MYTHS AND LEGENDS OF THE SIOUX
By Mrs. Marie L. Mclaughlin
In loving memory of my mother,
MARY GRAHAM BUISSON,
at whose
knee most of the stories
contained in this little volume
were
told to me, this book is
affectionately dedicated
CONTENTS
THE RABBIT AND THE GROUSE GIRLS
THE RABBIT AND THE BEAR WITH THE FLINT BODY
A LITTLE BRAVE AND THE MEDICINE WOMAN
THE BEAR AND THE RABBIT HUNT BUFFALO
THE BRAVE WHO WENT ON THE WARPATH ALONE AND
WON THE NAME OF THE LONE WARRIORTHE SIOUX WHO MARRIED THE CROW CHIEF’S
DAUGHTERTHE HERMIT, OR THE GIFT OF CORN
STORY OF THE TWO YOUNG FRIENDS
THE “WASNA” (PEMMICAN) MAN AND THE UNKTOMI
(SPIDER)THE RESUSCITATION OF THE ONLY DAUGHTER
STORY OF PRETTY FEATHERED FOREHEAD
FOREWORD
In publishing these “Myths of the Sioux,” I deem it proper to state that I
am of one-fourth Sioux blood. My maternal grandfather, Captain Duncan
Graham, a Scotchman by birth, who had seen service in the British Army,
was one of a party of Scotch Highlanders who in 1811 arrived in the
British Northwest by way of York Factory, Hudson Bay, to found what was
known as the Selkirk Colony, near Lake Winnipeg, now within the province
of Manitoba, Canada. Soon after his arrival at Lake Winnipeg he proceeded
up the Red River of the North and the western fork thereof to its source,
and thence down the Minnesota River to Mendota, the confluence of the
Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers, where he located. My grandmother,
Ha-za-ho-ta-win, was a full-blood of the Medawakanton Band of the Sioux
Tribe of Indians. My father, Joseph Buisson, born near Montreal, Canada,
was connected with the American Fur Company, with headquarters at Mendota,
Minnesota, which point was for many years the chief distributing depot of
the American Fur Company, from which the Indian trade conducted by that
company on the upper Mississippi was directed.
I was born December 8, 1842, at Wabasha, Minnesota, then Indian country,
and resided thereat until fourteen years of age, when I was sent to school
at Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin.
I was married to Major James McLaughlin at Mendota, Minnesota, January 28,
1864, and resided in Minnesota until July 1, 1871, when I accompanied my
husband to Devils Lake Agency, North Dakota, then Dakota Territory, where
I remained ten years in most friendly relations with the Indians of that
agency. My husband was Indian agent at Devils Lake Agency, and in 1881 was
transferred to Standing Rock, on the Missouri River, then a very important
agency, to take charge of the Sioux who had then but recently surrendered
to the military authorities, and been brought by steamboat from various
points on the upper Missouri, to be permanently located on the Standing
Rock reservation.
Having been born and reared in an Indian community, I at an early age
acquired a thorough knowledge of the Sioux language, and having lived on
Indian reservations for the past forty years in a position which brought
me very near to the Indians, whose confidence I possessed, I have,
therefore, had exceptional opportunities of learning the legends and
folk-lore of the Sioux.
The stories contained in this little volume were told me by the older men
and women of the Sioux, of which I made careful notes as related, knowing
that, if not recorded, these fairy tales would be lost to posterity by the
passing of the primitive Indian.
The notes of a song or a strain of music coming to us through the night
not only give us pleasure by the melody they bring, but also give us
knowledge of the character of the singer or of the instrument from which
they proceed. There is something in the music which unerringly tells us of
its source. I believe musicians call it the “timbre” of the sound. It is
independent of, and different from, both pitch and rhythm; it is the
texture of the music itself.
The “timbre” of a people’s stories tells of the qualities of that people’s
heart. It is the texture of the thought, independent of its form or
fashioning, which tells the quality of the mind from which it springs.
In the “timbre” of these stories of the Sioux, told in the lodges and at
the camp fires of the past, and by the firesides of the Dakotas of today,
we recognize the very texture of the thought of a simple, grave, and
sincere people, living in intimate contact and friendship with the big
out-of-doors that we call Nature; a race not yet understanding all things,
not proud and boastful, but honest and childlike and fair; a simple,
sincere, and gravely thoughtful people, willing to believe that there may
be in even the everyday things of life something not yet fully understood;
a race that can, without any loss of native dignity, gravely consider the
simplest things, seeking to fathom their meaning and to learn their lesson—equally
without vain-glorious boasting and trifling cynicism; an earnest,
thoughtful, dignified, but simple and primitive people.
To the children of any race these stories can not fail to give pleasure by
their vivid imaging of the simple things and creatures of the great
out-of-doors and the epics of their doings. They will also give an
intimate insight into the mentality of an interesting race at a most
interesting stage of development, which is now fast receding into the
mists of the past.
MARIE L. McLAUGHLIN (Mrs. James McLaughlin).
McLaughlin, S. D., May 1, 1913.
THE FORGOTTEN EAR OF CORN
An Arikara woman was once gathering corn from the field to store away for
winter use. She passed from stalk to stalk, tearing off the ears and
dropping them into her folded robe. When all was gathered she started to
go, when she heard a faint voice, like a child’s, weeping and calling:
“Oh, do not leave me! Do not go away without me.”
The woman was astonished. “What child can that be?” she asked herself.
“What babe can be lost in the cornfield?”
She set down her robe in which she had tied up her corn, and went back to
search; but she found nothing.
As she started away she heard the voice again:
“Oh, do not leave me. Do not go away without me.”
She searched for a long time. At last in one corner of the field, hidden
under the leaves of the stalks, she found one little ear of corn. This it
was that had been crying, and this is why all Indian women have since
garnered their corn crop very carefully, so that the succulent food
product should not even to the last small nubbin be neglected or wasted,
and thus displease the Great Mystery.
THE LITTLE MICE
Once upon a time a prairie mouse busied herself all fall storing away a
cache of beans. Every morning she was out early with her empty cast-off
snake skin, which she filled with ground beans and dragged home with her
teeth.
The little mouse had a cousin who was fond of dancing and talk, but who
did not like to work. She was not careful to get her cache of beans and
the season was already well gone before she thought to bestir herself.
When she came to realize her need, she found she had no packing bag. So
she went to her hardworking cousin and said:
“Cousin, I have no beans stored for winter and the season is nearly gone.
But I have no snake skin to gather the beans in. Will you lend me one?”
“But why have you no packing bag? Where were you in the moon when the
snakes cast off their skins?”
“I was here.”
“What were you doing?”
“I was busy talking and dancing.”
“And now you are punished,” said the other. “It is always so with lazy,
careless people. But I will let you have the snake skin. And now go, and
by hard work and industry, try to recover your wasted time.”
THE PET RABBIT
A little girl owned a pet rabbit which she loved dearly. She carried it on
her back like a babe, made for it a little pair of moccasins, and at night
shared with it her own robe.
Now the little girl had a cousin who loved her very dearly and wished to
do her honor; so her cousin said to herself:
“I love my little cousin well and will ask her to let me carry her pet
rabbit around;” (for thus do Indian women when they wish to honor a
friend; they ask permission to carry about the friend’s babe).
She then went to the little girl and said:
“Cousin, let me carry your pet rabbit about on my back. Thus shall I show
you how I love you.”
Her mother, too, said to her: “Oh no, do not let our little grandchild go
away from our tepee.”
But the cousin answered: “Oh, do let me carry it. I do so want to show my
cousin honor.” At last they let her go away with the pet rabbit on her
back.
When the little girl’s cousin came home to her tepee, some rough boys who
were playing about began to make sport of her. To tease the little girl
they threw stones and sticks at the pet rabbit. At last a stick struck the
little rabbit upon the head and killed it.
When her pet was brought home dead, the little rabbit’s adopted mother
wept bitterly. She cut off her hair for mourning and all her little girl
friends wailed with her. Her mother, too, mourned with them.
“Alas!” they cried, “alas, for the little rabbit. He was always kind and
gentle. Now your child is dead and you will be lonesome.”
The little girl’s mother called in her little friends and made a great
mourning feast for the little rabbit. As he lay in the tepee his adopted
mother’s little friends brought many precious things and covered his body.
At the feast were given away robes and kettles and blankets and knives and
great wealth in honor of the little rabbit. Him they wrapped in a robe
with his little moccasins on and buried him in a high place upon a
scaffold.
THE PET DONKEY
There was a chief’s daughter once who had a great many relations so that
everybody knew she belonged to a great family.
When she grew up she married and there were born to her twin sons. This
caused great rejoicing in her father’s camp, and all the village women
came to see the babes. She was very happy.
As the babes grew older, their grandmother made for them two saddle bags
and brought out a donkey.
“My two grandchildren,” said the old lady, “shall ride as is becoming to
children having so many relations. Here is this donkey. He is patient and
surefooted. He shall carry the babes in the saddle bags, one on either
side of his back.”
It happened one day that the chief’s daughter and her husband were making
ready to go on a camping journey. The father, who was quite proud of his
children, brought out his finest pony, and put the saddle bags on the
pony’s back.
“There,” he said, “my sons shall ride on the pony, not on a donkey; let
the donkey carry the pots and kettles.”
So his wife loaded the donkey with the household things. She tied the
tepee poles into two great bundles, one on either side of the donkey’s
back; across them she put the travois net and threw into it the pots and
kettles and laid the skin tent across the donkey’s back.
But no sooner done than the donkey began to rear and bray and kick. He
broke the tent poles and kicked the pots and kettles into bits and tore
the skin tent. The more he was beaten the more he kicked.
At last they told the grandmother. She laughed. “Did I not tell you the
donkey was for the children,” she cried. “He knows the babies are the
chief’s children. Think you he will be dishonored with pots and kettles?”
and she fetched the children and slung them over the donkey’s back, when
he became at once quiet again.
The camping party left the village and went on their journey. But the next
day as they passed by a place overgrown with bushes, a band of enemies
rushed out, lashing their ponies and sounding their war whoop. All was
excitement. The men bent their bows and seized their lances. After a long
battle the enemy fled. But when the camping party came together again—where
were the donkey and the two babes? No one knew. For a long time they
searched, but in vain. At last they turned to go back to the village, the
father mournful, the mother wailing. When they came to the grandmother’s
tepee, there stood the good donkey with the two babes in the saddle bags.
THE RABBIT AND THE ELK
The little rabbit lived with his old grandmother, who needed a new dress.
“I will go out and trap a deer or an elk for you,” he said. “Then you
shall have a new dress.”
When he went out hunting he laid down his bow in the path while he looked
at his snares. An elk coming by saw the bow.
“I will play a joke on the rabbit,” said the elk to himself. “I will make
him think I have been caught in his bow string.” He then put one foot on
the string and lay down as if dead.
By and by the rabbit returned. When he saw the elk he was filled with joy
and ran home crying: “Grandmother, I have trapped a fine elk. You shall
have a new dress from his skin. Throw the old one in the fire!”
This the old grandmother did.
The elk now sprang to his feet laughing. “Ho, friend rabbit,” he called,
“You thought to trap me; now I have mocked you.” And he ran away into the
thicket.
The rabbit who had come back to skin the elk now ran home again.
“Grandmother, don’t throw your dress in the fire,” he cried. But it was
too late. The old dress was burned.
THE RABBIT AND THE GROUSE GIRLS
The rabbit once went out on the prairie in winter time. On the side of a
hill away from the wind he found a great company of girls all with grey
and speckled blankets over their backs. They were the grouse girls and
they were coasting down hill on a board. When the rabbit saw them, he
called out:
“Oh, maidens, that is not a good way to coast down hill. Let me get you a
fine skin with bangles on it that tinkle as you slide.” And away he ran to
the tepee and brought a skin bag. It had red stripes on it and bangles
that tinkled. “Come and get inside,” he said to the grouse girls. “Oh, no,
we are afraid,” they answered. “Don’t be afraid, I can’t hurt you. Come,
one of you,” said the rabbit. Then as each hung back he added coaxingly:
“If each is afraid alone, come all together. I can’t hurt you all.”
And so he coaxed the whole flock into the bag. This done, the rabbit
closed the mouth of the bag, slung it over his back and came home.
“Grandmother,” said he, as he came to the tepee, “here is a bag full of
game. Watch it while I go for willow sticks to make spits.”
But as soon as the rabbit had gone out of the tent, the grouse girls began
to cry out:
“Grandmother, let us out.”
“Who are you?” asked the old woman.
“Your dear grandchildren,” they answered.
“But how came you in the bag?” asked the old woman.
“Oh, our cousin was jesting with us. He coaxed us in the bag for a joke.
Please let us out.”
“Certainly, dear grandchildren, I will let you out,” said the old woman as
she untied the bag: and lo, the grouse flock with achuck-a-chuck-achuck
flew up, knocking over the old grandmother and flew out of the square
smoke opening of the winter lodge. The old woman caught only one grouse as
it flew up and held it, grasping a leg with each hand.
When the rabbit came home with the spits she called out to him:
“Grandson, come quick. They got out but I have caught two.”
When he saw what had happened he was quite angry, yet could not keep from
laughing.
“Grandmother, you have but one grouse,” he cried, “and it is a very skinny
one at that.”
THE FAITHFUL LOVERS
There once lived a chief’s daughter who had many relations. All the young
men in the village wanted to have her for wife, and were all eager to fill
her skin bucket when she went to the brook for water.
There was a young man in the village who was industrious and a good
hunter; but he was poor and of a mean family. He loved the maiden and when
she went for water, he threw his robe over her head while he whispered in
her ear:
“Be my wife. I have little but I am young and strong. I will treat you
well, for I love you.”
For a long time the maiden did not answer, but one day she whispered back.
“Yes, you may ask my father’s leave to marry me. But first you must do
something noble. I belong to a great family and have many relations. You
must go on a war party and bring back the scalp of an enemy.”
The young man answered modestly, “I will try to do as you bid me. I am
only a hunter, not a warrior. Whether I shall be brave or not I do not
know. But I will try to take a scalp for your sake.”
So he made a war party of seven, himself and six other young men. They
wandered through the enemy’s country, hoping to get a chance to strike a
blow. But none came, for they found no one of the enemy.
“Our medicine is unfavorable,” said their leader at last. “We shall have
to return home.”
Before they started they sat down to smoke and rest beside a beautiful
lake at the foot of a green knoll that rose from its shore. The knoll was
covered with green grass and somehow as they looked at it they had a
feeling that there was something about it that was mysterious or uncanny.
But there was a young man in the party named the jester, for he was
venturesome and full of fun. Gazing at the knoll he said: “Let’s run and
jump on its top.”
“No,” said the young lover, “it looks mysterious. Sit still and finish
your smoke.”
“Oh, come on, who’s afraid,” said the jester, laughing. “Come on you—come
on!” and springing to his feet he ran up the side of the knoll.
Four of the young men followed. Having reached the top of the knoll all
five began to jump and stamp about in sport, calling, “Come on, come on,”
to the others. Suddenly they stopped—the knoll had begun to move
toward the water. It was a gigantic turtle. The five men cried out in
alarm and tried to run—too late! Their feet by some power were held
fast to the monster’s back.
“Help us—drag us away,” they cried; but the others could do nothing.
In a few moments the waves had closed over them.
The other two men, the lover and his friend, went on, but with heavy
hearts, for they had forebodings of evil. After some days, they came to a
river. Worn with fatigue the lover threw himself down on the bank.
“I will sleep awhile,” he said, “for I am wearied and worn out.”
“And I will go down to the water and see if I can chance upon a dead fish.
At this time of the year the high water may have left one stranded on the
seashore,” said his friend.
And as he had said, he found a fish which he cleaned, and then called to
the lover.
“Come and eat the fish with me. I have cleaned it and made a fire and it
is now cooking.”
“No, you eat it; let me rest,” said the lover.
“Oh, come on.”
“No, let me rest.”
“But you are my friend. I will not eat unless you share it with me.”
“Very well,” said the lover, “I will eat the fish with you, but you must
first make me a promise. If I eat the fish, you must promise, pledge
yourself, to fetch me all the water that I can drink.”
“I promise,” said the other, and the two ate the fish out of their
war-kettle. For there had been but one kettle for the party.
When they had eaten, the kettle was rinsed out and the lover’s friend
brought it back full of water. This the lover drank at a draught.
“Bring me more,” he said.
Again his friend filled the kettle at the river and again the lover drank
it dry.
“More!” he cried.
“Oh, I am tired. Cannot you go to the river and drink your fill from the
stream?” asked his friend.
“Remember your promise.”
“Yes, but I am weary. Go now and drink.”
“Ek-hey, I feared it would be so. Now trouble is coming upon us,” said the
lover sadly. He walked to the river, sprang in, and lying down in the
water with his head toward land, drank greedily. By and by he called to
his friend.
“Come hither, you who have been my sworn friend. See what comes of your
broken promise.”
The friend came and was amazed to see that the lover was now a fish from
his feet to his middle.
Sick at heart he ran off a little way and threw himself upon the ground in
grief. By and by he returned. The lover was now a fish to his neck.
“Cannot I cut off the part and restore you by a sweat bath?” the friend
asked.
“No, it is too late. But tell the chief’s daughter that I loved her to the
last and that I die for her sake. Take this belt and give it to her. She
gave it to me as a pledge of her love for me,” and he being then turned to
a great fish, swam to the middle of the river and there remained, only his
great fin remaining above the water.
The friend went home and told his story. There was great mourning over the
death of the five young men, and for the lost lover. In the river the
great fish remained, its fin just above the surface, and was called by the
Indians “Fish that Bars,” because it bar’d navigation. Canoes had to be
portaged at great labor around the obstruction.
The chief’s daughter mourned for her lover as for a husband, nor would she
be comforted. “He was lost for love of me, and I shall remain as his
widow,” she wailed.
In her mother’s tepee she sat, with her head covered with her robe,
silent, working, working. “What is my daughter doing,” her mother asked.
But the maiden did not reply.
The days lengthened into moons until a year had passed. And then the
maiden arose. In her hands were beautiful articles of clothing, enough for
three men. There were three pairs of moccasins, three pairs of leggings,
three belts, three shirts, three head dresses with beautiful feathers, and
sweet smelling tobacco.
“Make a new canoe of bark,” she said, which was made for her.
Into the canoe she stepped and floated slowly down the river toward the
great fish.
“Come back my daughter,” her mother cried in agony. “Come back. The great
fish will eat you.”
She answered nothing. Her canoe came to the place where the great fin
arose and stopped, its prow grating on the monster’s back. The maiden
stepped out boldly. One by one she laid her presents on the fish’s back,
scattering the feathers and tobacco over his broad spine.
“Oh, fish,” she cried, “Oh, fish, you who were my lover, I shall not
forget you. Because you were lost for love of me, I shall never marry. All
my life I shall remain a widow. Take these presents. And now leave the
river, and let the waters run free, so my people may once more descend in
their canoes.”
She stepped into her canoe and waited. Slowly the great fish sank, his
broad fin disappeared, and the waters of the St. Croix (Stillwater) were
free.
THE ARTICHOKE AND THE MUSKRAT
On the shore of a lake stood an artichoke with its green leaves waving in
the sun. Very proud of itself it was, and well satisfied with the world.
In the lake below lived a muskrat in his tepee, and in the evening as the
sun set he would come out upon the shore and wander over the bank. One
evening he came near the place where the artichoke stood.
“Ho, friend,” he said, “you seem rather proud of yourself. Who are you?”
“I am the artichoke,” answered the other, “and I have many handsome
cousins. But who are you?”
“I am the muskrat, and I, too, belong to a large family. I live in the
water. I don’t stand all day in one place like a stone.”
“If I stand in one place all day,” retorted the artichoke, “at least I
don’t swim around in stagnant water, and build my lodge in the mud.”
“You are jealous of my fine fur,” sneered the muskrat. “I may build my
lodge in the mud, but I always have a clean coat. But you are half buried
in the ground, and when men dig you up, you are never clean.”
“And your fine coat always smells of musk,” jeered the artichoke.
“That is true,” said the muskrat. “But men think well of me, nevertheless.
They trap me for the fine sinew in my tail; and handsome young women bite
off my tail with their white teeth and make it into thread.”
“That’s nothing,” laughed the artichoke. “Handsome young warriors, painted
and splendid with feathers, dig me up, brush me off with their shapely
hands and eat me without even taking the trouble to wash me off.”
THE RABBIT AND THE BEAR WITH THE FLINT BODY
The Rabbit and his grandmother were in dire straits, because the rabbit
was out of arrows. The fall hunt would soon be on and his quiver was all
but empty. Arrow sticks he could cut in plenty, but he had nothing with
which to make arrowheads.
“You must make some flint arrowheads,” said his grandmother. “Then you
will be able to kill game.”
“Where shall I get the flint?” asked the rabbit.
“From the old bear chief,” said his old grandmother. For at that time all
the flint in the world was in the bear’s body.
So the rabbit set out for the village of the Bears. It was winter time and
the lodges of the bears were set under the shelter of a hill where the
cold wind would not blow on them and where they had shelter among the
trees and bushes.
He came at one end of the village to a hut where lived an old woman. He
pushed open the door and entered. Everybody who came for flint always
stopped there because it was the first lodge on the edge of the village.
Strangers were therefore not unusual in the old woman’s hut, and she
welcomed the rabbit. She gave him a seat and at night he lay with his feet
to the fire.
The next morning the rabbit went to the lodge of the bear chief. They sat
together awhile and smoked. At last the bear chief spoke.
“What do you want, my grandson?”
“I have come for some flint to make arrows,” answered the rabbit.
The bear chief grunted, and laid aside his pipe. Leaning back he pulled
off his robe and, sure enough, one half of his body was flesh and the
other half hard flint.
“Bring a stone hammer and give it to our guest,” he bade his wife. Then as
the rabbit took the hammer he said: “Do not strike too hard.”
“Grandfather, I shall be careful,” said the rabbit. With a stroke he
struck off a little flake of flint from the bear’s body.
“Ni-sko-ke-cha? So big?” he asked.
“Harder, grandson; strike off bigger pieces,” said the bear.
The rabbit struck a little harder.
“Ni-sko-ke-cha? So big?” he asked.
The bear grew impatient. “No, no, strike off bigger pieces. I can’t be
here all day. Tanka kaksa wo! Break off a big piece.”
The rabbit struck again—hard! “Ni-sko-ke-cha?” he cried, as the
hammer fell. But even as he spoke the bear’s body broke in two, the flesh
part fell away and only the flint part remained. Like a flash the rabbit
darted out of the hut.
There was a great outcry in the village. Openmouthed, all the bears gave
chase. But as he ran the rabbit cried: “Wa-hin-han-yo (snow, snow) Ota-po,
Ota-po—lots more, lots more,” and a great storm of snow swept down
from the sky.
The rabbit, light of foot, bounded over the top of the snow. The bears
sunk in and floundered about helpless. Seeing this, the rabbit turned back
and killed them one by one with his club. That is why we now have so few
bears.
STORY OF THE LOST WIFE
A Dakota girl married a man who promised to treat her kindly, but he did
not keep his word. He was unreasonable, fault-finding, and often beat her.
Frantic with his cruelty, she ran away. The whole village turned out to
search for her, but no trace of the missing wife was to be found.
Meanwhile, the fleeing woman had wandered about all that day and the next
night. The next day she met a man, who asked her who she was. She did not
know it, but he was not really a man, but the chief of the wolves.
“Come with me,” he said, and he led her to a large village. She was amazed
to see here many wolves—gray and black, timber wolves and coyotes.
It seemed as if all the wolves in the world were there.
The wolf chief led the young woman to a great tepee and invited her in. He
asked her what she ate for food.
“Buffalo meat,” she answered.
He called two coyotes and bade them bring what the young woman wanted.
They bounded away and soon returned with the shoulder of a fresh-killed
buffalo calf.
“How do you prepare it for eating?” asked the wolf chief.
“By boiling,” answered the young woman.
Again he called the two coyotes. Away they bounded and soon brought into
the tent a small bundle. In it were punk, flint and steel—stolen, it
may be, from some camp of men.
“How do you make the meat ready?” asked the wolf chief.
“I cut it into slices,” answered the young woman.
The coyotes were called and in a short time fetched in a knife in its
sheath. The young woman cut up the calf’s shoulder into slices and ate it.
Thus she lived for a year, all the wolves being very kind to her. At the
end of that time the wolf chief said to her:
“Your people are going off on a buffalo hunt. Tomorrow at noon they will
be here. You must then go out and meet them or they will fall on us and
kill us.”
The next day at about noon the young woman went to the top of a
neighboring knoll. Coming toward her were some young men riding on their
ponies. She stood up and held her hands so that they could see her. They
wondered who she was, and when they were close by gazed at her closely.
“A year ago we lost a young woman; if you are she, where have you been,”
they asked.
“I have been in the wolves’ village. Do not harm them,” she answered.
“We will ride back and tell the people,” they said. “Tomorrow again at
noon, we shall meet you.”
The young woman went back to the wolf village, and the next day went again
to a neighboring knoll, though to a different one. Soon she saw the camp
coming in a long line over the prairie. First were the warriors, then the
women and tents.
The young woman’s father and mother were overjoyed to see her. But when
they came near her the young woman fainted, for she could not now bear the
smell of human kind. When she came to herself she said:
“You must go on a buffalo hunt, my father and all the hunters. Tomorrow
you must come again, bringing with you the tongues and choice pieces of
the kill.”
This he promised to do; and all the men of the camp mounted their ponies
and they had a great hunt. The next day they returned with their ponies
laden with the buffalo meat. The young woman bade them pile the meat in a
great heap between two hills which she pointed out to them. There was so
much meat that the tops of the two hills were bridged level between by the
meat pile. In the center of the pile the young woman planted a pole with a
red flag. She then began to howl like a wolf, loudly.
In a moment the earth seemed covered with wolves. They fell greedily on
the meat pile and in a short time had eaten the last scrap.
The young woman then joined her own people.
Her husband wanted her to come and live with him again. For a long time
she refused. However, at last they became reconciled.
THE RACCOON AND THE CRAWFISH
Sharp and cunning is the raccoon, say the Indians, by whom he is named
Spotted Face.
A crawfish one evening wandered along a river bank, looking for something
dead to feast upon. A raccoon was also out looking for something to eat.
He spied the crawfish and formed a plan to catch him.
He lay down on the bank and feigned to be dead. By and by the crawfish
came near by. “Ho,” he thought, “here is a feast indeed; but is he really
dead. I will go near and pinch him with my claws and find out.”
So he went near and pinched the raccoon on the nose and then on his soft
paws. The raccoon never moved. The crawfish then pinched him on the ribs
and tickled him so that the raccoon could hardly keep from laughing. The
crawfish at last left him. “The raccoon is surely dead,” he thought. And
he hurried back to the crawfish village and reported his find to the
chief.
All the villagers were called to go down to the feast. The chief bade the
warriors and young men to paint their faces and dress in their gayest for
a dance.
So they marched in a long line—first the warriors, with their
weapons in hand, then the women with their babies and children—to
the place where the raccoon lay. They formed a great circle about him and
danced, singing:
“We shall have a great feast
“On the spotted-faced beast, with soft smooth paws:
“He is dead!
“He is dead!
“We shall dance!
“We shall have a good time!
“We shall feast on his flesh.”
But as they danced, the raccoon suddenly sprang to his feet.
“Who is that you say you are going to eat? He has a spotted face, has he?
He has soft, smooth paws, has he? I’ll break your ugly backs. I’ll break
your rough bones. I’ll crunch your ugly, rough paws.” And he rushed among
the crawfish, killing them by scores. The crawfish warriors fought bravely
and the women ran screaming, all to no purpose. They did not feast on the
raccoon; the raccoon feasted on them!
LEGEND OF STANDING ROCK
A Dakota had married an Arikara woman, and by her had one child. By and by
he took another wife. The first wife was jealous and pouted. When time
came for the village to break camp she refused to move from her place on
the tent floor. The tent was taken down but she sat on the ground with her
babe on her back The rest of the camp with her husband went on.
At noon her husband halted the line. “Go back to your sister-in-law,” he
said to his two brothers. “Tell her to come on and we will await you here.
But hasten, for I fear she may grow desperate and kill herself.”
The two rode off and arrived at their former camping place in the evening.
The woman still sat on the ground. The elder spoke:
“Sister-in-law, get up. We have come for you. The camp awaits you.”
She did not answer, and he put out his hand and touched her head. She had
turned to stone!
The two brothers lashed their ponies and came back to camp. They told
their story, but were not believed. “The woman has killed herself and my
brothers will not tell me,” said the husband. However, the whole village
broke camp and came back to the place where they had left the woman. Sure
enough, she sat there still, a block of stone.
The Indians were greatly excited. They chose out a handsome pony, made a
new travois and placed the stone in the carrying net. Pony and travois
were both beautifully painted and decorated with streamers and colors. The
stone was thought “wakan” (holy), and was given a place of honor in
the center of the camp. Whenever the camp moved the stone and travois were
taken along. Thus the stone woman was carried for years, and finally
brought to Standing Rock Agency, and now rests upon a brick pedestal in
front of the Agency office. From this stone Standing Rock Agency derives
its name.
STORY OF THE PEACE PIPE
Two young men were out strolling one night talking of love affairs. They
passed around a hill and came to a little ravine or coulee. Suddenly they
saw coming up from the ravine a beautiful woman. She was painted and her
dress was of the very finest material.
“What a beautiful girl!” said one of the young men. “Already I love her. I
will steal her and make her my wife.”
“No,” said the other. “Don’t harm her. She may be holy.”
The young woman approached and held out a pipe which she first offered to
the sky, then to the earth and then advanced, holding it out in her
extended hands.
“I know what you young men have been saying; one of you is good; the other
is wicked,” she said.
She laid down the pipe on the ground and at once became a buffalo cow. The
cow pawed the ground, stuck her tail straight out behind her and then
lifted the pipe from the ground again in her hoofs; immediately she became
a young woman again.
“I am come to give you this gift,” she said. “It is the peace pipe.
Hereafter all treaties and ceremonies shall be performed after smoking it.
It shall bring peaceful thoughts into your minds. You shall offer it to
the Great Mystery and to mother earth.”
The two young men ran to the village and told what they had seen and
heard. All the village came out where the young woman was.
She repeated to them what she had already told the young men and added:
“When you set free the ghost (the spirit of deceased persons) you must
have a white buffalo cow skin.”
She gave the pipe to the medicine men of the village, turned again to a
buffalo cow and fled away to the land of buffaloes.
A BASHFUL COURTSHIP
A young man lived with his grandmother. He was a good hunter and wished to
marry. He knew a girl who was a good moccasin maker, but she belonged to a
great family. He wondered how he could win her.
One day she passed the tent on her way to get water at the river. His
grandmother was at work in the tepee with a pair of old worn-out sloppy
moccasins. The young man sprang to his feet. “Quick, grandmother—let
me have those old sloppy moccasins you have on your feet!” he cried.
“My old moccasins, what do you want of them?” cried the astonished woman.
“Never mind! Quick! I can’t stop to talk,” answered the grandson as he
caught up the old moccasins the old lady had doffed, and put them on. He
threw a robe over his shoulders, slipped through the door, and hastened to
the watering place. The girl had just arrived with her bucket.
“Let me fill your bucket for you,” said the young man.
“Oh, no, I can do it.”
“Oh, let me, I can go in the mud. You surely don’t want to soil your
moccasins,” and taking the bucket he slipped in the mud, taking care to
push his sloppy old moccasins out so the girl could see them. She giggled
outright.
“My, what old moccasins you have,” she cried.
“Yes, I have nobody to make me a new pair,” he answered.
“Why don’t you get your grandmother to make you a new pair?”
“She’s old and blind and can’t make them any longer. That’s why I want
you,” he answered.
“Oh, you’re fooling me. You aren’t speaking the truth.”
“Yes, I am. If you don’t believe—come with me now!”
The girl looked down; so did the youth. At last he said softly:
“Well, which is it? Shall I take up your bucket, or will you go with me?”
And she answered, still more softly: “I guess I’ll go with you!”
The girl’s aunt came down to the river, wondering what kept her niece so
long. In the mud she found two pairs of moccasin tracks close together; at
the edge of the water stood an empty keg.
THE SIMPLETON’S WISDOM
There was a man and his wife who had one daughter. Mother and daughter
were deeply attached to one another, and when the latter died the mother
was disconsolate. She cut off her hair, cut gashes in her cheeks and sat
before the corpse with her robe drawn over her head, mourning for her
dead. Nor would she let them touch the body to take it to a burying
scaffold. She had a knife in her hand, and if anyone offered to come near
the body the mother would wail:
“I am weary of life. I do not care to live. I will stab myself with this
knife and join my daughter in the land of spirits.”
Her husband and relatives tried to get the knife from her, but could not.
They feared to use force lest she kill herself. They came together to see
what they could do.
“We must get the knife away from her,” they said.
At last they called a boy, a kind of simpleton, yet with a good deal of
natural shrewdness. He was an orphan and very poor. His moccasins were out
at the sole and he was dressed in wei-zi (coarse buffalo skin, smoked).
“Go to the tepee of the mourning mother,” they told the simpleton, “and in
some way contrive to make her laugh and forget her grief. Then try to get
the knife away from her.”
The boy went to the tent and sat down at the door as if waiting to be
given something. The corpse lay in the place of honor where the dead girl
had slept in life. The body was wrapped in a rich robe and wrapped about
with ropes. Friends had covered it with rich offerings out of respect to
the dead.
As the mother sat on the ground with her head covered she did not at first
see the boy, who sat silent. But when his reserve had worn away a little
he began at first lightly, then more heavily, to drum on the floor with
his hands. After a while he began to sing a comic song. Louder and louder
he sang until carried away with his own singing he sprang up and began to
dance, at the same time gesturing and making all manner of contortions
with his body, still singing the comic song. As he approached the corpse
he waved his hands over it in blessing. The mother put her head out of the
blanket and when she saw the poor simpleton with his strange grimaces
trying to do honor to the corpse by his solemn waving, and at the same
time keeping up his comic song, she burst out laughing. Then she reached
over and handed her knife to the simpleton.
“Take this knife,” she said. “You have taught me to forget my grief. If
while I mourn for the dead I can still be mirthful, there is no reason for
me to despair. I no longer care to die. I will live for my husband.”
The simpleton left the tepee and brought the knife to the astonished
husband and relatives.
“How did you get it? Did you force it away from her, or did you steal it?”
they said.
“She gave it to me. How could I force it from her or steal it when she
held it in her hand, blade uppermost? I sang and danced for her and she
burst out laughing. Then she gave it to me,” he answered.
When the old men of the village heard the orphan’s story they were very
silent. It was a strange thing for a lad to dance in a tepee where there
was mourning. It was stranger that a mother should laugh in a tepee before
the corpse of her dead daughter. The old men gathered at last in a
council. They sat a long time without saying anything, for they did not
want to decide hastily. The pipe was filled and passed many times. At last
an old man spoke.
“We have a hard question. A mother has laughed before the corpse of her
daughter, and many think she has done foolishly, but I think the woman did
wisely. The lad was simple and of no training, and we cannot expect him to
know how to do as well as one with good home and parents to teach him.
Besides, he did the best that he knew. He danced to make the mother forget
her grief, and he tried to honor the corpse by waving over it his hands.”
“The mother did right to laugh, for when one does try to do us good, even
if what he does causes us discomfort, we should always remember rather the
motive than the deed. And besides, the simpleton’s dancing saved the
woman’s life, for she gave up her knife. In this, too, she did well, for
it is always better to live for the living than to die for the dead.”
A LITTLE BRAVE AND THE MEDICINE WOMAN
A village of Indians moved out of winter camp and pitched their tents in a
circle on high land overlooking a lake. A little way down the declivity
was a grave. Choke cherries had grown up, hiding the grave from view. But
as the ground had sunk somewhat, the grave was marked by a slight hollow.
One of the villagers going out to hunt took a short cut through the choke
cherry bushes. As he pushed them aside he saw the hollow grave, but
thought it was a washout made by the rains. But as he essayed to step over
it, to his great surprise he stumbled and fell. Made curious by his
mishap, he drew back and tried again; but again he fell. When he came back
to the village he told the old men what had happened to him. They
remembered then that a long time before there had been buried there a
medicine woman or conjurer. Doubtless it was her medicine that made him
stumble.
The story of the villager’s adventure spread thru the camp and made many
curious to see the grave. Among others were six little boys who were,
however, rather timid, for they were in great awe of the dead medicine
woman. But they had a little playmate named Brave, a mischievous little
rogue, whose hair was always unkempt and tossed about and who was never
quiet for a moment.
“Let us ask Brave to go with us,” they said; and they went in a body to
see him.
“All right,” said Brave; “I will go with you. But I have something to do
first. You go on around the hill that way, and I will hasten around
this way, and meet you a little later near the grave.”
So the six little boys went on as bidden until they came to a place near
the grave. There they halted.
“Where is Brave?” they asked.
Now Brave, full of mischief, had thought to play a jest on his little
friends. As soon as they were well out of sight he had sped around the
hill to the shore of the lake and sticking his hands in the mud had rubbed
it over his face, plastered it in his hair, and soiled his hands until he
looked like a new risen corpse with the flesh rotting from his bones. He
then went and lay down in the grave and awaited the boys.
When the six little boys came they were more timid than ever when they did
not find Brave; but they feared to go back to the village without seeing
the grave, for fear the old men would call them cowards.
So they slowly approached the grave and one of them timidly called out:
“Please, grandmother, we won’t disturb your grave. We only want to see
where you lie. Don’t be angry.”
At once a thin quavering voice, like an old woman’s, called out:
“Han, han, takoja, hechetuya, hechetuya! Yes, yes, that’s right, that’s
right.”
The boys were frightened out of their senses, believing the old woman had
come to life.
“Oh, grandmother,” they gasped, “don’t hurt us; please don’t, we’ll go.”
Just then Brave raised his muddy face and hands up thru the choke cherry
bushes. With the oozy mud dripping from his features he looked like some
very witch just raised from the grave. The boys screamed outright. One
fainted. The rest ran yelling up the hill to the village, where each broke
at once for his mother’s tepee.
As all the tents in a Dakota camping circle face the center, the boys as
they came tearing into camp were in plain view from the tepees. Hearing
the screaming, every woman in camp ran to her tepee door to see what had
happened. Just then little Brave, as badly scared as the rest, came
rushing in after them, his hair on end and covered with mud and crying
out, all forgetful of his appearance:
“It’s me, it’s me!”
The women yelped and bolted in terror from the village. Brave dashed into
his mother’s tepee, scaring her out of her wits. Dropping pots and
kettles, she tumbled out of the tent to run screaming with the rest. Nor
would a single villager come near poor little Brave until he had gone down
to the lake and washed himself.
THE BOUND CHILDREN
There once lived a widow with two children—the elder a daughter and
the younger a son. The widow went in mourning for her husband a long time.
She cut off her hair, let her dress lie untidy on her body and kept her
face unpainted and unwashed.
There lived in the same village a great chief. He had one son just come
old enough to marry. The chief had it known that he wished his son to take
a wife, and all of the young women in the village were eager to marry the
young man. However, he was pleased with none of them.
Now the widow thought, “I am tired of mourning for my husband and caring
for my children. Perhaps if I lay aside my mourning and paint myself red,
the chief’s son may marry me.”
So she slipped away from her two children, stole down to the river and
made a bathing place thru the ice. When she had washed away all signs of
mourning, she painted and decked herself and went to the chief’s tepee.
When his son saw her, he loved her, and a feast was made in honor of her
wedding.
When the widow’s daughter found herself forsaken, she wept bitterly. After
a day or two she took her little brother in her arms and went to the tepee
of an old woman who lived at one end of the village. The old woman’s
tumble down tepee was of bark and her dress and clothing was of old
smoke-dried tent cover. But she was kind to the two waifs and took them in
willingly.
The little girl was eager to find her mother. The old woman said to her:
“I suspect your mother has painted her face red. Do not try to find her.
If the chief’s son marries her she will not want to be burdened with you.”
The old woman was right. The girl went down to the river, and sure enough
found a hole cut in the ice and about it lay the filth that the mother had
washed from her body. The girl gathered up the filth and went on. By and
by she came to a second hole in the ice. Here too was filth, but not so
much as at the previous place. At the third hole the ice was clean.
The girl knew now that her mother had painted her face red. She went at
once to the chief’s tepee, raised the door flap and went in. There sat her
mother with the chief’s son at their wedding feast.
The girl walked up to her mother and hurled the filth in her mother’s
face.
“There,” she cried, “you who forsake your helpless children and forget
your husband, take that!”
And at once her mother became a hideous old woman.
The girl then went back to the lodge of the old woman, leaving the camp in
an uproar. The chief soon sent some young warriors to seize the girl and
her brother, and they were brought to his tent. He was furious with anger.
“Let the children be bound with lariats wrapped about their bodies and let
them be left to starve. Our camp will move on,” he said. The chief’s son
did not put away his wife, hoping she might be cured in some way and grow
young again.
Everybody in camp now got ready to move; but the old woman came close to
the girl and said:
“In my old tepee I have dug a hole and buried a pot with punk and steel
and flint and packs of dried meat. They will tie you up like a corpse. But
before we go I will come with a knife and pretend to stab you, but I will
really cut the rope that binds you so that you can unwind it from your
body as soon as the camp is out of sight and hearing.”
And so, before the camp started, the old woman came to the place where the
two children were bound. She had in her hand a knife bound to the end of a
stick which she used as a lance. She stood over the children and cried
aloud:
“You wicked girl, who have shamed your own mother, you deserve all the
punishment that is given you. But after all I do not want to let you lie
and starve. Far better kill you at once and have done with it!” and with
her stick she stabbed many times, as if to kill, but she was really
cutting the rope.
The camp moved on; but the children lay on the ground until noon the next
day. Then they began to squirm about. Soon the girl was free, and she then
set loose her little brother. They went at once to the old woman’s hut
where they found the flint and steel and the packs of dried meat.
The girl made her brother a bow and arrows and with these he killed birds
and other small game.
The boy grew up a great hunter. They became rich. They built three great
tepees, in one of which were stored rows upon rows of parfleche bags of
dried meat.
One day as the brother went out to hunt, he met a handsome young stranger
who greeted him and said to him:
“I know you are a good hunter, for I have been watching you; your sister,
too, is industrious. Let me have her for a wife. Then you and I will be
brothers and hunt together.”
The girl’s brother went home and told her what the young stranger had
said.
“Brother, I do not care to marry,” she answered. “I am now happy with
you.”
“But you will be yet happier married,” he answered, “and the young
stranger is of no mean family, as one can see by his dress and manners.”
“Very well, I will do as you wish,” she said. So the stranger came into
the tepee and was the girl’s husband.
One day as they were in their tent, a crow flew overhead, calling out
loudly,
“They who forsook the children have no meat.”
The girl and her husband and brother looked up at one another.
“What can it mean?” they asked. “Let us send for Unktomi (the spider). He
is a good judge and he will know.”
“And I will get ready a good dinner for him, for Unktomi is always
hungry,” added the young wife.
When Unktomi came, his yellow mouth opened with delight at the fine feast
spread for him. After he had eaten he was told what the crow had said.
“The crow means,” said Unktomi, “that the villagers and chief who bound
and deserted you are in sad plight. They have hardly anything to eat and
are starving.”
When the girl heard this she made a bundle of choicest meat and called the
crow.
“Take this to the starving villagers,” she bade him.
He took the bundle in his beak, flew away to the starving village and
dropped the bundle before the chief’s tepee. The chief came out and the
crow called loudly:
“Kaw, Kaw!
“The children who were forsaken have much meat; those who forsook them
have none.”
“What can he mean,” cried the astonished villagers.
“Let us send for Unktomi,” said one, “he is a great judge; he will tell
us.”
They divided the bundle of meat among the starving people, saving the
biggest piece for Unktomi.
When Unktomi had come and eaten, the villagers told him of the crow and
asked what the bird’s words meant.
“He means,” said Unktomi, “that the two children whom you forsook have
tepees full of dried meat enough for all the village.”
The villagers were filled with astonishment at this news. To find whether
or not it was true, the chief called seven young men and sent them out to
see. They came to the three tepees and there met the girl’s brother and
husband just going out to hunt (which they did now only for sport).
The girl’s brother invited the seven young men into the third or sacred
lodge, and after they had smoked a pipe and knocked out the ashes on a
buffalo bone the brother gave them meat to eat, which the seven devoured
greedily. The next day he loaded all seven with packs of meat, saying:
“Take this meat to the villagers and lead them hither.”
While they awaited the return of the young men with the villagers, the
girl made two bundles of meat, one of the best and choicest pieces, and
the other of liver, very dry and hard to eat. After a few days the camp
arrived. The young woman’s mother opened the door and ran in crying: “Oh,
my dear daughter, how glad I am to see you.” But the daughter received her
coldly and gave her the bundle of dried liver to eat. But when the old
woman who had saved the children’s lives came in, the young girl received
her gladly, called her grandmother, and gave her the package of choice
meat with marrow.
Then the whole village camped and ate of the stores of meat all the winter
until spring came; and withal they were so many, there was such abundance
of stores that there was still much left.
THE SIGNS OF CORN
When corn is to be planted by the Indians, it is the work of the women
folk to see to the sorting and cleaning of the best seed. It is also the
women’s work to see to the planting. (This was in olden times.)
After the best seed has been selected, the planter measures the corn, lays
down a layer of hay, then a layer of corn. Over this corn they sprinkle
warm water and cover it with another layer of hay, then bind hay about the
bundle and hang it up in a spot where the warm rays of the sun can strike
it.
While the corn is hanging in the sun, the ground is being prepared to
receive it. Having finished the task of preparing the ground, the woman
takes down her seed corn which has by this time sprouted. Then she
proceeds to plant the corn.
Before she plants the first hill, she extends her hoe heavenwards and asks
the Great Spirit to bless her work, that she may have a good yield. After
her prayer she takes four kernels and plants one at the north, one at the
south, one at the east and one at the west sides of the first hill. This
is asking the Great Spirit to give summer rain and sunshine to bring forth
a good crop.
For different growths of the corn, the women have an interpretation as to
the character of the one who planted it.
1st. Where the corn grows in straight rows and the cob is full of kernels
to the end, this signifies that the planter of this corn is of an
exemplary character, and is very truthful and thoughtful.
2nd. If the rows on the ears of corn are irregular and broken, the planter
is considered careless and unthoughtful. Also disorderly and slovenly
about her house and person.
3rd. When an ear of corn bears a few scattering kernels with spaces
producing no corn, it is said that is a good sign that the planter will
live to a ripe old age. So old will they be that like the corn, their
teeth will be few and far between.
4th. When a stalk bears a great many nubbins, or small ears growing around
the large one, it is a sign that the planter is from a large and
respectable family.
After the corn is gathered, it is boiled into sweet corn and made into
hominy; parched and mixed with buffalo tallow and rolled into round balls,
and used at feasts, or carried by the warriors on the warpath as food.
When there has been a good crop of corn, an ear is always tied at the top
of the medicine pole, of the sun dance, in thanks to the Great Spirit for
his goodness to them in sending a bountiful crop.
STORY OF THE RABBITS
The Rabbit nation were very much depressed in spirits on account of being
run over by all other nations. They, being very obedient to their chief,
obeyed all his orders to the letter. One of his orders was, that upon the
approach of any other nation that they should follow the example of their
chief and run up among the rocks and down into their burrows, and not show
themselves until the strangers had passed.
This they always did. Even the chirp of a little cricket would send them
all scampering to their dens.
One day they held a great council, and after talking over everything for
some time, finally left it to their medicine man to decide. The medicine
man arose and said:
“My friends, we are of no use on this earth. There isn’t a nation on earth
that fears us, and we are so timid that we cannot defend ourselves, so the
best thing for us to do is to rid the earth of our nation, by all going
over to the big lake and drowning ourselves.”
This they decided to do; so going to the lake they were about to jump in,
when they heard a splashing in the water. Looking, they saw a lot of frogs
jumping into the lake.
“We will not drown ourselves,” said the medicine man, “we have found a
nation who are afraid of us. It is the frog nation.” Had it not been for
the frogs we would have had no rabbits, as the whole nation would have
drowned themselves and the rabbit race would have been extinct.
HOW THE RABBIT LOST HIS TAIL
Once upon a time there were two brothers, one a great Genie and the other
a rabbit. Like all genie, the older could change himself into any kind of
an animal, bird, fish, cloud, thunder and lightning, or in fact anything
that he desired.
The younger brother (the rabbit) was very mischievous and was continually
getting into all kinds of trouble. His older brother was kept busy getting
Rabbit out of all kinds of scrapes.
When Rabbit had attained his full growth he wanted to travel around and
see something of the world. When he told his brother what he intended to
do, the brother said: “Now, Rabbit, you are Witkotko (mischievous), so be
very careful, and keep out of trouble as much as possible. In case you get
into any serious trouble, and can’t get out by yourself, just call on me
for assistance, and no matter where you are, I will come to you.”
Rabbit started out and the first day he came to a very high house, outside
of which stood a very high pine tree. So high was the tree that Rabbit
could hardly see the top. Outside the door, on an enormous stool, sat a
very large giant fast asleep. Rabbit (having his bow and arrows with him)
strung up his bow, and, taking an arrow from his quiver, said:
“I want to see how big this man is, so I guess I will wake him up.” So
saying he moved over to one side and took good aim, and shot the giant
upon the nose. This stung like fire and awoke the giant, who jumped up,
crying: “Who had the audacity to shoot me on the nose?” “I did,” said
Rabbit.
The giant, hearing a voice, looked all around, but saw nothing, until he
looked down at the corner of the house, and there sat a rabbit.
“I had hiccoughs this morning and thought that I was going to have a good
big meal, and here is nothing but a toothful.”
“I guess you won’t make a toothful of me,” said Rabbit, “I am as strong as
you, though I am little.” “We will see,” said the giant. He went into the
house and came out, bringing a hammer that weighed many tons.
“Now, Mr. Rabbit, we will see who can throw this hammer over the top of
that tree.” “Get something harder to do,” said Rabbit.
“Well, we will try this first,” said the giant. With that he grasped the
hammer in both hands, swung it three times around his head and sent it
spinning thru the air. Up, up, it went, skimming the top of the tree, and
came down, shaking the ground and burying itself deep into the earth.
“Now,” said the giant, “if you don’t accomplish this same feat, I am going
to swallow you at one mouthful.” Rabbit said, “I always sing to my brother
before I attempt things like this.” So he commenced singing and calling
his brother. “Cinye! Cinye!” (brother, brother) he sang. The giant grew
nervous, and said: “Boy, why do you call your brother?”
Pointing to a small black cloud that was approaching very swiftly, Rabbit
said: “That is my brother; he can destroy you, your house, and pine tree
in one breath.”
“Stop him and you can go free,” said the giant. Rabbit waved his paws and
the cloud disappeared.
From this place Rabbit continued on his trip towards the west. The next
day, while passing thru a deep forest, he thought he heard some one
moaning, as though in pain. He stopped and listened; soon the wind blew
and the moaning grew louder. Following the direction from whence came the
sound, he soon discovered a man stripped of his clothing, and caught
between two limbs of a tall elm tree. When the wind blew the limbs would
rub together and squeeze the man, who would give forth the mournful
groans.
“My, you have a fine place up there. Let us change. You can come down and
I will take your place.” (Now this man had been placed up there for
punishment, by Rabbit’s brother, and he could not get down unless some one
came along and proposed to take his place on the tree). “Very well,” said
the man. “Take off your clothes and come up. I will fasten you in the
limbs and you can have all the fun you want.”
Rabbit disrobed and climbed up. The man placed him between the limbs and
slid down the tree. He hurriedly got into Rabbit’s clothes, and just as he
had completed his toilet, the wind blew very hard. Rabbit was nearly crazy
with pain, and screamed and cried. Then he began to cry “Cinye, Cinye”
(brother, brother). “Call your brother as much as you like, he can never
find me.” So saying the man disappeared in the forest.
Scarcely had he disappeared, when the brother arrived, and seeing Rabbit
in the tree, said: “Which way did he go?” Rabbit pointed the direction
taken by the man. The brother flew over the top of the trees, soon found
the man and brought him back, making him take his old place between the
limbs, and causing a heavy wind to blow and continue all afternoon and
night, for punishment to the man for having placed his brother up there.
After Rabbit got his clothes back on, his brother gave him a good
scolding, and wound up by saying: “I want you to be more careful in the
future. I have plenty of work to keep me as busy as I want to be, and I
can’t be stopping every little while to be making trips to get you out of
some foolish scrape. It was only yesterday that I came five hundred miles
to help you from the giant, and today I have had to come a thousand miles,
so be more careful from this on.”
Several days after this the Rabbit was traveling along the banks of a
small river, when he came to a small clearing in the woods, and in the
center of the clearing stood a nice little log hut. Rabbit was wondering
who could be living here when the door slowly opened and an old man
appeared in the doorway, bearing a tripe water pail in his right hand. In
his left hand he held a string which was fastened to the inside of the
house. He kept hold of the string and came slowly down to the river. When
he got to the water he stooped down and dipped the pail into it and
returned to the house, still holding the string for guidance.
Soon he reappeared holding on to another string, and, following this one,
went to a large pile of wood and returned to the house with it. Rabbit
wanted to see if the old man would come out again, but he came out no
more. Seeing smoke ascending from the mud chimney, he thought he would go
over and see what the old man was doing. He knocked at the door, and a
weak voice bade him enter. He noticed that the old man was cooking dinner.
“Hello Tunkasina (grandfather), you must have a nice time, living here
alone. I see that you have everything handy. You can get wood and water,
and that is all you have to do. How do you get your provisions?”
“The wolves bring my meat, the mice my rice and ground beans, and the
birds bring me the cherry leaves for my tea. Yet it is a hard life, as I
am all alone most of the time and have no one to talk to, and besides, I
am blind.”
“Say, grandfather,” said Rabbit, “let us change places. I think I would
like to live here.”
“If we exchange clothes,” said the other, “you will become old and blind,
while I will assume your youth and good looks.” (Now, this old man was
placed here for punishment by Rabbit’s brother. He had killed his wife, so
the genie made him old and blind, and he would remain so until some one
came who would exchange places with him).
“I don’t care for youth and good looks,” said Rabbit, “let us make the
change.”
They changed clothes, and Rabbit became old and blind, whilst the old man
became young and handsome.
“Well, I must go,” said the man. He went out and cutting the strings close
to the door, ran off laughing. “You will get enough of your living alone,
you crazy boy,” and saying this he ran into the woods.
Rabbit thought he would like to get some fresh water and try the string
paths so that he would get accustomed to it. He bumped around the room and
finally found the tripe water bucket. He took hold of the string and
started out. When he had gotten a short distance from the door he came to
the end of the string so suddenly, that he lost the end which he had in
his hand, and he wandered about, bumping against the trees, and tangling
himself up in plum bushes and thorns, scratching his face and hands so
badly that the blood ran from them. Then it was that he commenced again to
cry, “Cinye! Cinye!” (brother, brother). Soon his brother arrived, and
asked which way the old man had gone.
“I don’t know,” said Rabbit, “I couldn’t see which path he took, as I was
blind.”
The genie called the birds, and they came flying from every direction. As
fast as they arrived the brother asked them if they had seen the man whom
he had placed here for punishment, but none had seen him. The owl came
last, and when asked if he had seen the man, he said “hoo-hoo.” “The man
who lived here,” said the brother. “Last night I was hunting mice in the
woods south of here and I saw a man sleeping beneath a plum tree. I
thought it was your brother, Rabbit, so I didn’t awaken him,” said the
owl.
“Good for you, owl,” said the brother, “for this good news, you shall
hereafter roam around only at night, and I will fix your eyes, so the
darker the night the better you will be able to see. You will always have
the fine cool nights to hunt your food. You other birds can hunt your food
during the hot daylight.” (Since then the owl has been the night bird).
The brother flew to the woods and brought the man back and cut the strings
short, and said to him: “Now you can get a taste of what you gave my
brother.”
To Rabbit he said: “I ought not to have helped you this time. Any one who
is so crazy as to change places with a blind man should be left without
help, so be careful, as I am getting tired of your foolishness, and will
not help you again if you do anything as foolish as you did this time.”
Rabbit started to return to his home. When he had nearly completed his
journey he came to a little creek, and being thirsty took a good long
drink. While he was drinking he heard a noise as though a wolf or cat was
scratching the earth. Looking up to a hill which overhung the creek, he
saw four wolves, with their tails intertwined, pulling with all their
might. As Rabbit came up to them one pulled loose, and Rabbit saw that his
tail was broken.
“Let me pull tails with you. My tail is long and strong,” said Rabbit, and
the wolves assenting, Rabbit interlocked his long tail with those of the
three wolves and commenced pulling and the wolves pulled so hard that they
pulled Rabbit’s tail off at the second joint. The wolves disappeared.
“Cinye! Cinye! (Brother, brother.) I have lost my tail,” cried Rabbit. The
genie came and seeing his brother Rabbit’s tail missing, said: “You look
better without a tail anyway.”
From that time on rabbits have had no tails.
UNKTOMI AND THE ARROWHEADS
There were once upon a time two young men who were very great friends, and
were constantly together. One was a very thoughtful young man, the other
very impulsive, who never stopped to think before he committed an act.
One day these two friends were walking along, telling each other of their
experiences in love making. They ascended a high hill, and on reaching the
top, heard a ticking noise as if small stones or pebbles were being struck
together.
Looking around they discovered a large spider sitting in the midst of a
great many flint arrowheads. The spider was busily engaged making the
flint rocks into arrow heads. They looked at the spider, but he never
moved, but continued hammering away on a piece of flint which he had
nearly completed into another arrowhead.
“Let’s hit him,” said the thoughtless one. “No,” said the other, “he is
not harming any one; in fact, he is doing a great good, as he is making
the flint arrowheads which we use to point our arrows.”
“Oh, you are afraid,” said the first young man. “He can’t harm you, just
watch me hit him.” So saying, he picked up an arrowhead and throwing it at
“Unktomi,” hit him on the side. As Unktomi rolled over on his side, got up
and stood looking at them, the young man laughed and said: “Well, let us
be going, as your grandfather, “Unktomi,” doesn’t seem to like our
company.” They started down the hill, when suddenly the one who had hit
Unktomi took a severe fit of coughing. He coughed and coughed, and finally
small particles of blood came from his mouth. The blood kept coming
thicker and in great gushes. Finally it came so thick and fast that the
man could not get his breath and fell upon the ground dead.
The thoughtful young man, seeing that his friend was no more, hurried to
the village and reported what had happened. The relatives and friends
hurried to the hill, and sure enough, there lay the thoughtless young man
still and cold in death. They held a council and sent for the chief of the
Unktomi tribe. When he heard what had happened, he told the council that
he could do nothing to his Unktomi, as it had only defended itself.
Said he: “My friends, seeing that your tribe was running short of
arrowheads, I set a great many of my tribe to work making flint arrowheads
for you. When my men are thus engaged they do not wish to be disturbed,
and your young man not only disturbed my man, but grossly insulted him by
striking him with one of the arrowheads which he had worked so hard to
make. My man could not sit and take this insult, so as the young man
walked away the Unktomi shot him with a very tiny arrowhead. This produced
a hemorrhage, which caused his death. So now, my friends, if you will fill
and pass the peace pipe, we will part good friends and my tribe shall
always furnish you with plenty of flint arrowheads.” So saying, Unktomi
Tanka finished his peace smoke and returned to his tribe.
Ever after that, when the Indians heard a ticking in the grass, they would
go out of their way to get around the sound, saying, Unktomi is making
arrowheads; we must not disturb him.
Thus it was that Unktomi Tanka (Big Spider) had the respect of this tribe,
and was never after disturbed in his work of making arrowheads.
THE BEAR AND THE RABBIT HUNT BUFFALO
Once upon a time there lived as neighbors, a bear and a rabbit. The rabbit
was a good shot, and the bear being very clumsy could not use the arrow to
good advantage. The bear was very unkind to the rabbit. Every morning, the
bear would call over to the rabbit and say: “Take your bow and arrows and
come with me to the other side of the hill. A large herd of buffalo are
grazing there, and I want you to shoot some of them for me, as my children
are crying for meat.”
The rabbit, fearing to arouse the bear’s anger by refusing, consented, and
went with the bear, and shot enough buffalo to satisfy the hungry family.
Indeed, he shot and killed so many that there was lots of meat left after
the bear and his family had loaded themselves, and packed all they could
carry home. The bear being very gluttonous, and not wanting the rabbit to
get any of the meat, said: “Rabbit, you come along home with us and we
will return and get the remainder of the meat.”
The poor rabbit could not even taste the blood from the butchering, as the
bear would throw earth on the blood and dry it up. Poor Rabbit would have
to go home hungry after his hard day’s work.
The bear was the father of five children. The youngest boy was very kind
to the rabbit. The mother bear, knowing that her youngest was a very
hearty eater, always gave him an extra large piece of meat. What the baby
bear did not eat, he would take outside with him and pretend to play ball
with it, kicking it toward the rabbit’s house, and when he got close to
the door he would give the meat such a great kick, that it would fly into
the rabbit’s house, and in this way poor Rabbit would get his meal unknown
to the papa bear.
Baby bear never forgot his friend Rabbit. Papa bear often wondered why his
baby would go outside after each meal. He grew suspicious and asked the
baby where he had been. “Oh, I always play ball outside, around the house,
and when I get tired playing I eat up my meat ball and then come in.”
The baby bear was too cunning to let papa bear know that he was keeping
his friend rabbit from starving to death. Nevertheless, papa bear
suspected baby and said: “Baby, I think you go over to the rabbit’s after
every meal.”
The four older brothers were very handsome, but baby bear was a little
puny fellow, whose coat couldn’t keep out much cold, as it was short and
shaggy, and of a dirty brown color. The three older brothers were very
unkind to baby bear, but the fourth one always took baby’s part, and was
always kind to his baby brother.
Rabbit was getting tired of being ordered and bullied around by papa bear.
He puzzled his brain to scheme some way of getting even with Mr. Bear for
abusing him so much. He studied all night long, but no scheme worth trying
presented itself. Early one morning Mr. Bear presented himself at Rabbit’s
door.
“Say, Rabbit, my meat is all used up, and there is a fine herd of buffalo
grazing on the hillside. Get your bow and arrows and come with me. I want
you to shoot some of them for me.”
“Very well,” said Rabbit, and he went and killed six buffalo for Bear.
Bear got busy butchering and poor Rabbit, thinking he would get a chance
to lick up one mouthful of blood, stayed very close to the bear while he
was cutting up the meat. The bear was very watchful lest the rabbit get
something to eat. Despite bear’s watchfulness, a small clot of blood
rolled past and behind the bear’s feet. At once Rabbit seized the clot and
hid it in his bosom. By the time Rabbit got home, the blood clot was
hardened from the warmth of his body, so, being hungry, it put Mr. Rabbit
out of sorts to think that after all his trouble he could not eat the
blood.
Very badly disappointed, he lay down on his floor and gazed up into the
chimney hole. Disgusted with the way things had turned out, he grabbed up
the blood clot and threw it up through the hole. Scarcely had it hit the
ground when he heard the voice of a baby crying, “Ate! Ate!” (father,
father). He went outside and there he found a big baby boy. He took the
baby into his house and threw him out through the hole again. This time
the boy was large enough to say “Ate, Ate, he-cun-sin-lo.” (Father,
father, don’t do that). But nevertheless, he threw him up and out again.
On going out the third time, there stood a handsome youth smiling at him.
Rabbit at once adopted the youth and took him into his house, seating him
in the seat of honor (which is directly opposite the entrance), and
saying: “My son, I want you to be a good, honest, straightforward man.
Now, I have in my possession a fine outfit, and you, my son, shall wear
it.”
Suiting his action to his words, he drew out a bag from a hollow tree and
on opening it, drew out a fine buckskin shirt (tanned white as snow),
worked with porcupine quills. Also a pair of red leggings worked with
beads. Moccasins worked with colored hair. A fine otter skin robe. White
weasel skins to intertwine with his beautiful long black locks. A
magnificent center eagle feather. A rawhide covered bow, accompanied by a
quiver full of flint arrowheads.
The rabbit, having dressed his son in all the latest finery, sat back and
gazed long and lovingly at his handsome son. Instinctively Rabbit felt
that his son had been sent him for the purpose of being instrumental in
the downfall of Mr. Bear. Events will show.
The morning following the arrival of Rabbit’s son, Mr. Bear again presents
himself at the door, crying out: “You lazy, ugly rabbit, get up and come
out here. I want you to shoot some more buffalo for me.”
“Who is this, who speaks so insultingly to you, father?” asked the son.
“It is a bear who lives near here, and makes me kill buffalo for his
family, and he won’t let me take even one little drop of blood from the
killing, and consequently, my son, I have nothing in my house for you to
eat.”
The young man was anxious to meet Mr. Bear but Rabbit advised him to wait
a little until he and Bear had gone to the hunt. So the son obeyed, and
when he thought it time that the killing was done, he started out and
arrived on the scene just as Mr. Bear was about to proceed with his
butchering.
Seeing a strange shadow on the ground beside him, Mr. Bear looked up and
gazed into the fearless eyes of rabbit’s handsome son.
“Who is this?” asked Mr. Bear of poor little Rabbit.
“I don’t know,” answered Rabbit.
“Who are you?” asked the bear of Rabbit’s son. “Where did you come from?”
The rabbit’s son not replying, the bear spoke thus to him: “Get out of
here, and get out quick, too.”
At this speech the rabbit’s son became angered, and fastened an arrow to
his bow and drove the arrow through the bear’s heart. Then he turned on
Mrs. Bear and served her likewise. During the melee, Rabbit shouted: “My
son, my son, don’t kill the two youngest. The baby has kept me from
starving and the other one is good and kind to his baby brother.”
So the three older brothers who were unkind to their baby brother met a
similar fate to that of their selfish parents.
This (the story goes) is the reason that bears travel only in pairs.
THE BRAVE WHO WENT ON THE WARPATH ALONE AND WON THE NAME OF THE LONE
WARRIOR
There was once a young man whose parents were not overburdened with the
riches of this world, and consequently could not dress their only son in
as rich a costume as the other young men of the tribe, and on account of
not being so richly clad as they, he was looked down upon and shunned by
them. He was never invited to take part in any of their sports; nor was he
ever asked to join any of the war parties.
In the village lived an old man with an only daughter. Like the other
family, they were poor, but the daughter was the belle of the tribe. She
was the most sought after by the young men of the village, and warriors
from tribes far distant came to press their suit at winning her for their
bride. All to no purpose; she had the same answer for them as she had for
the young men of the village.
The poor young man was also very handsome despite his poor clothes, but
having never killed an enemy nor brought home any enemies’ horses he was
not (according to Indian rules) allowed to make love to any young or old
woman. He tried in vain to join some of the war parties, that he might get
the chance to win his spurs as a warrior. To all his pleadings, came the
same answer: “You are not fit to join a war party. You have no horses, and
if you should get killed our tribe would be laughed at and be made fun of
as you have such poor clothes, and we don’t want the enemy to know that we
have any one of our tribe who dresses so poorly as you do.”
Again, and again, he tried different parties, only to be made fun of and
insulted.
One night he sat in the poor tepee of his parents. He was in deep study
and had nothing to say. His father, noticing his melancholy mood, asked
him what had happened to cause him to be so quiet, as he was always of a
jolly disposition. The son answered and said:
“Father, I am going on the warpath alone. In vain I have tried to be a
member of one of the war parties. To all of my pleadings I have got
nothing but insults in return.”
“But my son, you have no gun nor ammunition. Where can you get any and how
can you get it? We have nothing to buy one for you with,” said the father.
“I don’t need any weapons. I am going to bring back some of the enemies’
horses, and I don’t need a gun for that.”
Early the next morning (regardless of the old couple’s pleadings not to go
unarmed) the young man left the village and headed northwest, the
direction always taken by the war parties.
For ten days he traveled without seeing any signs of a camp. The evening
of the tenth day, he reached a very high butte, thickly wooded at the
summit. He ascended this butte, and as he sat there between two large
boulders, watching the beautiful rays of the setting sun, he was suddenly
startled to hear the neigh of a horse. Looking down into the beautiful
valley which was threaded by a beautiful creek fringed with timber, he
noticed close to the base of the butte upon which he sat, a large drove of
horses grazing peacefully and quietly. Looking closer, he noticed at a
little distance from the main drove, a horse with a saddle on his back.
This was the one that had neighed, as the drove drifted further away from
him. He was tied by a long lariat to a large sage bush.
Where could the rider be, he said to himself. As if in answer to his
question, there appeared not more than twenty paces from him a middle aged
man coming up through a deep ravine. The man was evidently in search of
some kind of game, as he held his gun in readiness for instant use, and
kept his eyes directed at every crevice and clump of bush. So intent was
he on locating the game he was trailing, that he never noticed the young
man who sat like a statue not twenty paces away. Slowly and cautiously the
man approached, and when he had advanced to within a few paces of the
young man he stopped and turning around, stood looking down into the
valley. This was the only chance that our brave young friend had. Being
unarmed, he would stand no show if the enemy ever got a glimpse of him.
Slowly and noiselessly he drew his hunting knife (which his father had
given him on his departure from home) and holding it securely in his right
hand, gathered himself and gave a leap which landed him upon the
unsuspecting enemy’s shoulders. The force with which he landed on the
enemy caused him (the enemy) to lose his hold on his gun, and it went
rattling down into the chasm, forty feet below.
Down they came together, the young man on top. No sooner had they struck
the ground than the enemy had out his knife, and then commenced a hand to
hand duel. The enemy, having more experience, was getting the best of our
young friend. Already our young friend had two ugly cuts, one across his
chest and the other through his forearm.
He was becoming weak from the loss of blood, and could not stand the
killing pace much longer. Summoning all his strength for one more trial to
overcome his antagonist, he rushed him toward the chasm, and in his hurry
to get away from this fierce attack, the enemy stepped back one step too
far, and down they both went into the chasm. Interlocked in each other’s
arms, the young man drove his knife into the enemy’s side and when they
struck the bottom the enemy relaxed his hold and straightened out stiff
and dead.
Securing his scalp and gun, the young man proceeded down to where the
horse was tied to the sage bush, and then gathering the drove of horses
proceeded on his return to his own village. Being wounded severely he had
to ride very slowly. All the long hours of the night he drove the horses
towards his home village.
In the meantime, those at the enemies’ camp wondered at the long absence
of the herder who was watching their drove of horses, and finally seven
young men went to search for the missing herder. All night long they
searched the hillsides for the horses and herder, and when it had grown
light enough in the morning they saw by the ground where there had been a
fierce struggle.
Following the tracks in the sand and leaves, they came to the chasm where
the combatants had fallen over, and there, lying on his back staring up at
them in death, was their herder. They hastened to the camp and told what
they had found. Immediately the warriors mounted their war ponies (these
ponies are never turned loose, but kept tied close to the tepee of the
owner), and striking the trail of the herd driven off by our young friend,
they urged forth their ponies and were soon far from their camp on the
trail of our young friend. All day long they traveled on his trail, and
just as the sun was sinking they caught sight of him driving the drove
ahead over a high hill. Again they urged forth their tired ponies. The
young man, looking back along the trail, saw some dark objects coming
along, and, catching a fresh horse, drove the rest ahead at a great rate.
Again all night he drove them, and when daylight came he looked back (from
a high butte) over his trail and saw coming over a distant raise, two
horsemen. These two undoubtedly rode the best ponies, as he saw nothing of
the others. Driving the horses into a thick belt of timber, he concealed
himself close to the trail made by the drove of horses, and lay in ambush
for the two daring horsemen who had followed him so far. Finally they
appeared on the butte from where he had looked back and saw them following
him. For a long time they sat there scouring the country before them in
hopes that they might see some signs of their stolen horses. Nothing could
they see. Had they but known, their horses were but a few hundred yards
from them, but the thick timber securely hid them from view. Finally one
of them arose and pointed to the timber. Then leaving his horse in charge
of his friend, he descended the butte and followed the trail of the drove
to where they had entered the timber. Little did he think that he was
standing on the brink of eternity. The young man hiding not more than a
hundred yards from him could have shot him there where he stood, but
wanting to play fair, he stepped into sight. When he did, the enemy took
quick aim and fired. He was too hasty. Had he taken more careful aim he
might have killed our young friend, but his bullet whizzed harmlessly over
the young man’s head and buried itself in a tree. The young man took good
aim and fired. The enemy threw up both hands and fell forward on his face.
The other one on the hill, seeing his friend killed, hastily mounted his
horse and leading his friend’s horse, made rapidly off down the butte in
the direction from whence he had come. Waiting for some time to be sure
the one who was alive did not come up and take a shot at him, he finally
advanced upon the fallen enemy and securing his gun, ammunition and scalp,
went to his horse and drove the herd on through the woods and crossing a
long flat prairie, ascended a long chain of hills and sat looking back
along his trail in search of any of the enemy who might continue to follow
him.
Thus he sat until the long shadows of the hills reminded him that it would
soon be sunset, and as he must get some sleep, he wanted to find some
creek bend where he could drive the bunch of ponies and feel safe as to
their not straying off during the night. He found a good place for the
herd, and catching a fresh horse, he picketed him close to where he was
going to sleep, and wrapping himself in his blanket, was soon fast asleep.
So tired and sleepy was he that a heavy rain which had come up, during the
night, soaked him through and through, but he never awakened until the sun
was high in the east.
He awoke and going to the place where he had left the herd, he was glad to
find them all there. He mounted his horse and started his herd homeward
again. For two days he drove them, and on the evening of the second day he
came in sight of the village.
The older warriors, hearing of the young man going on this trip alone and
unarmed, told the parents to go in mourning for their son, as he would
never come back alive. When the people of the village saw this large drove
of horses advancing towards them, they at first thought it was a war party
of the enemy, and so the head men called the young warriors together and
fully prepared for a great battle. They advanced upon the supposed enemy.
When they got close enough to discern a lone horseman driving this large
herd, they surrounded the horses and lone warrior, and brought him
triumphantly into camp. On arriving in the camp (or village) the horses
were counted and the number counted up to one hundred and ten head.
The chief and his criers (or heralds) announced through the whole village
that there would be a great war dance given in honor of the Lone Warrior.
The whole village turned out and had a great war dance that was kept up
three days and three nights. The two scalps which the young man had taken
were tied to a pole which was placed in the center of the dance circle. At
this dance, the Lone Warrior gave to each poor family five head of horses.
Being considered eligible now to pay his respects to any girl who took his
fancy, he at once went to the camp of the beautiful girl of the tribe, and
as he was always her choice, she at once consented to marry him.
The news spread through the village that Lone Warrior had won the belle of
the nation for his bride, and this with the great feat which he had
accomplished alone in killing two enemies and bringing home a great herd
of horses, raised him to the rank of chief, which he faithfully filled to
the end of his days. And many times he had to tell his grandchildren the
story of how he got the name of the Lone Warrior.
THE SIOUX WHO MARRIED THE CROW CHIEF’S DAUGHTER
A war party of seven young men, seeing a lone tepee standing on the edge
of a heavy belt of timber, stopped and waited for darkness, in order to
send one of their scouts ahead to ascertain whether the camp which they
had seen was the camp of friend or enemy.
When darkness had settled down on them, and they felt secure in not being
detected, they chose one of their scouts to go on alone and find out what
would be the best direction for them to advance upon the camp, should it
prove to be an enemy.
Among the scouts was one who was noted for his bravery, and many were the
brave acts he had performed. His name was Big Eagle. This man they
selected to go to the lone camp and obtain the information for which they
were waiting.
Big Eagle was told to look carefully over the ground and select the best
direction from which they should make the attack. The other six would
await his return. He started on his mission, being careful not to make any
noise. He stealthily approached the camp. As he drew near to the tent he
was surprised to note the absence of any dogs, as these animals are always
kept by the Sioux to notify the owners by their barking of the approach of
anyone. He crawled up to the tepee door, and peeping through a small
aperture, he saw three persons sitting inside. An elderly man and woman
were sitting at the right of the fireplace, and a young woman at the seat
of honor, opposite the door.
Big Eagle had been married and his wife had died five winters previous to
the time of this episode. He had never thought of marrying again, but when
he looked upon this young woman he thought he was looking upon the face of
his dead wife. He removed his cartridge belts and knife, and placing them,
along with his rifle, at the side of the tent, he at once boldly stepped
inside the tepee, and going over to the man, extended his hand and shook
first the man’s hand, then the old woman’s, and lastly the young woman’s.
Then he seated himself by the side of the girl, and thus they sat, no one
speaking.
Finally, Big Eagle made signs to the man, explaining as well as possible
by signs, that his wife had died long ago, and when he saw the girl she so
strongly resembled his dead wife that he wished to marry her, and he would
go back to the enemy’s camp and live with them, if they would consent to
the marriage of their daughter.
The old man seemed to understand, and Big Eagle again made signs to him
that a party were lying in wait just a short distance from his camp.
Noiselessly they brought in the horses, and taking down the tent, they at
once moved off in the direction from whence they had come. The war party
waited all night, and when the first rays of dawn disclosed to them the
absence of the tepee, they at once concluded that Big Eagle had been
discovered and killed, so they hurriedly started on their trail for home.
In the meantime, the hunting party, for this it was that Big Eagle had
joined, made very good time in putting a good distance between themselves
and the war party. All day they traveled, and when evening came they
ascended a high hill, looking down into the valley on the other side.
There stretched for two miles, along the banks of a small stream, an
immense camp. The old man made signs for Big Eagle to remain with the two
women where he was, until he could go to the camp and prepare them to
receive an enemy into their village.
The old man rode through the camp and drew up at the largest tepee in the
village. Soon Big Eagle could see men gathering around the tepee. The
crowd grew larger and larger, until the whole village had assembled at the
large tepee. Finally they dispersed, and catching their horses, mounted
and advanced to the hill on which Big Eagle and the two women were
waiting. They formed a circle around them and slowly they returned to the
village, singing and riding in a circle around them.
When they arrived at the village they advanced to the large tepee, and
motioned Big Eagle to the seat of honor in the tepee. In the village was a
man who understood and spoke the Sioux language. He was sent for, and
through him the oath of allegiance to the Crow tribe was taken by Big
Eagle. This done he was presented with the girl to wife, and also with
many spotted ponies.
Big Eagle lived with his wife among her people for two years, and during
this time he joined in four different battles between his own people (the
Sioux) and the Crow people, to whom his wife belonged.
In no battle with his own people would he carry any weapons, only a long
willow coup-stick, with which he struck the fallen Sioux.
At the expiration of two years he concluded to pay a visit to his own
tribe, and his father-in-law, being a chief of high standing, at once had
it heralded through the village that his son-in-law would visit his own
people, and for them to show their good will and respect for him by
bringing ponies for his son-in-law to take back to his people.
Hearing this, the herds were all driven in and all day long horses were
brought to the tent of Big Eagle, and when he was ready to start on his
homeward trip, twenty young men were elected to accompany him to within a
safe distance of his village. The twenty young men drove the gift horses,
amounting to two hundred and twenty head, to within one day’s journey of
the village of Big Eagle, and fearing for their safety from his people,
Big Eagle sent them back to their own village.
On his arrival at his home village, they received him as one returned from
the dead, as they were sure he had been killed the night he had been sent
to reconnoiter the lone camp. There was great feasting and dancing in
honor of his return, and the horses were distributed among the needy ones
of the village.
Remaining at his home village for a year, he one day made up his mind to
return to his wife’s people. A great many fancy robes, dresses, war
bonnets, moccasins, and a great drove of horses were given him, and his
wife, and he bade farewell to his people for good, saying, “I will never
return to you again, as I have decided to live the remainder of my days
with my wife’s people.”
On his arrival at the village of the Crows, he found his father-in-law at
the point of death. A few days later the old man died, and Big Eagle was
appointed to fill the vacancy of chief made by the death of his
father-in-law.
Subsequently he took part in battles against his own people, and in the
third battle was killed on the field. Tenderly the Crow warriors bore him
back to their camp, and great was the mourning in the Crow village for the
brave man who always went into battle unarmed, save only the willow wand
which he carried.
Thus ended the career of one of the bravest of Sioux warriors who ever
took the scalp of an enemy, and who for the love of his dead wife, gave up
home, parents, and friends, to be killed on the field of battle by his own
tribe.
THE BOY AND THE TURTLES
A boy went on a turtle hunt, and after following the different streams for
hours, finally came to the conclusion that the only place he would find
any turtles would be at the little lake, where the tribe always hunted
them.
So, leaving the stream he had been following, he cut across country to the
lake. On drawing near the lake he crawled on his hands and knees in order
not to be seen by the turtles, who were very watchful, as they had been
hunted so much. Peeping over the rock he saw a great many out on the shore
sunning themselves, so he very cautiously undressed, so he could leap into
the water and catch them before they secreted themselves. But on pulling
off his shirt one of his hands was held up so high that the turtles saw it
and jumped into the lake with a great splash.
The boy ran to the shore, but saw only bubbles coming up from the bottom.
Directly the boy saw something coming to the surface, and soon it came up
into sight. It was a little man, and soon others, by the hundreds, came up
and swam about, splashing the water up into the air to a great height. So
scared was the boy that he never stopped to gather up his clothes but ran
home naked and fell into his grandmother’s tent door.
“What is the trouble, grandchild,” cried the old woman. But the boy could
not answer. “Did you see anything unnatural?” He shook his head, “no.” He
made signs to the grandmother that his lungs were pressing so hard against
his sides that he could not talk. He kept beating his side with his
clenched hands. The grandmother got out her medicine bag, made a prayer to
the Great Spirit to drive out the evil spirit that had entered her
grandson’s body, and after she had applied the medicine, the prayer must
have been heard and answered, as the boy commenced telling her what he had
heard and seen.
The grandmother went to the chief’s tent and told what her grandson had
seen. The chief sent two brave warriors to the lake to ascertain whether
it was true or not. The two warriors crept to the little hill close to the
lake, and there, sure enough, the lake was swarming with little men
swimming about, splashing the water high up into the air. The warriors,
too, were scared and hurried home, and in the council called on their
return told what they had seen. The boy was brought to the council and
given the seat of honor (opposite the door), and was named “Wankan
Wanyanka” (sees holy).
The lake had formerly borne the name of Truth Lake, but from this time on
was called “Wicasa-bde”—Man Lake.
THE HERMIT, OR THE GIFT OF CORN
In a deep forest, far from the villages of his people, lived a hermit. His
tent was made of buffalo skins, and his dress was made of deer skin. Far
from the haunts of any human being this old hermit was content to spend
his days.
All day long he would wander through the forest studying the different
plants of nature and collecting precious roots, which he used as medicine.
At long intervals some warrior would arrive at the tent of the old hermit
and get medicine roots from him for the tribe, the old hermit’s medicine
being considered far superior to all others.
After a long day’s ramble in the woods, the hermit came home late, and
being very tired, at once lay down on his bed and was just dozing off to
sleep, when he felt something rub against his foot. Awakening with a
start, he noticed a dark object and an arm was extended to him, holding in
its hand a flint pointed arrow.
The hermit thought, “This must be a spirit, as there is no human being
around here but myself!” A voice then said: “Hermit, I have come to invite
you to my home.” “How (yes), I will come,” said the old hermit. Wherewith
he arose, wrapped his robe about him and followed.
Outside the door he stopped and looked around, but could see no signs of
the dark object.
“Whoever you are, or whatever you be, wait for me, as I don’t know where
to go to find your house,” said the hermit. Not an answer did he receive,
nor could he hear any noises as though anyone was walking through the
brush. Re-entering his tent he retired and was soon fast asleep. The next
night the same thing occurred again, and the hermit followed the object
out, only to be left as before.
He was very angry to think that anyone should be trying to make sport of
him, and he determined to find out who this could be who was disturbing
his night’s rest.
The next evening he cut a hole in the tent large enough to stick an arrow
through, and stood by the door watching. Soon the dark object came and
stopped outside of the door, and said: “Grandfather, I came to—,”
but he never finished the sentence, for the old man let go his arrow, and
he heard the arrow strike something which produced a sound as though he
had shot into a sack of pebbles. He did not go out that night to see what
his arrow had struck, but early next morning he went out and looked at the
spot about where he thought the object had stood. There on the ground lay
a little heap of corn, and from this little heap a small line of corn lay
scattered along a path. This he followed far into the woods. When he came
to a very small knoll the trail ended. At the end of the trail was a large
circle, from which the grass had been scraped off clean.
“The corn trail stops at the edge of this circle,” said the old man, “so
this must be the home of whoever it was that invited me.” He took his bone
knife and hatchet and proceeded to dig down into the center of the circle.
When he had got down to the length of his arm, he came to a sack of dried
meat. Next he found a sack of Indian turnips, then a sack of dried
cherries; then a sack of corn, and last of all another sack, empty except
that there was about a cupful of corn in one corner of it, and that the
sack had a hole in the other corner where his arrow had pierced it. From
this hole in the sack the corn was scattered along the trail, which guided
the old man to the cache.*
From this the hermit taught the tribes how to keep their provisions when
traveling and were overloaded. He explained to them how they should dig a
pit and put their provisions into it and cover them with earth. By this
method the Indians used to keep provisions all summer, and when fall came
they would return to their cache, and on opening it would find everything
as fresh as the day they were placed there.
The old hermit was also thanked as the discoverer of corn, which had never
been known to the Indians until discovered by the old hermit.
*Hiding place.
THE MYSTERIOUS BUTTE
A young man was once hunting and came to a steep hill. The east side of
the hill suddenly dropped off to a very steep bank. He stood on this bank,
and at the base he noticed a small opening. On going down to examine it
more closely, he found it was large enough to admit a horse or buffalo. On
either side of the door were figures of different animals engraved into
the wall.
He entered the opening and there, scattered about on the floor, lay many
bracelets, pipes and many other things of ornament, as though they had
been offerings to some great spirit. He passed through this first room and
on entering the second it was so dark that he could not see his hands
before his face, so becoming scared, he hurriedly left the place, and
returning home told what he had seen.
Upon hearing this the chief selected four of his most daring warriors to
go with this young man and investigate and ascertain whether the young man
was telling the truth or not. The five proceeded to the butte, and at the
entrance the young man refused to go inside, as the figures on either side
of the entrance had been changed.
The four entered and seeing that all in the first chamber was as the young
man had told, they went on to the next chamber and found it so dark that
they could not see anything. They continued on, however, feeling their way
along the walls. They finally found an entrance that was so narrow that
they had to squeeze into it sideways. They felt their way around the walls
and found another entrance, so low down that they had to crawl on their
hands and knees to go through into the next chamber.
On entering the last chamber they found a very sweet odor coming from the
opposite direction. Feeling around and crawling on their hands and knees,
they discovered a hole in the floor leading downward. From this hole came
up the sweet odor. They hurriedly held a council, and decided to go no
further, but return to the camp and report what they had found. On getting
to the first chamber one of the young men said: “I am going to take these
bracelets to show that we are telling the truth.” “No,” said the other
three, “this being the abode of some Great Spirit, you may have some
accident befall you for taking what is not yours.” “Ah! You fellows are
like old women,” said he, taking a fine bracelet and encircling his left
wrist with it.
When they reached the village they reported what they had seen. The young
man exhibited the bracelet to prove that it was the truth they had told.
Shortly after this, these four young men were out fixing up traps for
wolves. They would raise one end of a heavy log and place a stick under,
bracing up the log. A large piece of meat was placed about five feet away
from the log and this space covered with poles and willows. At the place
where the upright stick was put, a hole was left open, large enough to
admit the body of a wolf. The wolf, scenting the meat and unable to get at
it through the poles and willows, would crowd into the hole and working
his body forward, in order to get the meat, would push down the brace and
the log thus released would hold the wolf fast under its weight.
The young man with the bracelet was placing his bait under the log when he
released the log by knocking down the brace, and the log caught his wrist
on which he wore the bracelet. He could not release himself and called
loud and long for assistance. His friends, hearing his call, came to his
assistance, and on lifting the log found the young man’s wrist broken.
“Now,” said they, “you have been punished for taking the wristlet out of
the chamber of the mysterious butte.”
Some time after this a young man went to the butte and saw engraved on the
wall a woman holding in her hand a pole, with which she was holding up a
large amount of beef which had been laid across another pole, which had
broken in two from the weight of so much meat.
He returned to the camp and reported what he had seen. All around the
figure he saw marks of buffalo hoofs, also marked upon the wall.
The next day an enormous herd of buffalo came near to the village, and a
great many were killed. The women were busy cutting up and drying the
meat. At one camp was more meat than at any other. The woman was hanging
meat upon a long tent pole, when the pole broke in two and she was obliged
to hold the meat up with another pole, just as the young man saw on the
mysterious butte.
Ever after that the Indians paid weekly visits to this butte, and thereon
would read the signs that were to govern their plans.
This butte was always considered the prophet of the tribe.
THE WONDERFUL TURTLE
Near to a Chippewa village lay a large lake, and in this lake there lived
an enormous turtle. This was no ordinary turtle, as he would often come
out of his home in the lake and visit with his Indian neighbors. He paid
the most of his visits to the head chief, and on these occasions would
stay for hours, smoking and talking with him.
The chief, seeing that the turtle was very smart and showed great wisdom
in his talk, took a great fancy to him, and whenever any puzzling subject
came up before the chief, he generally sent for Mr. Turtle to help him
decide.
One day there came a great misunderstanding between different parties of
the tribe, and so excited became both sides that it threatened to cause
bloodshed. The chief was unable to decide for either faction, so he said,
“I will call Mr. Turtle. He will judge for you.”
Sending for the turtle, the chief vacated his seat for the time being,
until the turtle should hear both sides, and decide which was in the
right. The turtle came, and taking the chief’s seat, listened very
attentively to both sides, and thought long before he gave his decision.
After thinking long and studying each side carefully, he came to the
conclusion to decide in favor of both. This would not cause any hard
feelings. So he gave them a lengthy speech and showed them where they were
both in the right, and wound up by saying:
“You are both in the right in some ways and wrong in others. Therefore, I
will say that you both are equally in the right.”
When they heard this decision, they saw that the turtle was right, and
gave him a long cheer for the wisdom displayed by him. The whole tribe saw
that had it not been for this wise decision there would have been a great
shedding of blood in the tribe. So they voted him as their judge, and the
chief, being so well pleased with him, gave to him his only daughter in
marriage.
The daughter of the chief was the most beautiful maiden of the Chippewa
nation, and young men from other tribes traveled hundreds of miles for an
opportunity to make love to her, and try to win her for a wife. It was all
to no purpose. She would accept no one, only him whom her father would
select for her. The turtle was very homely, but as he was prudent and
wise, the father chose him, and she accepted him.
The young men of the tribe were very jealous, but their jealousy was all
to no purpose. She married the turtle. The young men would make sport of
the chief’s son-in-law. They would say to him: “How did you come to have
so flat a stomach?” The turtle answered them, saying:
“My friends, had you been in my place, you too would have flat stomachs. I
came by my flat stomach in this way: The Chippewas and Sioux had a great
battle, and the Sioux, too numerous for the Chippewas, were killing them
off so fast that they had to run for their lives. I was on the Chippewa
side and some of the Sioux were pressing five of us, and were gaining on
us very fast. Coming to some high grass, I threw myself down flat on my
face, and pressed my stomach close to the ground, so the pursuers could
not see me. They passed me and killed the four I was with. After they had
gone back, I arose and lo! my stomach was as you see it now. So hard had I
pressed to the ground that it would not assume its original shape again.”
After he had explained the cause of his deformity to them, they said: “The
Turtle is brave. We will bother him no more.” Shortly after this the Sioux
made an attack upon the Chippewas, and every one deserted the village. The
Turtle could not travel as fast as the rest and was left behind. It being
an unusually hot day in the fall, the Turtle grew very thirsty and sleepy.
Finally scenting water, he crawled towards the point from whence the scent
came, and coming to a large lake jumped in and had a bath, after which he
swam towards the center and dived down, and finding some fine large rocks
at the bottom, he crawled in among them and fell asleep. He had his sleep
out and arose to the top.
Swimming to shore he found it was summer. He had slept all winter. The
birds were singing, and the green grass and leaves gave forth a sweet
odor.
He crawled out and started out looking for the Chippewa camp. He came upon
the camp several days after he had left his winter quarters, and going
around in search of his wife, found her at the extreme edge of the
village. She was nursing her baby, and as he asked to see it, she showed
it to him. When he saw that it was a lovely baby and did not resemble him
in any respect, he got angry and went off to a large lake, where he
contented himself with catching flies and insects and living on seaweed
the remainder of his life.
THE MAN AND THE OAK
There once lived a Sioux couple who had two children, a boy and a girl.
Every fall this family would move away from the main camp and take up
their winter quarters in a grove of timber some distance from the
principal village. The reason they did this was that he was a great hunter
and where a village was located for the winter the game was usually very
scarce. Therefore, he always camped by himself in order to have an
abundance of game adjacent to his camp.
All summer he had roamed around following the tribe to wherever their
fancy might take them. During their travels this particular year there
came to the village a strange girl who had no relatives there. No one
seemed very anxious to take her into their family, so the great hunter’s
daughter, taking a fancy to the poor girl, took her to their home and kept
her. She addressed her as sister, and the parents, on account of their
daughter, addressed her as daughter.
This strange girl became desperately in love with the young man of the
family, but being addressed as daughter by the parents, she could not
openly show her feelings as the young man was considered her brother.
In the fall when the main village moved into a large belt of timber for
their winter quarters, the hunter moved on to another place two days’
travel from the main winter camp, where he would not be disturbed by any
other hunters.
The young man had a tent by himself, and it was always kept nice and clean
by his sister, who was very much attached to him. After a long day’s hunt
in the woods, he would go into his tent and lie down to rest, and when his
supper was ready his sister would say, “My brother is so tired. I will
carry his supper to him.”
Her friend, whom she addressed as sister, would never go into the young
man’s tent. Along towards spring there came one night into the young man’s
tent a woman. She sat down by the door and kept her face covered so that
it was hidden from view. She sat there a long time and finally arose and
went away. The young man could not imagine who this could be. He knew that
it was a long distance from the village and could not make out where the
woman could have come from. The next night the woman came again and this
time she came a little nearer to where the young man lay. She sat down and
kept her face covered as before. Neither spoke a word. She sat there for a
long time and then arose and departed. He was very much puzzled over the
actions of this woman and decided to ascertain on her next visit who she
was.
He kindled a small fire in his tent and had some ash wood laid on it so as
to keep fire a long time, as ash burns very slowly and holds fire a long
time.
The third night the woman came again and sat down still nearer his bed.
She held her blanket open just a trifle, and he, catching up one of the
embers, flashed it in her face; jumping up she ran hurriedly out of the
tent. The next morning he noticed that his adopted sister kept her face
hidden with her blanket. She chanced to drop her blanket while in the act
of pouring out some soup, and when she did so he noticed a large burned
spot on her cheek.
He felt so sorry for what he had done that he could eat no breakfast, but
went outside and lay down under an oak tree. All day long he lay there
gazing up into the tree, and when he was called for supper he refused,
saying that he was not hungry, and for them not to bother him, as he would
soon get up and go to bed. Far into the night he lay thus, and when he
tried to arise he could not, as a small oak tree grew through the center
of his body and held him fast to the ground.
In the morning when the family awoke they found the girl had disappeared,
and on going outside the sister discovered her brother held fast to the
earth by an oak tree which grew very rapidly. In vain were the best
medicine men of the tribe sent for. Their medicine was of no avail. They
said: “If the tree is cut down the young man will die.”
The sister was wild with grief, and extending her hands to the sun, she
cried: “Great Spirit, relieve my suffering brother. Any one who releases
him I will marry, be he young, old, homely or deformed.”
Several days after the young man had met with the mishap, there came to
the tent a very tall man, who had a bright light encircling his body.
“Where is the girl who promised to marry any one who would release her
brother?” “I am the one,” said the young man’s sister. “I am the
all-powerful lightning and thunder. I see all things and can kill at one
stroke a whole tribe. When I make my voice heard the rocks shake loose and
go rattling down the hillsides. The brave warriors cower shivering under
some shelter at the sound of my voice. The girl whom you had adopted as
your sister was a sorceress. She bewitched your brother because he would
not let her make love to him. On my way here I met her traveling towards
the west, and knowing what she had done, I struck her with one of my
blazing swords, and she lies there now a heap of ashes. I will now release
your brother.”
So saying he placed his hand on the tree and instantly it crumbled to
ashes. The young man arose, and thanked his deliverer.
Then they saw a great black cloud approaching, and the man said: “Make
ready, we shall go home on that cloud.” As the cloud approached near to
the man who stood with his bride, it suddenly lowered and enveloped them
and with a great roar and amidst flashes of lightning and loud peals of
thunder the girl ascended and disappeared into the west with her Thunder
and Lightning husband.
STORY OF THE TWO YOUNG FRIENDS
There were once in a very large Indian camp two little boys who were fast
friends. One of the boys, “Chaske” (meaning first born), was the son of a
very rich family, and was always dressed in the finest of clothes of
Indian costume. The other boy, “Hake” (meaning last born), was an orphan
and lived with his old grandmother, who was very destitute, and
consequently could not dress the boy in fine raiment. So poorly was the
boy dressed that the boys who had good clothes always tormented him and
would not play in his company.
Chaske did not look at the clothes of any boy whom he chose as a friend,
but mingled with all boys regardless of how they were clad, and would
study their dispositions. The well dressed he found were vain and
conceited. The fairly well dressed he found selfish and spiteful. The
poorly clad he found to be generous and truthful, and from all of them he
chose “Hake” for his “Koda” (friend). As Chaske was the son of the leading
war chief he was very much sought after by the rest of the boys, each one
trying to gain the honor of being chosen for the friend and companion of
the great chief’s son; but, as I have before said, Chaske carefully
studied them all and finally chose the orphan Hake.
It was a lucky day for Hake when he was chosen for the friend and
companion of Chaske. The orphan boy was taken to the lodge of his friend’s
parents and dressed up in fine clothes and moccasins. (When the Indians’
sons claim any one as their friend, the friend thus chosen is adopted into
the family as their own son).
Chaske and Hake were inseparable. Where one was seen the other was not far
distant. They played, hunted, trapped, ate and slept together. They would
spend most of the long summer days hunting in the forests.
Time went on and these two fast friends grew up to be fine specimens of
their tribe. When they became the age to select a sweetheart they would go
together and make love to a girl. Each helping the other to win the
affection of the one of his choice. Chaske loved a girl who was the
daughter of an old medicine man. She was very much courted by the other
young men of the tribe, and many a horse loaded with robes and fine
porcupine work was tied at the medicine man’s tepee in offering for the
hand of his daughter, but the horses, laden as when tied there, were
turned loose, signifying that the offer was not accepted.
The girl’s choice was Chaske’s friend Hake. Although he had never made
love to her for himself, he had always used honeyed words to her and was
always loud in his praises for his friend Chaske. One night the two
friends had been to see the girl, and on their return Chaske was very
quiet, having nothing to say and seemingly in deep study. Always of a
bright, jolly and amiable disposition, his silence and moody spell grieved
his friend very much, and he finally spoke to Chaske, saying: “Koda, what
has come over you? You who were always so jolly and full of fun? Your
silence makes me grieve for you and I do not know what you are feeling so
downhearted about. Has the girl said anything to you to make you feel
thus?”
“Wait, friend,” said Chaske, “until morning, and then I will know how to
answer your inquiry. Don’t ask me anything more tonight, as my heart is
having a great battle with my brain.”
Hake bothered his friend no more that night, but he could not sleep. He
kept wondering what “Pretty Feather” (the girl whom his friend loved)
could have said to Chaske to bring such a change over him. Hake never
suspected that he himself was the cause of his friend’s sorrow, for never
did he have a thought that it was himself that Pretty Feather loved.
The next morning after they had eaten breakfast, Chaske proposed that they
should go out on the prairies, and see if they would have the good luck to
kill an antelope. Hake went out and got the band of horses, of which there
were over a hundred. They selected the fleetest two in the herd, and
taking their bows and arrows, mounted and rode away towards the south.
Hake was overjoyed to note the change in his friend. His oldtime jollity
had returned. They rode out about five miles, and scaring up a drove of
antelope they started in hot pursuit, and as their horses were very fleet
of foot soon caught up to the drove, and each singling out his choice
quickly dispatched him with an arrow. They could easily have killed more
of the antelope, but did not want to kill them just for sport, but for
food, and knowing that they had now all that their horses could pack home,
they dismounted and proceeded to dress their kill.
After each had finished packing the kill on his horse, Chaske said: “Let
us sit down and have a smoke before we start back. Besides, I have
something to tell you which I can tell better sitting still than I can
riding along.” Hake came and sat down opposite his friend, and while they
smoked Chaske said:
“My friend, we have been together for the last twenty years and I have yet
the first time to deceive you in any way, and I know I can truthfully say
the same of you. Never have I known you to deceive me nor tell me an
untruth. I have no brothers or sisters. The only brother’s love I know is
yours. The only sister’s love I will know will be Pretty Feather’s, for
brother, last night she told me she loved none but you and would marry you
and you only. So, brother, I am going to take my antelope to my
sister-in-law’s tent and deposit it at her door. Then she will know that
her wish will be fulfilled. I thought at first that you had been playing
traitor to me and had been making love to her for yourself, but when she
explained it all to me and begged me to intercede for her to you, I then
knew that I had judged you wrongfully, and that, together with my lost
love, made me so quiet and sorrowful last night. So now, brother, take the
flower of the nation for your wife, and I will be content to continue
through life a lonely bachelor, as never again can I give any woman the
place which Pretty Feather had in my heart.”
Their pipes being smoked out they mounted their ponies and Chaske started
up in a clear, deep voice the beautiful love song of Pretty Feather and
his friend Hake.
Such is the love between two friends, who claim to be as brothers among
the Indians. Chaske gave up his love of a beautiful woman for a man who
was in fact no relation to him.
Hake said, “I will do as you say, my friend, but before I can marry the
medicine man’s daughter, I will have to go on the warpath and do some
brave deed, and will start in ten days.” They rode towards home, planning
which direction they would travel, and as it was to be their first
experience on the warpath, they would seek advice from the old warriors of
the tribe.
On their arrival at the village Hake took his kill to their own tent,
while Chaske took his to the tent of the Medicine Man, and deposited it at
the door and rode off towards home.
The mother of Pretty Feather did not know whether to take the offering or
not, but Pretty Feather, seeing by this offering that her most cherished
wish was to be granted, told her mother to take the meat and cook it and
invite the old women of the camp to a feast in honor of the son-in-law who
was soon to keep them furnished with plenty of meat. Hake and his friend
sought out all of the old warriors and gained all the information they
desired. Every evening Hake visited his intended wife and many happy
evenings they spent together.
The morning of the tenth day the two friends left the village and turned
their faces toward the west where the camps of the enemy are more numerous
than in any other direction. They were not mounted and therefore traveled
slowly, so it took about ten days of walking before they saw any signs of
the enemy. The old warriors had told them of a thickly wooded creek within
the enemies’ bounds. The old men said, “That creek looks the ideal place
to camp, but don’t camp there by any means, because there is a ghost who
haunts that creek, and any one who camps there is disturbed all through
the night, and besides they never return, because the ghost is Wakan
(holy), and the enemies conquer the travelers every time.” The friends had
extra moccasins with them and one extra blanket, as it was late in the
fall and the nights were very cold.
They broke camp early one morning and walked all day. Along towards
evening, the clouds which had been threatening all day, hurriedly opened
their doors and down came the snowflakes thick and fast. Just before it
started snowing the friends had noticed a dark line about two miles in
advance of them. Chaske spoke to his friend and said: “If this storm
continues we will be obliged to stay overnight at Ghost Creek, as I
noticed it not far ahead of us, just before the storm set in.” “I noticed
it also,” said Hake. “We might as well entertain a ghost all night as to
lie out on these open prairies and freeze to death.” So they decided to
run the risk and stay in the sheltering woods of Ghost Creek. When they
got to the creek it seemed as if they had stepped inside a big tepee, so
thick was the brush and timber that the wind could not be felt at all.
They hunted and found a place where the brush was very thick and the grass
very tall. They quickly pulled the tops of the nearest willows together
and by intertwining the ends made them fast, and throwing their tent robe
over this, soon had a cosy tepee in which to sleep. They started their
fire and cooked some dried buffalo meat and buffalo tallow, and were just
about to eat their supper when a figure of a man came slowly in through
the door and sat down near where he had entered. Hake, being the one who
was doing the cooking, poured out some tea into his own cup, and putting a
piece of pounded meat and marrow into a small plate, placed it before the
stranger, saying: “Eat, my friend, we are on the warpath and do not carry
much of a variety of food with us, but I give you the best we have.”
The stranger drew the plate towards him, and commenced eating ravenously.
He soon finished his meal and handed the dish and cup back. He had not
uttered a word so far. Chaske filled the pipe and handed it to him. He
smoked for a few minutes, took one last draw from the pipe and handed it
back to Chaske, and then he said: “Now, my friends, I am not a living man,
but the wandering spirit of a once great warrior, who was killed in these
woods by the enemy whom you two brave young men are now seeking to make
war upon. For years I have been roaming these woods in hopes that I might
find some one brave enough to stop and listen to me, but all who have
camped here in the past have run away at my approach or fired guns or shot
arrows at me. For such cowards as these I have always found a grave. They
never returned to their homes. Now I have found two brave men whom I can
tell what I want done, and if you accomplish what I tell you to do, you
will return home with many horses and some scalps dangling from your
belts. Just over this range of hills north of us, a large village is
encamped for the winter. In that camp is the man who laid in ambush and
shot me, killing me before I could get a chance to defend myself. I want
that man’s scalp, because he has been the cause of my wanderings for a
great many years. Had he killed me on the battlefield my spirit would have
at once joined my brothers in the happy hunting grounds, but being killed
by a coward, my spirit is doomed to roam until I can find some brave man
who will kill this coward and bring me his scalp. This is why I have tried
every party who have camped here to listen to me, but as I have said
before, they were all cowards. Now, I ask you two brave young men, will
you do this for me?”
“We will,” said the friends in one voice. “Thank you, my boys. Now, I know
why you came here, and that one of you came to earn his feathers by
killing an enemy, before he would marry; the girl he is to marry is my
granddaughter, as I am the father of the great Medicine Man. In the
morning there will pass by in plain sight of here a large party. They will
chase the buffalo over on that flat. After they have passed an old man
leading a black horse and riding a white one will come by on the trail
left by the hunting party. He will be driving about a hundred horses,
which he will leave over in the next ravine. He will then proceed to the
hunting grounds and get meat from the different hunters. After the hunters
have all gone home he will come last, singing the praises of the ones who
gave him the meat. This man you must kill and scalp, as he is the one I
want killed. Then take the white and black horse and each mount and go to
the hunting grounds. There you will see two of the enemy riding about
picking up empty shells. Kill and scalp these two and each take a scalp
and come over to the high knoll and I will show you where the horses are,
and as soon as you hand me the old man’s scalp I will disappear and you
will see me no more. As soon as I disappear, it will start in snowing.
Don’t be afraid as the snow will cover your trail, but nevertheless, don’t
stop traveling for three days and nights, as these people will suspect
that some of your tribe have done this, and they will follow you until you
cross your own boundary lines.”
When morning came, the two friends sat in the thick brush and watched a
large party pass by their hiding place. So near were they that the friends
could hear them laughing and talking. After the hunting party had passed,
as the spirit had told them, along came the old man, driving a large band
of horses and leading a fine looking coal black horse. The horse the old
man was riding was as white as snow. The friends crawled to a little brush
covered hill and watched the chase after the shooting had ceased. The
friends knew it would not be long before the return of the party, so they
crawled back to their camp and hurriedly ate some pounded meat and drank
some cherry tea. Then they took down their robe and rolled it up and got
everything in readiness for a hurried flight with the horses. Scarcely had
they got everything in readiness when the party came by, singing their
song of the chase. When they had all gone the friends crawled down to the
trail and lay waiting for the old man. Soon they heard him singing. Nearer
and nearer came the sounds of the song until at last at a bend in the
road, the old man came into view. The two friends arose and advanced to
meet him. On he came still singing. No doubt he mistook them for some of
his own people. When he was very close to them they each stepped to either
side of him and before he could make an outcry they pierced his cowardly
old heart with two arrows. He had hardly touched the ground when they both
struck him with their bows, winning first and second honors by striking an
enemy after he has fallen. Chaske having won first honors, asked his
friend to perform the scalping deed, which he did. And wanting to be sure
that the spirit would get full revenge, took the whole scalp, ears and
all, and tied it to his belt. The buffalo beef which the old man had
packed upon the black horse, they threw on the top of the old man. Quickly
mounting the two horses, they hastened out across the long flat towards
the hunting grounds. When they came in sight of the grounds there they saw
two men riding about from place to place. Chaske took after the one on the
right, Hake the one on the left. When the two men saw these two strange
men riding like the wind towards them, they turned their horses to retreat
towards the hills, but the white and the black were the swiftest of the
tribe’s horses, and quickly overtook the two fleeing men. When they came
close to the enemy they strung their arrows onto the bowstring and drove
them through the two fleeing hunters. As they were falling they tried to
shoot, but being greatly exhausted, their bullets whistled harmlessly over
the heads of the two friends. They scalped the two enemies and took their
guns and ammunition, also secured the two horses and started for the high
knoll. When they arrived at the place, there stood the spirit. Hake
presented him with the old man’s scalp and then the spirit showed them the
large band of horses, and saying, “Ride hard and long,” disappeared and
was seen no more by any war parties, as he was thus enabled to join his
forefathers in the happy hunting grounds.
The friends did as the spirit had told them. For three days and three
nights they rode steadily. On the fourth morning they came into their own
boundary. From there on they rode more slowly, and let the band of horses
rest and crop the tops of long grass. They would stop occasionally, and
while one slept the other kept watch. Thus they got fairly well rested
before they came in sight of where their camp had stood when they had
left. All that they could see of the once large village was the lone tent
of the great Medicine Man. They rode up on to a high hill and farther on
towards the east they saw smoke from a great many tepees. They then knew
that something had happened and that the village had moved away.
“My friend,” said Chaske, “I am afraid something has happened to the
Medicine Man’s lodge, and rather than have you go there, I will go alone
and you follow the trail of our party and go on ahead with the horses. I
will take the black and the white horses with me and I will follow on
later, after I have seen what the trouble is.”
“Very well, my friend, I will do as you say, but I am afraid something has
happened to Pretty Feather.” Hake started on with the horses, driving them
along the broad trail left by the hundreds of travois. Chaske made slowly
towards the tepee, and stopping outside, stood and listened. Not a sound
could he hear. The only living thing he saw was Pretty Feather’s spotted
horse tied to the side of the tent. Then he knew that she must be dead. He
rode off into the thick brush and tied his two horses securely. Then he
came back and entered the tepee. There on a bed of robes lay some one
apparently dead. The body was wrapped in blankets and robes and bound
around and around with parfleche ropes. These he carefully untied and
unwound. Then he unwrapped the robes and blankets and when he uncovered
the face, he saw, as he had expected to, the face of his lost love, Pretty
Feather. As he sat gazing on her beautiful young face, his heart ached for
his poor friend. He himself had loved and lost this beautiful maiden, and
now his friend who had won her would have to suffer the untold grief which
he had suffered.
What was that? Could it have been a slight quivering of the nostrils that
he had seen, or was it mad fancy playing a trick on him? Closer he drew to
her face, watching intently for another sign. There it was again, only
this time it was a long, deep drawn breath. He arose, got some water and
taking a small stick slowly forced open her mouth and poured some into it.
Then he took some sage, dipped it into the water and sprinkled a little on
her head and face. There were many parfleche bags piled around the tepee,
and thinking he might find some kind of medicine roots which he could use
to revive her he started opening them one after the other. He had opened
three and was just opening the fourth, when a voice behind him asked:
“What are you looking for?” Turning quickly, he saw Pretty Feather looking
at him. Overjoyed, he cried, “What can I do so that you can get up and
ride to the village with me? My friend and I just returned with a large
band of horses and two scalps. We saw this tent and recognized it. My
friend wanted to come, but I would not let him, as I feared if he found
anything had happened to you he would do harm to himself, but now he will
be anxious for my return, so if you will tell me what you need in order to
revive you, I will get it, and we can then go to my friend in the
village.” “At the foot of my bed you will find a piece of eagle fat. Build
a fire and melt it for me. I will drink it and then we can go.”
Chaske quickly started a fire, got out the piece of fat and melted it. She
drank it at one draught, and was about to arise when she suddenly said:
“Roll me up quick and take the buffalo hair rope and tie it about my
spotted horse’s neck; tie his tail in a knot and tie him to the door. Then
run and hide behind the trees. There are two of the enemy coming this
way.”
Chaske hurriedly obeyed her orders, and had barely concealed himself
behind the trees, when there came into view two of the enemy. They saw the
horse tied to the door of the deserted tent, and knew that some dead
person occupied the tepee, so through respect for the dead, they turned
out and started to go through the brush and trees, so as not to pass the
door. (The Indians consider it a bad omen to pass by the door of a tepee
occupied by a dead body, that is, while in the enemy’s country). So by
making this detour they traveled directly towards where Chaske was
concealed behind the tree. Knowing that he would be discovered, and there
being two of them, he knew the only chance he had was for him to kill one
of them before they discovered him, then he stood a better chance at an
even combat. On they came, little thinking that one of them would in a few
minutes be with his forefathers.
Chaske noiselessly slipped a cartridge into the chamber of his gun, threw
it into action and took deliberate aim at the smaller one’s breast. A loud
report rang out and the one he had aimed at threw up his arms and fell
heavily forward, shot through the heart.
Reloading quickly Chaske stepped out from behind the tree. He could easily
have killed the other from his concealed position, but, being a brave
young man, he wanted to give his opponent a fair chance. The other had
unslung his gun and a duel was then fought between the two lone
combatants. They would spring from side to side like two great cats. Then
advance one or two steps and fire. Retreat a few steps, spring to one side
and fire again. The bullets whistled past their heads, tore up the earth
beneath their feet, and occasionally one would hit its mark, only to cause
a flesh wound.
Suddenly the enemy aimed his gun and threw it upon the ground. His
ammunition was exhausted, and slowly folding his arms he stood facing his
opponent, with a fearless smile upon his face, expecting the next moment
to fall dead from a bullet from the rifle of Chaske. Not so. Chaske was
too honorable and noble to kill an unarmed man, and especially one who had
put up such a brave fight as had this man. Chaske advanced and picked up
the empty gun. The Toka (enemy) drew from a scabbard at his belt a long
bowie knife, and taking it by the point handed it, handle first, to
Chaske. This signified surrender. Chaske scalped the dead Toka and
motioned for his prisoner to follow him. In the meantime Pretty Feather
had gotten up and stood looking at the duel. When she heard the first shot
she jumped up and cut a small slit in the tent from which she saw the
whole proceedings. Knowing that one or both of them must be wounded, she
hurriedly got water and medicine roots, and when they came to the tent she
was prepared to dress their wounds.
Chaske had a bullet through his shoulder and one through his hand. They
were very painful but not dangerous. The prisoner had a bullet through his
leg, also one through the muscle of his left arm. Pretty Feather washed
and dressed their wounds, and Chaske went and brought the black and white
horses and mounting Pretty Feather upon the white horse, and the prisoner
on her spotted one, the three soon rode into the village, and there was a
great cry of joy when it was known that Pretty Feather had come back to
them again.
Hake, who was in his tent grieving, was told that his friend had returned
and with him Pretty Feather. Hearing this good news he at once went to the
Medicine Man’s tent and found the Medicine Man busily dressing the wounds
of his friend and a stranger. The old Medicine Man turned to Hake and
said:
“Son-in-law, take your wife home with you. It was from grief at your
absence that she went into a trance, and we, thinking she was dead, left
her for such. Hadn’t it been for your friend here, she would surely have
been a corpse now. So take her and keep her with you always, and take as a
present from me fifty of my best horses.”
Hake and his beautiful bride went home, where his adopted mother had a
fine large tent put up for them. Presents of cooking utensils, horses,
robes and finely worked shawls and moccasins came from every direction,
and last of all Chaske gave as a present to his friend the Toka man whom
he had taken as prisoner. On presenting him with this gift, Chaske spoke
thus:
“My friend, I present to you, that you may have him as a servant to look
after your large band of horses, this man with whom I fought a two hours’
duel, and had his ammunition lasted he would probably have conquered me,
and who gave me the second hardest fight of my life. The hardest fight of
my life was when I gave up Pretty Feather. You have them both. To the Toka
(enemy) be kind, and he will do all your biddings. To Pretty Feather be a
good husband.”
So saying, Chaske left them, and true to his word, lived the remainder of
his days a confirmed bachelor.
THE STORY OF THE PET CROW
Once upon a time there came to a large village a plague of crows. So thick
were they that the poor women were sorely tried keeping them out of their
tepees and driving them away from their lines of jerked buffalo meat.
Indeed they got so numerous and were such a great nuisance that the Chief
finally gave orders to his camp criers or heralds to go out among the
different camps and announce the orders of their Chief, that war should be
made upon the crows to extermination; that their nests were to be
destroyed and all eggs broken. The war of extermination was to continue
until not a crow remained, except the youngest found was to be brought to
him alive.
For a week the war on the crows continued. Thousands of dead crows were
brought in daily, and at the end of the week not a bird of that species
could be seen in the neighborhood. Those that escaped the deadly arrow of
the warriors, flew away, never to return to those parts again.
At the end of the war made upon the crows, there was brought to the
Chief’s tepee the youngest found. Indeed, so young was the bird that it
was only the great medicine of the Chief that kept him alive until he
could hop about and find his own food. The Chief spent most of his time in
his lodge teaching the young crow to understand and talk the language of
the tribe. After the crow had mastered this, the Chief then taught him the
languages of the neighboring tribes. When the crow had mastered these
different languages the chief would send him on long journeys to ascertain
the location of the camps of the different enemies.
When the crow would find a large Indian camp he would alight and hop
about, pretending to be picking up scraps, but really keeping his ears
open for anything he might hear. He would hang around all day, and at
night when they would all gather in the large council tent (which always
stood in the center of the village) to determine upon their next raid, and
plan for a horse stealing trip, Mr. Crow was always nearby to hear all
their plans discussed. He would then fly away to his master (the Chief)
and tell him all that he had learned.
The Chief would then send a band of his warriors to lie in ambush for the
raiding party, and, as the enemy would not suspect anything they would go
blindly into the pitfall of death thus set for them. Thus the crow was the
scout of this chief, whose reputation as a Wakan (Holy man) soon reached
all of the different tribes. The Chief’s warriors would intercept, ambush
and annihilate every war party headed for his camp.
So, finally learning that they could not make war on this chief’s people
unbeknown to them, they gave up making war on this particular band. When
meat was running low in the camp this chief would send the crow out to
look for buffalo. When he discovered a herd he would return and report to
his master; then the chief would order out the hunters and they would
return laden with meat. Thus the crow kept the camp all the time informed
of everything that would be of benefit to them.
One day the crow disappeared, over which there was great grief among the
tribe. A week had passed away, when Mr. Crow reappeared. There was great
rejoicing upon his return, but the crow was downcast and would not speak,
but sat with a drooping head perched at the top of the chief’s tepee, and
refused all food that was offered to him.
In vain did the chief try to get the crow to tell him the cause of his
silence and seeming grief. The crow would not speak until the chief said:
“Well, I will take a few of my warriors and go out and try to ascertain
what has happened to cause you to act as you do.”
Upon hearing this, the crow said: “Don’t go. I dreaded to tell you what I
know to be a fact, as I have heard it from some great medicine men. I was
traveling over the mountains west of here, when I spied three old men
sitting at the top of the highest peak. I very cautiously dropped down
behind a rock and listened to their talk. I heard your name mentioned by
one of them, then your brother’s name was mentioned. Then the third, who
was the oldest, said: ‘in three days from today the lightning will kill
those two brothers whom all the nations fear.’”
Upon hearing what the crow stated the tribe became grief stricken. On the
morning of the third day the chief ordered a nice tepee placed upon the
highest point, far enough away from the village, so that the peals of
thunder would not alarm the babies of the camp.
A great feast was given, and after the feasting was over there came in six
young maidens leading the war horses of the two brothers. The horses were
painted and decorated as if for a charge on the enemy. One maiden walked
ahead of the chief’s horse bearing in her hands the bow and arrows of the
great warrior. Next came two maidens, one on either side of the prancing
war steed, each holding a rein. Behind the chief’s horse came the fourth
maiden. Like the first, she bore in her hands the bow and arrows of the
chief’s brother. Then the fifth and sixth maidens each holding a rein,
walked on either side of the prancing horse of the chief’s brother. They
advanced and circled the large gathering and finally stopped directly in
front of the two brothers, who immediately arose and taking their bows and
arrows vaulted lightly upon their war steeds, and singing their death
song, galloped off amid a great cry of grief from the people who loved
them most dearly.
Heading straight for the tepee that had been placed upon the highest
point, adjacent to the village, they soon arrived at their destination
and, dismounting from their horses, turned, waved their hands to their
band, and disappeared within the tepee. Scarcely had they entered the
lodge when the rumblings of distant thunder could be heard. Nearer, and
nearer, came the sound, until at last the storm overspread the locality in
all its fury. Flash upon flash of lightning burst forth from the heavens.
Deafening peals of thunder followed each flash. Finally, one flash
brighter than any of the others, one peal more deafening than those
preceding it, and the storm had passed.
Sadly the warriors gathered together, mounted their horses and slowly rode
to the tepee on the high point. Arriving there they looked inside the
lodge and saw the two brothers lying cold and still in death, each holding
the lariat of his favorite war horse. The horses also lay dead side by
side in front of the tent. (From this came the custom of killing the
favorite horse of a dead warrior at the burial of the owner).
As the Indians sadly left the hill to return home, they heard a noise at
the top of the tepee, and looking up they saw the crow sitting on one of
the splintered tepee poles. He was crying most pitifully, and as they rode
off he flew up high in the air and his pitiful “caw” became fainter and
fainter till at last they heard it no more. And from that day, the story
goes, no crow ever goes near the village of that band of Indians.
THE “WASNA” (PEMMICAN) MAN AND THE UNKTOMI (SPIDER)
Once upon a time there appeared from out of a large belt of timber a man
attired in the fat of the buffalo. On his head he wore the honeycomb part
of the stomach. To this was attached small pieces of fat. The fat which
covered the stomach he wore as a cloak. The large intestines he wore as
leggings, and the kidney fat as his moccasins.
As he appeared he had the misfortune to meet “Unktomi” (spider) with his
hundreds of starving children. Upon seeing the fat, Unktomi and his large
family at once attacked the man, who, in order to save his life, started
to run away, but so closely did Unktomi and his family pursue him that in
order to make better time and also get a little better start, he threw off
his head covering, which the Unktomi family hastily devoured, and were
again closing in upon him. He then threw off his cloak and they devoured
that, and were close upon him again, when he threw off his leggings. These
were hastily eaten up, and, as they drew near to a lake, the man threw off
the kidney fat, and, running to the edge of the lake, dived down into the
water and kept beneath the surface, swimming to the opposite shore. After
the Unktomi family had eaten the kidney fat they came to the water’s edge,
and the grease was floating on the surface of the water which they lapped
up, until there was not a grease spot left floating on the surface.
The small morsels had only sharpened their appetites, and as they saw the
man sitting on the opposite shore, Unktomi and his family proceeded around
the lake and came upon two men sitting on the shore. Unktomi saw that the
other man was “Wakapapi” (pounded beef). The family surrounded the two and
Unktomi ordered them to fight. Fearing Unktomi and his large family, they
at once commenced to fight and Pounded Meat was soon killed. The hungry
family at once fell to eating him. So busy were they that none noticed the
fat man sneak off and disappear.
When they had finished the pounded beef man they looked around to fall
upon the fat man, but nowhere could he be seen. Unktomi said, “I will
track him and when I find him, I will return for you, so stay here and
await my return.”
He followed the fat man’s tracks until farther east on the shore of the
lake he found the fat man in the act of skinning a deer, which he had
killed. (He had held on to his bow and arrows when he jumped into the
lake). “My,” said Unktomi, “this will make a fine meal for my hungry
children. I will go after them, so hurry and cut the meat up into small
pieces so they each can have a piece.”
“All right, go ahead and get your family,” said Fat Man. During Unktomi’s
absence, the fat man hurriedly cut the meat up into small pieces and
carried them up into a tree that stood near to the shore. When he had
carried it all up he threw sand and dirt upon the blood, and so left no
trace of the deer.
On the arrival of Unktomi and his family, no signs of the fat man or the
deer could be found. They wandered about the spot looking for tracks which
might lead them to where the fat man had cached the meat, as Unktomi said
he could not have carried it very far. Now the fat man was up in the tree
and sat watching them. The reflection of the tree was in the water, and
some of the children going close to the shore, discovered it as they
looked at the reflection. The fat man cut a piece of meat and extending it
towards them, drew back his hand and put the meat into his mouth.
“Come quick, father, here he is eating the meat,” said the children.
Unktomi came and seeing the reflection, thought the fat man was down in
the lake. “Wait, I will bring him up for you.” So saying, he dived down,
but soon arose without anything. Again and again he tried, but could not
reach the bottom. He told the children to gather rock for him. These he
tied around his neck and body, and dived down for the last time. The last
the children saw of their father was the bubbles which arose to the
surface of the lake. The rocks being too heavy for him, held him fast to
the bottom, and some hungry fish soon made a feast out of the body of poor
“Unktomi.”
THE RESUSCITATION OF THE ONLY DAUGHTER
There once lived an old couple who had an only daughter. She was a
beautiful girl, and was very much courted by the young men of the tribe,
but she said that she preferred single life, and to all their
heart-touching tales of deep affection for her she always had one answer.
That was “No.”
One day this maiden fell ill and day after day grew worse. All the best
medicine men were called in, but their medicines were of no avail, and in
two weeks from the day that she was taken ill she lay a corpse. Of course
there was great mourning in the camp. They took her body several miles
from camp and rolled it in fine robes and blankets, then they laid her on
a scaffold which they had erected. (This was the custom of burial among
the Indians). They placed four forked posts into the ground and then
lashed strong poles lengthwise and across the ends and made a bed of
willows and stout ash brush. This scaffold was from five to seven feet
from the ground. After the funeral the parents gave away all of their
horses, fine robes and blankets and all of the belongings of the dead
girl. Then they cut their hair off close to their heads, and attired
themselves in the poorest apparel they could secure.
When a year had passed the friends and relatives of the old couple tried
in vain to have them set aside their mourning. “You have mourned long
enough,” they would say. “Put aside your mourning and try and enjoy a few
more pleasures of this life while you live. You are both growing old and
can’t live very many more years, so make the best of your time.” The old
couple would listen to their advice and then shake their heads and answer:
“We have nothing to live for. Nothing we could join in would be any
amusement to us, since we have lost the light of our lives.”
So the old couple continued their mourning for their lost idol. Two years
had passed since the death of the beautiful girl, when one evening a
hunter and his wife passed by the scaffold which held the dead girl. They
were on their return trip and were heavily loaded down with game, and
therefore could not travel very fast. About half a mile from the scaffold
a clear spring burst forth from the side of a bank, and from this trickled
a small stream of water, moistening the roots of the vegetation bordering
its banks, and causing a growth of sweet green grass. At this spring the
hunter camped and tethering his horses, at once set about helping his wife
to erect the small tepee which they carried for convenience in traveling.
When it became quite dark, the hunter’s dogs set up a great barking and
growling. “Look out and see what the dogs are barking at,” said the hunter
to his wife. She looked out through the door and then drew back saying:
“There is the figure of a woman advancing from the direction of the girl’s
scaffold.” “I expect it is the dead girl; let her come, and don’t act as
if you were afraid,” said the hunter. Soon they heard footsteps advancing
and the steps ceased at the door. Looking down at the lower part of the
door the hunter noticed a pair of small moccasins, and knowing that it was
the visitor, said: “Whoever you are, come in and have something to eat.”
At this invitation the figure came slowly in and sat down by the door with
head covered and with a fine robe drawn tightly over the face. The woman
dished up a fine supper and placing it before the visitor, said: “Eat, my
friend, you must be hungry.” The figure never moved, nor would it uncover
to eat. “Let us turn our back towards the door and our visitor may eat the
food,” said the hunter. So his wife turned her back towards the visitor
and made herself very busy cleaning the small pieces of meat that were
hanging to the back sinews of the deer which had been killed. (This the
Indians use as thread.) The hunter, filling his pipe, turned away and
smoked in silence. Finally the dish was pushed back to the woman, who took
it and after washing it, put it away. The figure still sat at the door,
not a sound coming from it, neither was it breathing. The hunter at last
said: “Are you the girl that was placed upon that scaffold two years ago?”
It bowed its head two or three times in assent. “Are you going to sleep
here tonight; if you are, my wife will make down a bed for you.” The
figure shook its head. “Are you going to come again tomorrow night to us?”
It nodded assent.
For three nights in succession the figure visited the hunter’s camp. The
third night the hunter noticed that the figure was breathing. He saw one
of the hands protruding from the robe. The skin was perfectly black and
was stuck fast to the bones of the hand. On seeing this the hunter arose
and going over to his medicine sack which hung on a pole, took down the
sack and, opening it, took out some roots and mixing them with skunk oil
and vermillion, said to the figure:
“If you will let us rub your face and hands with this medicine it will put
new life into the skin and you will assume your complexion again and it
will put flesh on you.” The figure assented and the hunter rubbed the
medicine on her hands and face. Then she arose and walked back to the
scaffold. The next day the hunter moved camp towards the home village.
That night he camped within a few miles of the village. When night came,
the dogs, as usual, set up a great barking, and looking out, the wife saw
the girl approaching.
When the girl had entered and sat down, the hunter noticed that the girl
did not keep her robe so closely together over her face. When the wife
gave her something to eat, the girl reached out and took the dish, thus
exposing her hands, which they at once noticed were again natural. After
she had finished her meal, the hunter said: “Did my medicine help you?”
She nodded assent. “Do you want my medicine rubbed all over your body?”
Again she nodded. “I will mix enough to rub your entire body, and I will
go outside and let my wife rub it on for you.” He mixed a good supply and
going out left his wife to rub the girl. When his wife had completed the
task she called to her husband to come in, and when he came in he sat down
and said to the girl: “Tomorrow we will reach the village. Do you want to
go with us?” She shook her head. “Will you come again to our camp tomorrow
night after we have camped in the village?” She nodded her head in assent.
“Then do you want to see your parents?” She nodded again, and arose and
disappeared into the darkness.
Early the next morning the hunter broke camp and traveled far into the
afternoon, when he arrived at the village. He instructed his wife to go at
once and inform the old couple of what had happened. The wife did so and
at sunset the old couple came to the hunter’s tepee. They were invited to
enter and a fine supper was served them. Soon after they had finished
their supper the dogs of the camp set up a great barking. “Now she is
coming, so be brave and you will soon see your lost daughter,” said the
hunter. Hardly had he finished speaking when she entered the tent as
natural as ever she was in life. Her parents clung to her and smothered
her with kisses.
They wanted her to return home with them, but she would stay with the
hunter who had brought her back to life, and she married him, becoming his
second wife. A short time after taking the girl for his wife, the hunter
joined a war party and never returned, as he was killed on the
battlefield.
A year after her husband’s death she married again. This husband was also
killed by a band of enemies whom the warriors were pursuing for stealing
some of their horses. The third husband also met a similar fate to the
first. He was killed on the field of battle.
She was still a handsome woman at the time of the third husband’s death,
but never again married, as the men feared her, saying she was holy, and
that any one who married her would be sure to be killed by the enemy.
So she took to doctoring the sick and gained the reputation of being the
most skilled doctor in the nation. She lived to a ripe old age and when
she felt death approaching she had them take her to where she had rested
once before, and crawling to the top of the newly erected scaffold,
wrapped her blankets and robes about her, covered her face carefully, and
fell into that sleep from which there is no more awakening.
THE STORY OF THE PET CRANE
There was once upon a time a man who did not care to live with his tribe
in a crowded village, but preferred a secluded spot in the deep forest,
there to live with his wife and family of five children. The oldest of the
children (a boy) was twelve years of age, and being the son of a
distinguished hunter, soon took to roaming through the forest in search of
small game.
One day during his ramblings, he discovered a crane’s nest, with only one
young crane occupying it. No doubt some fox or traveling weasel had eaten
the rest of the crane’s brothers and sisters. The boy said to himself, “I
will take this poor little crane home and will raise him as a pet for our
baby. If I leave him here some hungry fox will be sure to eat the poor
little fellow.” He carried the young crane home and it grew to be nearly
as tall as the boy’s five-year-old sister.
Being brought up in a human circle, it soon grew to understand all the
family said. Although it could not speak it took part in all the games
played by the children. The father of the family was, as I have before
mentioned, a great hunter. He always had a plentiful supply of deer,
antelope, buffalo and beaver meats on hand, but there came a change. The
game migrated to some other locality, where no deadly shot like “Kutesan”
(Never Miss) would be around to annihilate their fast decreasing droves.
The hunter started out early one morning in hopes of discovering some of
the game which had disappeared as suddenly as though the earth had
swallowed them. The hunter traveled the whole day, all to no purpose. It
was late in the evening when he staggered into camp. He was nearly dead
with fatigue. Hastily swallowing a cup of cherry bark tea (the only
article of food they had in store), he at once retired and was soon in the
sweet land of dreams. The children soon joined their father and the poor
woman sat thinking how they could save their dear children from
starvation. Suddenly out upon the night air rang the cry of a crane.
Instantly the pet crane awoke, stepped outside and answered the call. The
crane which had given the cry was the father of the pet crane, and
learning from Mr. Fox of the starving condition of his son and his
friends, he flew to the hunting grounds of the tribe, and as there had
been a good kill that day, the crane found no trouble in securing a great
quantity of fat. This he carried to the tent of the hunter and, hovering
over the tent he suddenly let the fat drop to the earth and at once the
pet crane picked it up and carried it to the woman.
Wishing to surprise the family on their awakening in the morning she got a
good stick for a light, heaped up sticks on the dying embers, and started
up a rousing fire and proceeded to melt or try out the fat, as melted fat
is considered a favorite dish. Although busily occupied she kept her ears
open for any strange noises coming out of the forest, there being usually
some enemies lurking around. She held her pan in such a position that
after the fat started to melt and quite a lot of the hot grease
accumulated in the pan, she could plainly see the tent door reflected in
the hot grease, as though she used a mirror.
When she had nearly completed her task, she heard a noise as though some
footsteps were approaching. Instantly her heart began to beat a tattoo on
her ribs, but she sat perfectly quiet, calling all her self-control into
play to keep from making an outcry. This smart woman had already studied
out a way in which to best this enemy, in case an enemy it should be. The
footsteps, or noise, continued to advance, until at last the woman saw
reflected in the pan of grease a hand slowly protruding through the tent
door, and the finger pointed, as if counting, to the sleeping father, then
to each one of the sleeping children, then to her who sat at the fire.
Little did Mr. Enemy suppose that the brave woman who sat so composed at
her fire, was watching every motion he was making. The hand slowly
withdrew, and as the footsteps slowly died away, there rang out on the
still night air the deep fierce howl of the prairie wolf. (This imitation
of a prairie wolf is the signal to the war party that an enemy has been
discovered by the scout whom they have sent out in advance). At once she
aroused her husband and children. Annoyed at being so unceremoniously
disturbed from his deep sleep, the husband crossly asked why she had
awakened him so roughly. The wife explained what she had seen and heard.
She at once pinned an old blanket around the crane’s shoulders and an old
piece of buffalo hide on his head for a hat or head covering. Heaping
piles of wood onto the fire she instructed him to run around outside of
the hut until the family returned, as they were going to see if they could
find some roots to mix up with the fat. Hurriedly she tied her blanket
around her middle, put her baby inside of it, and then grabbed her three
year old son and packed him on her back. The father also hurriedly packed
the next two and the older boy took care of himself.
Immediately upon leaving the tent they took three different directions, to
meet again on the high hill west of their home. The reflection from the
fire in the tent disclosed to them the poor pet crane running around the
tent. It looked exactly like a child with its blanket and hat on.
Suddenly there rang out a score of shots and war whoops of the dreaded
Crow Indians. Finding the tent deserted they disgustedly filed off and
were swallowed up in the darkness of the deep forest.
The next morning the family returned to see what had become of their pet
crane. There, riddled to pieces, lay the poor bird who had given up his
life to save his dear friends.
WHITE PLUME
There once lived a young couple who were very happy. The young man was
noted throughout the whole nation for his accuracy with the bow and arrow,
and was given the title of “Dead Shot,” or “He who never misses his mark,”
and the young woman, noted for her beauty, was named Beautiful Dove.
One day a stork paid this happy couple a visit and left them a fine big
boy. The boy cried “Ina, ina” (mother, mother). “Listen to our son,” said
the mother, “he can speak, and hasn’t he a sweet voice?” “Yes,” said the
father, “it will not be long before he will be able to walk.” He set to
work making some arrows, and a fine hickory bow for his son. One of the
arrows he painted red, one blue, and another yellow. The rest he left the
natural color of the wood. When he had completed them, the mother placed
them in a fine quiver, all worked in porcupine quills, and hung them up
over where the boy slept in his fine hammock of painted moose hide.
At times when the mother would be nursing her son, she would look up at
the bow and arrows and talk to her baby, saying: “My son, hurry up and
grow fast so you can use your bow and arrows. You will grow up to be as
fine a marksman as your father.” The baby would coo and stretch his little
arms up towards the bright colored quiver as though he understood every
word his mother had uttered. Time passed and the boy grew up to a good
size, when one day his father said: “Wife, give our son the bow and arrows
so that he may learn how to use them.” The father taught his son how to
string and unstring the bow, and also how to attach the arrow to the
string. The red, blue and yellow arrows, he told the boy, were to be used
only whenever there was any extra good shooting to be done, so the boy
never used these three until he became a master of the art. Then he would
practice on eagles and hawks, and never an eagle or hawk continued his
flight when the boy shot one of the arrows after him.
One day the boy came running into the tent, exclaiming: “Mother, mother, I
have shot and killed the most beautiful bird I ever saw.” “Bring it in, my
son, and let me look at it.” He brought the bird and upon examining it she
pronounced it a different type of bird from any she had ever seen. Its
feathers were of variegated colors and on its head was a topknot of pure
white feathers. The father, returning, asked the boy with which arrow he
had killed the bird. “With the red one,” answered the boy. “I was so
anxious to secure the pretty bird that, although I know I could have
killed it with one of my common arrows, I wanted to be certain, so I used
the red one.” “That is right, my son,” said the father. “When you have the
least doubt of your aim, always use one of the painted arrows, and you
will never miss your mark.”
The parents decided to give a big feast in honor of their son killing the
strange, beautiful bird. So a great many elderly women were called to the
tent of Pretty Dove to assist her in making ready for the big feast. For
ten days these women cooked and pounded beef and cherries, and got ready
the choicest dishes known to the Indians. Of buffalo, beaver, deer,
antelope, moose, bear, quail, grouse, duck of all kinds, geese and plover
meats there was an abundance. Fish of all kinds, and every kind of wild
fruit were cooked, and when all was in readiness, the heralds went through
the different villages, crying out: “Ho-po, ho-po” (now all, now all),
“Dead Shot and his wife, Beautiful Dove, invite all of you, young and old,
to their tepee to partake of a great feast, given by them in honor of a
great bird which their son has killed, and also to select for their son
some good name which he will bear through life. So all bring your cups and
wooden dishes along with your horn spoons, as there will be plenty to eat.
Come, all you council men and chiefs, as they have also a great tent
erected for you in which you hold your council.”
Thus crying, the heralds made the circle of the village. The guests soon
arrived. In front of the tent was a pole stuck in the ground and painted
red, and at the top of the pole was fastened the bird of variegated
colors; its wings stretched out to their full length and the beautiful
white waving so beautifully from its topknot, it was the center of
attraction. Half way up the pole was tied the bow and arrow of the young
marksman. Long streamers of fine bead and porcupine work waved from the
pole and presented a very striking appearance. The bird was faced towards
the setting sun. The great chief and medicine men pronounced the bird
“Wakan” (something holy).
When the people had finished eating they all fell in line and marched in
single file beneath the bird, in order to get a close view of it. By the
time this vast crowd had fully viewed the wonderful bird, the sun was just
setting clear in the west, when directly over the rays of the sun appeared
a cloud in the shape of a bird of variegated colors. The councilmen were
called out to look at the cloud, and the head medicine man said that it
was a sign that the boy would grow up to be a great chief and hunter, and
would have a great many friends and followers.
This ended the feast, but before dispersing, the chief and councilmen
bestowed upon the boy the title of White Plume.
One day a stranger came to the village, who was very thin and nearly
starved. So weak was he that he could not speak, but made signs for
something to eat. Luckily the stranger came to Dead Shot’s tent, and as
there was always a plentiful supply in his lodge, the stranger soon had a
good meal served him. After he had eaten and rested he told his story.
“I came from a very great distance,” said he. “The nations where I came
from are in a starving condition. No place can they find any buffalo, deer
nor antelope. A witch or evil spirit in the shape of a white buffalo has
driven all the large game out of the country. Every day this white buffalo
comes circling the village, and any one caught outside of their tent is
carried away on its horns. In vain have the best marksmen of the tribe
tried to shoot it. Their arrows fly wide off the mark, and they have given
up trying to kill it as it bears a charmed life. Another evil spirit in
the form of a red eagle has driven all the birds of the air out of our
country. Every day this eagle circles above the village, and so powerful
is it that anyone being caught outside of his tent is descended upon and
his skull split open to the brain by the sharp breastbone of the Eagle.
Many a marksman has tried his skill on this bird, all to no purpose.
“Another evil spirit in the form of a white rabbit has driven out all the
animals which inhabit the ground, and destroyed the fields of corn and
turnips, so the nation is starving, as the arrows of the marksmen have
also failed to touch the white rabbit. Any one who can kill these three
witches will receive as his reward, the choice of two of the most
beautiful maidens of our nation. The younger one is the handsomer of the
two and has also the sweetest disposition. Many young, and even old men,
hearing of this (our chief’s) offer, have traveled many miles to try their
arrows on the witches, but all to no purpose. Our chief, hearing of your
great marksmanship, sent me to try and secure your services to have you
come and rid us of these three witches.”
Thus spoke the stranger to the hunter. The hunter gazed long and
thoughtfully into the dying embers of the camp fire. Then slowly his eyes
raised and looked lovingly on his wife who sat opposite to him. Gazing on
her beautiful features for a full minute he slowly dropped his gaze back
to the dying embers and thus answered his visitor:
“My friend, I feel very much honored by your chief having sent such a
great distance for me, and also for the kind offer of his lovely daughter
in marriage, if I should succeed, but I must reject the great offer, as I
can spare none of my affections to any other woman than to my queen whom
you see sitting there.”
White Plume had been listening to the conversation and when his father had
finished speaking, said: “Father, I am a child no more. I have arrived at
manhood. I am not so good a marksman as you, but I will go to this
suffering tribe and try to rid them of their three enemies. If this man
will rest for a few days and return to his village and inform them of my
coming, I will travel along slowly on his trail and arrive at the village
a day or two after he reaches there.”
“Very well, my son,” said the father, “I am sure you will succeed, as you
fear nothing, and as to your marksmanship, it is far superior to mine, as
your sight is much clearer and aim quicker than mine.”
The man rested a few days and one morning started off, after having
instructed White Plume as to the trail. White Plume got together what he
would need on the trip and was ready for an early start the next morning.
That night Dead Shot and his wife sat up away into the night instructing
their son how to travel and warning him as to the different kinds of
people he must avoid in order to keep out of trouble. “Above all,” said
the father, “keep a good look out for Unktomi (spider); he is the most
tricky of all, and will get you into trouble if you associate with him.”
White Plume left early, his father accompanying him for several miles. On
parting, the father’s last words were: “Look out for Unktomi, my son, he
is deceitful and treacherous.” “I’ll look out for him, father;” so saying
he disappeared over a hill. On the way he tried his skill on several hawks
and eagles and he did not need to use his painted arrows to kill them, but
so skillful was he with the bow and arrows that he could bring down
anything that flew with his common arrows. He was drawing near to the end
of his destination when he had a large tract of timber to pass through.
When he had nearly gotten through the timber he saw an old man sitting on
a log, looking wistfully up into a big tree, where sat a number of prairie
chickens.
“Hello, grandfather, why are you sitting there looking so downhearted?”
asked White Plume. “I am nearly starved, and was just wishing some one
would shoot one of those chickens for me, so I could make a good meal on
it,” said the old man. “I will shoot one for you,” said the young man. He
strung his bow, placed an arrow on the string, simply seemed to raise the
arrow in the direction of the chicken (taking no aim). Twang went out the
bow, zip went the arrow and a chicken fell off the limb, only to get
caught on another in its descent. “There is your chicken, grandfather.”
“Oh, my grandson, I am too weak to climb up and get it. Can’t you climb up
and get it for me?” The young man, pitying the old fellow, proceeded to
climb the tree, when the old man stopped him, saying: “Grandson, you have
on such fine clothes, it is a pity to spoil them; you had better take them
off so as not to spoil the fine porcupine work on them.” The young man
took off his fine clothes and climbed up into the tree, and securing the
chicken, threw it down to the old man. As the young man was scaling down
the tree, the old man said: “Iyashkapa, iyashkapa,” (stick fast, stick
fast). Hearing him say something, he asked, “What did you say, old man?”
He answered, “I was only talking to myself.” The young man proceeded to
descend, but he could not move. His body was stuck fast to the bark of the
tree. In vain did he beg the old man to release him. The old Unktomi, for
he it was, only laughed and said: “I will go now and kill the evil
spirits, I have your wonderful bow and arrows and I cannot miss them. I
will marry the chief’s daughter, and you can stay up in that tree and die
there.”
So saying, he put on White Plume’s fine clothes, took his bow and arrows
and went to the village. As White Plume was expected at any minute, the
whole village was watching for him, and when Unktomi came into sight the
young men ran to him with a painted robe, sat him down on it and slowly
raising him up they carried him to the tent of the chief. So certain were
they that he would kill the evil spirits that the chief told him to choose
one of the daughters at once for his wife. (Before the arrival of White
Plume, hearing of him being so handsome, the two girls had quarreled over
which should marry him, but upon seeing him the younger was not anxious to
become his wife.) So Unktomi chose the older one of the sisters, and was
given a large tent in which to live. The younger sister went to her
mother’s tent to live, and the older was very proud, as she was married to
the man who would save the nation from starvation. The next morning there
was a great commotion in camp, and there came the cry that the white
buffalo was coming. “Get ready, son-in-law, and kill the buffalo,” said
the chief.
Unktomi took the bow and arrows and shot as the buffalo passed, but the
arrow went wide off its mark. Next came the eagle, and again he shot and
missed. Then came the rabbit, and again he missed.
“Wait until tomorrow, I will kill them all. My blanket caught in my bow
and spoiled my aim.” The people were very much disappointed, and the
chief, suspecting that all was not right, sent for the young man who had
visited Dead Shot’s tepee. When the young man arrived, the chief asked:
“Did you see White Plume when you went to Dead Shot’s camp?” “Yes, I did,
and ate with him many times. I stayed at his father’s tepee all the time I
was there,” said the young man. “Would you recognize him if you saw him
again?” asked the chief. “Any one who had but one glimpse of White Plume
would surely recognize him when he saw him again, as he is the most
handsome man I ever saw,” said the young man.
“Come with me to the tent of my son-in-law and take a good look at him,
but don’t say what you think until we come away.” The two went to the tent
of Unktomi, and when the young man saw him he knew it was not White Plume,
although it was White Plume’s bow and arrows that hung at the head of the
bed, and he also recognized the clothes as belonging to White Plume. When
they had returned to the chief’s tent, the young man told what he knew and
what he thought. “I think this is some Unktomi who has played some trick
on White Plume and has taken his bow and arrows and also his clothes, and
hearing of your offer, is here impersonating White Plume. Had White Plume
drawn the bow on the buffalo, eagle and rabbit today, we would have been
rid of them, so I think we had better scare this Unktomi into telling us
where White Plume is,” said the young man.
“Wait until he tries to kill the witches again tomorrow,” said the chief.
In the meantime the younger daughter had taken an axe and gone into the
woods in search of dry wood. She went quite a little distance into the
wood and was chopping a dry log. Stopping to rest a little she heard some
one saying: “Whoever you are, come over here and chop this tree down so
that I may get loose.” Going to where the big tree stood, she saw a man
stuck onto the side of the tree. “If I chop it down the fall will kill
you,” said the girl. “No, chop it on the opposite side from me, and the
tree will fall that way. If the fall kills me, it will be better than
hanging up here and starving to death,” said White Plume, for it was he.
The girl chopped the tree down and when she saw that it had not killed the
man, she said: “What shall I do now?” “Loosen the bark from the tree and
then get some stones and heat them. Get some water and sage and put your
blanket over me.” She did as told and when the steam arose from the water
being poured upon the heated rocks, the bark loosened from his body and he
arose. When he stood up, she saw how handsome he was. “You have saved my
life,” said he. “Will you be my wife?” “I will,” said she. He then told
her how the old man had fooled him into this trap and took his bow and
arrows, also his fine porcupine worked clothes, and had gone off, leaving
him to die. She, in turn, told him all that had happened in camp since a
man, calling himself White Plume, came there and married her sister before
he shot at the witches, and when he came to shoot at them, missed every
shot. “Let us make haste, as the bad Unktomi may ruin my arrows.” They
approached the camp and whilst White Plume waited outside, his promised
wife entered Unktomi’s tent and said: “Unktomi, White Plume is standing
outside and he wants his clothes and bow and arrows.” “Oh, yes, I borrowed
them and forgot to return them; make haste and give them to him.”
Upon receiving his clothes, he was very much provoked to find his fine
clothes wrinkled and his bow twisted, while the arrows were twisted out of
shape. He laid the clothes down, also the bows and arrows, and passing his
hand over them, they assumed their right shapes again. The daughter took
White Plume to her father’s tent and upon hearing the story he at once
sent for his warriors and had them form a circle around Unktomi’s tent,
and if he attempted to escape to catch him and tie him to a tree, as he
(the chief) had determined to settle accounts with him for his treatment
of White Plume, and the deception employed in winning the chief’s eldest
daughter. About midnight the guard noticed something crawling along close
to the ground, and seizing him found it was Unktomi trying to make his
escape before daylight, whereupon they tied him to a tree. “Why do you
treat me thus,” cried Unktomi, “I was just going out in search of medicine
to rub on my arrows, so I can kill the witches.” “You will need medicine
to rub on yourself when the chief gets through with you,” said the young
man who had discovered that Unktomi was impersonating White Plume.
In the morning the herald announced that the real White Plume had arrived,
and the chief desired the whole nation to witness his marksmanship. Then
came the cry: “The White Buffalo comes.” Taking his red arrow, White Plume
stood ready. When the buffalo got about opposite him, he let his arrow
fly. The buffalo bounded high in the air and came down with all four feet
drawn together under its body, the red arrow having passed clear through
the animal, piercing the buffalo’s heart. A loud cheer went up from the
village.
“You shall use the hide for your bed,” said the chief to White Plume. Next
came a cry, “the eagle, the eagle.” From the north came an enormous red
eagle. So strong was he, that as he soared through the air his wings made
a humming sound as the rumble of distant thunder. On he came, and just as
he circled the tent of the chief, White Plume bent his bow, with all his
strength drew the arrow back to the flint point, and sent the blue arrow
on its mission of death. So swiftly had the arrow passed through the
eagle’s body that, thinking White Plume had missed, a great wail went up
from the crowd, but when they saw the eagle stop in his flight, give a few
flaps of his wings, and then fall with a heavy thud into the center of the
village, there was a greater cheer than before. “The red eagle shall be
used to decorate the seat of honor in your tepee,” said the chief to White
Plume. Last came the white rabbit. “Aim good, aim good, son-in-law,” said
the chief. “If you kill him you will have his skin for a rug.” Along came
the white rabbit, and White Plume sent his arrow in search of rabbit’s
heart, which it found, and stopped Mr. Rabbit’s tricks forever.
The chief then called all of the people together and before them all took
a hundred willows and broke them one at a time over Unktomi’s back. Then
he turned him loose. Unktomi, being so ashamed, ran off into the woods and
hid in the deepest and darkest corner he could find. This is why Unktomis
(spiders) are always found in dark corners, and anyone who is deceitful or
untruthful is called a descendant of the Unktomi tribe.
STORY OF PRETTY FEATHERED FOREHEAD
There was once a baby boy who came into the world with a small cluster of
different colored feathers grown fast to his forehead. From this he
derived his name, “Pretty Feathered Forehead.” He was a very pleasant boy
as well as handsome, and he had the respect of the whole tribe. When he
had grown up to be a young man, he never, like other young men, made love
to any of the tribe’s beauties. Although they were madly in love with him,
he never noticed any of them. There were many handsome girls in the
different camps, but he passed them by.
One day he said: “Father, I am going on a visit to the Buffalo nation.”
The father gave his consent, and away went the son. The father and mother
suspected the object of their son’s visit to the Buffalo nation, and
forthwith commenced preparing a fine reception for their intended
daughter-in-law. The mother sewed together ten buffalo hides and painted
the brave deeds of her husband on them. This she made into a commodious
tent, and had work bags and fine robes and blankets put inside. This was
to be the tent of their son and daughter-in-law. In a few weeks the son
returned, bringing with him a beautiful Buffalo girl. The parents of the
boy gave a big feast in honor of the occasion, and the son and his wife
lived very happily together.
In the course of time a son came to the young couple, and the father was
very proud of his boy. When the boy became a year old, the father said to
his wife: “I am going for a visit to the Elk nation.” The mother was very
sad, as she knew her husband was going after another wife. He returned,
bringing with him a very beautiful elk girl. When the Buffalo woman saw
the elk girl she was very downcast and sad, but the husband said: “Don’t
be sad; she will do all the heavy work for you.”
They lived quite happily together for a long time. The Elk girl also
became the mother of a fine boy. The two boys had grown up large enough to
play around. One day the Elk woman was tanning hides outside and the two
boys were playing around near their mothers, when all at once the buffalo
boy ran across the robe, leaving his tracks on the white robe which his
step-mother had nearly completed. This provoked the elk woman and she gave
vent to her feelings by scolding the boy: “You clumsy flat mouth, why
couldn’t you run around my work, instead of across it?” The buffalo cow
standing in the door, heard every word that the elk woman had said, and
when she heard her son called flat mouth it made her very angry, although
she did not say a word to any one. She hurriedly gathered some of her
belongings and, calling her son, she started off in a westerly direction.
The husband being absent on a hunting expedition did not return until late
in the afternoon. Upon his return his oldest boy always ran out to meet
him, but this time as the boy did not put in an appearance, the father
feared that something had happened to the boy. So hurriedly going to his
tent he looked around, but failing to see the boy or his mother, he asked
his elk wife, where the boy and his mother were. The elk wife answered:
“She took her boy on her back and started off in that direction,”
(pointing towards the west). “How long has she been gone?” “Since early
morning.” The husband hurriedly caught a fresh horse and, without eating
anything, rode off in the direction taken by his buffalo wife and boy.
Near dark he ascended a high hill and noticed a small tent down in the
valley. It was a long distance down to the tent, so it was very late when
he arrived there. He tethered his horse and went into the tent and found
the boy and his mother fast asleep. Upon lying down beside them the boy
awoke, and upon seeing his father, motioned to him to go outside with him.
On going outside the boy told his father that it would be useless for him
to try and coax his mother to return, as she was too highly insulted by
the elk wife to ever return. Then the boy told about what the elk wife had
said and that she had called him flat mouth. “My mother is determined to
return to her people, but if you want to follow us you may, and perhaps,
after she has visited with her relatives a little while, you may induce
her to return with you. In the morning we are going to start very early,
and as the country we will travel through is very hard soil, I will stamp
my feet hard so as to leave my tracks imprinted in the softest places,
then you will be able to follow the direction we will take.”
The two went into the tent and were soon fast asleep. The father, being
very much fatigued, slept very soundly, and when he awoke the sun was
beating down upon him. The mother and boy were nowhere to be seen. The
tent had been taken down from over him so carefully that he had not been
awakened. Getting his horse, he mounted and rode after the two who had
left him sleeping. He had no trouble in following the trail, as the boy
had stamped his feet hard and left his little tracks in the soft places.
That evening he spied the little tent again and on getting to it found
them both asleep. The boy awoke and motioned for his father to go outside.
He again told his father that the next day’s travel would be the hardest
of all. “We will cross a great plain, but before we get there we will
cross a sandy hollow. When you get to the hollow, look at my tracks; they
will be deep into the sand, and in each track you will see little pools of
water. Drink as much as you can, as this is the only chance you will get
to have a drink, there being no water from there to the big ridge, and it
will be dark by the time you get to the ridge. The relations of my mother
live at that ridge and I will come and talk to you once more, before I
leave you to join my mother’s people.”
Next morning, as before, he awoke to find himself alone. They had left him
and proceeded on their journey. He mounted again and when he arrived at
the sandy hollow, sure enough, there, deep in the sand, were the tracks of
his son filled to the top with water. He drank and drank until he had
drained the last one. Then he arose and continued on the trail, and near
sundown he came in sight of their little tent away up on the side of the
ridge. His horse suddenly staggered and fell forward dead, having died of
thirst.
From there he proceeded on foot. When he got to where the tent stood he
entered, only to find it empty. “I guess my son intends to come here and
have his last talk with me,” thought the father. He had eaten nothing for
three days, and was nearly famished. He lay down, but the pangs of hunger
kept sleep away. He heard footsteps outside and lay in readiness, thinking
it might be an enemy. Slowly opening the covering of the door, his son
looked in and seeing his father lying awake, drew back and ran off up the
ridge, but soon returned bringing a small parcel with him. When he entered
he gave the parcel to his father and said: “Eat, father; I stole this food
for you, so I could not get very much.” The father soon ate what his son
had brought. When he had finished, the son said: “Tomorrow morning the
relatives of my mother will come over here and take you down to the
village. My mother has three sisters who have their work bags made
identically the same as mother’s. Were they to mix them up they could not
each pick out her own without looking inside so as to identify them by
what they have in them. You will be asked to pick out mother’s work bag,
and if you fail they will trample you to death. Next they will tell you to
pick out my mother from among her sisters, and you will be unable to
distinguish her from the other three, and if you fail they will bury you
alive. The last they will try you on, in case you meet the first and
second tests successfully, will be to require you to pick me out from my
three cousins, who are as much like me as my reflection in the water. The
bags you can tell by a little pebble I will place on my mother’s. You can
pick my mother out by a small piece of grass which I will put in her hair,
and you can pick me out from my cousins, for when we commence to dance, I
will shake my head, flop my ears and switch my tail. You must choose
quickly, as they will be very angry at your success, and if you lose any
time they will make the excuse that you did not know, that they may have
an excuse to trample you to death.”
The boy then left, after admonishing his father to remember all that he
had told him. Early next morning the father heard a great rumbling noise,
and going outside, he saw the whole hillside covered with buffalo. When he
appeared they set up a loud bellowing and circled around him. One old bull
came up and giving a loud snort, passed on by, looking back every few
steps. The man, thinking he was to follow this one, did so, and the whole
herd, forming a half circle around him, escorted him down the west side of
the range out on to a large plain, where there stood a lone tree. To this
tree the old bull led him and stopped when he reached the tree. A large
rock at the foot of the tree served as a seat for the man. As soon as he
was seated there came four female buffaloes, each bearing a large work
box. They set the boxes down in a row in front of the man, and the herd
crowded around closer in order to get a good view. The old bull came to
the front and stood close to the bags, which had been taken out of the
four boxes.
The man stood up, and looking at the bags, noticed a small pebble resting
on the one next to the left end. Stepping over he pulled the bag towards
him and secretly pushed the little pebble off the bag, so that no one
would notice it. When they saw that he had selected the right one, they
set up a terrific bellow.
Then came the four sisters and stood in a line before the man. Glancing
along from the one on the right to the last one on the left, he stepped
forward and placed his hand on the one next to the right. Thanks to his
boy, if he hadn’t put that little stem of grass on his mother’s hair, the
father could never have picked out his wife, as the four looked as much
alike as four peas. Next came the four boy calves, and as they advanced
they commenced dancing, and his son was shaking his head and flopping his
ears and switching his tail. The father was going to pick out his boy,
when a fainting spell took him, and as he sank to the ground the old bull
sprang forward on top of him, and instantly they rushed upon him and he
was soon trampled to a jelly. The herd then moved to other parts.
The elk wife concluded that something had happened to her husband and
determined upon going in search of him. As she was very fleet of foot it
did not take her long to arrive at the lone tree. She noticed the blood
splashed on the base of the tree, and small pieces of flesh stamped into
the earth. Looking closer, she noticed something white in the dust.
Stooping and picking it out of the dust, she drew forth the cluster of
different colored feathers which had been fastened to her husband’s
forehead. She at once took the cluster of feathers, and going to the east
side of the ridge, heated stones and erected a wickieup, placed the
feathers inside, and getting water, she sprinkled the stones, and this
caused a thick vapor in the wickieup. She continued this for a long time,
when she heard something moving inside the wickieup. Then a voice spoke
up, saying: “Whoever you are, pour some more water on and I will be all
right.” So the woman got more water and poured it on the rocks. “That will
do now, I want to dry off.” She plucked a pile of sage and in handing it
in to him, he recognized his elk wife’s hand.
They went back home and shortly after the buffalo, hearing about him
coming back to life, decided to make war on him and kill him and his wife,
she being the one who brought him back to life. The woman, hearing of
this, had posts set in the ground and a strong platform placed on top.
When the buffalo came, her husband, her son and herself, were seated upon
the bough platform, and the buffalo could not reach them. She flouted her
red blanket in their faces, which made the buffalo wild with rage. The
hunter’s friends came to his rescue, and so fast were they killing the
buffalo that they took flight and rushed away, never more to bother Pretty
Feather Forehead.
THE FOUR BROTHERS OR INYANHOKSILA (STONE BOY)
Alone and apart from their tribe dwelt four orphan brothers. They had
erected a very comfortable hut, although the materials used were only
willows, hay, birch bark, and adobe mud. After the completion of their
hut, the oldest brother laid out the different kinds of work to be done by
the four of them. He and the second and third brothers were to do all the
hunting, and the youngest brother was to do the house work, cook the
meals, and keep plenty of wood on hand at all times.
As his older brothers would leave for their hunting very early every
morning, and would not return till late at night, the little fellow always
found plenty of spare time to gather into little piles fine dry wood for
their winter use.
Thus the four brothers lived happily for a long time. One day while out
gathering and piling up wood, the boy heard a rustling in the leaves and
looking around he saw a young woman standing in the cherry bushes, smiling
at him.
“Who are you, and where did you come from?” asked the boy, in surprise. “I
am an orphan girl and have no relatives living. I came from the village
west of here. I learned from rabbit that there were four orphan brothers
living here all alone, and that the youngest was keeping house for his
older brothers, so I thought I would come over and see if I couldn’t have
them adopt me as their sister, so that I might keep house for them, as I
am very poor and have no relations, neither have I a home.”
She looked so pitiful and sad that the boy thought to himself, “I will
take her home with me, poor girl, no matter what my brothers think or
say.” Then he said to her: “Come on, tanke (sister). You may go home with
me; I am sure my older brothers will be glad to have you for our sister.”
When they arrived at the hut, the girl hustled about and cooked up a fine
hot supper, and when the brothers returned they were surprised to see a
girl sitting by the fire in their hut. After they had entered the youngest
brother got up and walked outside, and a short time after the oldest
brother followed him out. “Who is that girl, and where did she come from?”
he asked his brother. Whereupon the brother told him the whole story. Upon
hearing this the oldest brother felt very sorry for the poor orphan girl
and going back into the hut he spoke to the girl, saying: “Sister, you are
an orphan, the same as we; you have no relatives, no home. We will be your
brothers, and our poor hut shall be your home. Henceforth call us
brothers, and you will be our sister.”
“Oh, how happy I am now that you take me as your sister. I will be to you
all as though we were of the same father and mother,” said the girl. And
true to her word, she looked after everything of her brothers and kept the
house in such fine shape that the brothers blessed the day that she came
to their poor little hut. She always had an extra buckskin suit and two
pairs of moccasins hanging at the head of each one’s bed. Buffalo, deer,
antelope, bear, wolf, wildcat, mountain lion and beaver skins she tanned
by the dozen, and piled nicely in one corner of the hut.
When the Indians have walked a great distance and are very tired, they
have great faith in painting their feet, claiming that paint eases the
pain and rests their feet.
After their return from a long day’s journey, when they would be lying
down resting, the sister would get her paint and mix it with the deer
tallow and rub the paint on her brother’s feet, painting them up to their
ankles. The gentle touch of her hands, and the soothing qualities of the
tallow and paint soon put them into a deep, dreamless steep.
Many such kind actions on her part won the hearts of the brothers, and
never was a full blood sister loved more than was this poor orphan girl,
who had been taken as their adopted sister. In the morning when they
arose, the sister always combed their long black silken scalp locks and
painted the circle around the scalp lock a bright vermillion.
When the hunters would return with a goodly supply of beef, the sister
would hurry and relieve them of their packs, hanging each one high enough
from the ground so the prowling dogs and coyotes could not reach them. The
hunters each had a post on which to hang his bow and flint head arrows.
(Good hunters never laid their arrows on the ground, as it was considered
unlucky to the hunter who let his arrows touch the earth after they had
been out of the quiver). They were all perfectly happy, until one day the
older brother surprised them all by saying: “We have a plentiful supply of
meat on hand at present to last us for a week or so. I am going for a
visit to the village west of us, so you boys all stay at home and help
sister. Also gather as much wood as you can and I will be back again in
four days. On my return we will resume our hunting and commence getting
our year’s supply of meat.”
He left the next morning, and the last they saw of him was while he stood
at the top of the long range of hills west of their home. Four days had
come and gone and no sign of the oldest brother.
“I am afraid that our brother has met with some accident,” said the
sister. “I am afraid so, too,” said the next oldest. “I must go and search
for him; he may be in some trouble where a little help would get him out.”
The second brother followed the direction his brother had taken, and when
he came to the top of the long range of hills he sat down and gazed long
and steadily down into the long valley with a beautiful creek winding
through it. Across the valley was a long plain stretching for miles beyond
and finally ending at the foot of another range of hills, the counterpart
of the one upon which he sat.
After noting the different landmarks carefully, he arose and slowly
started down the slope and soon came to the creek he had seen from the top
of the range. Great was his surprise on arriving at the creek to find what
a difference there was in the appearance of it from the range and where he
stood. From the range it appeared to be a quiet, harmless, laughing
stream. Now he saw it to be a muddy, boiling, bubbling torrent, with high
perpendicular banks. For a long time he stood, thinking which way to go,
up or down stream. He had just decided to go down stream, when, on
chancing to look up, he noticed a thin column of smoke slowly ascending
from a little knoll. He approached the place cautiously and noticed a door
placed into the creek bank on the opposite side of the stream. As he stood
looking at the door, wondering who could be living in a place like that,
it suddenly opened and a very old appearing woman came out and stood
looking around her. Soon she spied the young man, and said to him: “My
grandchild, where did you come from and whither are you bound?” The young
man answered: “I came from east of this ridge and am in search of my
oldest brother, who came over in this direction five days ago and who has
not yet returned.”
“Your brother stopped here and ate his dinner with me, and then left,
traveling towards the west,” said the old witch, for such she was. “Now,
grandson, come across on that little log bridge up the stream there and
have your dinner with me. I have it all cooked now and just stepped
outside to see if there might not be some hungry traveler about, whom I
could invite in to eat dinner with me.” The young man went up the stream a
little distance and found a couple of small logs which had been placed
across the stream to serve as a bridge. He crossed over and went down to
the old woman’s dugout hut. “Come in grandson, and eat. I know you must be
hungry.”
The young man sat down and ate a real hearty meal. On finishing he arose
and said: “Grandmother, I thank you for your meal and kindness to me. I
would stay and visit with you awhile, as I know it must be very lonely
here for you, but I am very anxious to find my brother, so I must be
going. On my return I will stop with my brother and we will pay you a
little visit.”
“Very well, grandson, but before you go, I wish you would do me a little
favor. Your brother did it for me before he left, and cured me, but it has
come back on me again. I am subject to very severe pains along the left
side of my backbone, all the way from my shoulder blade down to where my
ribs attach to my backbone, and the only way I get any relief from the
pain is to have some one kick me along the side.” (She was a witch, and
concealed in her robe a long sharp steel spike. It was placed so that the
last kick they would give her, their foot would hit the spike and they
would instantly drop off into a swoon, as if dead.)
“If I won’t hurt you too much, grandmother, I certainly will be glad to do
it for you,” said the young man, little thinking he would be the one to
get hurt.
“No, grandson, don’t be afraid of hurting me; the harder you kick the
longer the pain stays away.” She laid down on the floor and rolled over on
to her right side, so he could get a good chance to kick the left side
where she said the pain was located.
As he moved back to give the first kick, he glanced along the floor and he
noticed a long object wrapped in a blanket, lying against the opposite
wall. He thought it looked strange and was going to stop and investigate,
but just then the witch cried out as if in pain. “Hurry up, grandson, I am
going to die if you don’t hurry and start in kicking.” “I can investigate
after I get through with her,” thought he, so he started in kicking and
every kick he would give her she would cry: “Harder, kick harder.” He had
to kick seven times before he would get to the end of the pain, so he let
out as hard as he could drive, and when he came to the last kick he hit
the spike, and driving it through his foot, fell down in a dead swoon, and
was rolled up in a blanket by the witch and placed beside his brother at
the opposite side of the room.
When the second brother failed to return, the third went in search of the
two missing ones. He fared no better than the second one, as he met the
old witch who served him in a similar manner as she had his two brothers.
“Ha! Ha!” she laughed, when she caught the third, “I have only one more of
them to catch, and when I get them I will keep them all here a year, and
then I will turn them into horses and sell them back to their sister. I
hate her, for I was going to try and keep house for them and marry the
oldest one, but she got ahead of me and became their sister, so now I will
get my revenge on her. Next year she will be riding and driving her
brothers and she won’t know it.”
When the third brother failed to return, the sister cried and begged the
last one not to venture out in search of them. But go he must, and go he
did, only to do as his three brothers had done.
Now the poor sister was nearly distracted. Day and night she wandered over
hills and through woods in hopes she might find or hear of some trace of
them. Her wanderings were in vain. The hawks had not seen them after they
had crossed the little stream. The wolves and coyotes told her that they
had seen nothing of her brothers out on the broad plains, and she had
given them up for dead.
One day, as she was sitting by the little stream that flowed past their
hut, throwing pebbles into the water and wondering what she should do, she
picked up a pure white pebble, smooth and round, and after looking at it
for a long time, threw it into the water. No sooner had it hit the water
than she saw it grow larger. She took it out and looked at it and threw it
in again. This time it had assumed the form of a baby. She took it out and
threw it in the third time and the form took life and began to cry: “Ina,
ina” (mother, mother). She took the baby home and fed it soup, and it
being an unnatural baby, quickly grew up to a good sized boy. At the end
of three months he was a good big, stout youth. One day he said: “Mother,
why are you living here alone? To whom do all these fine clothes and
moccasins belong?” She then told him the story of her lost brothers. “Oh,
I know now where they are. You make me lots of arrows. I am going to find
my uncles.” She tried to dissuade him from going, but he was determined
and said: “My father sent me to you so that I could find my uncles for
you, and nothing can harm me, because I am stone and my name is ‘Stone
Boy’.”
The mother, seeing that he was determined to go, made a whole quiver full
of arrows for him, and off he started. When he came to the old witch’s
hut, she was nowhere to be seen, so he pushed the door in and entered. The
witch was busily engaged cooking dinner.
“Why, my dear grandchild, you are just in time for dinner. Sit down and we
will eat before you continue your journey.” Stone boy sat down and ate
dinner with the old witch. She watched him very closely, but when she
would be drinking her soup he would glance hastily around the room.
Finally he saw the four bundles on the opposite side of the room, and he
guessed at once that there lay his four uncles. When he had finished
eating he took out his little pipe and filled it with “kini-kinic,” and
commenced to smoke, wondering how the old woman had managed to fool his
smart uncles. He couldn’t study it out, so when he had finished his smoke
he arose to pretend to go. When the old woman saw him preparing to leave,
she said: “Grandson, will you kick me on the left side of my backbone. I
am nearly dead with pain and if you kick me good and hard it will cure
me.” “All right, grandma,” said the boy. The old witch lay down on the
floor and the boy started in to kick. At the first kick he barely touched
her. “Kick as hard as you can, grandson; don’t be afraid you will hurt me,
because you can’t.” With that Stone Boy let drive and broke two ribs. She
commenced to yell and beg him to stop, but he kept on kicking until he had
kicked both sides of her ribs loose from the backbone. Then he jumped on
her backbone and broke it and killed the old witch.
He built a big fire outside and dragged her body to it, and threw her into
the fire. Thus ended the old woman who was going to turn his uncles into
horses.
Next he cut willows and stuck them into the ground in a circle. The tops
he pulled together, making a wickieup. He then took the old woman’s robes
and blankets and covered the wickieup so that no air could get inside. He
then gathered sage brush and covered the floor with a good thick bed of
sage; got nice round stones and got them red hot in the fire, and placed
them in the wickieup and proceeded to carry his uncles out of the hut and
lay them down on the soft bed of sage. Having completed carrying and
depositing them around the pile of rocks, he got a bucket of water and
poured it on the hot rocks, which caused a great vapor in the little
wickieup. He waited a little while and then listened and heard some
breathing inside, so he got another bucket and poured that on also. After
awhile he could hear noises inside as though some one were moving about.
He went again and got the third bucket and after he had poured that on the
rocks, one of the men inside said: “Whoever you are, good friend, don’t
bring us to life only to scald us to death again.” Stone boy then said:
“Are all of you alive?” “Yes,” said the voice. “Well, come out,” said the
boy. And with that he threw off the robes and blankets, and a great cloud
of vapor arose and settled around the top of the highest peak on the long
range, and from that did Smoky Range derive its name.
The uncles, when they heard who the boy was, were very happy, and they all
returned together to the anxiously waiting sister. As soon as they got
home, the brothers worked hard to gather enough wood to last them all
winter. Game they could get at all times of the year, but the heavy fall
of snow covered most of the dry wood and also made it very difficult to
drag wood through the deep snow. So they took advantage of the nice fall
weather and by the time the snow commenced falling they had enough wood
gathered to last them throughout the winter. After the snow fell a party
of boys swiftly coasted down the big hill west of the brothers’ hut. The
Stone boy used to stand and watch them for hours at a time. His youngest
uncle said: “Why don’t you go up and coast with them?” The boy said: “They
may be afraid of me, but I guess I will try once, anyway.” So the next
morning when the crowd came coasting, Stone boy started for the hill. When
he had nearly reached the bottom of the coasting hill all of the boys ran
off excepting two little fellows who had a large coaster painted in
different colors and had little bells tied around the edges, so when the
coaster was in motion the bells made a cheerful tinkling sound. As Stone
boy started up the hill the two little fellows started down and went past
him as though shot from a hickory bow.
When they got to the end of their slide, they got off and started back up
the hill. It being pretty steep, Stone boy waited for them, so as to lend
a hand to pull the big coaster up the hill. As the two little fellows came
up with him he knew at once that they were twins, as they looked so much
alike that the only way one could be distinguished from the other was by
the scarfs they wore. One wore red, the other black. He at once offered to
help them drag their coaster to the top of the hill. When they got to the
top the twins offered their coaster to him to try a ride. At first he
refused, but they insisted on his taking it, as they said they would
sooner rest until he came back. So he got on the coaster and flew down the
hill, only he was such an expert he made a zigzag course going down and
also jumped the coaster off a bank about four feet high, which none of the
other coasters dared to tackle. Being very heavy, however, he nearly
smashed the coaster. Upon seeing this wonderful jump, and the zigzag
course he had taken going down, the twins went wild with excitement and
decided that they would have him take them down when he got back. So upon
his arrival at the starting point, they both asked him at once to give
them the pleasure of the same kind of a ride he had taken. He refused,
saying: “We will break your coaster. I alone nearly smashed it, and if we
all get on and make the same kind of a jump, I am afraid you will have to
go home without your coaster.”
“Well, take us down anyway, and if we break it our father will make us
another one.” So he finally consented. When they were all seated ready to
start, he told them that when the coaster made the jump they must look
straight ahead. “By no means look down, because if you do we will go over
the cut bank and land in a heap at the bottom of the gulch.”
They said they would obey what he said, so off they started swifter than
ever, on account of the extra weight, and so swiftly did the sleigh glide
over the packed, frozen snow, that it nearly took the twins’ breath away.
Like an arrow they approached the jump. The twins began to get a little
nervous. “Sit steady and look straight ahead,” yelled Stone boy. The twin
next to Stone boy, who was steering behind, sat upright and looked far
ahead, but the one in front crouched down and looked into the coulee. Of
course, Stone boy, being behind, fell on top of the twins, and being so
heavy, killed both of them instantly, crushing them to a jelly.
The rest of the boys, seeing what had happened, hastened to the edge of
the bank, and looking down, saw the twins laying dead, and Stone boy
himself knocked senseless, lying quite a little distance from the twins.
The boys, thinking that all three were killed, and that Stone boy had
purposely steered the sleigh over the bank in such a way that it would tip
and kill the twins, returned to the village with this report. Now, these
twins were the sons of the head chief of the Buffalo Nation. So at once
the chief and his scouts went over to the hill to see if the boys had told
the truth.
When they arrived at the bank they saw the twins lying dead, but where was
Stone boy? They looked high and low through the gulch, but not a sign of
him could they find. Tenderly they picked up the dead twins and carried
them home, then held a big council and put away the bodies of the dead in
Buffalo custom.
A few days after this the uncles were returning from a long journey. When
they drew near their home they noticed large droves of buffalo gathered on
their side of the range. Hardly any buffalo ever ranged on this east side
of the range before, and the brothers thought it strange that so many
should so suddenly appear there now.
When they arrived at home their sister told them what had happened to the
chief’s twins, as her son had told her the whole story upon his arrival at
home after the accident.
“Well, probably all the buffalo we saw were here for the council and
funeral,” said the older brother. “But where is my nephew?” (Stone boy) he
asked his sister. “He said he had noticed a great many buffalo around
lately and he was going to learn, if possible, what their object was,”
said the sister. “Well, we will wait until his return.”
When Stone boy left on his trip that morning, before the return of his
uncles, he was determined to ascertain what might be the meaning of so
many buffalo so near the home of himself and uncles. He approached several
bunches of young buffalo, but upon seeing him approaching they would
scamper over the hills. Thus he wandered from bunch to bunch, scattering
them all. Finally he grew tired of their cowardice and started for home.
When he had come to within a half mile or so of home he saw an old shaggy
buffalo standing by a large boulder, rubbing on it first one horn and then
the other. On coming up close to him, the boy saw that the bull was so old
he could hardly see, and his horns so blunt that he could have rubbed them
for a year on that boulder and not sharpened them so as to hurt anyone.
“What are you doing here, grandfather?” asked the boy.
“I am sharpening my horns for the war,” said the bull.
“What war?” asked the boy.
“Haven’t you heard,” said the old bull, who was so near sighted he did not
recognize Stone boy. “The chief’s twins were killed by Stone boy, who ran
them over a cut bank purposely, and the chief has ordered all of his
buffalo to gather here, and when they arrive we are going to kill Stone
boy and his mother and his uncles.”
“Is that so? When is the war to commence?”
“In five days from now we will march upon the uncles and trample and gore
them all to death.”
“Well, grandfather, I thank you for your information, and in return will
do you a favor that will save you so much hard work on your blunt horns.”
So saying he drew a long arrow from his quiver and strung his bow,
attached the arrow to the string and drew the arrow half way back. The old
bull, not seeing what was going on, and half expecting some kind of
assistance in his horn sharpening process, stood perfectly still. Thus
spoke Stone boy:
“Grandfather, you are too old to join in a war now, and besides if you got
mixed up in that big war party you might step in a hole or stumble and
fall and be trampled to death. That would be a horrible death, so I will
save you all that suffering by just giving you this.” At this word he
pulled the arrow back to the flint head and let it fly. True to his aim,
the arrow went in behind the old bull’s foreleg, and with such force was
it sent that it went clear through the bull and stuck into a tree two
hundred feet away.
Walking over to the tree, he pulled out his arrow. Coolly straightening
his arrow between his teeth and sighting it for accuracy, he shoved it
back into the quiver with its brothers, exclaiming: “I guess, grandpa, you
won’t need to sharpen your horns for Stone boy and his uncles.”
Upon his arrival home he told his uncles to get to work building three
stockades with ditches between and make the ditches wide and deep so they
will hold plenty of buffalo. “The fourth fence I will build myself,” he
said.
The brothers got to work early and worked until very late at night. They
built three corrals and dug three ditches around the hut, and it took them
three days to complete the work. Stone boy hadn’t done a thing towards
building his fence yet, and there were only two days more left before the
charge of the buffalo would commence. Still the boy didn’t seem to bother
himself about the fence. Instead he had his mother continually cutting
arrow sticks, and as fast as she could bring them he would shape them,
feather and head them. So by the time his uncles had their fences and
corrals finished he had a thousand arrows finished for each of his uncles.
The last two days they had to wait, the uncles joined him and they
finished several thousand more arrows. The evening before the fifth day he
told his uncles to put up four posts, so they could use them as seats from
which to shoot.
While they were doing this, Stone boy went out to scout and see how things
looked. At daylight he came hurriedly in saying, “You had better get to
the first corral; they are coming.” “You haven’t built your fence,
nephew.” Whereupon Stone boy said: “I will build it in time; don’t worry,
uncle.” The dust on the hillsides rose as great clouds of smoke from a
forest fire. Soon the leaders of the charge came in sight, and upon seeing
the timber stockade they gave forth a great snort or roar that fairly
shook the earth. Thousands upon thousands of mad buffalo charged upon the
little fort. The leaders hit the first stockade and it soon gave way. The
maddened buffalo pushed forward by the thousands behind them; plunged
forward, only to fall into the first ditch and be trampled to death by
those behind them. The brothers were not slow in using their arrows, and
many a noble beast went down before their deadly aim with a little flint
pointed arrow buried deep in his heart.
The second stockade stood their charge a little longer than did the first,
but finally this gave way, and the leaders pushed on through, only to fall
into the second ditch and meet a similar fate to those in the first. The
brothers commenced to look anxiously towards their nephew, as there was
only one more stockade left, and the second ditch was nearly bridged over
with dead buffalo, with the now thrice maddened buffalo attacking the last
stockade more furiously than before, as they could see the little hut
through the openings in the corral.
“Come in, uncles,” shouted Stone boy. They obeyed him, and stepping to the
center he said: “Watch me build my fence.” Suiting the words, he took from
his belt an arrow with a white stone fastened to the point and fastening
it to his bow, he shot it high in the air. Straight up into the air it
went, for two or three thousand feet, then seemed to stop suddenly and
turned with point down and descended as swiftly as it had ascended. Upon
striking the ground a high stone wall arose, enclosing the hut and all who
were inside. Just then the buffalo broke the last stockade only to fill
the last ditch up again. In vain did the leaders butt the stone wall. They
hurt themselves, broke their horns and mashed their snouts, but could not
even scar the wall.
The uncles and Stone boy in the meantime rained arrows of death into their
ranks.
When the buffalo chief saw what they had to contend with, he ordered the
fight off. The crier or herald sang out: “Come away, come away, Stone boy
and his uncles will kill all of us.”
So the buffalo withdrew, leaving over two thousand of their dead and
wounded on the field, only to be skinned and put away for the feasts of
Stone boy and his uncles, who lived to be great chiefs of their own tribe,
and whose many relations soon joined them on the banks of Stone Boy Creek.
THE UNKTOMI (SPIDER), TWO WIDOWS, AND THE RED PLUMS
There once lived, in a remote part of a great forest, two widowed sisters,
with their little babies. One day there came to their tent a visitor who
was called Unktomi (spider). He had found some nice red plums during his
wanderings in the forest, and he said to himself, “I will keep these plums
and fool the two widows with them.” After the widows had bidden him be
seated, he presented them with the plums.
On seeing them they exclaimed “hi nu, hi nu (an exclamation of surprise),
where did you get those fine plums?” Unktomi arose and pointing to a
crimson tipped cloud, said: “You see that red cloud? Directly underneath
it is a patch of plums. So large is the patch and so red and beautiful are
the plums that it is the reflection of them on the cloud that you see.”
“Oh, how we wish some one would take care of our babies, while we go over
there and pick some,” said the sisters. “Why, I am not in any particular
hurry, so if you want to go I will take care of my little nephews until
you return.” (Unktomi always claimed relationship with everyone he met).
“Well brother,” said the older widow, “take good care of them and we will
be back as soon as possible.”
The two then took a sack in which to gather the plums, and started off
towards the cloud with the crimson lining. Scarcely had they gone from
Unktomi’s sight when he took the babies out of their swinging hammocks and
cut off first one head and then the other. He then took some old blankets
and rolled them in the shape of a baby body and laid one in each hammock.
Then he took the heads and put them in place in their different hammocks.
The bodies he cut up and threw into a large kettle. This he placed over a
rousing fire. Then he mixed Indian turnips and arikara squash with the
baby meat and soon had a kettle of soup. Just about the time the soup was
ready to serve the widows returned. They were tired and hungry and not a
plum had they. Unktomi, hearing the approach of the two, hurriedly dished
out the baby soup in two wooden dishes and then seated himself near the
door so that he could get out easily. Upon the entrance of the widows,
Unktomi exclaimed: “Sisters, I had brought some meat with me and I cooked
some turnips and squash with it and made a pot of fine soup. The babies
have just fallen asleep, so don’t waken them until you have finished
eating, for I know that you are nearly starved.” The two fell to at once
and after they had somewhat appeased their appetites, one of them arose
and went over to see how her baby was resting. Noting an unnatural color
on her baby’s face, she raised him up only to have his head roll off from
the bundle of blankets. “‘My son! my son!” she cried out. At once the
other hastened to her baby and grabbed it up, only to have the same thing
happen. At once they surmised who had done this, and caught up sticks from
the fire with which to beat Unktomi to death. He, expecting something like
this to happen, lost very little time in getting outside and down into a
hole at the roots of a large tree. The two widows not being able to follow
Unktomi down into the hole, had to give up trying to get him out, and
passed the rest of the day and night crying for their beloved babies. In
the meantime Unktomi had gotten out by another opening, and fixing himself
up in an entirely different style, and painting his face in a manner that
they would not recognize him, he cautiously approached the weeping women
and inquired the cause of their tears.
Thus they answered him: “Unktomi came here and fooled us about some plums,
and while we were absent killed our babies and made soup out of their
bodies. Then he gave us the soup to eat, which we did, and when we found
out what he had done we tried to kill him, but he crawled down into that
hole and we could not get him out.”
“I will get him out,” said the mock stranger, and with that he crawled
down into the hole and scratched his own face all over to make the widows
believe he had been fighting with Unktomi. “I have killed him, and that
you may see him I have enlarged the hole so you can crawl in and see for
yourselves, also to take some revenge on his dead body.” The two foolish
widows, believing him, crawled into the hole, only to be blocked up by
Unktomi, who at once gathered great piles of wood and stuffing it into the
hole, set it on fire, and thus ended the last of the family who were
foolish enough to let Unktomi tempt them with a few red plums.