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Myths and Legends of the Sioux

by 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 affec-

tionately dedicated
TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication
Foreword

The Forgotten Ear of Corn
The Little Mice

The Pet Rabbit
The Pet Donkey

The Rabbit and the Elk
The Rabbit and the Grouse Girls

The Faithful Lovers
The Artichoke and the Muskrat

The Rabbit, and the Bear with the Flint Body
Story of the Lost Wife

The Raccoon and the Crawfish
Legend of Standing Rock

Story of the Peace Pipe
A Bashful Courtship

The Simpleton's Wisdom
Little Brave and the Medicine Woman

The Bound Children
The Signs of Corn

Story of the Rabbits
How the Rabbit Lost His Tail

Unktomi and the Arrowheads
The Bear and the Rabbit Hunt Buffalo

The Brave Who Went on the Warpath Alone and
Won the Name of the Lone Warrior

The Sioux Who Married the Crow Chief's
Daughter

The Boy and the Turtles
The Hermit, or the Gift of Corn

The Mysterious Butte
The Wonderful Turtle

The Man and the Oak
Story of the Two Young Friends

The Story of the Pet Crow
The "Wasna" (Pemmican Man) and the Unktomi (Spider)

The Resuscitation of the Only Daughter
The Story of the Pet Crane

White Plume
Story of Pretty Feathered Forehead

The Four Brothers or Inyanhoksila (Stone Boy)
The Unktomi (Spider), Two Widows and the Red Plums

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 intimatecontact 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 intimateinsight 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



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