: The Osage and the White Man’s Road by John Joseph Mathews
Chronicles of Oklahoma, Oklahoma Historical Society
Book Lore, The Morning Call, Paterson, NJ, December 10, 1932
Reminiscences of a Range Rider, Grant County Journal, July 17, 1961
About the Osage Nation Reservation, Osage Culture
Learn about the Osage People: Past & Present, Osage Culture
Dorland (Ko she tse ne kah) Student Information Card (presumably Lame Doctor’s son)
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