XVIII XVIII Having filled the coffee cups and set the meat pot within easy reach of the guests, I went outside to get a chunk of cottonwood, for a chill had crept into the tepee. Under a dull sky the afternoon was waning fast, and already the edge of the still air was sharpening with the approach of night. While chopping, it occurred to me that we would soon be sitting in the dark, so I went to the little log house and borrowed an oil lamp—the only one, but freely given. The family would go to bed soon, the daughter explained, and it would not be needed. Also, if the old men did not want to go home, they could sleep on the floor by the stove, and go home in the morning.
When I re-entered the tepee, Eagle Voice was lying down, his knees drawn up, an arm across his face. Apparently he was asleep. No Water and Moves Walking were haying 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 childlike 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! If 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.
“The sun was nearly down. It was very still in that place. For a while Meadowlark and his wife stood beside the soft, warm nest, just looking at their big new baby sleeping. And afterwhile Meadowlark said, ‘He must have a name. What do you think would be a good name?’ And his wife said, ‘Let us call him Falling Star.’ And her husband said, ‘That is a very good name. I like it. So let us call him Falling Star’ And they were so happy that they forgot about the work they had to do, and they began to sing together like little waters falling into a quiet pool. You can hear them do that yet if you listen in the evening.
“Then all at once they remembered what they must do next. So they began working as fast as they could, carrying grasses and little stones to cover the mother’s body. When the work was done, it was night.
“Then Meadowlark and his wife took some bison tallow that they had for their children, and this they mixed with red clay to make sacred paint. With this paint they greased the baby all over, and when this was done, they fed him some fine big earth worms that lived down by the creek, also some seeds that they had chewed to make them soft. The baby felt so good he went to sleep again right away. And all the star nations came forth to look upon the baby sleeping in his soft, warm nest, and the mother meadowlark watching there, while her husband sat beside the mound of grass and little stones and mourned in his throat.
“Meadowlark and his wife had been working very hard, and I think they could not stay awake long. The morning star came to see, and they were sleeping. He stood higher and higher, but they did not ’waken. The star nations were very tired from watching all night, so they all began going to sleep—the little ones first and then the big ones. The morning star got sleepy too and went back to his tepee.
“Then all at once the mother meadowlark awoke, and the young day was everywhere. She looked first at the nest. Then she screamed. It was empty. She screamed and screamed until her husband awoke and came hopping and flopping his wings. ‘What is the matter? What is the matter?’
“‘Our baby is gone! Our big new baby is gone! Somebody has taken Falling Star! What shall we do? Eagle has stolen him, or maybe Hawk! What shall we do?’ The mother meadowlark was crying very hard.
“Meadowlark was so frightened that he could hardly talk, but he had to make brave, so he said, ‘No, no! Eagle did not want him. Hawk did not want him. Nobody stole him, because we are the only ones who want him. Stop crying, and let us look around.’
“So they began looking around, and all at once they were very happy again. For over yonder, not very far away, Falling Star was sitting up among some flowers that were growing there, and he was playing with the flowers and saying ‘Goo-oo’ to them.”
“Hiyay! hiyay!” applauded No Water and Moves Walking, mindful of their privilege and duty as sympathetic hearers. The tale continued:
“When Meadowlark and his wife hopped over there in a hurry, they could hardly believe it. ‘See how our Falling Star has grown!’ the wife cried, flapping her wings. ‘He is nearly twice as big as he was!’ cried the husband, flapping his wings. Then they were so happy that they raised their heads and sang—like two little waters falling together into a quiet pool. And the young day was still to listen. You can hear them yet, if you listen in the still morning.
“Then Meadowlark said to his wife, ‘Woman, this baby is getting too big to live on worms and seeds. Already he can crawl, and tomorrow maybe he will walk. I heard Grandmother Magpie say once that two-leggeds without wings like to eat bison and are always hunting them. So I think I will go hunting today.’ And that is what he did.
“The day was young when he started. He hunted and hunted, and the sun was above him. He hunted and hunted, and he saw many bison, many, many; but they were very big and he had no bow and arrows, so he went on hunting. The sun was halfway down, and still he was hunting. Then all at once he saw a dead bison calf, and wolves and crows feasting there. So he thought, ‘I am small. If I can sneak in there where they are feasting, maybe nobody will notice me and I can get some bison meat for the baby.’
“So he sneaked through the grass, making himself even smaller than before, until he was right in among the feasters with their bloody beaks and muzzles. He was afraid, but he had to feed the baby. The wolves were snarling and snapping at each other while they ate, and the crows were quarreling because they all wanted the pieces of meat the others had. While they were doing this, Meadowlark sneaked between the legs of the wolves until he was inside the dead calf that the wolves had torn open. And right in front of him was a big fat liver!”
“Washtay!” exclaimed No Water and Moves Walking. “Washtay!”
“Meadowlark had to hurry, because the crows might notice him in there and kill him. So he pecked and pecked as hard and fast as he could; and in a little while he had cut off a big chunk of fat liver. But how was he going to get out of there with the liver? He was thinking about this, and then all at once he could hear the wolves fighting harder than ever outside, and the crows flying about with whistling wings and loud battle cries. He peaked outside, and all the wolves were snarling and yelping and snapping and rolling over each other. Some of them were trying to run away with the calf’s entrails, and the others wanted them too. So there was a big fight, and I think the crows were cheering the four-leggeds. Maybe if they all killed each other, the crows would have more meat for themselves, and that is why they were cheering.
“Meadowlark thought it was a good time to sneak out of there. So he began pulling the piece of fat liver a little at a time. Nobody noticed him. He pulled it a little more. Everybody out there was fighting and yelling so hard that nobody knew Meadowlark was around. So he got a good hold on the piece of fat liver, jumped outside with it, and began flying. The liver was so heavy that he could hardly keep above the ground; but he thought about the baby and how glad his wife would be, and that made him stronger. Maybe it was good that he had to fly so low. Maybe if he had been stronger, the crows would have seen him.”
“Maybe the star people helped him with their power,” No Water remarked. “Dho,” agreed Moves Walking, with a solemn air of finality, “the star people helped.”
“I think that is how it was,” Eagle Voice continued with a grandfatherly smile; “the star people gave him power. But he was so small that he had to stop often and pant. Then he would fly some more; then he would stop and pant awhile.
“Then when the sun had just gone under, Meadowlark got back home with the fat liver—”
“Hiyay! hiyay! hiyay!” Slapping their knees, the collaborators applauded, like delighted children, grinning at each other the while.
—“And his wife was so happy that she made a new song for her happiness. From the top of the brush near by she sang her new song, and it was like this.” Eagle Voice fitted the Sioux words, meaning “calf liver rich,” to the familiar notes of the meadowlark’s song.
“Pin-hin-chla pinapin!
Pin-hin-chla pinapin!
“That is the song she made for her happiness, and the prairie was still to hear it. If you listen in the quiet evening you can hear it yet.
“Pin-hin-chla pinapin!
Pin-hin-chla pinapin!
“So they had a big feast, and the baby ate most of the liver. After this, they greased the baby all over again with the sacred paint, and pushed the soft nest close about him, and he slept.
“Next morning Mother Meadowlark awoke early, just when the morning star had come to see. She looked first at the nest, and again it was empty. But she did not scream that time! Instead, she looked around; and what do you think she saw?”
“Walking already,” said No Water eagerly.
“Dho,” continued Eagle Voice. “That is what he was doing down by the creek; and where he walked it was like day, for a light came out of him all over.
“So Mother Meadowlark whispered to her husband, ‘Wake up and see! Wake up and see!’ And when he awoke and saw, they both just stood there looking hard, with their beaks wide open. For they did not see any baby at all. They saw a fine big boy walking there, and he was making a little day about him where he walked.
“When the morning star went back to his tepee and all the star nations slept and the sun came, they ate what was left of the liver. Then Falling Star spoke for the first time, and he said, ‘I think I will make me a bow and some arrows today.’ And he walked away down the creek.
“Meadowlark and his wife waited and waited for their boy to come back home. And when the sun was halfway down the heavens, Mother Meadowlark began to cry, and she said, ‘I am afraid something has happened to our boy, and he will never come home.’ But her husband said, ‘Nothing will hurt him. Did you not see the little day he made where he walked? He is wakon and nothing can hurt him.’
“And Meadowlark was right; for all at once they saw Falling Star coming up the creek. And what do you think he was bringing?”
“Muskrat or maybe rabbit!” exclaimed Moves Walking.
Eagle Voice shook his head.
“A big fat beaver?” queried No Water.
“Dho,” continued Eagle Voice. “In his right hand he had a fine bow and arrows. In his left hand he had a big fat beaver. And when he came closer, Meadowlark and his wife could see that he had been growing all day. Mother Meadowlark was so happy that she jumped up and down, flapped her wings and cried, ‘O see what our grandson has brought us! O see what he has brought us and how big he has grown!’ And when Meadowlark tried the bow, it was so strong that even he could not pull it at all.
“So they feasted on fat beaver, and while they feasted, Falling Star told the story of his hunting. Then they slept.
“So it was early morning again, and the nest was empty as before. But Meadow Lark and his wife were not afraid, for they knew Falling Star had gone hunting. They just sat and waited and waited, and wondered what he would bring this time. ‘It will be a big jack rabbit, or maybe two,’ Meadowlark guessed. But his wife did not think so. ‘It will be a fawn,’ she said. ‘I am sure it will be a fawn, or maybe a bison calf.’ And her husband said, ‘How could he carry a bison calf or even a fawn? I am sure it will be a jack rabbit or maybe two.’
“While they were arguing, the morning star went back to his tepee and the day was coming over the edge of the world. And when it had come, Falling Star came also, but he was not a boy any more. He was a tall young man, and what do you think he was bringing home?”
“Jack rabbits!” exclaimed Moves Walking. “Two, maybe—big fat ones!”
“It was not so,” Eagle Voice went on. “In his right hand he had his bow and arrows, and in his left hand he was holding the legs of a fawn which he carried on his back. Meadowlark and his wife just stood and looked with their beaks wide open. He was so big and handsome that he was a stranger, until he smiled. When he did that, starlight came out of him all over, and it was so kind that he was not a stranger any more. So they had a big feast, and sang much.
“Next morning, Falling Star went hunting again before Meadowlark and his wife awoke. And what do you think he brought home?”
“Big buffalo bull!” blurted Moves Walking.
Eagle Voice shook his head.
“Buffalo cow, maybe?” queried No Water; “—Big fat one?”
“No—o—o!” said Eagle Voice, raising a forefinger by way of emphasizing an important correction. “Two fat calves! That is what he brought. Two fat buffalo calves!”
“Ah—a—a!” breathed the two in unison, dutifully acknowledging error.
“That day, Falling Star made some drying racks, so that Mother Meadowlark could make papa of the calf meat, for they could not eat it all.
“Next morning Falling Star went hunting again—”
“Buffalo bull!” exclaimed Moves Walking, his off-eye glaring triumph.
“Fat cow?” queried No Water with his mildly grieved, anxious look.
“Dho!” said Eagle Voice. “A fat cow that time. Big fat bull next time. And by now Falling Star was bigger and stronger than any man ever was; and when he smiled, there was starlight all around him. So he made some more drying racks, and they all worked hard cutting the meat into strips and hanging it up to dry.
“Every morning Falling Star went hunting, and he was still getting bigger and stronger. Sometimes he would bring an elk. Then he would bring a fat cow and a deer. Then maybe he would bring an elk and three or four antelope. And afterwhile enough papa was drying around the camp to feed Meadowlark and his wife for many snows.”
Eagle Voice began fumbling in his long tobacco sack. No Water and Moves Walking, with hands on knees, leaned towards him expectantly. When the pipe was filled and lighted, Eagle Voice, his merry face emerging from the cloud he blew, said, “I think I will be a little boy now. I have raised Falling Star and made much papa. That is the hardest part. Now Moves Walking, my grandson here, and I will listen. No Water will be the grandfather and he will tell us all that happened next.”