“Yes,” Migwan went on desperately, trying to get it over with quickly, “could you? You see, the Legend of the White Buffalo isn’t a legend at all.”
“The Legend of the White Buffalo isn’t a legend!” repeated Dr. Burnett again, looking at Migwan as if he thought she was not in her right mind. “Pray, what is it?”
“It’s—it’s a fake,” said Migwan.
“A fake!” exclaimed Dr. Burnett, in astonishment. “And how do you know it is a fake?”
“Because I wrote it myself,” said Migwan, trying to break the news as gently as possible, “because it was simply pouring, and Harriet had a sore throat.”
“You wrote it yourself because it was simply pouring and Harriet had a sore throat?” repeated Dr. Burnett, now acting as if he were sure she was out of her mind.
Then Migwan explained.
“But, my dear,” said Dr. Burnett, “you couldn’t have written that legend. No white man could have invented it. It is the very breath and spirit of the Indian. In it the Soul of the Savage stands revealed.”
“But I did,” insisted Migwan, and finally succeeded in convincing him that she was telling the truth.
Dr. Burnett usually spent from one to three months preparing a new lecture. He prepared one that night in an hour that knocked the shine out of all his previous ones. His speech entitled, “What Chance Has a Man When a Woman Takes a Hand” brought down the house. He told the story of the fake legend, and the audience was alternately laughing at the neat way Migwan had taken everybody in and weeping at the way she wouldn’t spoil poor Very Seldom’s pleasure.