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(Indian Why Story)

Have you ever seen the plains in the morning–a June morning, when the spurred lark soars and sings–when the plover calls, and the curlew pipes his shriller notes to the rising sun? Then is there music, indeed, for no bird outsings the spurred lark; and thanks to OLD-man he is not wanting in numbers, either. The plains are wonderful then–more wonderful than they are at this season of the year; but at all times they beckon and hold one as in a spell, especially when they are backed or bordered by a snow-capped mountain range. Looking toward the east they are boundless, but on their western edge superb mountains rear themselves.

All over this vast country the Indians roamed, following the great buffalo herds as did the wolves, and making their living with the bow and lance, since the horse came to them. In the very old days the “piskun” was used, and buffalo were enticed to follow a fantastically dressed man toward a cliff, far enough to get the herd moving in that direction, when the “buffalo-man” gained cover, and hidden Indians raised from their hiding places behind the animals, and drove them over the cliff, where they were killed in large numbers.

Not until Cortez came with his cavalry from Spain, were there horses on this continent, and then generations passed ere the plains tribes possessed this valuable animal, that so materially changed their lives. Dogs dragged the Indian’s travois or packed his household goods in the days before the horse came, and for hundreds–perhaps thousands of years, these people had no other means of transporting their goods and chattels. As the Indian is slow to forget or change the ways of his father, we should pause before we brand him as wholly improvident, I think.

He has always been a family-man, has the Indian, and small children had to be carried, as well as his camp equipage. Wolf-dogs had to be fed, too, in some way, thus adding to his burden; for it took a great many to make it possible for him to travel at all.

When the night came and we visited War Eagle, we found he had other company–so we waited until their visit was ended before settling ourselves to hear the story that he might tell us.

“The Crows have stolen some of our best horses,” said War Eagle, as soon as the other guests had gone. “That is all right–we shall get them back, and more, too. The Crows have only borrowed those horses and will pay for their use with others of their own. To-night I shall tell you why the Mountain lion is so long and thin and why he wears hair that looks singed. I shall also tell you why that person’s nose is black, because it is part of the story.

“A long time ago the Mountain-lion was a short, thick-set person. I am sure you didn’t guess that. He was always a great thief like OLD-man, but once he went too far, as you shall see.

“One day OLD-man was on a hilltop, and saw smoke curling up through the trees, away off on the far side of a gulch. ‘Ho!’ he said, ‘I wonder who builds fires except me. I guess I will go and find out.’

“He crossed the gulch and crept carefully toward the smoke. When he got quite near where the fire was, he stopped and listened. He heard some loud laughing but could not see who it was that felt so glad and gay. Finally he crawled closer and peeked through the brush toward the fire. Then he saw some Squirrel-people, and they were playing some sort of game. They were running and laughing, and having a big time, too. What do you think they were doing? They were running about the fire–all chasing one Squirrel. As soon as the Squirrel was caught, they would bury him in the ashes near the fire until he cried; then they would dig him out in a hurry. Then another Squirrel would take the lead and run until he was caught, as the other had been. In turn the captive would submit to being buried, and so on–while the racing and laughing continued. They never left the buried one in the ashes after he cried, but always kept their promise and dug him out, right away.