Pretty Voice Eagle reached the other pole of life when his thoughts went
back to the time when the old folks gathered around the campfire, and as a
small lad he listened to their oft-repeated stories. “I can hardly
remember them, but I will tell you a short story: There was a great big
spider carrying a big roll of straw on his back, and he was running along
between two lakes. There was a great big flock of geese on one of the
lakes. One of the geese yelled over to the spider: ‘Spider, where are you
going?’ The spider said: ‘You hush up now! I have heard there is a camp
of Indians over here who have returned from a victory with many scalps,
and they sent for me with my songs. I have them all in the bundle on my
back, and I am taking them over to them.’ The spider kept on going, and
one of the geese told him: ‘You stop, and give us one of those songs you
are taking over there.’ The spider kept on going; said he was in a
terrible hurry, but he still kept making the circle of the lake; he wanted
the geese to yell to him again, which they did, and finally the spider
yelled over to the geese: ‘If you want one of my songs, come over here.’
The spider made a little booth of straw. He had a little stick and was
standing in the door. When the geese came over he told them to go in the
booth, and when they did so, he sang a song, and told every one to close
his eyes, for every one who opened his eyes would have red eyes. Of
course they all closed their eyes, and he set about knocking them all
down. One of the geese happened to open his eyes, and he called out to
the other geese: ‘Open your eyes and fly away; this spider is going to
kill you all!’ and he flew away. The spider said: ‘You will have red eyes
forever!’ And so it is that the duck called hell-diver has red eyes.”
Here is another story: There was a solitary man going along, and he had a
lot of meat on his back. On his journey he stopped under some trees,
built a great big fire, and was broiling some of the meat that he was
carrying. The branches of two trees standing near got crossed over each
other and when the wind blew made a squeaking noise. The man looked up to
the tree, and said: “My brothers, you quit fighting up there!” The
creaking continued, and he called up to them again to stop their fighting.
But it still continued, and he finally said: “I am going to part you two;
you must stop fighting.” And he put his hand up between the two branches;
as he put his hand between them the wind stopped blowing. His hand was
caught and he was not able to get away. Just then a wolf passed along,
and the man saw him and called out to him: “Go on about your business, and
let my things alone.” The wolf did not know anything about the broiled
meat being there, but when this man called to him, he said to himself:
“That man must have something for me,” and he walked over to the broiled
beef, took it all, and went his way. After the wolf had gone the wind
blew again, and the man released his hand, and the squeaking began again.
The man cried, and was sorry in his heart, and began trailing the wolf by
his tracks. He went on till he came to a body of water, in which he
plunged. He looked down into the water, and saw the wolf eating his meat.
He dove down into the water, and felt all around and was nearly exhausted
when he came out. He then got up in a tree and when the water became
still again, there was the wolf down in the water again, so the man got
down and tied a rope around his belt, piled some rocks on his side so he
could stay down there long enough to get the wolf. During all this time
the wolf was on the branch of the tree above him; the reflection of the
wolf was in the water. When the man got down in the water, the weight of
the rocks held him there, and he began to struggle to get out, and just
barely succeeded in getting out of the water. Just as he got out of the
water, he looked up and saw the wolf on the top of the tree. The man’s
sides were so filled with stones that he had great difficulty in getting
up the steep bank, so much so that he could hardly crawl to the top of the
bank, and as he was struggling to get out, the wolf finished eating the
meat, jumped down, and ran away. So ends the story.
The life of the Indian is complex. To gather up the sixty-eight years of
this man’s life means that we round out a problem of infinite dimensions.
His cradle lullaby, a war song; his earliest memories, stained with the
blood of the white man; his unshaken valour on the field of battle; scars
left on his soul by the broken treaties of the white man; his devotion to
the mysterious gods in the pantheon of Nature; his unrequited lament at
the loss of the buffalo; his natural eloquence born from the throne room
of Nature: his final love of peace and acceptance of the shining face of
the Son of Righteousness all lay upon civilization the heavy hand of
condemnation.
[Chief White Horse]