drawn up, an arm across his face. Apparently he was asleep. No Water
and Moves Walking were having a friendly argument between mouthfuls.
No Water was convinced that it happened in the winter when the four
Crows were killed, while Moves Walking held out for the winter when the
tree fell on the old woman. When I had put the cottonwood chunk on the
embers and placed the lighted lamp on the ground near the stove, it
soon became clear to me that both contenders had the best of reasons,
with a glaring eye to reinforce them on the one hand, and a deeply
grieved look on the other.
What it was that had happened, whenever it had, was not revealed. Eagle
Voice sat up, brushed the straggling gray hair from his eyes, grinned
pleasantly, and said: “_Kola_, it was not the winter when the four
Crows were killed; it was not the winter when the tree fell on the old
woman. It was the winter when the Shoshonis were chased over the bank;
and that is a story I could tell.”
“_Ah-a-a-a!_” agreed the erstwhile contenders in unison. Was not Eagle
Voice much older than they?
When we had eaten in silence for a while, Eagle Voice fumbled in his
long tobacco sack, charged his pipe and lighted it. “_Dho_,” he said,
starting the pipe on its rounds; “I could tell the story about the time
when the Shoshonis were chased over the bank, for I was there. Maybe
I will tell it to my grandson here, but I will not tell it now.” He
searched our faces with the amused, crinkled look about his eyes. “I do
not want to kill any more people today. Too many dead husbands around
here already.” No Water slapped his knee and bellowed with laughter.
Moves Walking fixed us in turn with the glaring eye. “It is a true
story!” he protested; the good eye belying its fellow with a gleam of
amusement. “_Wo-ya kapi!_ I can prove it!”
“_Dho!_ It is a true story, _kola_,” resumed Eagle Voice soberly, “and
it is a good story; but there were thirty Shoshonis, and I am full of
good tender meat. I do not feel like killing so many more people today.
It is getting dark, so I can tell an _ohunka kapi_ [fairy tale the old
people make up]. If I tell it in the daytime, maybe I get long hair
all over my backside. That is what I heard my grandfather say. But it
is getting dark now, so I am not afraid of that.” Having shared in the
chuckling of his hearers over the hoary joke, he continued. “Maybe the
story was true so long ago that we cannot believe it any more. I do not
know. It is about Falling Star.”
“Ho, ho!” exclaimed No Water and Moves Walking together. “_Washtay!_”
said the latter. “My grandmother told it to me when I was very little.
There were two girls and they married stars.” “_Dho_,” No Water agreed,
“they did that. I think it was my grandfather told me first. And the
girls fell through the sky.”
“One girl,” corrected Moves Walking.
“You are in a hurry to tell my story for me, _kola_,” said Eagle Voice;
“but I am going to tell it myself, and now I will tell it.
“This happened so long ago that I think the oldest person who ever told
it had heard it from his grandfather. So I cannot prove it. In that
time there was a big village, and I think the people were not even
Lakotas yet.”
No Water and Moves Walking sat with their hands on their knees, leaning
towards the story-teller with eager expectancy, something child-like in
their age-scarred faces.
“--and in this village there were two girls who were just beginning to
be women; and these girls were sisters.”
“_Ah-a-a!_” agreed No Water and Moves Walking, sharing the pleasure of
recognition.
“They were pretty girls and they were sisters. So one summer night
when the wind was still, and most of the people were sleeping, and
no dog barked, and the sky was full of stars, these two girls were
not sleeping. They were outside in the warm, still night, lying back
against the side of their tepee and looking up at the sky. They were
looking at the star nations, and they were saying to each other they
wondered how far it was up yonder, how many sleeps it would take to get
there, and how pleasant it would be to live in that country among those
bright, happy people.
“Then they just lay back against the tepee for a while, and I think by
now they were looking at the star nation we call Carrier [Big Dipper].
Then the older sister yawned and said to the younger sister, ‘Do you
see that big star up there--the biggest one?’ And her sister yawned and
said, ‘Yes, I see it.’ And the older sister said, ‘That is the very
star I like best of all.’ And the younger sister said, ‘Can you see
that small star not far away from the big star?’ And her sister said,
‘Yes, I can see it.’ And the younger sister said, ‘That is the very one
I like best of all the stars.’
“So they yawned and were still for a while, just looking at the two
stars they liked best of all. Then the older sister said, ‘I think I
will marry my star if you will marry your star.’ And the younger sister
said, ‘Yes, let us do that; but I am so sleepy now, I think I will not
get married tonight.’ And the older sister said, ‘I too am sleepy; I
can hardly keep my eyes open. We can dream about our stars tonight,
and then we can marry them when we are not so sleepy.’ And the younger
sister said, ‘Yes, we can do that.’
“So the two sleepy sisters started walking around the side of the tepee
to the opening, for they wanted to go to bed.”
“Ho, ho!” exclaimed No Water and Moves Walking, keenly aware of what
was about to happen.
“_Sh-h-h!_” Eagle Voice raised an admonishing forefinger and continued
slowly, speaking scarcely above a whisper. “They were in front of the
flap and the older sister was reaching to lift it. But she did not lift
it.”
At this point the teller ceased abruptly, with a surprised stare into
vacancy. It was clear by the faces of the three old men that the tale
was still unfolding in the tense silence.
“Two men were standing there,” Eagle Voice continued, speaking low and
with an air of mystery. “They were men, but they were not like other
men, for they made the light they lived in, and there was no shadow
where they stood. This light was soft and kind, and when the two men
smiled, it spread about the sisters so that they were not afraid at
all. Then they saw that one man was young and one was very old. The
younger one was taller than any man the girls had ever seen; but the
older one was even taller. I think he stood above the other like a
tree, and the light he made was that much brighter. He was old, old;
but he was young too. I think he was much older than the other because
he had been young so much longer. I think there are no canes where
these men came from, no wrinkled skins, and no uprooted teeth, and no
white hairs.
“Then the older man said to the older sister, ‘We heard you talking,
and I heard you say that you would marry me; so I am here.’ Then the
younger man spoke to the younger sister, and said, ‘We heard you
talking, and I heard you say that you would marry me; so I am here.’
The girls could not say anything at all, but their hearts were singing
in their breasts, and the two men heard. So the older man said to the
older sister, ‘Put your arms about my neck, and we will go.’ And the
younger man said to the younger sister, ‘Put your arms about my neck
and we will go.’
“That is what the sisters did, and so they went.
“It was like eagles flying, only faster, higher than eagles fly. And
all at once there was no village down below and no earth. There was
only air--blue air, blue air; and nothing anywhere but two men made of
light and two girls with their arms about the necks of those, flying
fast and higher, very fast and very high. Then all at once there were
shining villages of star people on a wide blue prairie, and from all
the villages came singing as the fliers passed, for all the people
there were happy. And afterwhile there was a village bigger than all
the others in that wide blue country, and there the flying men of light
came swooping down like eagles to their nests.
“Then the older star-man said to the older sister, ‘You are my wife
now, and I have brought you home.’ And the younger star-man spoke to
the younger sister, saying, ‘You are now my wife and I have brought you
home.’
“The sisters did not say anything at all, but their hearts were
singing. And all at once the whole hoop of the village about them was
one great song, and all the bright star people came from every side,
singing together as they came to welcome their great head chief and his
son with their new wives. And the singing was like many happy colors in
the brightness of that place.
“So there was dancing as for a great victory, and there was feasting.
Four days and nights the people danced and feasted and were glad.”
The teller ceased, gazing out and upward as into wide blue air. The two
silent collaborators, with their hands upon their knees, gazed also in
the same direction, like children lost in wonder. Were they really only
feigning for the sly fun of it, or had they for the moment lost the
burden of their years?
When, at length, it seemed the tale was waiting for the dancing and
the feasting to be ended yonder, No Water turned suddenly upon Eagle
Voice with his grieved and anxious look. “_Turnips!_” he prompted in an
explosive whisper. Moves Walking fixed a glaring eye upon him, and with
a raised forefinger Eagle Voice deplored the interruption. “_Sh-h-h-h!_”
But the spell was broken, and the tale continued. “So the two sisters
lived with their husbands among the bright star people, and they were
happy. Then one day it was the time when the turnips are getting to
be good, and there were many growing on the wide blue prairie. So the
older sister said to the younger sister, ‘I think my husband would like
to eat turnips, so I will go out and dig some.’ And the younger sister
said, ‘I think my husband likes them too, so I will go along with you,
and we will dig some.’ Then they made themselves two sharp sticks and
went out to dig the turnips that were growing big and juicy on the wide
blue prairie.
“Many other women were out there getting turnips for their husbands,
and they were all happy and joking together as they dug. One of these
was a wise and good old woman, and the great head chief was her son. So
she came over to the older sister and said, ‘Daughter, you are already
big in the belly, and I see it will not be long until I shall have a
grandchild. So I wish you would be very careful, and do not press the
stick against your belly when you are digging, for that might hurt the
baby.’ And the older sister said, ‘I will be careful, Mother.’ And she
was.
“But it was much harder to dig the turnips if she did not lean against
the stick, for then she had to do it all with her arms. She had to
chop with the stick, and it was not easy to make the sharp end go deep
enough. So she was chopping harder and harder, harder and harder,
harder and--”
The tale stopped with a shock of surprise. _Ah-h-h-h!_ Open-mouthed,
wide-eyed, No Water and Moves Walking stared appalled upon an
approaching catastrophe.
“Chop--chop--chop,” the teller resumed slowly, wielding an imaginary
turnip stick. “Chop--chop--chop--_chop!_ It was too hard that time,
and all at once the blue ground broke wide open right under the older
sister, and she fell head-first through the hole. The younger sister
screamed and came running, and all the other women screamed and came
running; but they could not do anything at all. So they all crowded
around the hole in the sky prairie and looked and looked. They saw the
older sister tumbling over and over, over and over, getting smaller
and smaller, smaller and smaller as she fell. And then they saw
nothing at all.
“It was a long way down to the earth, and I cannot say how many sleeps
the older sister fell. But afterwhile she got here, and when she struck
the ground she broke wide open, pop!--just like a seed-pod--and a baby
boy rolled out on some thick, soft bunch grass that was growing there.
I think some buffalo manure made the grass soft and thick in that
place, so the baby boy did not get hurt at all.”
“That will be _me_!” exclaimed No Water, with an air of gloating
triumph. “No, it will be _me_!” challenged Moves Walking, the off-eye
glaring, although the rivals were grinning at each other. Clearly, the
explosive interruption at this point in the story was a traditional
obligation of the co-operative hearer.
Eagle Voice raised a conciliating forefinger and smiled benignly upon
the two, like a kindly grandfather silencing over-eager children. “It
was a good day,” he continued; “and so the baby was just lying there
in the bunch of thick soft grass with his thumb in his mouth. And
afterwhile there was a magpie who saw something and came to look. This
was an old-woman magpie, and she walked around and around the baby,
with her head on one side and then on the other, for I think she had
never seen anything like this before.”
[With cocked heads, the three collaborators curiously examined the
baby in the grass for a few moments of silence.] “But a magpie knows
everything, and when this one had looked for a while, she said to
herself, ‘This is a baby of the two-legged people without wings. It
has four legs, but it is not a four-legged because it has no fur, and
all four-leggeds have fur.’ Then she said to the baby, ‘You _are_ a
fine big baby, and you _are_ a boy too, aren’t you?’ And the baby said,
‘_Goo-oo_,’ like that. And the magpie said, ‘But how are you going to
live, for I see your mother lying dead over there?’ Then the baby took
his thumb out of his mouth and began to cry.
“This made the old-woman magpie feel very sad, and she said, ‘Somebody
must come and take care of this baby that has no mother. I cannot,
because I have to fly around and talk so much that I could never take
care of him. And if I did not fly around, telling people everything,
how would they ever know anything?’
“So she flew away; and as she flew around all over the prairie, she
kept crying out to the four-leggeds and the wings of the air and those
that crawl on their bellies in the grass, and she said, ‘Come quick!
Come quick! There is a two-legged baby without a mother! Come quick
and help! Come quick and help! There is a baby without a mother!’
“So in a little while all the four-leggeds and all the wings of the air
and all of those that crawl on their bellies in the grass were going
to see the baby without a mother. They were coming from all sides,
galloping and crawling and flying; and when they came to where the baby
was lying in the soft, thick grass, they made a big hoop all around it.
Everybody was there except the finned people. They had to stay in the
streams and lakes, and that is why they did not come to see.
“Then the old-woman magpie stood beside the baby in the center of the
hoop of peoples, and she made her voice big and sent it forth like
this: ‘Wings of the air, four-leggeds, and belly-crawlers, you have
come to see the baby without a mother. Here you see him lying all alone
with no one to care for him. Will you let him die here on the prairie?’
“Then she pointed her long nose at the bison bull, and said, ‘You are
the biggest and strongest of all the four-leggeds. Will you not take
care of this baby?’ And the bison bull said in his voice like thunder,
‘My wives and I would like to take this baby, but we have no tepee at
all to live in, and the baby would die.’
“Then the magpie-woman pointed her sharp nose at the bull elk, and
said, ‘Elk, you are almost as strong as the bison, and you could carry
the baby in your antlers. Will you take care of him?’ And the elk said,
‘Even though I am stronger than the bison, I cannot take care of this
baby, for I have no tepee but the sky.’
“So the magpie-woman spoke to the grizzly bear, and said, ‘Bear, you
are very big and very strong, and you have a warm den to sleep in.
_You_ could look after this baby that has no mother.’ And the bear
said, ‘I wish I could take this baby, for he is much like a cub, except
that he has no fur. Maybe he would get some fur afterwhile. But I
cannot take this baby. You all know I am a very hard sleeper, and when
I go to sleep I do not ’waken for a long while. Who would feed this
baby while I was sleeping? He would starve before I could ’waken; or
maybe I would roll over on him in my sleep.’
“Then the old-woman magpie spoke to each of the other four-leggeds in
turn, the bigger ones before the smaller ones. They all felt sorry for
the baby without a mother, but not one of them could take him. The wolf
and his wife had too many children already. The jack rabbit and his
wife also had all the children they could feed. The gopher’s home was
too small, and the mouse’s was even smaller.
“Just then the magpie saw the snake standing up on his tail, so that
he could look upon the baby without a mother. She could see that there
were tears in the snake’s eyes, and he was moving his head back and
forth in sorrow. So the magpie thought, ‘Here at last is one who will
take the baby,’ and she said, ‘Snake, can you not take this baby into
a cave somewhere and look after him?’ And the snake said, “My wife and
I would like to have the baby, for often we are lonely. We could bring
him frogs and mice to eat, and we could scare all the bad people away
so that he would be safe. But we must not take this baby. Nobody likes
us, and it would be bad for him to grow up with us.’ Then all at once
he was afraid again, and he slid into the grass and flowed away like
fast water, making a sound like _sho--sho--sho sho--sho sho_.
“So the old-woman magpie pointed her sharp nose towards the
wings-of-the-air who were sitting together on their side of the hoop
of peoples. And when she saw the eagle, she said, ‘Eagle, you are the
great head chief of all the wings of the air, and you always make a
kill. You are so strong that the baby could ride on your back between
your wide wings. I am sure _you_ can raise this baby that has no
mother.’ And the eagle said, ‘Yes, I am chief of all the winged ones
because I am the strongest of them all, and I always make a kill; but I
cannot take this baby, for I live in such high places that it is always
cold up there, and the baby would get sick and die.’
“While the eagle was talking, everybody was very still, and when he
was through, nobody said anything for a while. You could hear the baby
whimpering in the grass. Then all at once the wren sent forth a small
thin voice, and she said, ‘If I were as big as some of the winged ones
around here, I myself would take this baby to raise, for it makes me
sad to hear him crying for his mother. Small as I am, I would take him
anyway, but my tepee is so little I could never get him into it. I
think Hawk could take him. _He_ is big and strong, and _he_ does not
live high up where it is cold.’
“When the tiny oriole heard the wren putting it out so boldly, it made
her brave too, and she sent forth _her_ thin little voice. ‘I am small
too, and little as _I_ am, I would take this baby; but my tepee is so
narrow that even I can hardly get into it. I too think Hawk should
raise the baby. He can always get something good to eat.’
“‘_Who! Who! Who!_’ cried the owl, which is the same as when we say
‘_how! how!_’ And the bluejay screamed, ‘_hiyay! hiyay!_’ It pleased
them to hear the smallest of the winged ones making so brave.
“Eagle turned his head slowly and looked hard at Wren and Oriole. Hawk
turned his head slowly and looked hard at Wren and Oriole. All the
people were looking too, and they saw Wren and Oriole fluffing up their
feathers and pulling their heads in, the way they do when they are
cold; for all at once they did not feel brave at all.”
The story-teller paused, turned his head slowly, and cast a penetrating
hawk-stare upon No Water and Moves Walking; whereat they hunched their
shoulders, drew in their heads, and were frightened little birds, but
they were grinning. With an approving grandfatherly smile, Eagle Voice
continued:
“When Hawk had looked hard for awhile, he said, ‘You know I have
no relatives. You know I do not belong with anyone. You know that
everybody is my enemy. How could I raise this helpless being with no
wings?’
“Nobody said anything at all for a while, and it was so still you could
hear the baby whimpering in the soft bunch grass. Then the old-woman
magpie said, ‘Will nobody take this baby to raise? Will he die here on
the prairie all alone?’
“When the baby heard this, he began crying very hard. So the prairie
hen felt very sorry for the baby, and she said, ‘_I_ think Mudswallow
ought to take this baby. She has a good home and she daubs it up so
that it is safe and warm. I think she could raise this baby.’
“And Mudswallow answered, ‘It is true that I have a good snug home, for
I am very careful how I build it. But it is high up on the bank, and
even if I should build it big enough, the baby would fall out and be
killed.’
“‘_Heh--heh--heh! Heh--heh--heh!_’ said the kingfisher. He was feeling
very sad, for it seemed that nobody at all was going to help the baby
live. And when it was so still that there was nothing to hear but the
baby crying in the soft grass, the kingbird sent forth a voice: ‘I
know who can raise this baby! Meadowlark can do it! He can build a big
nest around where the baby is now lying! It will be no trouble at all!
Meadowlark is just the one to raise this baby!’
“When the people heard this, they all made the happy noises they knew
how to make, and for a while the hoop of peoples was one big sound.
Then when they were still again, Meadowlark hopped out to the center of
the hoop and sent forth a very kind voice that was like little waters
falling into a quiet pool, and he said, ‘Kingbird is right. My wife
and I can take care of the baby, and we will. I did not say so before,
because so many here are greater than I am. We can build a big soft
nest all around the baby where he is lying, and we can bring him plenty
of seeds and worms to eat. It will be no trouble at all. Our children
can play with him, and he will make our home happier.’
“When Meadowlark had said this, his wife sang a song of joy she knew,
and it was like sweet water gurgling when everything is thirsty. Then
the wings of the air and the four-leggeds and the crawlers in the
grass sent forth one great voice--squawking and squealing, chirping
and screaming, barking and howling and whistling; and the bison cows
lowed and the bulls thundered. That is how glad they were to know the
baby would not die all alone on the prairie. They were so glad, I do
not know how far away they could be heard; but all the finned peoples
heard, and leaped and glittered in all the lakes and streams. I think
the star nations also heard and began singing together all over the
heavens; but this I do not know, because they are so far away.
“So that is how it was; and soon the hoop was broken up and all the
peoples scattered to their homes, galloping and flying and crawling.
And the baby went to sleep with his thumb in his mouth.
“Of course, old-woman magpie could not go away with the others. She had
to stay there awhile and help. So she sat on top of some brush near by
and told Meadowlark and his wife what they must do and how they must
do it. Sometimes she would scream at them and say, ‘_No_, not _that_
grass! It is not soft enough for the baby! And you are not making the
nest big enough! Don’t you know this baby is going to grow? _Bigger!
Softer!_’ All the while Meadowlark and his wife went on building the
nest around the baby the way they learned from their grandparents.
But they were very kind people, and sometimes they would say, ‘Yes,
Grandmother--you know best, Grandmother--we thank you for helping us,
Grandmother.’ And so afterwhile the nest was finished, and the baby
sleeping in it with his thumb in his mouth.
“Then old-woman Magpie hopped down and walked around the nest, turning
her head this way and that way to see what she thought of it. And
afterwhile she said, ‘It is not built as I would build it, but it will
do. Now you must take care of the mother’s body lying over there. You
are not strong enough to build a scaffold for it, so you must cover it
up with grasses and little stones; for if you do not, her spirit will
make trouble for you. And when you have done this, one of you must
mourn all night by the body while the other watches the nest. I cannot
stay longer to help you, for I have so much talking to do in so many
places that I shall never get it all done if I do not hurry.’
“So old-woman magpie flew away as fast as she could flap her wings.