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American Indian stories eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 97 pages of information about American Indian stories.

While one was telling of some heroic deed recently done by a near relative, the rest of us listened attentively, and exclaimed in undertones, “Han! han!” (yes! yes!) whenever the speaker paused for breath, or sometimes for our sympathy.  As the discourse became more thrilling, according to our ideas, we raised our voices in these interjections.  In these impersonations our parents were led to say only those things that were in common favor.

No matter how exciting a tale we might be rehearsing, the mere shifting of a cloud shadow in the landscape near by was sufficient to change our impulses; and soon we were all chasing the great shadows that played among the hills.  We shouted and whooped in the chase; laughing and calling to one another, we were like little sportive nymphs on that Dakota sea of rolling green.

On one occasion I forgot the cloud shadow in a strange notion to catch up with my own shadow.  Standing straight and still, I began to glide after it, putting out one foot cautiously.  When, with the greatest care, I set my foot in advance of myself, my shadow crept onward too.  Then again I tried it; this time with the other foot.  Still again my shadow escaped me.  I began to run; and away flew my shadow, always just a step beyond me.  Faster and faster I ran, setting my teeth and clenching my fists, determined to overtake my own fleet shadow.  But ever swifter it glided before me, while I was growing breathless and hot.  Slackening my speed, I was greatly vexed that my shadow should check its pace also.  Daring it to the utmost, as I thought, I sat down upon a rock imbedded in the hillside.

So! my shadow had the impudence to sit down beside me!

Now my comrades caught up with me, and began to ask why I was running away so fast.

“Oh, I was chasing my shadow!  Didn’t you ever do that?” I inquired, surprised that they should not understand.

They planted their moccasined feet firmly upon my shadow to stay it, and I arose.  Again my shadow slipped away, and moved as often as I did.  Then we gave up trying to catch my shadow.

Before this peculiar experience I have no distinct memory of having recognized any vital bond between myself and my own shadow.  I never gave it an afterthought.

Returning our borrowed belts and trinkets, we rambled homeward.  That evening, as on other evenings, I went to sleep over my legends.

IV.

The coffee-making.

One summer afternoon my mother left me alone in our wigwam while she went across the way to my aunt’s dwelling.

I did not much like to stay alone in our tepee for I feared a tall, broad-shouldered crazy man, some forty years old, who walked loose among the hills.  Wiyaka-Napbina (Wearer of a Feather Necklace) was harmless, and whenever he came into a wigwam he was driven there by extreme hunger.  He went nude except for the half of a red blanket he girdled around his waist.  In one tawny arm he used to carry a heavy bunch of wild sunflowers that he gathered in his aimless ramblings.  His black hair was matted by the winds, and scorched into a dry red by the constant summer sun.  As he took great strides, placing one brown bare foot directly in front of the other, he swung his long lean arm to and fro.

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