Chapter III: Part 3

After this he said, “Now bring my youngest boy here.” The boy brought the little cub, and the Bear said, “Now kill him.” The boy hesitated to do this. He did not want to kill the little bear, but it said to him: “Go on, my brother, kill me. After this I am going to be a spirit, and always to be with you.” Then the boy killed him, and skinned him, and tanned his hide. After it was tanned he put some red medicine paint on the hide. When this was done the Bear told him to put his paint, his feather, and his war-club in this hide, and to wrap them up and make a bundle of them. Then he said: “Now, my son, go to your people, and when you get home hang your bundle up at the back of the lodge, and let the people know nothing of all this. Keep it secret. Wherever you go, or wherever you are, I shall be with you.”

The boy went home to the camp, and told his mother to hang up his bundle, as the Bear had said. Next morning he was in camp and all the people saw him. They were surprised, for they had thought that he had been killed. By this time the Pawnees had all the buffalo they wanted, and the next day they started back to their village.

After they had reached their home, the boy told the chief’s son that he wanted him to go off with him on the war-path. His brother said: “It is good. I will go.” The poor boy took his bundle, and they started. After travelling many days they came to a camp of the enemy. They went into the village in the daytime, and took many horses and started away with them, riding hard. Soon the enemy pursued them, and at length they could see them coming, and it seemed as if they must soon overtake them. Then the poor boy got off his horse and stopped, telling his brother to go on, driving the horses.

The boy had painted himself red over his whole body. He held his war-club in his hand, and had his feather tied on his head and the little bear-skin on his back. The enemy soon came up and tried to kill him, but they could not. He would run after one and kill him, and all the others would shoot at him with their arrows, but they could not hurt him, and at last they left him and went back, and he went on and overtook the chief’s son. Then his brother saw that he had great power. After this they travelled on slowly, and at last reached the village. His brother told the people that this man was powerful, that they had taken the horses in broad daylight, and the young man had stayed behind on foot and fought the enemy off, while he drove on the horses.

A few days after they reached home, a war-party of the enemy attacked the village. All the Pawnees went out to fight them, but the poor boy stayed behind in the lodge. He took down his bundle, filled the pipe, and pointed it first to Atíus, and then towards the Bear’s lodge, and smoked. Then he took the paint and mixed it with grease, and rubbed it all over his body except his face: that he painted black. Then he put the feather on his head and the little bear-robe on his back, and took his war-club in his hand and started out. The Bear had told him that in going into battle he must never start towards the east, but must attack going towards the west. So he went around, and came on the battle-field from one side.

As he came up he saw that his people were having a hard time, and were being driven back. There was one of the enemy who seemed to be the bravest of all. The poor boy rushed at this man and killed him with his club, and then ran back to his own line. When his people looked at him, and saw that it was really the poor boy who had just done so brave a deed, they knew that what the chief’s son had said was true. When he started again to rush towards the enemy’s line, all the Pawnees followed him. He ran among the enemy, and with his club killed one here and one there, and the enemy became afraid and ran, and the Pawnees followed and killed many of them. That night they returned to the village, rejoicing over the victory. Everybody was praising the young man. Old men were calling his name, young women were singing about him, and old women dancing before him. People no longer made fun of his father or mother, or of him. Now they looked upon him as a great and powerful person.

The Bear had told him that when he wanted his name changed he must call himself Ku ruks la war´ uks ti, Medicine Bear.

That night the Bear came to the boy in his sleep and spoke to him. He said: “My son, to-morrow the chief of the tribe is going to ask you to take his daughter for your wife, but you must not do this yet. I wish you to wait until you have done certain things. If you take a wife before that time, your power will go from you.”

The next day the chief came to Medicine Bear and asked him to marry his daughter, and told him the people wanted him to be their head chief. He refused.

Some time after this all the different tribes that had been attacked by them joined forces and came down together to fight the Pawnees. All the people went out to meet them, but he stayed in his lodge and painted himself, and put his feather in his head and the bear-claw on his neck and his bear-skin on his back, and smoked as he always did, and took his club and went out. When he came to the battle, the Pawnees were having a hard time, because the enemy were so many. Medicine Bear charged, and killed a man, and then came back, and the second time he charged, the people charged all together, following him, and they killed many and drove the enemy off, and those who had the fastest horses were the only ones who got away. The Pawnees went home to the village. Everybody rejoiced, and there were many scalp-dances. Now the poor boy was more highly thought of than ever. Even the chiefs bowed their heads when they saw him. They could not equal him. This time he called himself Ku ruks ti carish, Angry Bear.

After the excitement had quieted down, one day the head chief said: “Medicine Bear, in all this tribe there is no chief who is equal to you. Sit down by my daughter. Take her for your wife, and take my place as chief. I and my wife will go out of this lodge, and it shall be yours. You shall be the chief of the tribe. Whatever you say we will abide by.” The poor boy said: “My father, I will think about this. By morning I will let you know.” In the night, before he slept, he filled the pipe and smoked as the Bear had told him to do, and then he went to bed. In dreams the Bear said to him: “My son, you have done what I wished you to do. Now the power will remain with you as long as you shall live. Now you can marry, if you will.”

But the boy was not yet ready to do this. The girl was very pretty, and he liked her, but he felt that before he married there were still some things that he must do. He called his brother and said to him, “Go, kill the fattest of the buffalo; bring it to me, and I will take a long journey with you.”

His brother went hunting and killed a buffalo, and brought the meat home, and they dried it and made a bundle of it. Medicine Bear told his brother to carry this bundle and a rawhide rope and a little hatchet, and they started on a journey towards the Missouri River. One day towards evening they reached the river, and they found themselves on top of a steep-cut bluff. The river ran at its foot. The poor boy cut a cottonwood pole and drove it into the ground, and tied the rope to it, and then tied the other end of the rope about his brother’s body. Then he sharpened a stick and gave it to his brother and said: “Now take the bundle of meat, and I will let you down over the bank. You must put the meat on a ledge of the cliff, and when the birds come you must feed them. Give a piece to the first one that comes, and then take your sharp stick and get another piece, and so feed all the birds. They are the ones that have power, and they can take pity on you.” So he let the chief’s son down.

The first bird that came was a buzzard, then an eagle, then hawks and owls, all kinds of birds that kill their prey. He fed them all. While he was doing this, the poor boy was above lying on top of the bank. Late in the afternoon, just as the sun was going down, he saw, far up the river, what looked like a flock of geese coming. They came nearer and nearer, and at last passed out of sight under the bank. Afterwards, when he looked down on the river, he could see in the water red light as if it were all on fire, and as he lay on the bank he could hear down below him the sound of drumming and singing just as plain as could be, and all the time the chief’s son was hanging there in front of the bank, and the poor boy would call down to him to cry and ask the animals to take pity on him. When Medicine Bear had done this, he started back and went home, leaving the chief’s son hanging there.

The chief’s son stayed there all the night and all the next day, and for three days and nights, and on the night of the fourth day he fell asleep. When he awoke he was in a lodge. It was under the Missouri River. When he looked about him he saw that those in the lodge were all animals. There was the beaver, there was the otter, two buffalo, the antelope, hawks, owls, ermines, bears, frogs, woodpeckers, catfish—all kinds of animals. On each side of the lodge was a little pool, and in each pool sat a goose, and every time they sang, the geese would shake their wings on the water, and it sounded just like drumming. The chief of the animals spoke to him, saying: “My son, at this time we can do nothing for you. We must first send our messenger up to the Bear’s lodge to ask him what we may do for you.” While he was saying this the Bear’s servant entered the lodge and said: “My father, it is all right. Our father the Bear told me to say to you that his son has sent this young man to you, and you must exert all your power for him.”

Now the animals began to make ready to use their power to help the chief’s son. First the Beaver talked to the young man, to tell him of his powers and his ways, so that he might perform wonderful acts. How he should take the branch of a tree and strike a man with its point and it would go through him, and then how to draw it out and to make the man well again. He gave him the power to do this. He taught him how to take a stick two feet long and swallow it, and then take it out again from his throat, and gave him this power.

The Otter gave him the power, if his enemies ever attacked him, to break their arrows with his teeth and shoot back the shaft without a spike, and if he hit an enemy with the shaft, it would kill him. “The poison from your mouth will kill him,” he said.

The Ground-dog said: “My son, here is my little one. I give him to you. Take him, and if you have an enemy among the doctors in your tribe, take this little one down to the water early in the morning and dip his nose in the water, and when you take it out it will have a piece of liver in its mouth. The man who has tried to kill you will be found dead.”

The Owl said: “My son, I give you power to see in the night. When you go on the war-path and want to take horses, the night will be like daytime for you.”

The Hawk said: “My son, I give you power to run swiftly, and I give you my war-club, which is my wing. You shall strike your enemy with it only once, and the blow shall kill him. Take also this little black rope; you shall use it when you go on the war-path to catch horses. Take also this scalp which you see hanging down from my claw. You shall be a great man for scalping.”

Each of the other animals gave him all his kinds of power.

For two days and two nights they taught him the different kinds of power, and for two days and two nights they taught him the different kinds of roots and herbs for healing the sick. They said to him: “You shall be the great doctor of your people. Every now and then you must bring us tobacco, so that we can smoke.” They further told him that at this time they could teach him only a little, but that afterwards, one at a time, they would meet him out on the prairie, and would teach him more. At last they said: “Now it is time for you to go. Your friend has come, and is waiting for you out on the prairie.”

The Buffalo now stood up and said: “My son, I want to be with you always. I give you my robe. Wear it wherever you go, that the people may know that you come from this place.” All the animals said, “We want to be with you too.” Each one of the birds took off a feather and put it on the robe, and each animal put one of its claws on it, and some put medicine on it. In one of the holes the Beaver tied a little sweet-grass, and others did the same. By the time they were through, the robe was all covered with feathers and claws and smelled sweet. The animals had put their medicine on it so that it smelled sweet. Then the animals said, “Go, my son, to your people, and bring us something to smoke, so that we may be satisfied.”

Presently the chief’s son found himself upon the bluff, facing his brother. His brother grasped him in his arms and said: “Oh, my brother, you smell nice. What a fine robe you have on! Look at all these feathers.” They hugged each other. Then they went home together. The chief’s son had a bundle that the animals had given him.

Soon after this the Pawnees had a big doctors’ dance. These boys went into the doctors’ lodge and said: “Doctors, you are the head doctors, but we have come to-night to visit you. We want to do a few things ourselves.” The doctors all said “Lau-a.” The young men took seats close to the door, which is the most important place in this dance. All the doctors were surprised, and said “Uh!”

The Bear boy got up first and began shooting at the chief’s son, just as he had done with the Bear, and all the doctors thought he was powerful, shooting at this young man and curing him. When he got through, it was the other boy’s turn. He would take a long sharp stick and thrust it through his brother, and then heal him again, and then take a knife and stab him, and then cure him. He did some powerful things, more so than his brother had done. After the doctors had seen all these things they all said, “Let us have these two for our head doctors.” But the poor boy said: “Not so. This one who is sitting by me has more power than I have. He ought to be the head doctor, for I am a warrior, and can never stay in the camp to doctor people. My brother has gone into the animals’ lodge, and they have given him more power than I possess.” So the chief’s son was chosen to be the head doctor.

When the doctors’ dance was over, the two brothers at once started to go to the animals’ lodge, carrying with them tobacco and a pipe. When they got there, the chief’s son told his brother to wait on the bank, that he was going down to take the tobacco and the pipe to his fathers. He jumped off the steep bank into the river, down into the door of the lodge, and went in. When they saw him all the animals slapped their mouths and called out. They were glad to see him. After smoking with them, he went back to his friend. After that the chief’s son would go off by himself and would meet the animals on the hills. They would tell him about different roots, and how to doctor this disease and that. He would come back with some roots and herbs and put them away.

Finally the head chief sent for the Bear man and said to him: “My son, I offered you my lodge, my daughter, and the whole tribe. Now take all this. Let me go out of this lodge and look for another one, and you stay here with my daughter.” The young man said: “What of my brother? Send for the other chief. Let him give his daughter, his lodge, his people, to him, and this day we will accept your gifts to us. My brother will after this be the head doctor of this tribe.” The other chief, when asked to do this, agreed, and it was so done.

The Bear man went often on the war-path, but his brother stayed at home, and fought against the enemy only when they attacked the village. He took charge of the doctors’ lodge. The Bear man after this had some children, and when they had grown up he told his son the secrets of his power. He was now beginning to grow old, and his son went on the war-path, while he stayed at home.

One night he had a dream about his father the Bear. The Bear said to him: “My son, I made you great and powerful among your people. The hairs of my body are falling, and soon I shall die. Then you too will die. Tell your son all the secret powers that I gave you. He shall keep the same power that you have had.”

Soon after this the old Bear must have died, for the man died. Before he died he said to his brother: “Do not mourn for me, for I shall always be near you. Take care of your people. Cure them when they are sick, and always be their chief.”

When the enemy came and attacked the people and wounded any, the chief’s son was always there and always cured them. He was a great doctor. At last he also died, but his son had the same kind of power. But these two sons never had so great powers as their fathers.

THE FIRST MEDICINE LODGE

A great many winters ago the Piegans were camped near a small creek. Their lodges were arranged in a circle, enclosing a large open space. This was long before they had horses. They used dogs to pack with.

The head chief had a daughter. She was good and beautiful. Many young men had asked to marry her, but she had refused them all. One day she went to the stream for water. There she met a boy, well known through the camp, because of a great scar on his cheek, which made him very ugly. From this the people called him Scarface. He was very poor. His mother and father were dead, and he lived with his grandmother. His clothes were old and torn, and he wore about him part of a worn buffalo robe. Yet, though his clothes were poor and his face was ugly, his heart was good, and the cruel taunts of his people often made him very sad.

When Scarface met the beautiful girl, he asked her if she would marry him. She looked at him in scorn and said: “Do you think I would marry such an ugly person as you? When you remove that great scar from your face, come and ask me.” Then she left him. He sat for a long time thinking over the cruel words the girl had spoken. His heart was sad. At last he went slowly to his grandmother’s lodge.

When he entered he said: “Grandmother, make me some moccasins and put some dried buffalo meat in a sack for me. I am going away and may be gone a long time.” She gave him the things he asked for, and he left the lodge and started to go to a butte not far from the camp.

When he reached the top of the butte, he threw himself upon the ground and wept and prayed to the Sun to have pity on him and remove the scar. At last he stood up and made a bed of the stones which he found on the side of the butte. Then he lay down to sleep. While he slept a voice said to him: “My son, rise, and go to the butte to the right of you. There you will find your father.” He did as the voice had said.

When he reached the place, he threw himself on the ground and wept as before, and prayed the Sun to help him. He made a bed of stones like the one he had lain on before, and while he slept another voice said: “My son, your journey is not yet ended. Rise and go to that butte still farther to the right. There you will find one who will direct you on your way.” Again he obeyed the voice.

When he reached this butte he made his bed as before, and slept, but no voice spoke to him. In the morning he awoke. As he sat on the ground, he was wondering what he should do next. Again a voice spoke, saying, “My friend, shut your eyes.” He did so, and in a short time the strange voice said, “Open your eyes and look about you.”

When he opened his eyes, he was far up in the blue sky, in another world. It was all a wide prairie. There were no mountains, no trees. There were only rivers, with a few bushes upon their banks. He could now see the person who had spoken to him. He was a young man about his own age, but he was very handsome. He wore a shirt, leggings, and robe of some strange animal’s fur, and his moccasins were embroidered in strange and beautiful colors and patterns. The young man said to Scarface: “My name is Sun Dog. The Sun is my father and the Moon my mother. Yonder is my father’s lodge. Let us go to it. My father is not now there. At night he will enter.”

They reached the lodge. Very large it was and very beautiful. Many unknown animals were painted on it, and behind it, hanging from a tripod, were the war clothes of the Sun, made of the skins of strange animals, and trimmed with fine feathers. Scarface was ashamed to enter this beautiful lodge, for his clothes were poor and his moccasins were worn with travel; but Sun Dog said to him, “Enter, my new friend, and fear nothing.”

They entered. All about were seats covered with white robes, and everything was strange. The Moon was there. Sun Dog approached her and said: “Mother, I have brought a young man to our lodge who is very poor. I beg you to have pity on him and help him in his trouble.” The Moon spoke kindly to Scarface, and gave him something to eat.

When it was time for the Sun to come home, Sun Dog hid Scarface and covered him up with robes. When the Sun came to the door, he stopped and said, “There is a person here.” “Yes, father,” said Sun Dog, “a good young man, who is in trouble, has come to see you.” The Sun said, “Bring him to me.” Sun Dog removed the robes and brought Scarface before the Sun. The Sun looked at Scarface a short time, and turning to the Moon, bade her make Scarface as handsome as their own son, and give him some nice clothes to wear. The Moon made some medicine and rubbed it over Scarface. In a short time he was changed into a very handsome young man. The Moon took Sun Dog and Scarface before the Sun and said, “O Sun, tell me which is Sun Dog.” The Sun looked at the two boys for a moment, and then pointed to Sun Dog, and said, “This is our son.” Again the Moon rubbed the medicine on Scarface, until she was sure that the two young men looked alike, and again she took them before the Sun and said, “O Sun, tell me now which is our son.” He looked at them a long time, and, pointing to Scarface, said, “This must be our son.”

In the morning before leaving the lodge, the Sun called the young men to him and said, “My children, do not go near that lodge by the river, for in it live four large white birds with long bills with which they pluck out people’s hearts. I have had four other sons, but they have all been killed by these birds.” Then he left them.

The two young men went out hunting. They went on and on, when suddenly Sun Dog cried out, “This is the place where my brothers were killed! See! there are the birds coming one after another towards us. Let us make haste to get away.” He ran away, but Scarface waited until the birds came near him. As they came up, he struck each on the head with a club which he carried, and killed them. After some time Sun Dog returned, and the young men took the birds home to the lodge.

The Moon was very happy when she saw that the destroyers of her sons were dead. When the Sun returned in the evening, Sun Dog said, “Father, my friend killed the bad birds to-day,” and he showed them to him. The Sun called Scarface to him and dressed him in clothes made of white buffalo skins and painted his face and said: “It is now time, my son, for you to return to your people, for they need your help. They are beneath us, and not far from here. Sun Dog will take you and will tell you what I wish you to do.” After shaking hands with the Sun and Moon, the two young men started on their journey.

After they had gone some distance, they stopped. Sun Dog said: “Soon we will have to part, but first I must tell you what the Sun has commanded you to do. If there are any sick or dying among your people, in order to make them well you must build the Medicine Lodge. First you must get one hundred buffalo tongues. Select four pure women of your tribe to help. Let one woman make the medicine, another cut thin and dry the tongues, and the other two boil the tongues. Go into the tall brush and clear a place for the Medicine Lodge. When everything is ready, call the people together to take part in the dance. Let each take a piece of the tongue, and let all say together, ‘Great Sun, let us eat together, and grant to us that our people may recover.’ If the women you select to make the medicine and to cut and boil the tongue are pure women, the sick and the dying among your people will recover; if not, they will die.

“Now, my brother,” continued Sun Dog, “you have heard the commands of the Sun. You will soon find yourself on the butte you came from. We must now part.” They shook hands. Sun Dog said, “Shut your eyes.” Scarface shut his eyes, and when he opened them he found himself sitting at the foot of the butte from which he came. The circular camp lay before him.

He went to his grandmother’s lodge, but no one recognized in the handsome young man the one who had left them so poor and ugly. All gathered about him to listen to his wonderful story. He told them of the commands of the Sun, and a short time after made the Medicine Lodge as the Sun had commanded. This was the first Medicine Lodge.

Scarface became a great chief and all listened to his wise words. The beautiful girl came to him and said, “You are very handsome now, and a great chief, and I will marry you.” But he sent her away. He married good women and lived a long time. When he died Sun Dog took him back to the Sun, where he lives forever.

THUNDER MAKER AND COLD MAKER

In ancient times, before horses had come from the south and been taught to bear burdens, the people did not move camp often, but remained in one place so long as sufficient game could be found to furnish food. They shrank from taking down their lodges and travelling over the prairie to fresh hunting-grounds, for their dogs could not pack everything, and they themselves were forced to carry heavy loads on their backs. One season they had hunted on a little stream in the foot-hills since early spring. The summer passed, the leaves began to fall, and with the approach of winter the great herds of buffalo slowly grazed out on the plains, and finally disappeared to the eastward. Hardy and warmly furred as they were they feared the deep snow and the cold of the mountain country.

When the last of the buffalo had gone, a great hunter named Low Wolf thought that it was also time for him to move. He said to the chiefs: “Come, now, the buffalo have gone; they are our food; let us too move away from the mountains and follow them.”

But the chiefs said they would not break camp for a while. “Snow will not fall for one or two moons,” they said, “and there are still plenty of elk, deer, moose, and other small game close by. Do not be impatient. Let us wait.”

Low Wolf would not listen to them. “No,” he said, “I am not a hunter of small game. The buffalo are my living, and to-morrow I shall follow them, even if I go alone.”

The people thought that he was joking; but the next morning they learned that he meant what he said, for when they arose they saw that already his lodge had been taken down, and his wife and daughter were busy packing the dogs and lashing the travois on them.

“Hold on,” said the chiefs, coming up; “why all this hurry? It is not safe for you to go alone. It is not right for you to take your wife and daughter out on the lonely plains. Think of all the dangers. Wait until we are ready to move.”

“What the Low Wolf has said cannot be unsaid,” he replied. “I told you that to-day I should start after the buffalo, and now I am going.”

For several days the little family travelled eastward along the valley of the evergrowing stream, but found no buffalo. Then they turned northeast, and after four nights on the wide prairie saw before them another valley. Buffalo were all around them now, and Low Wolf said that if they could find plenty of timber and water he would be content to stay in this place until spring. There was a large river flowing through the valley, and along its banks grew groves of large cotton-woods and willows. At the edge of one of these groves the dogs were unpacked and the lodge put up where it was protected from the wind. That night, as the little family sat about the fire eating fat buffalo ribs, Low Wolf said: “Ah, how foolish were the people not to come with me; here we have a fine sheltered camp, plenty of wood, and on all sides the buffalo darken the prairie. Besides, down here it is still summer weather, while up there where they are it is already freezing at night.”

The days passed happily. Every morning Low Wolf went out to hunt, and his wife and daughter dried the meat that he brought in, tanned soft robes for sleeping and for covering, and cut great piles of fire-wood against the cold of approaching winter.

One evening, Plover Call, the daughter, went out to gather the night’s wood, and while she was lashing a pile of it to carry in she happened to look up, and saw standing near a man wearing his robe hair side out. He was facing the river, his back towards her, but she supposed it was her father, although it seemed strange that he should follow her out into the timber, as there were no signs of any enemy about.

“What are you doing there?” she asked. “Come, I have gathered my wood; let us go home.”

The man turned towards her and lowered his robe from his face, and she saw that he was a stranger—a handsome young man, with light-colored hair and a white face. Strangely enough she was not afraid of him, for he had a kind face, and his blue eyes looked pleasant.

“Ah,” he said, as he slowly drew near where she stood, “I have come from a far land. I have left my people, for something told me to go in search of a wife. When I saw you I knew that you were the one I was meant to find. Let us live together.”

Plover Call forgot her wood as she looked at him. “Come with me to our lodge,” she said at last, “and I will find out if it may be as you ask.” When they came to it she told him to stand outside for a little.

“Father, mother,” she said, as she entered the doorway, “I have found a young man out in the woods who wishes to marry me; are you willing that he should?”

“Is he strong and active?” asked Low Wolf.

“Is he well clothed and good-looking?” the mother inquired.

“Oh,” said the girl, “he is everything you ask, and more; he is even strange-looking, for he has a white face, and his hair is the color of last year’s prairie grass.”

“Well,” said Low Wolf, “it matters not about his looks, so long as he is an active man; yet it is strange that he is so different from us. Tell him to come in.”

Plover Call went to the doorway and beckoned to the young man, and when he had entered, her father and mother motioned him to a seat, and soon began to talk to him, asking many questions. The young man replied readily to all of them, so after he had considered for a time, Low Wolf concluded to give him his daughter. The next day she and her mother began to make a new lodge, and as soon as it was finished, put up and stored with robes and clothing, food and other things, the two were married.

“I am glad that you came,” the father said to the young man, “and glad to give you my good daughter. We will not be so lonely now, and if the enemy should come there will be two of us to fight them.”

The fourth day after the young couple were married and had moved into the new lodge, the stranger arose early, and after a hurried meal told Plover Call that he intended to go hunting. His wife was pleased, and said that he must bring in a deer, for she wished to tan the skin and make him some moccasins.

He picked up his bow-case and quiver, slung it on his back and started, and shortly after he left the lodge, low, continuous rumbling of thunder was heard, beginning quite near the lodges, and finally dying away in the distance. Plover Call and her parents came out of their lodges, looked around, and were surprised to see that there was not a cloud in the sky; and again it was the wrong time of year for thunder. Moreover, the young man was not to be seen in any direction, although he had gone but a moment before. It was all very strange.

Evening came; the sun had gone down, and the shadow of night covered the valley, when again thunder was heard, this time far away at first, and then coming nearer. Then presently Plover Call heard something heavy fall by the doorway, and her husband entering, said: “Well, I got the deer for you. There it lies just outside.”

The young woman was uneasy; she went over and consulted her father.

“Surely mysterious things are happening about here,” said Low Wolf, “and I suspect your husband is not what he seems to be. Anyhow, it is well to be on the safe side; do not eat any of the deer he brought in.”

The young woman went back to her lodge, cut some meat from the deer, and cooked it for her husband. While he was eating she skinned the animal, cut it into quarters, and hung it out on a near-by bush. After the evening meal was over her father came in, and the two men talked for a long time about hunting and war, and her husband told interesting stories about his people. Listening to him, both Plover Call and her father were ashamed of their fears, and resolved to make amends by treating the young man as kindly as they knew how.

The next day the wind changed to the north, and there came a light fall of snow; no hunting was done. The following morning Plover Call’s husband again started out with his bow and arrows, and, as before, as soon as he left it thundered for a long time. The fears of the little family were again aroused, and when at night the young man returned after a long rumbling of thunder, they were all frightened, and feared that something dreadful was about to happen. The hunter had brought in another deer and told how he had killed it, and where he had been hunting.

“Why,” said Low Wolf, “I was out there, too, this morning; it is strange I did not see you. I should have seen your tracks anyhow.”

They learned the next day that he made no tracks. When he started out they watched him; he took four steps from the lodge door, and then suddenly vanished, the thunder beginning again and rumbling away into the distance. As he disappeared, a strange-looking bird was seen flying the way the thunder was muttering. Then they knew that this person was really the thunder bird, and their hearts were filled with a great fear.

Four times the strange husband went hunting, always disappearing at the lodge door in his mysterious way, always accompanied by thunder, going and coming, never leaving any footprints beyond the lodge. Yet when at home he was just like any other young man, light-hearted, sociable, and kind to his wife. The morning after his fourth hunt he said that he must go and visit his people.

“It is a very long distance that I must travel,” he said to them, “and I may be away many moons; but do not worry, for I shall return as soon as I can.” With that he left the lodge, and peering through the folds of the doorway, they saw him vanish as before, and as the thunder rolled, saw the bird flying out across the valley, over the rim of the plain towards the south.

The moons came, grew, and went, but Plover Call’s husband did not return. She was glad of it, and so were her parents, for they all feared his terrible, mysterious ways.

One evening the young woman was again chopping wood by the river, and, again looking up, she saw a man standing near her, wearing his robe hair side out. Again she thought it was her father, but when she addressed him he turned around, and she saw it was a stranger. At first she was sure it was her husband, but as he lowered his robe she saw that he was dark-faced and black-haired like herself. “Who are you?” she asked. “Why are you here?”

“I am of your race,” he said, “but from a far-away tribe. I am seeking a wife; will you marry me?”

Plover Call would not answer his question, but told him to go with her to her parents’ lodge. Low Wolf decided that she might marry the stranger at once. “The other one,” he said, “that Thunder Maker, has been gone a long time, and I am sure he will never return. We need another drawer of the bow in case of attack, so put up your lodge again and try to live happily.”

Although he had appeared rather strangely, and, like the Thunder Maker, had said he came from a far country, there was nothing that seemed either odd or mysterious about Plover Call’s new husband. He hunted with her father, prayed to Nápi, the creator, as she did, and in no respect was different from any young Blackfoot she knew. He was very kind and gentle, and the girl soon loved him with all her heart. They lived together very happily. One day, as he sat in the lodge making some arrows, the distant rumbling of thunder was heard.

“Go!” his wife cried. “Leave here at once; the man I told you of is returning.”

“I will not leave this lodge,” said he, calmly, “for the Thunder person, nor any one else.”

“But you must,” she replied; “he will be angry; and oh, I fear him. Listen! he is coming nearer. Hurry away before it is too late.”

“Ah,” said her husband, “you do not love me, or you would not ask this.”

“It is because I do love you that I want to have you go.”

“Say no more,” he replied; “now that I know you love me, I shall surely stay. I do not fear him.”

Suddenly the curtain of the doorway was thrown back and the Thunder Maker bounded into the lodge. He was very angry. Streams of lightning flashed continuously from his eyes. Sheets of ill-smelling smoke, mingled with blue flame, rolled in waves from his body. Plover Call shut her eyes, nearly fainting at the dreadful sight, and her heart stood still from fear.

“What are you doing here?” he cried to the man calmly scraping his arrows. “What are you doing here in my lodge? Go at once, or I will kill you where you sit.”

“Do you go yourself,” the other replied, “or it will be the worse for you. This is my house, and this woman whom you deserted is my wife.”

Thunder Maker sprang into the air in fury, and more fearfully than ever the lightning flashed from his eyes. Raising his hand to strike, he stepped suddenly towards his enemy, but the man as quickly held up some soft, white, downy eagle feathers, and blew them from his hand, and a terrible cold, biting wind filled the lodge. Thunder Maker fell back. The wind increased, and the lodge shook as if it would be blown away. Fine, sharp, stinging frost-flakes hissed in through the doorway and from under the edges of the lodge skins. Colder and colder it grew; and, trembling, quivering, his lips blue, his teeth chattering, Thunder Maker staggered to a bed and fell upon it.

“You have beaten me; your power is greater than mine,” he cried. “Oh, Cold Maker, have pity!”

For Plover Call’s new husband was Cold Maker, he who brings the fierce storms, the biting wind, and drifting, whirling snow from out the north. And now, as he saw his enemy gasping, shaking, and begging for mercy, as he lay on the bed, he laughed. “Will you promise never to return; never to trouble us again?” he asked. “I will go, I will go,” groaned the other. “You promise? Then go, and be sure you keep your word.”

The cold wind and the hazy frost ceased as suddenly as they had come. Thunder Maker staggered to his feet. He reeled out of the lodge. Lightning no longer flashed from his eyes. The blue flame and stifling smoke no longer rolled from his person. He looked very poor and sick as he disappeared.

Now that Plover Call knew who her new husband really was, she was not at all afraid of him, although he was one of the deathless ones, who, for the time, had taken the form of man. They continued to live happily together, and when summer came he went with her and her parents, and joined the great camp of the Blackfeet.

Often Cold Maker said to her people that he could not remain with them always, but he never told them when he should go away. “After I have gone,” he said once, “I will try to warn you of the approach of a cold storm. When you see a raven flying about in the winter, and crying its loud notes, look out, for the cold storm will be near.”

After many years Plover Call died of old age, and Cold Maker mourned. “He will leave us now,” the people said. They were right. One day he disappeared and was seen no more. But his words were not forgotten. Since that time they have named the raven after him. Even to this day the raven comes to give warning of an approaching storm.

THE BLINDNESS OF PI-WAṔ-ŌK

Pi-waṕ-ōk, Flint-knife, was a Blood warrior; he was brave and ambitious, seldom passing a day idly in his lodge. If not away on the war-path against some distant tribe, he was sure to be out hunting. The burning heats of summer, the cold, and the piercing snow-drifting winds of winter did not keep him back, if he thought game was to be found. There were always many buffalo hides and many skins of elk, deer, and antelope stacked up about his lodge, and within were thick warm robe beds, and piles of soft buckskins, tanned by his wife Í-kai-si, the Squirrel. None knew better than the poor, the blind, and the crippled, that the parfleches piled up behind the beds, and filling the space near the doorway, contained stores of fat dried meat, rich pemmican, marrow fat, dried berries and roots, to a share of which they were always welcome. The couple had no children, and they said that unless a crowd of guests feasted and smoked in their lodge of an evening, they felt lonesome. So for many years they lived, happy and prosperous, and then a great trouble came on them.

One day Pi-waṕ-ōk returned from a hunt and complained that his eyes hurt him. “They feel as if some one had thrown sand in them,” he said. “When I try to see something far away, they fill with tears and everything becomes indistinct.”

“Oh, that is nothing,” Í-kai-si said to him, “the hard wind which you have been out in all day has made them a little sore. I’ll stew some of those leaves my old grandmother used to say were good for the eyes, and after you have bathed them once or twice, no doubt you will see clearly again.”

The lotion was used for a day or two, but the inflammation increased. A great doctor was called in; he looked carefully at the red lids and the thin, ever-spreading film covering the eyes, and prescribed a steam bath, into which he threw certain herbs. It did no good, and a great medicine man was sent for. He came with ceremony, dressed in a bear-skin robe, carrying a bag of mysterious medicines, and shaking his rattles as he entered the lodge. Seating himself by the patient, he asked many questions as he examined the swollen eyes. At last he inquired if Pi-waṕ-ōk had experienced unpleasant dreams of late.

“Yes,” the sick man replied, “the night before this affliction came upon me, I had a terrible dream; you remember that I killed two Crow warriors this spring when we had the battle with them at the Yellow River. Well, I was fighting it all over again in my sleep. I had stabbed and taken the scalp of one Crow, and was turning to struggle with the other, when the dead one sprang up, all bleeding and sightless, the loose skin of the forehead hanging over his eyes, and with a loud cry struck me with the war-club still hanging from his wrist. Then I woke, frightened and trembling from the awful sight.”

“Ah!” said the medicine man, after thinking a little. “That explains it all; the ghost of some enemy you have killed is near here, and is blinding you in some mysterious way. Well, let me get to work; perhaps I can drive him away.”

He opened the medicine bag and took from it a long pipe stem painted red and black, to which was tied a small buckskin sack, ornamented with the feathers of certain small birds, and curious claws and teeth. No one but he knew what was inside the little sack; it was his secret helper. “Hai-yu,” he cried to it, entreatingly. “Hai-yu, you certain thing of the earth. Help me now; help me to drive away the ghosts from this sufferer’s eyes. As you long ago told me in my dreams to do, favored one of the Sun, that I will now do. Intercede for us all here to-day; ask the Sun to have pity on us all; to grant us long life, good health, and sufficient food.”

Such was his prayer. He knelt beside Pi-waṕ-ōk, and began an ancient medicine song, shaking his rattles and motioning the unseen spirit to depart. At times he picked up the long stem and blew through it on the inflamed eyes, calling out at the end of every breath: “Whooh! Ghost, retire.”

“How do you feel?” he asked, when about to leave, after many songs and prayers, and blowings through the stem.

“Oh,” Pi-waṕ-ōk replied, “I can’t say that I see any plainer, but I think my eyes are not so painful.”

“Ah!” the medicine man said, “that is but natural; you cannot recover at once; when we have driven the ghost away for good, then it will still take time for the eyes to become clear.”

After some days it was found that the medicine man’s charms had failed. One after another, the doctors and mystery men of the tribe were called in. This was expensive. One demanded two horses, another a gun and blanket, another three horses; another would not step inside the lodge until he had been paid ten horses. One by one Pi-waṕ-ōk’s herd changed hands; little by little the store of soft robes and food disappeared, and the lodge became bare. But the afflicted one did not get well. For a time he could see objects dimly, then they became mere shadows; then the light went out entirely. Pi-waṕ-ōk was blind.