“A story, grandmother, a story!”
“What, in the daytime, outdoors? And in the summer too? Don’t you know
that we tell tales only of a winter night?”
“Oh, grandmother, those old rules are gone. Do tell us a story to keep
us awake on this hot day.”
“Well, what shall it be? Shall I tell you how Old-woman’s grandchild
conquered the monsters that haunted the earth?”
“No, you’ve told us that one many times. Tell us a new one.”
“Well, you shall hear one you have never heard before; a new story and
yet a true one.”
* * * * *
There was a young Crow maiden named Beaver-woman who was as
good-looking as any girl the Crows had ever known. She was neither too
tall nor too short, her waist was slim, and her nose was as straight as
a nose can be. She made the finest moccasins in all the tribe and knew
how to embroider them with the prettiest quill designs. Throughout the
camp there was no one for whom she did not have a kind word. The young
men respected her for they knew she would not romp with them as some
girls did, and those older ones who had been on the war-path were eager
to take her to wife. Yet though one suitor after another came to offer
horses to her father, the beautiful girl refused them all. At length
her parents grew impatient and scolded her. “What are you waiting for?
Your brothers have need of horses. Do you expect Morningstar to come
down from the sky and woo you?”
Then for the first time she spoke of her hopes. “One day when the grass
was sprouting, I went to the creek to fetch some water. There my eldest
brother’s comrade, the one they call White-dog, spoke to me and courted
me, then left with a war party. I have seen him in my dreams, returning
with booty. He is bringing home horses; he will offer you more than all
the other suitors together who have tried to buy me.”
Then one of her brothers laughed in derision, and another
good-naturedly, and still others kept their peace, while her mother
mumbled, “Some dreams have come true and some only mock one. I liked
the looks of the horses you refused.”
But a few days later, when the cherries were ripe, White-dog came
back with his party, driving eighty head of horses stolen from the
Sioux. Many he allotted to his followers and many he gave away to his
father’s clansmen; but of the remainder he offered the twenty finest to
Beaver-woman’s parents. Then she was happy and said, “My dream has come
true.” Her parents, too, were very glad, and she went to live in her
husband’s lodge.
White-dog had an older wife named Turtle, whom he had inherited from
a brother killed in battle. Turtle did not like the newcomer, but
White-dog would not allow her to abuse Beaver-woman. He was very proud
of his young and beautiful wife. When the people moved camp, it was
Beaver-woman who bore his buffalo-hide shield; and when he came back
from the enemy with spoils, she was the one to dance with his bow or
spear while Turtle and other women looked on with envy. There was one
thing he prized even higher than her good looks, and that was her
virtue. Other men were having all sorts of trouble with their wives,
but he was sure of his. When he heard of a married woman eloping with
her lover, he would say proudly, “My wife will soon be the only one who
shall dare chop down the tree for the Sun Dance lodge”; for only a wife
who had never erred was allowed to take part in this sacred rite.
All went well until one spring soon after Beaver-woman had borne her
first child. You young men have your dancing-clubs to-day, some of
you are Hot Dancers and others belong to the Big-Ear-Holes. That’s
the way we Crows used to have it in the old days, only we had _real_
societies, the Foxes and the Lumpwoods. They didn’t just dance and
feast; they tried to be brave in war and each society sought to outdo
the other. But they fought in another way, too. Sometimes it happened
that a Lumpwood or a Fox had once had a mistress who afterwards married
into the other society. Then for a few days in the early spring he
was allowed to kidnap her. No matter how badly he felt about it, her
husband durst not protect her, it would have been a terrible disgrace.
He must never take her back so long as he lived, or the whole camp
would jeer at him for the rest of his days. Often a man might feel
like fighting, but he would control himself and say, “She is nothing to
me, take her.” Then the people would praise him, saying, “That one has
a strong heart.”
Well, one day in the spring, a hooting was heard in camp. The
Lumpwoods, headed by Red-eye, were ready to steal the Foxes’ wives, and
the Foxes had answered the call of challenge. White-dog was not greatly
interested in these doings. He was lounging in his lodge, talking to
his younger brother, Little-owl, while Beaver-woman was crooning a
song over her baby. Of a sudden the tramping of feet was heard, the
door flap was rudely lifted, and Red-eye’s head was thrust through the
opening. Beaver-woman faced him calmly. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
He answered with a song:
“My sweetheart is the one I love,
I am taking her away.”
“Go away, you’re crazy,” she said, “I have never been your sweetheart!”
“What, don’t you remember what happened at the spring?”
“Yes, you were going to hug me and I drenched you with water. Go away
to your real sweetheart.”
But now Red-eye had entered the lodge with two of his companions and
was about to lay hands on her. Then she knew that it was no jest, that
he was falsely claiming her as a one-time mistress and she screamed
aloud at her husband.
“He is lying, you know he is lying! Help me!” All this time White-dog
was sitting in the rear of the lodge, stiff and silent. He knew the
charge against his wife was false, and hatred filled him against her
wanton accuser. He also knew that unless he fought for her now she was
lost forever. But it was not a man’s part to show resentment at such
times. Just because no one in camp would believe in Red-eye’s tale, he,
White-dog, would be all the greater for having shown a strong heart. So
with stern face he turned to his wife and said, “They are calling you,
go.” But as they seized her, up sprang Little-owl, White-dog’s younger
brother, a gentle young man who loved Beaver-woman and had always shown
respect for her instead of teasing her as most brothers-in-law do with
their brothers’ wives. He picked up a large butchering knife from the
ground and rushed at Red-eye crying, “You lie, you lie!” But now
White-dog, too, leaped up and with his greater strength pinioned his
brother’s arms behind his back. He wanted no scuffle when his wife was
being kidnapped; it would have been a disgrace. Thus Red-eye dragged
Beaver-woman away without interference.
The Lumpwoods had a grand feast and a dress parade on horseback, and
Beaver-woman had to ride double with the greatest warrior in the
society. They had dressed her up in the finest elk-tooth dress and
everyone admired her good looks, but she was sad and could not hold
back her tears. All the Foxes stood round about to see the spectacle,
and among them was White-dog, looking on as if nothing had happened.
For he wanted to show what a strong heart he had.
When the celebration was over, Beaver-woman had to live as the wife
of Red-eye, whom she hated. One night she stole to White-dog’s lodge
and begged him to take her back. But White-dog got angry and bade her
depart. “Do you believe he was ever my lover?” she asked.
He answered, “I do not believe it, but he has made the charge and
seized you. Go back. I do not want people to sing songs in mockery of
me.” And when she lingered he thrust her out and struck her a blow,—he
who had never beaten her before. Then she mournfully retraced her steps
towards her new home. But before she had gotten very far she felt a
light tap on her shoulder. She turned about and faced not White-dog but
his younger brother.
“The people here are bad,” said Little-owl, “come, let us two flee. By
the mouth of the Yellowstone there are Crows too, and down the Missouri
are the villages of the Corn-eaters. I have relatives among both;
let us go and live with them.” So in the same night they packed some
dried meat and other necessaries and they started northward down the
Yellowstone without being detected in camp.
But on the second day’s journey they were espied by a group of scouting
Cheyenne. Little-owl fought bravely but was killed and scalped.
Beaver-woman with her baby became a captive of the hostile tribe, and
the leader of the party took her as his wife, when they got back to
the Cheyenne camp. Her new husband was a great warrior and treated her
kindly, but he was an elderly man and she could not love him as she had
loved White-dog. She grieved, too, for gentle Little-owl who had died
for love of her, and she longed to go back to her own people.
About a year later another Crow woman was brought to camp as a captive.
That was a joyful day for Beaver-woman. Now she learned all the news
about her own people. She heard that Red-eye was dead, killed by
lightning, and all the Crows said it was because he had abducted an
innocent woman. White-dog had not married again; he had even sent away
Turtle, his elder wife. He was more famous as a brave than ever, for
he had struck several enemies and stolen two picketed horses from the
Sioux. The people talked about his recklessness and thought he would
surely become a chief.
When Beaver-woman heard about her people, she was filled with a great
longing to go back to them. “We are not far from our own people,”
she said, “let us run back there together. My husband is setting out
against the Sioux; then we can escape.” So they made their get-away and
arrived in safety among their own tribe. Beaver-woman went straight
to her first husband’s lodge. She found him alone, smoothing an
arrow-shaft. “They told me that other man was killed by lightning; I
have come back,” she said. But he hardly looked up.
“A man does not take back a kidnapped wife,” he said, “go away.”
Then she saw that she had come in vain and, weeping, she went to her
parents’ home.
White-dog had always had a strong heart. But now the people were saying
that he was positively foolhardy. When enemies were entrenched, he was
the first to lead the attack; when a hostile camp was to be entered,
he was the first to volunteer; he was always planning a raid against
the Cheyenne or Sioux. But one time a Crow party returned wailing:
White-dog had fallen in a reckless charge and they were bearing his
corpse for burial among his people. His kinsfolk and the Foxes and
all the tribe mourned his death, and the women in his family gashed
themselves with knives to show their grief. But none grieved more,
or inflicted more cruel wounds upon herself than Beaver-woman, and
for a whole year she wore ragged clothes, and let her hair hang down
disheveled. Then, because she was still good-looking, men came once
more to woo her, and at length, because her brothers urged her, she
married an oldish man and bore him children. And her children, as they
grew up, married and had children too. But all her life she could not
forget those early days when White-dog came and took her as his wife.
* * * * *
The old woman paused.
“Thanks, grandmother, yours is a good story and a new one, too. What
times! Aren’t we happy now to live in peace, without being disturbed by
Sioux or Cheyenne and without the women being kidnapped by a society of
our own?”
The old woman straightened up and looked at the youth with a disdainful
glance. “You boys who go to school don’t understand anything. The
longer you stay there, the less sense you have. I once hoped to cut
down the sacred tree in the Sun Dance! I bore White-dog’s shield when
the camp moved! I danced, holding his spear, with Turtle and all
the other women looking on in envy! Little-owl died for love of me!
White-dog threw away his life because he could not take me back!”