Indian Why Stories Part 6

Out from the cover came the hunters, and with ready bow they followed along the trail. Yes--there was blood on a log, and more on the dead leaves. The arrow had found its mark and they must go slowly in their trailing, lest they lose the meat. For two hours they followed the wounded animal, and at last came upon him in a willow thicket--sick unto death, for the arrow was deep in his paunch. His sufferings were ended by another arrow, and the chase was done.

With their knives the boys dressed the buck, and then went back to the camp to tell the women where the meat could be found--just as the men do. It was their first deer; and pride shone in their faces as they told their grandfather that night in the lodge.

"That is good," War Eagle replied, as the boys finished telling of their success. "That is good, if your mother needed the meat, but it is wrong to kill when you have plenty, lest Manitou be angry. There is always enough, but none to waste, and the hunter who kills more than he needs is wicked. To-night I shall tell you what happened to OLD-man when he did that. Yes, and he got into trouble over it.

"One day in the fall when the leaves were yellow, and the Deer-people were dressed in their blue robes--when the Geese and Duck-people were travelling to the country where water does not freeze, and where flowers never die, OLD-man was travelling on the plains.

"Near sundown he saw two Buffalo-Bulls feeding on a steep hillside; but he had no bow and arrow with him. He was hungry, and began to think of some way to kill one of the Bulls for meat. Very soon he thought out a plan, for he is cunning always.

"He ran around the hill out of sight of the Bulls, and there made two men out of gra.s.s and sage-brush. They were dummies, of course, but he made them to look just like real men, and then armed each with a wooden knife of great length. Then he set them in the position of fighting; made them look as though they were about to fight each other with the knives. When he had them both fixed to suit, he ran back to the place where the Buffalo were calling:

"'Ho! brothers, wait for me--do not run away. There are two fine men on the other side of this hill, and they are quarrelling. They will surely fight unless we stop them. It all started over you two Bulls, too. One of the men says you are fat and fine, and the other claims you are poor and skinny. Don't let our brothers fight over such a foolish thing as that. It would be wicked. Now I can decide it, if you will let me feel all over you to see if you are fat or poor. Then I will go back to the men and settle the trouble by telling them the truth. Stand still and let me feel your sides--quick, lest the fight begin while I am away.'

"'All right,' said the Bulls, 'but don't you tickle us.' Then OLD-man walked up close and commenced to feel about the Bulls' sides; but his heart was bad. From his robe he slipped his great knife, and slyly felt about till he found the spot where the heart beats, and then stabbed the knife into the place, clear up to the hilt.

"Both of the Bulls died right away, and OLD-man laughed at the trick he had played upon them. Then he gave a knife to both of his hands, and said:

"'Get to work, both of you! Skin these Bulls while I sit here and boss you.'

"Both hands commenced to skin the Buffalo, but the right hand was much the swifter worker. It gained upon the left hand rapidly, and this made the left hand angry. Finally the left hand called the right hand 'dog-face.' That is the very worst thing you can call a person in our language, you know, and of course it made the right hand angry. So crazy and angry was the right hand that it stabbed the left hand, and then they began to fight in earnest.

"Both cut and slashed till blood covered the animals they were skinning. All this fighting hurt OLD-man badly, of course, and he commenced to cry, as women do sometimes. This stopped the fight; but still OLD-man cried, till, drying his tears, he saw a Red Fox sitting near the Bulls, watching him. 'Hi, there, you--go away from there! If you want meat you go and kill it, as I did.'

"Red Fox laughed--'Ha!--Ha!--Ha!--foolish OLD-man--Ha!--ha!' Then he ran away and told the other Foxes and the Wolves and the Coyotes about OLD-man's meat. Told them that his own hands couldn't get along with themselves and that it would be easy to steal it from him.

"They all followed the Red Fox back to the place where OLD-man was, and there they ate all of the meat--every bit, and polished the bones.

"OLD-man couldn't stop them, because he was hurt, you see; but it all came about through lying and killing more meat than he needed. Yes--he lied and that is bad, but his hands got to quarrelling between themselves, and family quarrels are always bad. Do not lie; do not quarrel. It is bad. Ho!"

WHY THE NIGHT-HAWK'S WINGS ARE BEAUTIFUL

I was awakened by the voice of the camp-crier, and although it was yet dark I listened to his message.

The camp was to move. All were to go to the mouth of the Maria's--"The River That Scolds at the Other"--the Indians call this stream, that disturbs the waters of the Missouri with its swifter flood.

On through the camp the crier rode, and behind him the lodge-fires glowed in answer to his call. The village was awake, and soon the thunder of hundreds of hoofs told me that the pony-bands were being driven into camp, where the faithful were being roped for the journey.

Fires flickered in the now fading darkness, and down came the lodges as though wizard hands had touched them. Before the sun had come to light the world, we were on our way to "The River That Scolds at the Other."

Not a cloud was in the sky, and the wind was still. The sun came and touched the plains and hilltops with the light that makes all wild things glad. Here and there a jack-rabbit scurried away, often followed by a pack of dogs, and sometimes, though not often, they were overtaken and devoured on the spot. Bands of graceful antelope bounded out of our way, stopping on a knoll to watch the strange procession with wondering eyes, and once we saw a dust-cloud raised by a moving herd of buffalo, in the distance.

So the day wore on, the scene constantly changing as we travelled.

Wolves and coyotes looked at us from almost every knoll and hilltop; and sage-hens sneaked to cover among the patches of sage-brush, scarcely ten feet away from our ponies. Toward sundown we reached a grove of cottonwoods near the mouth of the Maria's, and in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time the lodges took form. Soon, from out the tops of a hundred camps, smoke was curling just as though the lodges had been there always, and would forever remain.

As soon as supper was over I found the children, and together we sought War Eagle's lodge. He was in a happy mood and insisted upon smoking two pipes before commencing his story-telling. At last he said:

"To-night I shall tell you why the Nighthawk wears fine clothes. My grandfather told me about it when I was young. I am sure you have seen the Night-hawk sailing over you, dipping and making that strange noise.

Of course there is a reason for it.

"OLD-man was travelling one day in the springtime; but the weather was fine for that time of year. He stopped often and spoke to the bird-people and to the animal-people, for he was in good humor that day. He talked pleasantly with the trees, and his heart grew tender.

That is, he had good thoughts; and of course they made him happy.

Finally he felt tired and sat down to rest on a big, round stone--the kind of stone our white friend there calls a bowlder. Here he rested for a while, but the stone was cold, and he felt it through his robe; so he said:

"'Stone, you seem cold to-day. You may have my robe. I have hundreds of robes in my camp, and I don't need this one at all.' That was a lie he told about having so many robes. All he had was the one he wore.

"He spread his robe over the stone, and then started down the hill, naked, for it was really a fine day. But storms hide in the mountains, and are never far away when it is springtime. Soon it began to snow--then the wind blew from the north with a good strength behind it.

OLD-man said:

"'Well, I guess I do need that robe myself, after all. That stone never did anything for me anyhow. n.o.body is ever good to a stone.

I'll just go back and get my robe.'

"Back he went and found the stone. Then he pulled the robe away, and wrapped it about himself. Ho! but that made the stone angry--Ho!

OLD-man started to run down the hill, and the stone ran after him. Ho!

it was a funny race they made, over the gra.s.s, over smaller stones, and over logs that lay in the way, but OLD-man managed to keep ahead until he stubbed his toe on a big sage-brush, and fell--swow!

"'Now I have you!' cried the stone--'now I'll kill you, too! Now I will teach you to give presents and then take them away,' and the stone rolled right on top of OLD-man, and sat on his back.

"It was a big stone, you see, and OLD-man couldn't move it at all. He tried to throw off the stone but failed. He squirmed and twisted--no use--the stone held him fast. He called the stone some names that are not good; but that never helps any. At last he began to call:

"'Help!--Help!--Help!' but n.o.body heard him except the Night-hawk, and he told the OLD-man that he would help him all he could; so he flew away up in the air--so far that he looked like a black speck. Then he came down straight and struck that rock an awful blow--'swow!'--and broke it in two pieces. Indeed he did. The blow was so great that it spoiled the Night-hawk's bill, forever--made it queer in shape, and jammed his head, so that it is queer, too. But he broke the rock, and OLD-man stood upon his feet.

"'Thank you, Brother Night-hawk,' said OLD-man, 'now I will do something for you. I am going to make you different from other birds--make you so people will always notice you.'

"You know that when you break a rock the powdered stone is white, like snow; and there is always some of the white powder whenever you break a rock, by pounding it. Well, Old-man took some of the fine powdered stone and shook it on the Night-hawk's wings in spots and stripes--made the great white stripes you have seen on his wings, and told him that no other bird could have such marks on his clothes.

"All the Night-hawk's children dress the same way now; and they always will as long as there are Night-hawks. Of course their clothes make them proud; and that is why they keep at flying over people's heads--soaring and dipping and turning all the time, to show off their pretty wings.

"That is all for to-night. Muskrat, tell your father I would run Buffalo with him tomorrow--Ho!"

WHY THE MOUNTAIN-LION IS LONG AND LEAN

Have you ever seen the plains in the morning--a June morning, when the spurred lark soars and sings--when the plover calls, and the curlew pipes his shriller notes to the rising sun? Then is there music, indeed, for no bird outsings the spurred lark; and thanks to OLD-man he is not wanting in numbers, either. The plains are wonderful then--more wonderful than they are at this season of the year; but at all times they beckon and hold one as in a spell, especially when they are backed or bordered by a snow-capped mountain range. Looking toward the east they are boundless, but on their western edge superb mountains rear themselves.

All over this vast country the Indians roamed, following the great buffalo herds as did the wolves, and making their living with the bow and lance, since the horse came to them. In the very old days the "piskun" was used, and buffalo were enticed to follow a fantastically dressed man toward a cliff, far enough to get the herd moving in that direction, when the "buffalo-man" gained cover, and hidden Indians raised from their hiding places behind the animals, and drove them over the cliff, where they were killed in large numbers.

Not until Cortez came with his cavalry from Spain, were there horses on this continent, and then generations pa.s.sed ere the plains tribes possessed this valuable animal, that so materially changed their lives.

Dogs dragged the Indian's travois or packed his household goods in the days before the horse came, and for hundreds--perhaps thousands of years, these people had no other means of transporting their goods and chattels. As the Indian is slow to forget or change the ways of his father, we should pause before we brand him as wholly improvident, I think.

He has always been a family-man, has the Indian, and small children had to be carried, as well as his camp equipage. Wolf-dogs had to be fed, too, in some way, thus adding to his burden; for it took a great many to make it possible for him to travel at all.

When the night came and we visited War Eagle, we found he had other company--so we waited until their visit was ended before settling ourselves to hear the story that he might tell us.

"The Crows have stolen some of our best horses," said War Eagle, as soon as the other guests had gone. "That is all right--we shall get them back, and more, too. The Crows have only borrowed those horses and will pay for their use with others of their own. To-night I shall tell you why the Mountain lion is so long and thin and why he wears hair that looks singed. I shall also tell you why that person's nose is black, because it is part of the story.

"A long time ago the Mountain-lion was a short, thick-set person. I am sure you didn't guess that. He was always a great thief like OLD-man, but once he went too far, as you shall see.