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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 distinguishedhunter, 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 huntertraveled 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



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