In the old days, it was customary among us for each clan to have its official story-teller, whose skill in making the most of his material had built up a reputation which might extend even to neighboring villages. He was not only an entertainer in demand at all social gatherings, but an honored schoolmaster to the village children. The great secret of his success was his ability to portray a character or a situation truthfully, yet with just a touch of humorous or dramatic exaggeration. The scene is clearly visualized; the action moves quickly, with successive events leading up to the climax, which must be handled with much dignity and seriousness, or pathos and gravity may be turned upside down in the unexpectedness of the catastrophe.
Here is a short example of Indian story-telling:
Far out in the middle of the “Bad Lands” upon the Little Missouri, there stands a pillar-like butte some four or five hundred paces in height. Here and there upon its sheer walls cling a few stunted pines and cedars, some hanging by one foot, others by their great toe only. Not one of the many gulches that furrow its sides affords a safe path, or even a tolerable ladder to the top. There is generally a pair of eagles who breed there, and an occasional Rocky Mountain sheep may be seen springing along its terraces. We Indians have long regarded this butte as a sacred temple, the very spot for solitary prayer and fasting; but tradition states that only two men have ever set foot upon its summit for this purpose.
Feared-by-the-Bear was a warrior of unquestioned bravery. One day he announced that he would fast upon Cloud Butte. Thereupon other well-known braves decided to fast there also. Their leader managed the ascent with much labor and difficulty. When, just at sunset, he reached the summit, he was happy; the world seemed revealed to him in all its beauty and majesty. “Where can such another shrine be found?” he thought.
He took his position upon a narrow projection of rock extending over the abyss, where it is said no human being has stood before or since. The full moon had risen, and the brave stood above that silvered gulf of air with uplifted filled pipe and extended arm, praying without words, as is our custom.
Suddenly his ears rang with the cry: “Haya háy! A grizzly! A grizzly!” He was compelled to suspend his devotions for an instant, and to throw a glance in the direction of the call. He perceived that his example had been followed, and that what seemed an avenging spirit was pursuing his fellow worshipper.
“Dodge behind a tree! Run your best; he is almost upon you!” he shouted. But the nearest tree hung upon the verge of the precipice. If the man missed his footing, he must go down to death.
There was no time to consider. Around the tree he flew and disappeared like a passing shadow. At his heels the desperate grizzly, who had prolonged his unwilling fast upon the butte for days, not daring to attempt the descent, lunged heavily against the swaying cedar to save himself from falling headlong. He was half a second too late!
Feared-by-the-Bear had not yet been discovered. He clutched his long pipe and still pointed it toward the starry sky in silent supplication. Indeed, he had now more immediate cause for prayer. “Waugh!” uttered the hungry bear, and approached him with wide-open mouth.
The dizzy shelf on which the brave stood had been an eagle’s nest for ages, but was just now unoccupied. Old Mato, the bear, seemed reluctant to advance, for on either side the sheer rock descended to a great distance. The warrior merely turned toward him the filled pipe which he had been offering to the “Great Mystery.”