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" target="_blank" title="
forsake的过去分词">
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,
"Kaw, Kaw,
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" target="_blank" title="
forsake的过去分词">
forsaken have much meat; those who
forsookthem 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
forsookhave 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