I Really Don't Know Why

**J'Pol** · 03-16-2004, 12:11 AM

OLD INDIAN LEGENDS

OLD INDIAN LEGENDS

RETOLD BY

ZITKALA-SA

ITKALA-SA.

CONTENTS

IKTOMI AND THE DUCKS

IKTOMI'S BLANKET

IKTOMI AND THE MUSKRAT

IKTOMI AND THE COYOTE

IKTOMI AND THE FAWN

THE BADGER AND THE BEAR

THE TREE-BOUND

SHOOTING OF THE RED EAGLE

IKTOMI AND THE TURTLE

DANCE IN A BUFFALO SKULL

THE TOAD AND THE BOY

IYA, THE CAMP-EATER

MANSTIN, THE RABBIT

THE WARLIKE SEVEN

IKTOMI AND THE DUCKS

1

OLD INDIAN LEGENDS

IKTOMI AND THE DUCKS

IKTOMI is a spider fairy. He wears brown deerskin leggins

with long soft fringes on either side, and tiny beaded moccasins on

his feet. His long black hair is parted in the middle and wrapped

with red, red bands. Each round braid hangs over a small brown ear

and falls forward over his shoulders.

He even paints his funny face with red and yellow, and draws

big black rings around his eyes. He wears a deerskin jacket, with

bright colored beads sewed tightly on it. Iktomi dresses like a

real Dakota brave. In truth, his paint and deerskins are the best

part of him--if ever dress is part of man or fairy.

Iktomi is a wily fellow. His hands are always kept in

mischief. He prefers to spread a snare rather than to earn the

smallest thing with honest hunting. Why! he laughs outright with

wide open mouth when some simple folk are caught in a trap, sure

and fast.

He never dreams another lives so bright as he. Often his own

conceit leads him hard against the common sense of simpler people.

Poor Iktomi cannot help being a little imp. And so long as he

is a naughty fairy, he cannot find a single friend. No one helps

him when he is in trouble. No one really loves him. Those who

come to admire his handsome beaded jacket and long fringed leggins

soon go away sick and tired of his vain, vain words and heartless

laughter.

Thus Iktomi lives alone in a cone-shaped wigwam upon the

plain. One day he sat hungry within his teepee. Suddenly he

rushed out, dragging after him his blanket. Quickly spreading it

on the ground, he tore up dry tall grass with both his hands and

tossed it fast into the blanket.

Tying all the four corners together in a knot, he threw the

light bundle of grass over his shoulder.

Snatching up a slender willow stick with his free left hand,

he started off with a hop and a leap. From side to side bounced

the bundle on his back, as he ran light-footed over the uneven

ground. Soon he came to the edge of the great level land. On the

hilltop he paused for breath. With wicked smacks of his dry

parched lips, as if tasting some tender meat, he looked straight

into space toward the marshy river bottom. With a thin palm

shading his eyes from the western sun, he peered far away into the

lowlands, munching his own cheeks all the while. "Ah-ha!" grunted

he, satisfied with what he saw.

A group of wild ducks were dancing and feasting in the

marshes. With wings outspread, tip to tip, they moved up and down

in a large circle. Within the ring, around a small drum, sat the

chosen singers, nodding their heads and blinking their eyes.

They sang in unison a merry dance-song, and beat a lively

tattoo on the drum.

Following a winding footpath near by, came a bent figure of a

Dakota brave. He bore on his back a very large bundle. With a

willow cane he propped himself up as he staggered along beneath his

burden.

"Ho! who is there?" called out a curious old duck, still

bobbing up and down in the circular dance.

Hereupon the drummers stretched their necks till they

strangled their song for a look at the stranger passing by.

"Ho, Iktomi! Old fellow, pray tell us what you carry in your

blanket. Do not hurry off! Stop! halt!" urged one of the singers.

"Stop! stay! Show us what is in your blanket!" cried out

other voices.

"My friends, I must not spoil your dance. Oh, you would not

care to see if you only knew what is in my blanket. Sing on! dance

on! I must not show you what I carry on my back," answered Iktomi,

nudging his own sides with his elbows. This reply broke up the

ring entirely. Now all the ducks crowded about Iktomi.

"We must see what you carry! We must know what is in your

blanket!" they shouted in both his ears. Some even brushed their

wings against the mysterious bundle. Nudging himself again, wily

Iktomi said, "My friends, 't is only a pack of songs I carry in my

blanket."

"Oh, then let us hear your songs!" cried the curious ducks.

At length Iktomi consented to sing his songs. With delight

all the ducks flapped their wings and cried together, "Hoye! hoye!"

Iktomi, with great care, laid down his bundle on the ground.

"I will build first a round straw house, for I never sing my

songs in the open air," said he.

Quickly he bent green willow sticks, planting both ends of

each pole into the earth. These he covered thick with reeds and

grasses. Soon the straw hut was ready. One by one the fat ducks

waddled in through a small opening, which was the only entrance

way. Beside the door Iktomi stood smiling, as the ducks, eyeing

his bundle of songs, strutted into the hut.

In a strange low voice Iktomi began his queer old tunes. All

the ducks sat round-eyed in a circle about the mysterious singer.

It was dim in that straw hut, for Iktomi had not forgot to cover up

the small entrance way. All of a sudden his song burst into full

voice. As the startled ducks sat uneasily on the ground, Iktomi

changed his tune into a minor strain. These were the words he

sang:

"Istokmus wacipo, tuwayatunwanpi kinhan ista nisasapi kta,"

which is, "With eyes closed you must dance. He who dares to open

his eyes, forever red eyes shall have."

Up rose the circle of seated ducks and holding their wings

close against their sides began to dance to the rhythm of Iktomi's

song and drum.

With eyes closed they did dance! Iktomi ceased to beat his

drum. He began to sing louder and faster. He seemed to be moving

about in the center of the ring. No duck dared blink a wink. Each

one shut his eyes very tight and danced even harder. Up and down!

Shifting to the right of them they hopped round and round in that

blind dance. It was a difficult dance for the curious folk.

At length one of the dancers could close his eyes no longer!

It was a Skiska who peeped the least tiny blink at Iktomi within

the center of the circle. "Oh! oh!" squawked he in awful terror!

"Run! fly! Iktomi is twisting your heads and breaking your necks!

Run out and fly! fly!" he cried. Hereupon the ducks opened their

eyes. There beside Iktomi's bundle of songs lay half of their

crowd--flat on their backs.

Out they flew through the opening Skiska had made as he rushed

forth with his alarm.

But as they soared high into the blue sky they cried to one

another: "Oh! your eyes are red-red!" "And yours are red-red!"

For the warning words of the magic minor strain had proven true.

"Ah-ha!" laughed Iktomi, untying the four corners of his blanket,

"I shall sit no more hungry within my dwelling." Homeward he

trudged along with nice fat ducks in his blanket. He left the

little straw hut for the rains and winds to pull down.

Having reached his own teepee on the high level lands, Iktomi

kindled a large fire out of doors. He planted sharp-pointed sticks

around the leaping flames. On each stake he fastened a duck to

roast. A few he buried under the ashes to bake. Disappearing

within his teepee, he came out again with some huge seashells.

These were his dishes. Placing one under each roasting duck, he

muttered, "The sweet fat oozing out will taste well with the

hard-cooked breasts."

Heaping more willows upon the fire, Iktomi sat down on the

ground with crossed shins. A long chin between his knees pointed

toward the red flames, while his eyes were on the browning ducks.

Just above his ankles he clasped and unclasped his long bony

fingers. Now and then he sniffed impatiently the savory odor.

The brisk wind which stirred the fire also played with a

squeaky old tree beside Iktomi's wigwam.

From side to side the tree was swaying and crying in an old

man's voice, "Help! I'll break! I'll fall!" Iktomi shrugged his

great shoulders, but did not once take his eyes from the ducks.

The dripping of amber oil into pearly dishes, drop by drop, pleased

his hungry eyes. Still the old tree man called for help. "He!

What sound is it that makes my ear ache!" exclaimed Iktomi, holding

a hand on his ear.

He rose and looked around. The squeaking came from the tree.

Then he began climbing the tree to find the disagreeable sound. He

placed his foot right on a cracked limb without seeing it. Just

then a whiff of wind came rushing by and pressed together the

broken edges. There in a strong wooden hand Iktomi's foot was

caught.

"Oh! my foot is crushed!" he howled like a coward. In vain he

pulled and puffed to free himself.

While sitting a prisoner on the tree he spied, through his

tears, a pack of gray wolves roaming over the level lands. Waving

his hands toward them, he called in his loudest voice, "He! Gray

wolves! Don't you come here! I'm caught fast in the tree so that

my duck feast is getting cold. Don't you come to eat up my meal."

The leader of the pack upon hearing Iktomi's words turned to

his comrades and said:

"Ah! hear the foolish fellow! He says he has a duck feast to

be eaten! Let us hurry there for our share!" Away bounded the

wolves toward Iktomi's lodge.

From the tree Iktomi watched the hungry wolves eat up his

nicely browned fat ducks. His foot pained him more and more. He

heard them crack the small round bones with their strong long teeth

and eat out the oily marrow. Now severe pains shot up from his

foot through his whole body. "Hin-hin-hin!" sobbed Iktomi. Real

tears washed brown streaks across his red-painted cheeks. Smacking

their lips, the wolves began to leave the place, when Iktomi cried

out like a pouting child, "At least you have left my baking under

the ashes!"

"Ho! Po!" shouted the mischievous wolves; "he says more ducks

are to be found under the ashes! Come! Let us have our fill this

once!"

Running back to the dead fire, they pawed out the ducks with

such rude haste that a cloud of ashes rose like gray smoke over

them.

"Hin-hin-hin!" moaned Iktomi, when the wolves had scampered

off. All too late, the sturdy breeze returned, and, passing by,

pulled apart the broken edges of the tree. Iktomi was released.

But alas! he had no duck feast.

IKTOMI'S BLANKET

IKTOMI'S BLANKET

ALONE within his teepee sat Iktomi. The sun was but a

handsbreadth from the western edge of land.

"Those, bad, bad gray wolves! They ate up all my nice fat

ducks!" muttered he, rocking his body to and fro.

He was cuddling the evil memory he bore those hungry wolves.

At last he ceased to sway his body backward and forward, but sat

still and stiff as a stone image.

"Oh! I'll go to Inyan, the great-grandfather, and pray for

food!" he exclaimed.

At once he hurried forth from his teepee and, with his blanket

over one shoulder, drew nigh to a huge rock on a hillside.

With half-crouching, half-running strides, he fell upon Inyan

with outspread hands.

"Grandfather! pity me. I am hungry. I am starving. Give me

food. Great-grandfather, give me meat to eat!" he cried. All the

while he stroked and caressed the face of the great stone god.

The all-powerful Great Spirit, who makes the trees and grass,

can hear the voice of those who pray in many varied ways. The

hearing of Inyan, the large hard stone, was the one most sought

after. He was the great-grandfather, for he had sat upon the

hillside many, many seasons. He had seen the prairie put on a

snow-white blanket and then change it for a bright green robe more

than a thousand times.

Still unaffected by the myriad moons he rested on the

everlasting hill, listening to the prayers of Indian warriors.

Before the finding of the magic arrow he had sat there.

Now, as Iktomi prayed and wept before the great-grandfather,

the sky in the west was red like a glowing face. The sunset poured

a soft mellow light upon the huge gray stone and the solitary

figure beside it. It was the smile of the Great Spirit upon the

grandfather and the wayward child.

The prayer was heard. Iktomi knew it. "Now, grandfather,

accept my offering; 'tis all I have," said Iktomi as he spread

his half-worn blanket upon Inyan's cold shoulders. Then Iktomi,

happy with the smile of the sunset sky, followed a footpath leading

toward a thicketed ravine. He had not gone many paces into the

shrubbery when before him lay a freshly wounded deer!

"This is the answer from the red western sky!" cried Iktomi

with hands uplifted.

Slipping a long thin blade from out his belt, he cut large

chunks of choice meat. Sharpening some willow sticks, he planted

them around a wood-pile he had ready to kindle. On these stakes he

meant to roast the venison.

While he was rubbing briskly two long sticks to start a fire,

the sun in the west fell out of the sky below the edge of land.

Twilight was over all. Iktomi felt the cold night air upon his

bare neck and shoulders. "Ough!" he shivered as he wiped his knife

on the grass. Tucking it in a beaded case hanging from his belt,

Iktomi stood erect, looking about. He shivered again. "Ough! Ah!

I am cold. I wish I had my blanket!" whispered he, hovering over

the pile of dry sticks and the sharp stakes round about it.

Suddenly he paused and dropped his hands at his sides.

"The old great-grandfather does not feel the cold as I do. He

does not need my old blanket as I do. I wish I had not given it to

him. Oh! I think I'll run up there and take it back!" said he,

pointing his long chin toward the large gray stone.

Iktomi, in the warm sunshine, had no need of his blanket, and

it had been very easy to part with a thing which he could not miss.

But the chilly night wind quite froze his ardent thank-offering.

Thus running up the hillside, his teeth chattering all the

way, he drew near to Inyan, the sacred symbol. Seizing one corner

of the half-worn blanket, Iktomi pulled it off with a jerk.

"Give my blanket back, old grandfather! You do not need it.

I do!" This was very wrong, yet Iktomi did it, for his wit was not

wisdom. Drawing the blanket tight over his shoulders, he descended

the hill with hurrying feet.

He was soon upon the edge of the ravine. A young moon, like

a bright bent bow, climbed up from the southwest horizon a little

way into the sky.

In this pale light Iktomi stood motionless as a ghost amid the

thicket. His woodpile was not yet kindled. His pointed stakes

were still bare as he had left them. But where was the deer--the

venison he had felt warm in his hands a moment ago? It was gone.

Only the dry rib bones lay on the ground like giant fingers from an

open grave. Iktomi was troubled. At length, stooping over the

white dried bones, he took hold of one and shook it. The bones,

loose in their sockets, rattled together at his touch. Iktomi let

go his hold. He sprang back amazed. And though he wore a blanket

his teeth chattered more than ever. Then his blunted sense will

surprise you, little reader; for instead of being grieved that he

had taken back his blanket, he cried aloud, "Hin-hin-hin! If only

I had eaten the venison before going for my blanket!"

Those tears no longer moved the hand of the Generous Giver.

They were selfish tears. The Great Spirit does not heed them ever.

IKTOMI AND THE MUSKRAT

IKTOMI AND THE MUSKRAT

BESIDE a white lake, beneath a large grown willow tree, sat

Iktomi on the bare ground. The heap of smouldering ashes told of

a recent open fire. With ankles crossed together around a pot of

soup, Iktomi bent over some delicious boiled fish.

Fast he dipped his black horn spoon into the soup, for he was

ravenous. Iktomi had no regular meal times. Often when he was

hungry he went without food.

Well hid between the lake and the wild rice, he looked nowhere

save into the pot of fish. Not knowing when the next meal would

be, he meant to eat enough now to last some time.

"How, how, my friend!" said a voice out of the wild rice.

Iktomi started. He almost choked with his soup. He peered through

the long reeds from where he sat with his long horn spoon in

mid-air.

"How, my friend!" said the voice again, this time close at his

side. Iktomi turned and there stood a dripping muskrat who had

just come out of the lake.

"Oh, it is my friend who startled me. I wondered if among the

wild rice some spirit voice was talking. How, how, my friend!"

said Iktomi. The muskrat stood smiling. On his lips hung a ready

"Yes, my friend," when Iktomi would ask, "My friend, will you sit

down beside me and share my food?"

That was the custom of the plains people. Yet Iktomi sat

silent. He hummed an old dance-song and beat gently on the edge of

the pot with his buffalo-horn spoon. The muskrat began to feel

awkward before such lack of hospitality and wished himself under

water.

After many heart throbs Iktomi stopped drumming with his horn

ladle, and looking upward into the muskrat's face, he said:

"My friend, let us run a race to see who shall win this pot of

fish. If I win, I shall not need to share it with you. If you

win, you shall have half of it." Springing to his feet, Iktomi

began at once to tighten the belt about his waist.

"My friend Ikto, I cannot run a race with you! I am not a

swift runner, and you are nimble as a deer. We shall not run any

race together," answered the hungry muskrat.

For a moment Iktomi stood with a hand on his long protruding

chin. His eyes were fixed upon something in the air. The muskrat

looked out of the corners of his eyes without moving his head. He

watched the wily Iktomi concocting a plot.

"Yes, yes," said Iktomi, suddenly turning his gaze upon the

unwelcome visitor;

"I shall carry a large stone on my back. That will slacken my

usual speed; and the race will be a fair one."

Saying this he laid a firm hand upon the muskrat's shoulder

and started off along the edge of the lake. When they reached the

opposite side Iktomi pried about in search of a heavy stone.

He found one half-buried in the shallow water. Pulling it out

upon dry land, he wrapped it in his blanket.

"Now, my friend, you shall run on the left side of the lake,

I on the other. The race is for the boiled fish in yonder kettle!"

said Iktomi.

The muskrat helped to lift the heavy stone upon Iktomi's back.

Then they parted. Each took a narrow path through the tall reeds

fringing the shore. Iktomi found his load a heavy one.

Perspiration hung like beads on his brow. His chest heaved hard

and fast.

He looked across the lake to see how far the muskrat had gone,

but nowhere did he see any sign of him. "Well, he is running low

under the wild rice!" said he. Yet as he scanned the tall grasses

on the lake shore, he saw not one stir as if to make way for the

runner. "Ah, has he gone so fast ahead that the disturbed grasses

in his trail have quieted again?" exclaimed Iktomi. With that

thought he quickly dropped the heavy stone. "No more of this!"

said he, patting his chest with both hands.

Off with a springing bound, he ran swiftly toward the goal.

Tufts of reeds and grass fell flat under his feet. Hardly had they

raised their heads when Iktomi was many paces gone.

Soon he reached the heap of cold ashes. Iktomi halted stiff

as if he had struck an invisible cliff. His black eyes showed a

ring of white about them as he stared at the empty ground. There

was no pot of boiled fish! There was no water-man in sight! "Oh,

if only I had shared my food like a real Dakota, I would not have

lost it all! Why did I not know the muskrat would run through the

water? He swims faster than I could ever run! That is what he has

done. He has laughed at me for carrying a weight on my back while

he shot hither like an arrow!"

Crying thus to himself, Iktomi stepped to the water's brink.

He stooped forward with a hand on each bent knee and peeped far

into the deep water.

"There!" he exclaimed, "I see you, my friend, sitting with

your ankles wound around my little pot of fish! My friend, I am

hungry. Give me a bone!"

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the water-man, the muskrat. The sound

did not rise up out of the lake, for it came down from overhead.

With his hands still on his knees, Iktomi turned his face upward

into the great willow tree. Opening wide his mouth he begged, "My

friend, my friend, give me a bone to gnaw!"

"Ha! ha!" laughed the muskrat, and leaning over the limb he

sat upon, he let fall a small sharp bone which dropped right into

Iktomi's throat. Iktomi almost choked to death before he could get

it out. In the tree the muskrat sat laughing loud. "Next time,

say to a visiting friend, 'Be seated beside me, my friend. Let me

share with you my food.'"

IKTOMI AND THE COYOTE

IKTOMI AND THE COYOTE

AFAR off upon a large level land, a summer sun was shining

bright. Here and there over the rolling green were tall bunches of

coarse gray weeds. Iktomi in his fringed buckskins walked alone

across the prairie with a black bare head glossy in the sunlight.

He walked through the grass without following any well-worn

footpath.

From one large bunch of coarse weeds to another he wound his

way about the great plain. He lifted his foot lightly and placed

it gently forward like a wildcat prowling noiselessly through the

thick grass. He stopped a few steps away from a very large bunch

of wild sage. From shoulder to shoulder he tilted his head. Still

farther he bent from side to side, first low over one hip and then

over the other. Far forward he stooped, stretching his long thin

neck like a duck, to see what lay under a fur coat beyond the bunch

of coarse grass.

A sleek gray-faced prairie wolf! his pointed black nose tucked

in between his four feet drawn snugly together; his handsome bushy

tail wound over his nose and feet; a coyote fast asleep in the

shadow of a bunch of grass!--this is what Iktomi spied. Carefully

he raised one foot and cautiously reached out with his toes.

Gently, gently he lifted the foot behind and placed it before the

other. Thus he came nearer and nearer to the round fur ball lying

motionless under the sage grass.

Now Iktomi stood beside it, looking at the closed eyelids that

did not quiver the least bit. Pressing his lips into straight

lines and nodding his head slowly, he bent over the wolf. He held

his ear close to the coyote's nose, but not a breath of air stirred

from it.

"Dead!" said he at last. "Dead, but not long since he ran

over these plains! See! there in his paw is caught a fresh

feather. He is nice fat meat!" Taking hold of the paw with the

bird feather fast on it, he exclaimed, "Why, he is still warm!

I'll carry him to my dwelling and have a roast for my evening meal.

Ah-ha!" he laughed, as he seized the coyote by its two fore paws

and its two hind feet and swung him over head across his shoulders.

The wolf was large and the teepee was far across the prairie.

Iktomi trudged along with his burden, smacking his hungry lips

together. He blinked his eyes hard to keep out the salty

perspiration streaming down his face.

All the while the coyote on his back lay gazing into the sky

with wide open eyes. His long white teeth fairly gleamed as he

smiled and smiled.

"To ride on one's own feet is tiresome, but to be carried like

a warrior from a brave fight is great fun!" said the coyote in his

heart. He had never been borne on any one's back before and the

new experience delighted him. He lay there lazily on Iktomi's

shoulders, now and then blinking blue winks. Did you never see a

birdie blink a blue wink? This is how it first became a saying

among the plains people. When a bird stands aloof watching your

strange ways, a thin bluish white tissue slips quickly over his

eyes and as quickly off again; so quick that you think it was only

a mysterious blue wink. Sometimes when children grow drowsy they

blink blue winks, while others who are too proud to look with

friendly eyes upon people blink in this cold bird-manner.

The coyote was affected by both sleepiness and pride. His

winks were almost as blue as the sky. In the midst of his new

pleasure the swaying motion ceased. Iktomi had reached his

dwelling place. The coyote felt drowsy no longer, for in the next

instant he was slipping out of Iktomi's hands. He was falling,

falling through space, and then he struck the ground with such a

bump he did not wish to breathe for a while. He wondered what

Iktomi would do, thus he lay still where he fell. Humming a

dance-song, one from his bundle of mystery songs, Iktomi hopped and

darted about at an imaginary dance and feast. He gathered dry

willow sticks and broke them in two against his knee. He built a

large fire out of doors. The flames leaped up high in red and

yellow streaks. Now Iktomi returned to the coyote who had been

looking on through his eyelashes.

Taking him again by his paws and hind feet, he swung him to

and fro. Then as the wolf swung toward the red flames, Iktomi let

him go. Once again the coyote fell through space. Hot air smote

his nostrils. He saw red dancing fire, and now he struck a bed of

cracking embers. With a quick turn he leaped out of the flames.

From his heels were scattered a shower of red coals upon Iktomi's

bare arms and shoulders. Dumbfounded, Iktomi thought he saw a

spirit walk out of his fire. His jaws fell apart. He thrust a

palm to his face, hard over his mouth! He could scarce keep from

shrieking.

Rolling over and over on the grass and rubbing the sides of

his head against the ground, the coyote soon put out the fire on

his fur. Iktomi's eyes were almost ready to jump out of his head

as he stood cooling a burn on his brown arm with his breath.

Sitting on his haunches, on the opposite side of the fire from

where Iktomi stood, the coyote began to laugh at him.

"Another day, my friend, do not take too much for granted.

Make sure the enemy is stone dead before you make a fire!"

Then off he ran so swiftly that his long bushy tail hung out

in a straight line with his back.

IKTOMI AND THE FAWN

IKTOMI AND THE FAWN

IN one of his wanderings through the wooded lands, Iktomi saw

a rare bird sitting high in a tree-top. Its long fan-like tail

feathers had caught all the beautiful colors of the rainbow.

Handsome in the glistening summer sun sat the bird of rainbow

plumage. Iktomi hurried hither with his eyes fast on the bird.

He stood beneath the tree looking long and wistfully at the

peacock's bright feathers. At length he heaved a sigh and began:

"Oh, I wish I had such pretty feathers! How I wish I were not I!

If only I were a handsome feathered creature how happy I would be!

I'd be so glad to sit upon a very high tree and bask in the summer

sun like you!" said he suddenly, pointing his bony finger up toward

the peacock, who was eyeing the stranger below, turning his head

from side to side.

"I beg of you make me into a bird with green and purple

feathers like yours!" implored Iktomi, tired now of playing the

brave in beaded buckskins. The peacock then spoke to Iktomi: "I

have a magic power. My touch will change you in a moment into the

most beautiful peacock if you can keep one condition."

"Yes! yes!" shouted Iktomi, jumping up and down, patting his

lips with his palm, which caused his voice to vibrate in a peculiar

fashion. "Yes! yes! I could keep ten conditions if only you would

change me into a bird with long, bright tail feathers. Oh, I am so

ugly! I am so tired of being myself! Change me! Do!"

Hereupon the peacock spread out both his wings, and scarce

moving them, he sailed slowly down upon the ground. Right beside

Iktomi he alighted. Very low in Iktomi's ear the peacock

whispered, "Are you willing to keep one condition, though hard it

be?"

"Yes! yes! I've told you ten of them if need be!" exclaimed

Iktomi, with some impatience.

"Then I pronounce you a handsome feathered bird. No longer

are you Iktomi the mischief-maker." Saying this the peacock

touched Iktomi with the tips of his wings.

Iktomi vanished at the touch. There stood beneath the tree

two handsome peacocks. While one of the pair strutted about with

a head turned aside as if dazzled by his own bright-tinted tail

feathers, the other bird soared slowly upward. He sat quiet and

unconscious of his gay plumage. He seemed content to perch there

on a large limb in the warm sunshine.

After a little while the vain peacock, dizzy with his bright

colors, spread out his wings and lit on the same branch with the

elder bird.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "how hard to fly! Brightly tinted

feathers are handsome, but I wish they were light enough to fly!"

Just there the elder bird interrupted him. "That is the one

condition. Never try to fly like other birds. Upon the day you

try to fly you shall be changed into your former self."

"Oh, what a shame that bright feathers cannot fly into the

sky!" cried the peacock. Already he grew restless. He longed to

soar through space. He yearned to fly above the trees high upward

to the sun.

"Oh, there I see a flock of birds flying thither! Oh! oh!"

said he, flapping his wings, "I must try my wings! I am tired of

bright tail feathers. I want to try my wings."

"No, no!" clucked the elder bird. The flock of chattering

birds flew by with whirring wings. "Oop! oop!" called some to

their mates.

Possessed by an irrepressible impulse the Iktomi peacock

called out, "He! I want to come! Wait for me!" and with that he

gave a lunge into the air. The flock of flying feathers wheeled

about and lowered over the tree whence came the peacock's cry.

Only one rare bird sat on the tree, and beneath, on the ground,

stood a brave in brown buckskins.

"I am my old self again!" groaned Iktomi in a sad voice.

"Make me over, pretty bird. Try me this once again!" he pleaded in

vain.

"Old Iktomi wants to fly! Ah! We cannot wait for him!" sang

the birds as they flew away.

Muttering unhappy vows to himself, Iktomi had not gone far

when he chanced upon a bunch of long slender arrows. One by one

they rose in the air and shot a straight line over the prairie.

Others shot up into the blue sky and were soon lost to sight. Only

one was left. He was making ready for his flight when Iktomi

rushed upon him and wailed, "I want to be an arrow! Make me into

an arrow! I want to pierce the blue Blue overhead. I want to

strike yonder summer sun in its center. Make me into an arrow!"

"Can you keep a condition? One condition, though hard it be?"

the arrow turned to ask.

"Yes! Yes!" shouted Iktomi, delighted.

Hereupon the slender arrow tapped him gently with his sharp

flint beak. There was no Iktomi, but two arrows stood ready

to fly. "Now, young arrow, this is the one condition. Your flight

must always be in a straight line. Never turn a curve nor jump

about like a young fawn," said the arrow magician. He spoke slowly

and sternly.

At once he set about to teach the new arrow how to shoot in a

long straight line.

"This is the way to pierce the Blue overhead," said he; and

off he spun high into the sky.

While he was gone a herd of deer came trotting by. Behind

them played the young fawns together. They frolicked about like

kittens. They bounced on all fours like balls. Then they pitched

forward, kicking their heels in the air. The Iktomi arrow watched

them so happy on the ground. Looking quickly up into the sky, he

said in his heart, "The magician is out of sight. I'll just romp

and frolic with these fawns until he returns. Fawns! Friends, do

not fear me. I want to jump and leap with you. I long to be happy

as you are," said he. The young fawns stopped with stiff legs and

stared at the speaking arrow with large brown wondering eyes.

"See! I can jump as well as you!" went on Iktomi. He gave one

tiny leap like a fawn. All of a sudden the fawns snorted with

extended nostrils at what they beheld. There among them stood

Iktomi in brown buckskins, and the strange talking arrow was gone.

"Oh! I am myself. My old self!" cried Iktomi, pinching

himself and plucking imaginary pieces out of his jacket.

"Hin-hin-hin! I wanted to fly!"

The real arrow now returned to the earth. He alighted very

near Iktomi. From the high sky he had seen the fawns playing on

the green. He had seen Iktomi make his one leap, and the charm was

broken. Iktomi became his former self.

"Arrow, my friend, change me once more!" begged Iktomi.

"No, no more," replied the arrow. Then away he shot through

the air in the direction his comrades had flown.

By this time the fawns gathered close around Iktomi. They

poked their noses at him trying to know who he was.

Iktomi's tears were like a spring shower. A new desire dried

them quickly away. Stepping boldly to the largest fawn, he looked

closely at the little brown spots all over the furry face.

"Oh, fawn! What beautiful brown spots on your face! Fawn,

dear little fawn, can you tell me how those brown spots were made

on your face?"

"Yes," said the fawn. "When I was very, very small, my mother

marked them on my face with a red hot fire. She dug a large hole

in the ground and made a soft bed of grass and twigs in it. Then

she placed me gently there. She covered me over with dry sweet

grass and piled dry cedars on top. From a neighbor's fire she

brought hither a red, red ember. This she tucked carefully in at

my head. This is how the brown spots were made on my face."

"Now, fawn, my friend, will you do the same for me? Won't you

mark my face with brown, brown spots just like yours?" asked

Iktomi, always eager to be like other people.

"Yes. I can dig the ground and fill it with dry grass and

sticks. If you will jump into the pit, I'll cover you with sweet

smelling grass and cedar wood," answered the fawn.

"Say," interrupted Ikto, "will you be sure to cover me with a

great deal of dry grass and twigs? You will make sure that the

spots will be as brown as those you wear."

"Oh, yes. I'll pile up grass and willows once oftener than my

mother did."

"Now let us dig the hole, pull the grass, and gather sticks,"

cried Iktomi in glee.

Thus with his own hands he aids in making his grave. After

the hole was dug and cushioned with grass, Iktomi, muttering

something about brown spots, leaped down into it. Lengthwise, flat

on his back, he lay. While the fawn covered him over with cedars,

a far-away voice came up through them, "Brown, brown spots to wear

forever!" A red ember was tucked under the dry grass. Off

scampered the fawns after their mothers; and when a great distance

away they looked backward. They saw a blue smoke rising, writhing

upward till it vanished in the blue ether.

"Is that Iktomi's spirit?" asked one fawn of another.

"No! I think he would jump out before he could burn into

smoke and cinders," answered his comrade.

THE BADGER AND THE BEAR

THE BADGER AND THE BEAR

ON the edge of a forest there lived a large family of badgers.

In the ground their dwelling was made. Its walls and roof were

covered with rocks and straw.

Old father badger was a great hunter. He knew well how to

track the deer and buffalo. Every day he came home carrying on his

back some wild game. This kept mother badger very busy, and the

baby badgers very chubby. While the well-fed children played

about, digging little make-believe dwellings, their mother hung

thin sliced meats upon long willow racks. As fast as the meats

were dried and seasoned by sun and wind, she packed them carefully

away in a large thick bag.

This bag was like a huge stiff envelope, but far more

beautiful to see, for it was painted all over with many bright

colors. These firmly tied bags of dried meat were laid upon the

rocks in the walls of the dwelling. In this way they were both

useful and decorative.

One day father badger did not go off for a hunt. He stayed at

home, making new arrows. His children sat about him on the ground

floor. Their small black eyes danced with delight as they watched

the gay colors painted upon the arrows.

All of a sudden there was heard a heavy footfall near the

entrance way. The oval-shaped door-frame was pushed aside. In

stepped a large black foot with great big claws. Then the other

clumsy foot came next. All the while the baby badgers stared hard

at the unexpected comer. After the second foot, in peeped the head

of a big black bear! His black nose was dry and parched. Silently

he entered the dwelling and sat down on the ground by the doorway.

His black eyes never left the painted bags on the rocky walls. He

guessed what was in them. He was a very hungry bear. Seeing the

racks of red meat hanging in the yard, he had come to visit the

badger family.

Though he was a stranger and his strong paws and jaws

frightened the small badgers, the father said, "How, how, friend!

Your lips and nose look feverish and hungry. Will you eat with

us?"

"Yes, my friend," said the bear. "I am starved. I saw your

racks of red fresh meat, and knowing your heart is kind, I came

hither. Give me meat to eat, my friend."

Hereupon the mother badger took long strides across the room,

and as she had to pass in front of the strange visitor, she said:

"Ah han! Allow me to pass!" which was an apology.

"How, how!" replied the bear, drawing himself closer to the

wall and crossing his shins together.

Mother badger chose the most tender red meat, and soon over a

bed of coals she broiled the venison.

That day the bear had all he could eat. At nightfall he rose,

and smacking his lips together,--that is the noisy way of saying

"the food was very good!"--he left the badger dwelling. The baby

badgers, peeping through the door-flap after the shaggy bear, saw

him disappear into the woods near by.

Day after day the crackling of twigs in the forest told of

heavy footsteps. Out would come the same black bear. He never

lifted the door-flap, but thrusting it aside entered slowly in.

Always in the same place by the entrance way he sat down with

crossed shins.

His daily visits were so regular that mother badger placed a

fur rug in his place. She did not wish a guest in her dwelling to

sit upon the bare hard ground.

At last one time when the bear returned, his nose was bright

and black. His coat was glossy. He had grown fat upon the

badger's hospitality.

As he entered the dwelling a pair of wicked gleams shot out of

his shaggy head. Surprised by the strange behavior of the guest

who remained standing upon the rug, leaning his round back against

the wall, father badger queried: "How, my friend! What?"

The bear took one stride forward and shook his paw in the

badger's face. He said: "I am strong, very strong!"

"Yes, yes, so you are," replied the badger. From the farther

end of the room mother badger muttered over her bead work: "Yes,

you grew strong from our well-filled bowls."

The bear smiled, showing a row of large sharp teeth.

"I have no dwelling. I have no bags of dried meat. I have no

arrows. All these I have found here on this spot," said he,

stamping his heavy foot. "I want them! See! I am strong!"

repeated he, lifting both his terrible paws.

Quietly the father badger spoke: "I fed you. I called you

friend, though you came here a stranger and a beggar. For the

sake of my little ones leave us in peace."

Mother badger, in her excited way, had pierced hard through

the buckskin and stuck her fingers repeatedly with her sharp awl

until she had laid aside her work. Now, while her husband was

talking to the bear, she motioned with her hands to the children.

On tiptoe they hastened to her side.

For reply came a low growl. It grew louder and more fierce.

"Wa-ough!" he roared, and by force hurled the badgers out. First

the father badger; then the mother. The little badgers he tossed

by pairs. He threw them hard upon the ground. Standing in the

entrance way and showing his ugly teeth, he snarled, "Be gone!"

The father and mother badger, having gained their feet, picked

up their kicking little babes, and, wailing aloud, drew the air

into their flattened lungs till they could stand alone upon their

feet. No sooner had the baby badgers caught their breath than they

howled and shrieked with pain and fright. Ah! what a dismal cry

was theirs as the whole badger family went forth wailing from out

their own dwelling! A little distance away from their stolen house

the father badger built a small round hut. He made it of bent

willows and covered it with dry grass and twigs.

This was shelter for the night; but alas! it was empty of food

and arrows. All day father badger prowled through the forest, but

without his arrows he could not get food for his children. Upon

his return, the cry of the little ones for meat, the sad quiet of

the mother with bowed head, hurt him like a poisoned arrow wound.

"I'll beg meat for you!" said he in an unsteady voice.

Covering his head and entire body in a long loose robe he halted

beside the big black bear. The bear was slicing red meat to hang

upon the rack. He did not pause for a look at the comer. As the

badger stood there unrecognized, he saw that the bear had brought

with him his whole family. Little cubs played under the

high-hanging new meats. They laughed and pointed with their wee

noses upward at the thin sliced meats upon the poles.

"Have you no heart, Black Bear? My children are starving.

Give me a small piece of meat for them," begged the badger.

"Wa-ough!" growled the angry bear, and pounced upon the

badger. "Be gone!" said he, and with his big hind foot he sent

father badger sprawling on the ground.

All the little ruffian bears hooted and shouted "ha-ha!" to

see the beggar fall upon his face. There was one, however, who did

not even smile. He was the youngest cub. His fur coat was not as

black and glossy as those his elders wore. The hair was dry and

dingy. It looked much more like kinky wool. He was the ugly cub.

Poor little baby bear! he had always been laughed at by his older

brothers. He could not help being himself. He could not change

the differences between himself and his brothers. Thus again,

though the rest laughed aloud at the badger's fall, he did not see

the joke. His face was long and earnest. In his heart he was sad

to see the badgers crying and starving. In his breast spread a

burning desire to share his food with them.

"I shall not ask my father for meat to give away. He would

say 'No!' Then my brothers would laugh at me," said the ugly baby

bear to himself.

In an instant, as if his good intention had passed from him,

he was singing happily and skipping around his father at work.

Singing in his small high voice and dragging his feet in long

strides after him, as if a prankish spirit oozed out from his

heels, he strayed off through the tall grass. He was ambling

toward the small round hut. When directly in front of the entrance

way, he made a quick side kick with his left hind leg. Lo! there

fell into the badger's hut a piece of fresh meat. It was tough

meat, full of sinews, yet it was the only piece he could take

without his father's notice.

Thus having given meat to the hungry badgers, the ugly baby

bear ran quickly away to his father again.

On the following day the father badger came back once more.

He stood watching the big bear cutting thin slices of meat.

" Give--" he began, when the bear turning upon him with a

growl, thrust him cruelly aside. The badger fell on his hands. He

fell where the grass was wet with the blood of the newly carved

buffalo. His keen starving eyes caught sight of a little red clot

lying bright upon the green. Looking fearfully toward the bear and

seeing his head was turned away, he snatched up the small thick

blood. Underneath his girdled blanket he hid it in his hand.

On his return to his family, he said within himself : "I'll

pray the Great Spirit to bless it." Thus he built a small round

lodge. Sprinkling water upon the heated heap of sacred stones

within, he made ready to purge his body. "The buffalo blood, too,

must be purified before I ask a blessing upon it," thought the

badger. He carried it into the sacred vapor lodge. After placing

it near the sacred stones, he sat down beside it. After a long

silence, he muttered: "Great Spirit, bless this little buffalo

blood." Then he arose, and with a quiet dignity stepped out of the

lodge. Close behind him some one followed. The badger turned to

look over his shoulder and to his great joy he beheld a Dakota

brave in handsome buckskins. In his hand he carried a magic arrow.

Across his back dangled a long fringed quiver. In answer to the

badger's prayer, the avenger had sprung from out the red globules.

"My son!" exclaimed the badger with extended right hand.

"How, father," replied the brave; "I am your avenger!"

Immediately the badger told the sad story of his hungry little

ones and the stingy bear.

Listening closely the young man stood looking steadily upon

the ground.

At length the father badger moved away.

"Where?" queried the avenger.

"My son, we have no food. I am going again to beg for meat,"

answered the badger.

"Then I go with you," replied the young brave. This made the

old badger happy. He was proud of his son. He was delighted to be

called "father" by the first human creature.

The bear saw the badger coming in the distance. He narrowed

his eyes at the tall stranger walking beside him. He spied the

arrow. At once he guessed it was the avenger of whom he had heard

long, long ago. As they approached, the bear stood erect with a

hand on his thigh. He smiled upon them.

"How, badger, my friend! Here is my knife. Cut your favorite

pieces from the deer," said he, holding out a long thin blade.

"How!" said the badger eagerly. He wondered what had inspired

the big bear to such a generous deed. The young avenger waited

till the badger took the long knife in his hand.

Gazing full into the black bear's face, he said: "I come to do

justice. You have returned only a knife to my poor father. Now

return to him his dwelling." His voice was deep and powerful. In

his black eyes burned a steady fire.

The long strong teeth of the bear rattled against each other,

and his shaggy body shook with fear. "Ahow!" cried he, as if he

had been shot. Running into the dwelling he gasped, breathless and

trembling, "Come out, all of you! This is the badger's dwelling.

We must flee to the forest for fear of the avenger who carries the

magic arrow."

Out they hurried, all the bears, and disappeared into the

woods.

Singing and laughing, the badgers returned to their own

dwelling.

Then the avenger left them.

"I go," said he in parting, "over the earth."

THE TREE-BOUND

THE TREE-BOUND

IT was a clear summer day. The blue, blue sky dropped low

over the edge of the green level land. A large yellow sun hung

directly overhead.

The singing of birds filled the summer space between earth and

sky with sweet music. Again and again sang a yellow-breasted

birdie--"Koda Ni Dakota!" He insisted upon it. "Koda Ni Dakota!"

which was "Friend, you're a Dakota! Friend, you're a Dakota!"

Perchance the birdie meant the avenger with the magic arrow, for

there across the plain he strode. He was handsome in his paint and

feathers, proud with his great buckskin quiver on his back and a

long bow in his hand. Afar to an eastern camp of cone-shaped

teepees he was going. There over the Indian village hovered a

large red eagle threatening the safety of the people. Every

morning rose this terrible red bird out of a high chalk bluff and

spreading out his gigantic wings soared slowly over the round camp

ground. Then it was that the people, terror-stricken, ran

screaming into their lodges. Covering their heads with their

blankets, they sat trembling with fear. No one dared to venture

out till the red eagle had disappeared beyond the west, where meet

the blue and green.

In vain tried the chieftain of the tribe to find among his

warriors a powerful marksman who could send a death arrow to the

man-hungry bird. At last to urge his men to their utmost skill he

bade his crier proclaim a new reward.

Of the chieftain's two beautiful daughters he would have his

choice who brought the dreaded red eagle with an arrow in its

breast.

Upon hearing these words, the men of the village, both young

and old, both heroes and cowards, trimmed new arrows for the

contest. At gray dawn there stood indistinct under the shadow of

the bluff many human figures; silent as ghosts and wrapped in robes

girdled tight about their waists, they waited with chosen bow and

arrow.

Some cunning old warriors stayed not with the group. They

crouched low upon the open ground. But all eyes alike were fixed

upon the top of the high bluff. Breathless they watched for the

soaring of the red eagle.

From within the dwellings many eyes peeped through the small

holes in the front lapels of the teepee. With shaking knees and

hard-set teeth, the women peered out upon the Dakota men prowling

about with bows and arrows.

At length when the morning sun also peeped over the eastern

horizon at the armed Dakotas, the red eagle walked out upon the

edge of the cliff. Pluming his gorgeous feathers, he ruffled his

neck and flapped his strong wings together. Then he dived into the

air. Slowly he winged his way over the round camp ground; over the

men with their strong bows and arrows! In an instant the long bows

were bent. Strong straight arrows with red feathered tips sped

upward to the blue sky. Ah! slowly moved those indifferent wings,

untouched by the poison-beaked arrows. Off to the west beyond the

reach of arrow, beyond the reach of eye, the red eagle flew away.

A sudden clamor of high-pitched voices broke the deadly

stillness of the dawn. The women talked excitedly about the

invulnerable red of the eagle's feathers, while the would-be heroes

sulked within their wigwams. "He-he-he!" groaned the chieftain.

On the evening of the same day sat a group of hunters around

a bright burning fire. They were talking of a strange young man

whom they spied while out upon a hunt for deer beyond the bluffs.

They saw the stranger taking aim. Following the point of his arrow

with their eyes, they beheld a herd of buffalo. The arrow sprang

from the bow! It darted into the skull of the foremost buffalo.

But unlike other arrows it pierced through the head of the creature

and spinning in the air lit into the next buffalo head. One by one

the buffalo fell upon the sweet grass they were grazing. With

straight quivering limbs they lay on their sides. The young man

stood calmly by, counting on his fingers the buffalo as they

dropped dead to the ground. When the last one fell, he ran thither

and picking up his magic arrow wiped it carefully on the soft

grass. He slipped it into his long fringed quiver.

"He is going to make a feast for some hungry tribe of men or

beasts!" cried the hunters among themselves as they hastened away.

They were afraid of the stranger with the sacred arrow. When

the hunter's tale of the stranger's arrow reached the ears of the

chieftain, his face brightened with a smile. He sent forth fleet

horsemen, to learn of him his birth, his name, and his deeds.

"If he is the avenger with the magic arrow, sprung up from the

earth out of a clot of buffalo blood, bid him come hither. Let him

kill the red eagle with his magic arrow. Let him win for himself

one of my beautiful daughters," he had said to his messengers, for

the old story of the badger's man-son was known all over the level

lands.

After four days and nights the braves returned. "He is

coming," they said. "We have seen him. He is straight and tall;

handsome in face, with large black eyes. He paints his round

cheeks with bright red, and wears the penciled lines of red over

his temples like our men of honored rank. He carries on his back

a long fringed quiver in which he keeps his magic arrow. His bow

is long and strong. He is coming now to kill the big red eagle."

All around the camp ground from mouth to ear passed those words of

the returned messengers.

Now it chanced that immortal Iktomi, fully recovered from the

brown burnt spots, overheard the people talking. At once he was

filled with a new desire. "If only I had the magic arrow, I would

kill the red eagle and win the chieftain's daughter for a wife,"

said he in his heart.

Back to his lonely wigwam he hastened. Beneath the tree in

front of his teepee he sat upon the ground with chin between his

drawn-up knees. His keen eyes scanned the wide plain. He was

watching for the avenger.

"'He is coming!' said the people," muttered old Iktomi. All

of a sudden he raised an open palm to his brow and peered afar into

the west. The summer sun hung bright in the middle of a cloudless

sky. There across the green prairie was a man walking bareheaded

toward the east.

"Ha! ha! 'tis he! the man with the magic arrow!" laughed

Iktomi. And when the bird with the yellow breast sang loud

again--"Koda Ni Dakota! Friend, you're a Dakota!" Iktomi put his

hand over his mouth as he threw his head far backward, laughing at

both the bird and man.

"He is your friend, but his arrow will kill one of your kind!

He is a Dakota, but soon he'll grow into the bark on this tree!

Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed again.

The young avenger walked with swaying strides nearer and

nearer toward the lonely wigwam and tree. Iktomi heard the swish!

swish! of the stranger's feet through the tall grass. He was

passing now beyond the tree, when Iktomi, springing to his feet,

called out: "How, how, my friend! I see you are dressed in

handsome deerskins and have red paint on your cheeks. You are

going to some feast or dance, may I ask?" Seeing the young man

only smiled I