Chapter 2

There is no greater rudeness than to interrupt a story-teller, even by the slightest movement. All Sioux children are drilled in this rule of behavior, as in many others, from their earliest babyhood, and old Smoky Day has seldom to complain of any lack of attention. Even Teona and Waola, active boys of eleven and twelve, and already daring hunters, would be ashamed to draw upon themselves by word or motion the reproving looks of their mates. A disturbance so serious as to deserve the notice of the old teacher himself would disgrace them all!

"Although we shall hear again of the animal people," he begins pleasantly but with due gravity, "and even of some who are not animals at all, we must remember that each of these warriors of whom I shall tell you really represents a man, and the special weakness of each should remind us to inquire of our own weakness. In this life, it is often the slow one who wins in the end; and this we shall now see!"

THE WAR-PARTY

One day the Turtle made ready to go upon the war-path. His comrades who wished to go with him were Live Coals, Ashes, the Bulrush, the Grasshopper, the Dragonfly and the Pickerel. All seven warriors went on in good spirits to the first camp, where a strong wind arose in the early morning and blew the Ashes away.

"Iho!" exclaimed the others, "this one was no warrior!"

The six kept on their way, and the second day they came to a river. There Live Coals perished at the crossing. "S-s-s," he said, and was gone!

"Ah!" declared the five, "it is easy to see that he could not fight!"

On the further side of the river they looked back, and saw that the Bulrush had stayed behind. He stood still and waved his hand to the others, who grumbled among themselves, saying:

"He was no true brave, that one!"

The four who were left went on till they came to a swampy place, and there the Grasshopper stuck fast. In his struggles to get out of the bog he pulled both legs off, and so there were only three to go upon the war-path!

The Dragonfly mourned for his friend. He cried bitterly, and finally blew his nose so hard that his slender neck broke in two.

"Ah!" declared the other two, "we are better off without those feeble ones!"

The Pickerel and the Turtle, being left alone, advanced bravely into the country of the enemy. At the head of the lake they were met and quickly surrounded. The Pickerel escaped by swimming, but the Turtle, that slow one, was caught!

They took him to the village, and there the head men held a council to decide what should be done with him.

"We will build a fire and roast him alive in the midst of it," one proposed.

"Hi-i-i!" the Turtle shrilled his war-cry. "That is the brave death I would choose! I shall trample the fire, and scatter live coals among the people!"

"No," declared another, "we will boil water and throw him into the pot!"

"Hi-i-i!" again cried the Turtle. "I shall dance in the boiling pot, and clouds of steam will arise to blind the eyes of the people!"

The counsellors looked doubtfully at one another, and at last one said:

"Why not carry him out to the middle of the lake and drown him?"

Then the Turtle drew in his head and became silent.

"Alas!" he groaned, "that is the only death I fear!"

So the people took him in a canoe, and rowed out to the middle of the lake. There they dropped him in, and he sank like a stone!

But the next minute he came up to the top of the water and again uttered his war-cry.

"Hi-i-i!" he cried. "Now I am at home!" And he dived and swam wherever he would.

This story teaches us that _patience and quick wit are better than speed_.

FIFTH EVENING

THE FALCON AND THE DUCK

FIFTH EVENING

The boaster is a well-known character in every Indian village; and it is quite plain from the number of stories warning us against self-praise, that the wise men of the tribe have not been slow to discover and point out this weakness of their people.

The stories told by Smoky Day are seldom without a moral, and we may be sure that the children are not sent to him only to be entertained, but also to learn and profit by the stored-up wisdom of the past. Moreover, they are expected afterward to repeat the tales in the family circle, and there is much rivalry among the little folks as to who shall tell them best. Teona has a good memory and ready wit, and his versions are commonly received with approval, but it happens that little Tanagela, his cousin, has just won a triumph by her sprightly way of telling the fourth evening's tale of the seven warriors. The little maid listens to-night with burning cheeks and shining eyes, eager to repeat her success with the pretty story of

THE FALCON AND THE DUCK

The wintry winds had already begun to whistle and the waves to rise when the Drake and his mate gathered their half-grown brood together on the shores of their far northern lake.

"Wife," said he, "it is now time to take the children southward, to the Warm Countries which they have never yet seen!"

Very early the next morning they set out on their long journey, forming a great V against the sky in their flight. The mother led her flock and the father brought up the rear, keeping a sharp lookout for stragglers.

All day they flew high in the keen air, over wide prairies and great forests of northern pine, until toward evening they saw below them a chain of lakes, glittering like a string of dark-blue stones. Swinging round in a half circle, they dropped lower and lower, ready to alight and rest upon the smooth surface of the nearest lake.

Suddenly their leader heard a whizz sound like that of a bullet as it cuts the air, and she quickly gave the warning: "Honk! honk! Danger, danger!" All descended in dizzy spirals, but as the great Falcon swooped toward them with upraised wing, the ducklings scattered wildly hither and thither. The old Drake came last, and it was he who was struck!

"Honk, honk!" cried all the Ducks in terror, and for a minute the air was full of soft downy feathers like flakes of snow. But the force of the blow was lost upon the well-cushioned body of the Drake, he soon got over his fright and went on his way southward with his family, while the Falcon dropped heavily to the water's edge with a broken wing.

There he stayed and hunted mice as best he could from day to day, sleeping at night in a hollow log to be out of the way of the Fox and the Weasel. All the wit he had was not too much whereby to keep himself alive through the long, hard winter.

Toward spring, however, the Falcon's wing had healed and he could fly a little, though feebly. The sun rose higher and higher in the blue heavens, and the Ducks began to return to their cool northern home. Every day a flock or two flew over the lake; but the Falcon dared not charge upon the flocks, much as he wished to do so. He was weak with hunger, and afraid to trust to the strength of the broken wing.

One fine day a chattering flock of Mallards alighted quite near him, cooling their glossy breasts upon the gentle rippling wave.

"Here, children," boasted an old Drake, "is the very spot where your father was charged upon last autumn by a cruel Falcon! I can tell you that it took all my skill and quickness in dodging to save my life. Best of all, our fierce enemy dropped to the ground with a broken wing! Doubtless he is long since dead of starvation, or else a Fox or a Mink has made a meal of the wicked creature!"

By these words the Falcon knew his old enemy, and his courage returned.

"Nevertheless, I am still here!" he exclaimed, and darted like a flash upon the unsuspecting old Drake, who was resting and telling of his exploit and narrow escape with the greatest pride and satisfaction.

"Honk! honk!" screamed all the Ducks, and they scattered and whirled upward like the dead leaves in autumn; but the Falcon with sure aim selected the old Drake and gave swift chase. Round and round in dizzy spirals they swung together, till with a quick spurt the Falcon struck the shining, outstretched neck of the other, and snapped it with one powerful blow of his reunited wing.

_Do not exult too soon; nor is it wise to tell of your brave deeds within the hearing of your enemy._

SIXTH EVENING

THE RACCOON AND THE BEE-TREE

SIXTH EVENING

"Ho, Chatanna," says the old story-teller, pleasantly, "I see that you have brought Mato, the Bear, with you to-night! I hope he will be good and not disturb the other scholars."

"Grandfather," says Chatanna, earnestly, "he will be good. He obeys me, and is never troublesome like some pets. He will lie quietly here by me and listen to the story!"

All the children range themselves around the brightly burning fire, the little boys sitting cross-legged, and the girls sideways, like demure little women.

Although they do not know it yet, there is a special treat in store for them all this evening. The story is one in which feasting plays a part, and whenever good things to eat come into a story, it is a pleasant custom of the Sioux to offer some delicacy.

The good old wife of the teacher has prepared a kettle full of her choicest wild rice, dark in color but of a flavor to be remembered, and a generous dish of boiled rice sprinkled with maple-sugar is passed to each child, (and doubtless shared with Mato by his loving friend,) at the close of the story about

THE RACCOON AND THE BEE-TREE

The Raccoon had been asleep all day in the snug hollow of a tree. The dusk was coming on when he awoke, stretched himself once or twice, and jumping down from the top of the tall, dead stump in which he made his home, set out to look for his supper.

In the midst of the woods there was a lake, and all along the lake shore there rang out the alarm cries of the water people as the Raccoon came nearer and nearer.

First the Swan gave a scream of warning. The Crane repeated the cry, and from the very middle of the lake the Loon, swimming low, took it up and echoed it back over the still water.

The Raccoon sped merrily on, and finding no unwary bird that he could seize he picked up a few mussel-shells from the beach, cracked them neatly and ate the sweet meat.

A little further on, as he was leaping hither and thither through the long, tangled meadow grass, he landed with all four feet on a family of Skunks--father, mother and twelve little ones, who were curled up sound asleep in a soft bed of broken dry grass.

"Huh!" exclaimed the father Skunk. "What do you mean by this, eh?" And he stood looking at him defiantly.

"Oh, excuse me, excuse me," begged the Raccoon. "I am very sorry. I did not mean to do it! I was just running along and I did not see you at all."

"Better be careful where you step next time," grumbled the Skunk, and the Raccoon was glad to hurry on.

Running up a tall tree he came upon two red Squirrels in one nest, but before he could get his paws upon one of them they were scolding angrily from the topmost bough.

"Come down, friends!" called the Raccoon. "What are you doing up there? Why, I wouldn't harm you for anything!"

"Ugh, you can't fool us," chattered the Squirrels, and the Raccoon went on.

Deep in the woods, at last, he found a great hollow tree which attracted him by a peculiar sweet smell. He sniffed and sniffed, and went round and round till he saw something trickling down a narrow crevice. He tasted it and it was deliciously sweet.

He ran up the tree and down again, and at last found an opening into which he could thrust his paw. He brought it out covered with honey!

Now the Raccoon was happy. He ate and scooped, and scooped and ate the golden, trickling honey with both forepaws till his pretty, pointed face was daubed all over.

Suddenly he tried to get a paw into his ear. Something hurt him terribly just then, and the next minute his sensitive nose was frightfully stung. He rubbed his face with both sticky paws. The sharp stings came thicker and faster, and he wildly clawed the air. At last he forgot to hold on to the branch any longer, and with a screech he tumbled to the ground.

There he rolled and rolled on the dead leaves till he was covered with leaves from head to foot, for they stuck to his fine, sticky fur, and most of all they covered his eyes and his striped face. Mad with fright and pain he dashed through the forest calling to some one of his own kind to come to his aid.

The moon was now bright, and many of the woods people were abroad. A second Raccoon heard the call and went to meet it. But when he saw a frightful object plastered with dry leaves racing madly toward him he turned and ran for his life, for he did not know what this thing might be.

The Raccoon who had been stealing the honey ran after him as fast as he could, hoping to overtake and beg the other to help him get rid of his leaves.

So they ran and they ran out of the woods on to the shining white beach around the lake. Here a Fox met them, but after one look at the queer object which was chasing the frightened Raccoon he too turned and ran at his best speed.

Presently a young Bear came loping out of the wood and sat up on his haunches to see them go by. But when he got a good look at the Raccoon who was plastered with dead leaves, he scrambled up a tree to be out of the way.

By this time the poor Raccoon was so frantic that he scarcely knew what he was doing. He ran up the tree after the Bear and got hold of his tail.

"Woo, woo!" snarled the Bear, and the Raccoon let go. He was tired out and dreadfully ashamed. He did now what he ought to have done at the very first--he jumped into the lake and washed off most of the leaves. Then he got back to his hollow tree and curled himself up and licked and licked his soft fur till he had licked himself clean, and then he went to sleep.

_The midnight hunter steals at his own risk._

SEVENTH EVENING

THE BADGER AND THE BEAR

SEVENTH EVENING

The night is cold and clear, with a full moon overhead, and soon after supper Tanagela appears in her snug doeskin gown and warm robe of the same, tanned with the hair on, drawing her little brother in a great turtle-shell over the crusty snow.

Old Smoky Day laughs heartily at the sight, standing just outside his teepee door to watch for the coming of the children. Nor is this all, for in the wake of this pair comes another dragging a rude sled made of a buffalo's ribs, well covered with soft furs, while still another has borrowed his mother's large raw-hide for the occasion. After their frolicsome ride through the brightly lighted village, they are all in a happy mood, ready to listen to the interesting story of

THE BADGER AND THE BEAR

The Badger lived in a little house under the hill and it was warm and snug. Here, too, lived mother Badger and the little Badgers, and they were fat and merry, for the gray old Badger was a famous hunter. Folks said he must have a magic art in making arrows, since he never failed to bring in meat enough and to spare!

One day, father Badger stayed at home to make new arrows. His wife was busy slicing and drying the meat left over from the hunt of the day before, while the little ones played at hide-and-go-seek about the lodge.

All at once, a big, clumsy shape darkened the low doorway. The children hid their faces in fear, but father Badger got up and welcomed the stranger kindly. He was a large black Bear. His shaggy skin hung loosely, and his little red eyes turned hungrily on the strips of good meat hung up to dry.

"Ho! Be seated, friend!" said the old Badger. He lighted and passed the long pipe, while his wife at once broiled a thick slice of savory venison over the coals and offered it to their guest in a wooden basin. The Bear ate like a starving man, and soon after he had eaten he shuffled away.

Next day the Bear came again, and on the day after, and for many days. At each visit he was invited to eat, according to the custom, and feasted well by the Badger, skilful hunter and generous host.

After many days the Bear came one morning looking fat and sleek, and he had brought with him his whole family. Growling savagely, he rudely turned the Badger family out of their comfortable lodge, well stored with good food and soft robes. Even the magic arrows of father Badger were left behind. Crying bitterly, the homeless Badgers went off into the woods to seek another place of shelter. That night they slept cold under a great rock, and the children went supperless to bed, for the Badger could not hunt without his arrows.

All the next day and for several days after he wandered through the forest looking for game, but found none. One night, the children were so hungry and cried so hard, that the poor old father at last said:

"Well, then, I must beg for you!"

So he crept back to his old home, where the Bear family now lived and grew fat. Standing in the doorway, he begged quite humbly for a small piece of meat.

"I would not trouble you," said he, "but my little folks are starving!"

However, the Bear got up and turned him angrily out-of-doors, while the ill-natured little Bears chuckled and laughed to see how thin and hungry he looked!

All laughed but one, and that one was the smallest and ugliest of the cubs, who had always been teased and abused by the others. He was sorry for the poor Badger, and when no one was looking he slyly stole a piece of his mother's meat and threw it into their hut, and then ran home again.

This happened several times, and now the family of Badgers were only kept from starving by the gifts of the kind-hearted little Bear.

At last came the Avenger, who sprang from a drop of innocent blood. He is very tall, strong and beautiful, and is feared by all wrong-doers. The Bear saw him coming and began to tremble. He at once called to the Badger, who was not far off, and invited him to come and eat.

But the Avenger came first! Then the Bear called upon his wife and children to follow him, and took to his heels. He ran as fast as he could, looking over his shoulder from time to time, for he was really terribly frightened. He never came back any more, and the Badger family returned and joyfully possessed their old home.

_There is no meanness like ingratitude._

EIGHTH EVENING

THE GOOD-LUCK TOKEN

EIGHTH EVENING

"Ah, Teona, I saw you out to-day with your new bow and arrows! I hope you have not been hasty to display your skill with the new weapons to the injury of any harmless creature," says old Smoky Day, gravely, as the boy hunter arrives quite out of breath.

"You have been told," he adds, "that the animals long ago agreed to sacrifice their lives for ours, when we are in need of food or of skins for garments, but that we are forbidden to kill for sport alone."

"Why, grandfather," the boy admits, "I followed a gray squirrel from tree to tree, and shot at him more than once, but he always dodged the arrow in time!"

"And were you then hungry? did you have any use for the little fellow if you had killed him?" the old man persists. "There was once a squirrel who made a treaty of peace with a little boy like you. I will tell you his story to-night."

THE GOOD-LUCK TOKEN

There was once an old couple who lived quite alone with their little grandson in the midst of a great wood.

They were wretchedly poor, for the old man was now growing too weak to hunt, and often came home at night empty-handed. The old woman dug roots and gathered berries for food; but alas! her eyesight was no longer good, and there were sometimes whole days when there was nothing in the lodge to eat.

One day the boy became very hungry, and he said to his grandfather:

"Grandfather, only make me a bow and some arrows, and I will hunt for us all!"

The first time he went out into the forest with his bow and arrows he met with a Chickadee, who said to him:

"Shoot me! I am willing to give my life to satisfy your hunger."

The boy shot and took home the tiny bird, and when he threw it down before his grandmother it was no longer a Chickadee, but a fine, fat Partridge, and the poor old folks were overcome with joy.

"Ah, ah, my grandson!" they cried. "You are indeed a hunter!"

The next day, when he went out to hunt, the boy walked a long way without seeing any game. At last he thought he heard somebody laughing in the depths of the forest.

The laughter sounded nearer and nearer as he walked on. By and by he was sure he heard some person talking to himself, and in the end he could actually make out the words, although he saw no one.

"Ha, ha," chirrupped the gay voice, "I am surely the luckiest creature alive! I leap and flit all day long from bough to bough. I am quick as a flash, so that I can easily escape my enemies. In my free and happy life there is but one thing I fear, and that is a boy's blunt-headed arrow!"

When the boy heard this, he advanced boldly, and his quick eyes made out a snug wigwam in the hollow of a great tree. He peeped in, and saw that the house was warm and well stored with nuts of all kinds. Its little owner sat flirting his bushy tail in the corner, upon a bed of dry leaves; but as soon as he spied the boy, he ran past him with a scream of fright and scampered off among the thick woods.

The boy followed as fast as he could, and after a long chase he tired out and overtook the Squirrel, who sat coughing and grunting upon the bough of a tree just above his head.

"Boy," he exclaimed, "only spare my life, and you shall have a charm that will make you a successful hunter as long as you live!"

The boy agreed, and the Squirrel took him back to his own wigwam, where he filled the little fellow's bag with nuts from his pile.

"These," said he, "are all lucky nuts, and if you put one of them in your pouch when you go out to hunt, you will surely kill a Bear!"

This the boy did, and to the great joy of the poor old folks he became a famous hunter, so that from that time on they never wanted meat in their lodge.

Do not harm your weaker brothers, for even a little Squirrel may be the bearer of good fortune!

NINTH EVENING

UNKTOMEE AND HIS BUNDLE OF SONGS

NINTH EVENING

"Now, my grandchildren," says Smoky Day, "I shall tell you of one who is well known in the wonder-world of our people. He is a great traveller, seems to know everybody, and is always good-natured, but he is also a shameless boaster and plays many tricks upon those he meets on the road. No one is so wise and cunning as Unktomee, the Spider; and yet he likes to appear as simple and innocent as a child!

"His adventures are many. Sometimes he gets the better of the animal people, and again they may succeed in outwitting him, so that he is well laughed at for his trouble! We may all learn from these stories of Unktomee and his sly tricks how to be on our guard against those deceitful ones who come to us in the guise of friends."

UNKTOMEE AND HIS BUNDLE OF SONGS

It was a bright, sunshiny day, and the flocks of Ducks flying northward had all stopped to rest beside a little lake, and were splashing and paddling about in the cool water. They were happy and very noisy, but suddenly they ceased their cries and calls and became quite silent, for a queer figure was seen coming toward them along the curve of the beach. It was the figure of a strange little old man, bent nearly double under a huge load of something that looked like dry grass.

"Quack, quack!" said one of the boldest of the Ducks, as the old man drew near with his burden. "What have you there?"

"Oh, that is only a bundle of old songs," replied Unktomee with a smile; for it was that sly one, that maker of mischief!

Thereupon the Ducks took courage, and quacked and fluttered all about him, crying:

"Sing us an old song, Unktomee!"