BABY ON BOARD.

PA-HU-KA´-TAWA.

ABOUT the end of the winter, before the grass began to grow in the spring, a company of three brothers and two other men went out from the village to trap beaver. When they had been gone about ten days, and had got up above the Forks of the Loup River, they camped on the South Fork, and in the morning sent one man ahead to see if he could find any beaver sign, and could look out a good trapping ground.

When he had gone a little distance from the camp, he saw some Sioux, and at the same moment they saw him. He did not run back to the camp; he was too anxious to save himself; but ran across to a little creek, and hid in the brush, not trying to let his brothers know that the enemy were near. The Sioux followed him and found him, and chased him about, and shot at him all day, until near sundown, when they killed him.

The four other men had stopped in camp, but were not so far off but that they could hear the shouts and yells, and they ran off from the camp, and hid themselves and waited. When the other man did not come back, they knew that he had been killed.

The next morning, the four men talked together. One said, “We had better go up and see if he is killed.” Another said, “Yes, let us go there. It may be that we can bury him.” So they went up where he had been, going very carefully, and looking over all the hills as they went, so as to see any enemies if they were about. They found him. He was dead, shot full of arrows, scalped, his whole head skinned, his arms and legs unjointed, his head cut off; he was all cut to pieces. So they thought that there was not enough of him left to bury, and besides, those killed in battle are often left unburied. When they found how it was, they started back to the village, and when they came close to it, one of the men called out, “Pa-hu-ka´-tawa is killed!” He called that out so that the people might know, and might begin to mourn.

When they came into the village, the relations of this man felt very badly because he was killed. It was coming on toward the time when they begin to clear up their patches, to plant the corn, and to hoe, and his father and mother mourned, and said, “Now we have no one to help us hoe. We are old, and he helped us; but now he is gone.” So they mourned for him.

They did not visit the place where he had been killed for some time. It was now spring, and they were planting, and hoeing the corn, and when they got through their work, the whole tribe started out on the summer hunt to get buffalo, as they used to do. They started up the Loup, and when they had traveled along a number of days, they came near the place where the man had been killed. When they got there, the men who had been with him said, “This is the place where Pa-hu-ka´-tawa was killed,” and his father and mother and all his relations went over to the place where he had lain, to gather his bones together and then to bury them. When they got to the place, they could find no bones at all, but the arrows were there, sticking straight up in the ground; all the arrows that had been shot into the body. They wondered that they had not fallen down, for they thought that the wolves might have dragged the body, but when they looked everywhere about for the bones, they could find no sign of them anywhere. It seemed strange to them that the arrows should be there standing up in the ground, and they wondered what had become of the bones. At length they gave up looking for them, and went back to the camp. When they could not find the bones, they went on and hunted buffalo, and killed plenty, and made dried meat. After two months they started back to the village, going down the Platte River. His mother had cried so much for Pa-hu-ka´-tawa, that she had become blind.

One pleasant afternoon they were camped on the Platte. The evening was warm and soft and still. As the sun went down toward the earth, long shining rays seemed to come down from it to the ground. All through the air was a light smoke, and in the west the sky was red. Just as the sun was setting, the people all heard a voice calling from the other side of the river. They listened; and the voice said, “Pa-hu-ka´-tawa is coming back to you.” Then all the Indians jumped up, and ran across the river to meet him, for they thought perhaps he was coming back. When they had got to the other side, they looked about, but could see no one. Then they heard a voice from behind them, on the other side of the camp, which said, “He is coming from here.” They all turned round and ran back to the other side of the camp; but no one was there; and in a little while they heard the voice again, on the other side of the river, saying, “He is coming.” Then they knew it was only a voice and not a person. They stopped running about, and that night they talked about the voice. The next day they went on down the river, and at length got back to the main village. There they stayed six months, and by this time their dried meat was all eaten, and it was toward spring.

The mother of Pa-hu-ka´-tawa had her bed near the door of the lodge on the left hand side, the last bed next to the door. One night, at midnight, he came into the lodge, and touched his mother and said, “Mother! mother!” His mother used to dream of him almost every night, and she thought she was dreaming now. She said, “Oh, my son, do not do this. You are deceiving me again.” He stopped; but presently he touched her again, and pushed her shoulder, and she awoke.

He said to her, “Mother, I am here,” and she reached out and felt him.

She said, “Are you really my son?”

He answered, “Yes, I am your son.”

Then she put her arms around him, and hugged him, and said to him, “Oh, my son, my son, you have come back to me.” She cried, she was so glad.

Then they talked together. He gave her a piece of meat—a piece of fresh buffalo meat—though they had had no fresh meat in the village for six months. He said to his mother, “I am really alive, though I was killed. The Nahu´rac (animals) took pity on me, and have made me alive again. And now I am going off; but do not cry about me any more.” Then he went away.

The next morning, when his mother awoke, she found by her side the piece of fresh meat, and she began to cook it on the coals. The people wondered where she got the fresh meat, and asked her about it, but she would not tell them where she got it, for her son had told her to say nothing. They asked her again where she got it, and she told them she found it in her bed.

After a long time her son came again in the night, and went into the lodge, and spoke to his mother, saying, “Mother, I am here again.” She awoke, and rejoiced that he had come back. He said to her, “My mother, I know that you are poor. You are blind on account of me, because you have cried so much. Now, my mother, there is standing by the side of your daughter’s bed, water in a wooden bowl. After I have left you to-night, go over there, and put your face down deep into the water, and open your eyes in the water, and then you will see.” Before he left her he gave her some ka´wis.[8]

After he had gone, she did as he had told her. She got up, and feeling her way along with her hands, crept into the place where her daughter slept. There she felt the wooden bowl with water in it, and she put her face deep down into the water, and opened her eyes in it, and when she took her face out of the water, and opened her eyes again, she could see. Then she was glad. Everybody wondered how the mother’s eyes had been cured, but she told no one, except only her oldest son.

After a long time Pa-hu-ka´-tawa came down again to see his mother. He said to her, “Mother, I am going up to see my oldest brother.” He went to see his brother in the night. His brother was expecting him, for his mother had warned him. Pa-hu-ka´-tawa said, “Now, my brother, I think you have heard that I come all the time to see our mother. I wish that you would put up your lodge outside the camp, so that I can come and see you often. I want to talk to you, and tell you my thoughts and all my troubles. I am a spirit.” His brother answered him that he would do as he had asked, and the first night after the lodge had been set up outside the camp, Pa-hu-ka´-tawa came down, and said to his brother, “To-morrow night I want you to select the two bravest men in the tribe, and let them go about through the camp, and call all the chiefs and all the bravest warriors in the tribe, and let them gather at your home. Do not build any fire in the lodge. Let it all be dark, for I am coming down in the night to see them.”

When the next night came, the chiefs and the braves gathered at the lodge just about dark. They made no fire, but sat there waiting for Pa-hu-ka´-tawa to come down. After a while he came down to the lodge, and came in where they were sitting. When they were all silent, he came in, and every step he made it seemed that sparks of fire were flying out from him. He went and stood before his brother, and said to him, “I am in everything; in the grass, the water, the trees. I am a part of all these things. I know every thought of yours, and if you only whispered, I would hear it. I know everything, and about everything, even about the ocean which is so far off, and where the water is salt.

“There are two dances that I like, in which there are songs sung about me.” Then he sang these songs and told them how to dance these dances.[9] He said, “Dance these dances and sing about me, calling me by name.”

Then he said, “Brother, I want you to know that there is a tribe of your enemies getting ready to go on the warpath against you. I will let you know when they start, and all they do. Every move they make I will tell you of. They are coming from far up the Missouri River.”

Two or three nights later Pa-hu-ka´-tawa appeared to his brother, and said, “They are coming. To-morrow night they will be here spying round the camp. Be ready for them. You must ask me to take pity on you, telling me what you want to do, and I will make you strong, so that you can succeed. If you want to strike two or three, ask me. If you want to kill two or three, tell me. You must call me grandfather.”

The next night they danced and asked him to take pity on them. One young man prayed, saying, “Let me strike nine, and at the tenth let me be wounded, but let me not die.” A second young man prayed, saying, “I want to strike five and capture the biggest man in the party.” Another man asked him, “Let me strike two, and then let me be killed.” To each one who asked a favor of him, he said, “Let it be so.” They did not see him, for there was no fire in the lodge. It was dark.

He said to them, “Be ready. To-morrow morning is the time when the enemy will attack you. I will send a fog from the north as a warning. They will come down toward the village, and you must go out on the plain in front of the village, and have a skirmish with them. Then draw off, and look toward the point of bluff which runs down into the plain on the east end of the battle field. Watch that point and you will see me. I will appear to you there. And this shall be a sign to you that it is I whom you see. When I come up over that point and turn around, facing to the north, the wind will change and will come from the south. And when the wind blows from the south, you make a charge on them.”

So it was. The next morning the enemy made an attack on them, and came down toward the village. It was the very day he had said. The warriors went out on the plain to meet them. They were wondering in what shape Pa-hu-ka´-tawa would appear to them, how he would look. On that morning, before the Sioux appeared, a white fog came down from the north. Then the Sioux made the attack, and the people began to look for Pa-hu-ka´-tawa. And while they were looking toward the bluff, a great white wolf came up over the point, and stood looking first one way and then another, and then it turned around and faced the north. And immediately the wind changed and blew from the south. When the wolf appeared, some of the braves doubted whether it was Pa-hu-ka´-tawa, but when it turned round, and the wind changed, then they knew that it was he.

Then they made the charge, and each one of those who had asked a favor received it. In every case what Pa-hu-ka´-tawa had promised came true. The man who had prayed that he might strike nine and at the tenth be wounded, struck nine and was wounded at the tenth, but he did not die; the one who asked to strike five, and to capture the biggest man in the party, did so. He caught the prisoner, and overcame him, and put a rope around his neck, and led him into the village. And when he got him to the village the women beat the captive with sticks and clubs, and threw dirt at him, and had lots of fun with him. The young man who had asked it, killed two, and then was himself killed. All that Pa-hu-ka´-tawa had promised came to pass.

The people killed many of the Sioux, and drove them far, chasing and killing them all day long. Then they came back to the village, bringing with them the scalps and the weapons that they had taken, the bows and the spears, the shields and the war bonnets. They danced in the village, and sang and rejoiced. Every one was glad because the people had won a great victory.

The next night after the day of the battle, Pa-hu-ka´-tawa came down to his brother’s lodge, and told him that he wanted to speak to him. His brother awoke all his wives, and sent them out of the lodge, telling them not to come back until he called them. Then Pa-hu-ka´-tawa said to his brother, “Now, my brother, you people have seen whether what I say to you is true or not. You have seen what has happened, you can judge. Now, brother, I want you to feel of me all over; nobody else but you to feel of me, my brother.” His brother passed his hands all over his breast and arms and body and legs. Pa-hu-ka´-tawa said, “Now put your hands on top of my head, and feel there.” He did so, and felt something soft. Pa-hu-ka´-tawa said, “Do you know what that is? That is the down feathers.”

Then he told the story of his being killed. He said, “That time after I got killed, all kinds of Nahu´rac took pity on me. The flies and bugs, the fishes and birds, the deer and the wolves, all the animals took pity on me, and helped me to come to life again. They looked all over for my flesh and my bones, and brought them all together. One part of me, the top part of my skull, they could not find. The bugs crept through the ground looking for it, the fishes swam through the water and sought it, the flies buzzed about over the sand, and the deer and wolves hunted for it on the prairie, but they could not find this piece anywhere. Nor could they find my brains. Perhaps, when I was killed, the crows eat them out. When they had gathered the pieces all together, they laid each piece in its own place, so that they had the form of a man, and in place of the top of the skull and the brains they put the down feathers. After they had put all the pieces together, they stood around me, and prayed, and passed their paws over me, and danced and sang, and at last I breathed a little. Then they prayed again, and passed their paws over me, and at length I breathed regularly. Then I was not dead any more; I was alive again. Not as a person was I alive, but as a spirit.

“I am in every thing; in the wind, in the rain, in the grass. I go over the whole world. I am the wind, and I go everywhere all over the world. There is no one above me but Ti-ra´-wa. He is the only one I am under. He is the ruler of all. Whenever any human being on this earth, man, woman or child, says anything about me, I hear it surely. You must tell all this to every one, and say to them that if they are sick or unfortunate, let them pray to me, and I will heal or help them.

“Now you know that I am living, but I am a spirit; and whenever you people have a fight with the Sioux, if you pray to me, and call me by name, and ask to be brave, and to be helped, I will hear you. If you wish to be brave, or if you wish not to be hurt in battle, even though the enemy be right upon you, and just striking or shooting at you, I will protect you. I shall live forever, as long as this world exists. So long as I come to you, I want you people to conquer the Sioux all you can, on account of what they did to me when they killed me and cut me in pieces. So long as the Sioux come down to attack you, I want you to conquer them every time.

“Now, brother, when I come down to see you, you must not get tired of me. I want to come down often to see you, and talk to you, to tell you what is going to happen, and to warn you whenever the Sioux are coming down to attack the Skidi. I go about everywhere, to the camps of the different bands of Sioux, and I know what the chiefs are saying in council; when they are talking of sending out war parties against you. If I come down to you often, do not get tired of seeing me.”

He knew himself that his brother would some time refuse to listen to him, but his brother did not know it, and he said, “I will never get tired of you.”

Some time after this, the Sioux came down again to attack the Skidi village. Two days before they came, Pa-hu-ka´-tawa came down to his brother and warned him, saying, “A big war party of Sioux will be here day after to-morrow to fight with you. But I am going to attend to them. On the morning of the second day from this, tell all the people to be ready, and to have their horses tied up close to the lodges, where they can get at them. Then, if you look up in the sky, you will see thick black clouds, as if you were going to have a great rain. When you begin fighting, do not be afraid of the enemy. Do not be afraid of them; go right up to them; they will not be able to shoot, their bowstrings will be wet, and the sinews will stretch and slip off the ends of the bows. They will not be able to hurt you.”

On the morning that he had said, the Sioux came down, and the people went out to meet them. The sky above was black with clouds. When they began fighting, a heavy rain commenced to fall, but it did not rain everywhere, but only just where the Sioux were. The bowstrings of the Sioux got wet, so that they could not use them, for the sinews stretched, so that when they bent their bows the strings slipped off the ends of the bows, and there was no force to their arrows. The Skidi overcame the Sioux and drove them, and the Sioux ran far. The rain followed the Sioux, and rained over them, but nowhere else, and the Sioux fled, and the Skidi won a great victory.

Soon after this, Pa-hu-ka´-tawa came down and visited his brother, and said to him, “My brother, whenever you have a feast or a council of old men, you must smoke to me and say, ‘Father, we want you to help us.’ Then I will hear you. At the same time you must pray to Ti-ra´-wa. There is one above us who is the ruler of all. I do not wish to be talked about commonly or by common men, but that whenever you have a feast you should call in the young men and tell them about me and let them hear.” He did not want his name used irreverently, nor wish that the story of what he had suffered and done should be told commonly or for mere amusement. It is sacred and should be told only at solemn times.

Some time after this talk with his brother, he came down again to see him. Another man was living in his brother’s lodge, and on this night his brother was not there, he was sleeping somewhere else. Pa-hu-ka´-tawa asked this man where his brother was. He answered, “He is not here to-night, he is sleeping somewhere else.” Pa-hu-ka´-tawa said, “Go over and tell him that I am here, and that I want to see him.” The man went and gave the message to the brother, who said, “I do not want to go. Tell him I am asleep.” The man went back and told Pa-hu-ka´-tawa that his brother could not come. He said, “He is asleep.” Pa-hu-ka´-tawa sent him back again, to get the brother. The man went, and said to the brother, “He wants to see you very much.” The brother said, “Tell him I can’t come; I want to sleep to-night.” The man returned and said, “He does not want to come, he is sleeping.” He was sent back for the brother the third time, to tell the brother he must come, he was wanted. He sent word back that he could not, he was too sleepy. Then Pa-hu-ka´-tawa said, “Very well. Go back and tell him to sleep now, to sleep all he wants. I told him before that he would get tired of me at last. Let him sleep all he wants, I will come to him no more. I can go to some other tribe. This is the last time I will come. Tell him to sleep. I will trouble him no more. I am going off, but tell the people not to forget me; to talk of me sometimes, and to pray to me, and I will help them and care for the tribe.”

So Pa-hu-ka´-tawa went away to the Rees, and the people knew him no more; after that he never came down to see them. When the people learned this, they felt very badly, and were angry at his brother who would not see him. There was living not long ago, among the Rees, an old woman, who, when she was a girl, had seen and talked to Pa-hu-ka´-tawa.

Note.—This is a Skidi story. The Rees have a story of what Pa-hu-ka´-tawa did after he had come to them. The Lower Village tribes have a story of a hero of this same name, which is quite different from that of the Skidi.

LONE CHIEF—SKIDI.

THE BOY WHO WAS SACRIFICED.

THERE was a time, far back, when some people thought that it was good to sacrifice to Ti-ra´-wa whatever they had that was most precious to them. The sacrifice of the animal, the burnt offering, has always been made by all the Pawnees; that is one of the things handed down from the ruler. It is very old. The Skidi have always performed the sacrifice of the captive. Each one of these is sacred and solemn, but it is not like giving up something that belongs to you, and that you love. It is a sacrifice, but it does not cost much.

Many years ago, in the Skidi village on the Loup, there lived a man, who believed that if he sacrificed his son to Ti-ra´-wa, it would be a blessing to him. He thought that if he did this thing, perhaps Ti-ra´-wa would speak to him face to face, and that he could talk to him just as two people would talk to one another, and that in this way he would learn many things that other people did not understand. His child was a nice boy about ten years old, strong, growing up well, and the man loved him. It made him feel badly to think of killing him. He meditated long about this, but the more he thought about it, the more he believed that this sacrifice would please Ti-ra´-wa. There were many things that he wanted to understand, and to do; and he thought if he gave up his son, these good things would come to him. So he resolved to make the sacrifice.

One morning he started out from the village, and took the boy with him. They went over to the Platte. When they got to the river, as they were walking along, the man took his knife from its sheath, and caught the boy by the shoulder, and stabbed him quickly, and cut him open. When the boy was dead, he threw the body into the river, and then went back to the village. When he got there, he went into his lodge and sat down. After a time he said to his wife, “Where is the boy?” The woman said, “He went out with you, when you went over to see the horses.” The man answered, “No; I went out to where the horses are feeding, and looked at them, but he did not go with me.”

The man went out, and looked for the boy all through the village, but he could not find him. At night when the boy did not come home, they began to get frightened, and for two days they hunted for the boy, and at last they got the old crier to call out for him from the top of the lodge, and ask if any one had seen him, but none of the people knew what had become of the boy. Now the mother was mourning, and the father pretended to feel very badly. They could not find the boy; and soon after this the tribe started on the summer hunt, and the father and mother went with them. The village made a good hunt, killing plenty of buffalo, and made much dried meat.

After the boy had been thrown into the river, he floated down with the current, sometimes turning over and over in the swift water, and sometimes grounding for a little while on a sand bar, and then being floated off again, and being carried further down. At length he came near to the place where the whirlpool is, under the bluff at Pa-hŭk´, where is the lodge of the Nahu´rac. There were two buzzards sitting on the bluff, just above this place, and as they sat there, one of them stretched out his neck and looked up the river, and after he had looked, he said to the other, “I see a body.” Then both the buzzards flew down to where the boy was floating in the water, and got down under him, and raised him on their backs, and lifted him up out of the water, and flew up to the bluff, carrying the boy on their backs, and placed him on the ground on top of the bluff over the big cave, which is the home of the Nahu´rac. In this lodge were all kinds of animals, and all kinds of birds. There were bears, and mountain lions, and buffalo, and elk, and beaver, and otter, and deer; all kinds of animals, great and small, and all kinds of birds.

There is a little bird, smaller than a pigeon. Its back is blue, and its breast white, and its head is spotted. It flies swiftly over the water, and when it sees a fish, it dives down into the water to catch it. This bird is a servant or a messenger for the Nahu´rac. Such a bird came flying by just as the buzzards put the body on the ground, and he stopped and looked at it. When he saw how it was—for he knew all that had happened—he flew down into the lodge and told the Nahu´rac about the boy. The bird said, “There is a boy up here on the hill. He is dead, and he is poor, and I want to have him brought to life again.” Then he told the Nahu´rac all the things that had happened. When the messenger bird had done speaking, the Nahu´rac earnestly counselled together for a long time to decide what should be done, and each one made a speech, giving his opinion about the matter, but they could not make up their minds what ought to be done.

The little bird was coaxing the Nahu´rac, and saying, “Come, now, we want to save his life.” But the Nahu´rac could not decide. At last the chief of the Nahu´rac said, “No, messenger, we cannot decide this here. You will have to go to the other council lodges, and see what they say about it.” The bird said, “I am going,” and flew swiftly out of the lodge and up the river, till he came to the Nahu´rac lodge near the Lone Tree. When he got there, he told them all about the boy, and said that the council at Pa-hŭk´ could not decide what should be done. The Nahu´rac here talked, and at last they said, “We cannot decide. The council at Pa-hŭk´ must decide.” Then the bird went to the lodge on the Loup, and the Nahu´rac there said that they could not decide Then he went to Kitz-a-witz-ŭk, and to Pa-hūr´; and at each place the Nahu´rac considered and talked about it, and then said, “We cannot decide what shall be done. The council at Pa-hŭk´ must decide for themselves.”

At last, after he had visited all the council lodges of the Nahu´rac, the bird flew swiftly back to the lodge at Pa-hŭk´, and told them there what the animals at the other lodges had said. In the council of the Nahu´rac at Pa-hŭk´, there were four chiefs, who sat there as judges to determine such matters as this, after they had all been talked over, and to decide what should be done. When the messenger bird came back, and told the Nahu´rac what the other councils had said, these judges considered for a time, and then spoke together, and at length the chief of the judges said to the bird, “Now, messenger, we have concluded that we will not decide this question ourselves. You decide it, and say what shall be done.”

The messenger was not long in deciding. He did not hesitate. He said, “I want this boy brought back to life.” Then all the Nahu´rac stood up, and went to where the boy lay, and stood around him and prayed, and at last the boy breathed once, and then after a little while he breathed again, and at last he came to life and sat up. He looked about and saw all these animals standing around him, and he wondered. He said to himself, “Why, my father stabbed me, and killed me, and now here I am among this great crowd of animals. What does this mean?” He was surprised.

The Nahu´rac all went back into the lodge, and took the boy with them. When all were seated in the lodge, the four judges talked to each other, and the chief one stood up, and said, “Now, my people, we have brought this boy back to life, but he is poor, and we must do something for him. Let us teach him all we know, and make him one of us.” Then the Nahu´rac all made a noise. They were glad. Then they began to sing and they danced. They taught the boy all their secrets, and all their ways. They taught him how to cut a man open and cure him again, and how to shoot an arrow through a man and then cure him, and how to cut a man’s tongue out and then to put it back, and how to make well a broken leg, and many other things. After they had done all these things, they said to the boy, “Now we have brought you back to life, and have taught you all these things, so that you are one of us. Now you must stop with us one season. Your people have gone off on the summer hunt. You must stay with us until the autumn. Then you can go back to your people.” So the boy stayed with the Nahu´rac in their lodge.

At length the Skidi had returned from the hunt with plenty of dried meat. Soon after this, the Nahu´rac said one day to the boy, “Your people have got back from the hunt. Now you can go back to the village. Go back and get a lot of nice dried meat, and bring it back to us here, and we will have a feast.”

The boy went home to the village. He got there in the night, and went to his father’s lodge, and went in. There was a little fire burning in the lodge. It was nearly out, and gave only a little light, but he knew the place where his mother slept. He went up to her, and put out his hand and touched her, and pushed her a little. She awoke, and sat up and looked at him, and he said, “I’ve come back.” When she saw him, and heard him speak, she was very much surprised, and her heart was glad to see her boy again. She called to his father, and he woke up. When he saw the boy he was afraid, for he thought it was a ghost. The boy told them nothing of what had happened, or where he had been. He just said, “I have come back again.”

In the morning all the people were surprised to hear that he had come back, and to see him, and they stood around looking at him, and asking him questions, but he said nothing. The next day the people still questioned him, and at last the boy said, “I have been all summer with friends, with people who have been good to me. I should like to take them a present of some nice dried meat, so that we can have a feast.” The people said that this was good. They picked out four strong horses, and loaded them with dried meat, the nicest pieces. The boy’s father gave some of it, and all the other people brought pieces and put them on the horses, until they had big loads. They sent two young men with the boy, to help him load and drive the horses, and they started to go to the Nahu´rac lodge at Pa-hŭk´.

When they had come pretty near the place, the boy sent the young men back to the village, and he went on alone, driving the pack-horses before him. When he reached the home of the Nahu´rac, he unloaded the horses, and turned them loose, and then went into the lodge. When he went in, and when the Nahu´rac saw him, they all made a hissing noise. They were glad to see him. The boy brought into the lodge all the dried meat, and they had a great feast. After the feast they had a doctors’ dance, and the boy was made a doctor, and again was taught all that the Nahu´rac knew. After that he could do many wonderful things. He could sometimes go to a man that had been dead for a day, and then bring him back to life.

No one ever knew what the father had done, for the boy never told any one. He knew that he could never have learned all these wonderful things unless his father had sacrificed him.

FLESHERS.

THE SNAKE BROTHER.

ONE time, long ago, a big party of Pawnees went on the warpath down to the south. They could find no enemies anywhere, and they went a long way south. In this party were two brothers, poor boys, and one day as they were traveling along, apart from the others, in a piece of woods where it was very thick, they got lost. When they found that they were lost, they tried to go back to the camp, but they could not find the others, and at last gave up looking for them and started to go back north to their home. They had no food with them, and were looking about for something to kill, so that they might eat. As they were going along, they came upon a dead buffalo that had been killed some time, and there was nothing of it left but the bones, so they took some of the marrow bones, and carried them along with them, until they made a camp.

Not far beyond here they stopped to rest. There was a tree growing near where they stopped, and as they looked up into it, they saw a squirrel run up the tree. One of the brothers caught up his bow and arrows, and the other said, “Oh, kill him, kill him, quick.” The boy shot and killed it, and they skinned it, and roasted it over the fire. While they were cooking it the elder brother said, “I wonder if it is good to eat the marrow and the squirrel together.” The younger said, “No, it is not good to do so. This is not real meat.”[10] The elder thought the two kinds of food would be good together, and they disputed about this for some time. The elder brother kept coaxing the younger to eat the squirrel and the marrow together, but the younger said, “Oh, brother, I do not like to do this. To me it does not seem good. But if you wish to do it, why don’t you?” The elder said, “I think I will do so;” and he did so, taking a bite of squirrel, and then a bite of marrow. He said, “It is nice, you had better take some.” But the younger brother would not. He ate only the marrow. After they had eaten they did not go on further, but slept there.

About the middle of the night, the elder brother felt a noise in his feet, and he sat up and felt of his legs and feet, and he found that his feet were stuck together, and were beginning to get round, like a snake, and had a rattle on the end of them, and that his legs were round and like the tail of a great big rattlesnake. He reached over, and put his hands on his brother, and shook him, and said to him, “Get up. There is something the matter with me.” The younger brother woke up, and felt of his brother, and found how it was; as if he was changing into a snake, beginning at his feet. When he saw this he felt very badly. Then the older brother began to talk to the younger, and to give him good advice, for he felt very sad.

He said, “Now I am going to die, and leave my young brother here alone on this prairie. He is so young, he will not be able to find his way home, and he must die, too. Surely this has happened because I ate the marrow and the squirrel together.” While he was talking, the change had moved up to his waist.

After a little while he got more hopeful, and he said, “Now, brother, I know that you will get home safely. I will protect you. I know that I am going to be a snake, and I shall stay right here. You see that hole,” and he pointed to a hole in the bank. “When I have changed into a snake, take me in your arms, and carry me over to that hole. I am going to stay there forever. That will be my home, for that is the house of the snakes. When you go back home, you must tell our father and mother how it was, and whenever you want to go on the warpath, take a big party and come down this way, and come right here, to this very place, and you will see me, for I shall be here. Now, brother, when you go back home, some time after you have reached home, I want you to come back all alone; come right here. You know what I told you; do not be afraid of me. I believe this was to happen to me, and I could not help it. After you have once come all alone, then the second time you may bring some others with you, but the first time come alone.” So he talked to his brother, and as he spoke the change kept going on. While it was moving up his body, until it got to his head, he was still like a man in his mind, but all his body was like a great big snake. Then he spoke to his brother, and said, “Now, brother, cover up my head with the robe, and after a little while take it off again.” The younger brother, did as he was told, and when, after a while, he took the robe off, there he saw an immense snake’s head as broad as his two hands. The elder brother had completely changed into a snake.

The young man took the snake in his arms, and carried him over to the hole, and put him on the ground by it. He felt very sad to go away and leave his brother here. Before he started, he spoke good words to the snake, and said, “Now, brother, I am going home, and I ask you to take pity on me, and to protect me. I do not know the country I am going through, and you must take care of me. Do not forget the promises you have made me.” After he had spoken he did not wait to see the snake go into the hole, but started on his journey, and went off toward his home.

When he reached the village, he told all these things to his father and his mother. He said to all his relations, “Do not mourn for him. He is alive and he is well. The only trouble is, that he is in the shape of a snake.” After he had been home ten days, he told his mother to make for him five pairs of moccasins, that he was going on the warpath for himself. His mother did so, and he stuffed them full of parched corn, and took a little sack of pounded buffalo meat on his back, and started back to see his brother.

It took him seven days fast traveling to get to where he left the snake. When he had come near the place, he saw there the hole where he had left his brother. He went up close to the hole and began to speak. He said, “Brother, I am here. I have come on the warpath, and I am here to see you. You told me to come, and to come alone. I have done what you bade me, and am here. Now, brother, remember to keep your promises. I want to see you this afternoon.”

He stood there a little while, and then there began in the hole a rattling and a rustling and scraping noise, and presently dust began to roll out, and then out of the hole came this great big snake, which was his brother. First came out this great snake, and after him many other large ones came out, and crept all about, but the great snake, his brother, lay just outside the hole. The boy went up to the big snake and took it in his arms, and hugged it, and spoke to it, and the snake put out its tongue, as if it were kissing him. Then the boy put it down on the ground, and all the other snakes came back, and went in the hole, and after them all, last, the big snake went in the hole.

Then the boy left this place, and went on a little further, and about sunset he came to a little creek, and here he lay down and slept. In the night he dreamed of his brother, who spoke to him and said, “Now, brother, I am glad that you have come down to see me, as I told you to. And now I say to you, be brave. Have courage. To-morrow morning when you awake, dress yourself up as if you were going to fight. Paint your face, put feathers in your head, make yourself ready to fight.”

The next morning the boy woke up, and as the snake had told him in the dream, so he did. He painted his face and tied feathers in his head, and dressed himself up for the fight. Then he started on. Pretty soon he came to a little hill, and as he looked over it, he saw people coming toward him; people and many horses. He thought they were Sioux, and when he saw them, he went back a little, to find a place where he could hide. He went back to the little creek where he had slept, and there he sat down in the brush. When he had hidden himself in the brush, he waited; and the people came straight toward where he had hidden himself, and camped just below where he was. After a little while he raised himself up and looked at them, and saw only two persons, and presently he saw that one of them was a woman. He watched for a long time, looking about to see if there were any more, but he could see only these two. Then he considered what he should do. While he was thinking, it came to him what the snake brother had said to him in the night, and then he knew what to do.

He crept slowly along through the brush toward their camp, and when he got close to them, about twenty yards distant, he raised up his head and looked. He saw the woman cooking, and there were hanging on a little tree the man’s bow and arrows and shield and spear, but the man he could not see. He was lying down asleep somewhere near by. The boy waited and watched. He was excited, and his heart was pounding against his ribs. After a little while, the woman left the fire and walked away toward the horses. Perhaps her husband had said to her, “The horses are going off, you had better go and turn them back.” When she went toward the horses, the boy was going to run up to the man and kill him, but before doing so he changed his mind; for he thought, “If I kill him, perhaps the woman will get on a horse, and ride away, driving the other horses with her.” So he waited until the woman had come back. When she had returned to the fire, he ran up toward her, and she heard him coming, and ran to wake her husband; but just as she got to him, the boy was by her side. He shot two arrows into the man and killed him and counted coup on him, and captured the woman. He took the whole scalp of his enemy’s head.

Then he took the woman and went down to where the horses were, and they got on two of them, and rode back to where his brother, the snake, lived, driving the horses before them. Just before they got to the hole, the boy took his lariat and caught a nice spotted horse and a mule, and tied them up to the tree, and called up the woman, and tied her up against the tree as tight as he could tie her. When he had done this, he went up to the hole and began to talk. He said, “Oh, my brother, I see now that what you have promised me comes true. I did what you told me. Now here are these two animals and the woman; I give them to you for being good to me. They are yours. I am glad for what you have done for me this day.” When he had finished saying this he spoke again, saying, “Now, brother, I want to see you once more. I am going off, and I want to see you before I go.” After a little while he heard again the rattling sound in the hole, and saw the dust coming out of it, and then his brother came out of the hole, and then afterward the smaller snakes; and these all went down to the tree and climbed up into it. The tree was thick with them. Then the boy did as he had done before. He went close to the hole, and took his brother up in his arms and hugged him, and the great snake thrust out his tongue, as if kissing him. Then the boy spoke again and said, “Now, brother, I am going away, and I give you these two animals and this woman to keep. They are yours.” Then he started for his home, and after a long time he arrived at the village.

After a time, he determined to start off again on the warpath, and this time he took a party with him. He had told the whole tribe what had happened, and how his brother had protected and helped him; and he said to those warriors who were going with him, “Let each one of you take a present with you for my brother; some beads or eagle feathers or some tobacco as an offering, so that he may help you.” They started south to go to the place where his brother lived. When they got there, the young man said to the others, “Now you must, each one of you, give something to my brother. Call him by his kin name, and ask him to help you, and to make you successful; and leave the things before the hole.” They did as he said, and when they had made their presents, they went by. They saw nothing, for the brother did not call out the great snake.

Two or three days after they had passed the place, they found a camp of Sioux, and took a lot of horses and killed some of the enemy. Then they went back, and when they came to the snake’s home, they took a horse and led it up near the hole and killed it, and gave it to him, and left the scalps at the mouth of the hole as presents to him. When they reached the village, there was great joy and a good time. They had all kinds of dances, for they were glad that the war party had killed some Sioux.

After that another war party started out, and the brother said to them, “Go straight to my brother, and make him a present, and ask him to give you good luck, and you will be successful.” And it happened as he had said.

The brother was always fortunate in war. He became a chief and was very rich, having many horses. Ever after that time, when he took the lead of a war party, all the poor men would come and say, “I want to go with you.” They knew that his brother was a snake, and would give him good luck.

O´RE-KA-RAHR.

A LONG time ago, as the tribe were on their summer hunt, a man and his wife got to quarreling. They had a child, a boy about ten months old. It was while they were traveling along, going from one camp to another, that they began to quarrel. At length the wife became very angry, and threw the baby to the man, saying, “You take that baby. It belongs to you, for it is a man child. I am not going to nurse it for you any longer.” Then she went away.

The man took the child and carried it along with him. He felt very badly, both on his own account and on account of his child. He was so unhappy that he almost wanted to kill himself. He was so poor-minded because it was a disgrace that he, being a man, should be obliged to take care of his child until it was grown up, and he had no female relatives to whom he could turn it over to be reared. So he was very unhappy, and determined to leave the tribe and wander off alone, far from his people.

He did so. He carried the child on his back, as a woman does. When it cried for its mother’s milk, he had none to give it. He could only cry with it. He hated to kill the child, or to leave it behind to die on the prairie. He wandered off to the south. He traveled on for a time, until he came near to where the buffalo were. By this time, the child had changed from a very fat baby to a very thin one, because it had not been nursed. When he got to the buffalo, he killed a cow, and took its udder, and while it was fresh he let the child suck it, until it became sour. Then he killed another cow, and did the same thing. In every way he did the best he could to nourish the child. Sometimes he would get a slice of meat, and half cook it, and let the child suck the juice. The child began to improve, and to get a little stronger. In this way he supported it for quite a long time, and it did pretty well, and at last it got used to this food, and became strong and well. By this time he had gone a long way.

At length he found that the child could sit up alone. Then he began to give it all sorts of playthings, so that it could amuse itself. First he made for it a little bow and some arrows, and taught it how to use them. He made other things for the child to play with, and at last it got to be contented playing alone. Then the father would leave the child for a few minutes, and go off a little way, perhaps to the top of a hill near by, to look off over the country, but he would look back at the child every few steps to see that it was all right. When he would come back he would find the child safe, playing, well contented. After a while he got so that he would leave it for about an hour, and when he came back, find it safe and contented, playing. By this time the child had begun to walk. Finally the father went off once for half a day, and when he came back, he found the child playing about safe. It did not seem to mind much about the father being absent. About this time he killed a buffalo cow, and made some dried meat, and put it in a certain place, and told the child when it was hungry to go there and get a a piece.

He now went off and was gone a whole day, and when he came back at night the child was safe. Finally he made his preparations and went off to stay over night, and be gone two days. He did so, and when he came back, the boy was asleep. A second time he went away and was absent for two days, going quite a long distance. When he came back he found that the child was painted with white clay. The father thought this was strange. He said to himself, “Something must have come and talked to my child, and is taking care of him while I am gone.”

When he came back the third time after a two days’ journey, he found that the child had about his neck a string of pa´hut.[11] The fourth long journey he took lasted three days, and when he returned, he found his boy still wearing this same string of beads, and with a feather tied in his head. Now his father knew that something was looking after his child while he was away, and when he went off, he would pray for the child. He would say, “No´-a, whatever it is that is taking pity on my child, also take pity on me.”