Prairie Smoke, a Collection of Lore of the Prairies

by Melvin R. Gilmore

When he came near the plum thicket he saw a bundle laid up in the forks of a plum bush. He paused and sniffed toward it and the scent of it was strange to him, and he became curious about it, and wanted to find out what was in the bundle. He asked the turtle to wait. The turtle said he would wait for him at the marsh. The wolf walked all round the bush and looked carefully at the bundle. Then he rose up against the bush and sniffed at the bundle, but still he could not make out what was in it. He could not quite reach the bundle, so he leaped to try to pull it down. But as he did so the thorns pricked him. He jumped again and missed the bundle, but was pricked again by the thorns. Now he became angry and determined he would get the bundle. After jumping many times and being always pricked by the thorns so that he had many wounds on his sides and back he finally pulled down the bundle. He was so angry that in his vexation he energetically shook it about so that it was shaken open and its contents smeared his wounds. This made his wounds itch so severely that he had to scratch himself, but this made him itch the more. He was in such torment that he scratched madly and tore his fur coat and was bleeding, so he forgot the race.

The turtle ran on to the marsh and waited there as he had promised. After he had waited a long time he concluded the wolf had deceived him and had gone on to the hill. Then he saw a small white puffball. It looked like a lump of white clay, so the thought came to him that he could deceive the young man with it and get even with the wolf for the trick he supposed the wolf had played upon him. So he took the puffball back and showed it to the young man. Neither the meadowlark nor the wolf had returned yet, so the young man told the turtle he was the first to return bringing something to show that he had been to the top of the hill.

Now when the meadowlark ran by the plum thicket he saw the wolf jumping about one of the bushes trying to reach something which was there, so the meadowlark was encouraged to think he might still have some chance in the race. He ran on to the marsh, and there he saw the turtle waiting, so he was still more encouraged. He then ran on all the way to the top of the hill. He was so anxious and flustered when he reached there that instead of the white clay which the young man had specified as the token of having been to the goal, he made a mistake and picked up a lump of the yellow clay and turned to carry it back to the young man. As he was crossing back over the marsh again he stumbled and dropped the lump of clay into the black mud. He picked it up and hurried on, not stopping to clean off the black mud. When he came near to the young man he saw the turtle sitting there and smiling and looking very satisfied. The meadowlark then thought he had lost the race. He was so disappointed and discouraged that he wept. His tears washed the black mud off from the lump of clay and made a black stripe, while the yellow clay itself was washed down over the whole front of his clothes.

At last the wolf came back scratching and howling in his misery. Great patches of fur were torn from his clothes and his skin was raw and sore. The turtle taunted the wolf for his crying. He swaggered about and boasted that nothing could make him whimper and cry. The young man said that the turtle was the first to return, but that he must make good his boast that nothing could make him whimper if he should lose. The turtle declared that he would prove all he said in any way the young man should require. The young man then placed the puffball upon the turtle’s back. The puffball very quickly increased in size and weight so that it was all the turtle could bear. It continued to increase in size until the turtle was borne down by it to the ground and his legs were bent. Still the puffball continued to grow until the turtle’s body was pressed flat by it, and his breath was pressed out of his body and he lay as if he were dead. Then the puffball became as light as a feather and turned black. The turtle recovered his breath a little, but he was unable to straighten his legs or to regain the form of his body, so he was ashamed and drew in his head under his thick skin.

Then the young man laughed loud and long at the plight of the wolf, the turtle and the meadowlark, and told them now who he really was. He told them that he was Iktomi, the Trickster. He told them that because they had foolishly quarreled about the good gifts which the Old Woman had given to them, instead of making good use of them, they had given him the opportunity to play this trick upon them, the marks of which would be upon them, and upon their people forever. He said that because the wolf had meddled with something which was none of his affair he had brought upon himself the torments of the mange, and so it would always be with his people whenever they should do as he had done. He said that because the turtle had attempted to win by cheating, his legs and the legs of all his people should always be short and bent and their bodies should be flattened, so they could never run in a race. And because he had lied in saying the puffball was white clay, therefore he and his people should never again be able to speak, and they should always hide their heads for shame. As for the meadowlark, the young man said he had won the race, but because he had brought back the yellow clay instead of the white, therefore his clothes and the clothes of his people should always be yellow in front and there should be a black stripe over the yellow.

INDIAN FOLKLORE OF THE HORNED LARK

The name of this little bird in the Dakota language is ishtaniche-tanka (big eye-tufts) from the tuft of feathers which it has over each eye. It is for the same reason that we call it “horned” lark.

The Dakotas say that this little bird foretells the weather. They say that when a hot dry time is coming in the summer the bird sounds a single sharp little note; but when rain is coming the bird is glad and continuously sings loudly and joyously, “magazhu, magazhu, magazhu!” In the Dakota language the word for rain is magazhu. Thus the bird is singing its joy for the rain which is coming.

The name of this bird is hupa-hishe in the Hidatsa language. In that language the word for moccasin is hupa, and the word hishe means wrinkled. This bird is called “wrinkled moccasin” because of its appearance in its characteristic habit of crouching upon the ground, where, by its grayish-brown color and its black markings it is made inconspicuous and hardly distinguishable, suggesting the appearance of a ragged, useless old moccasin.

The Hidatsas have a story of this bird that it was once acting as a spy in enemy country. So while it sat in its characteristic attitude of inconspicuousness, two of the enemy were coming along, when one thought he saw something. He stopped and said to his companion, “Wait, what is that over there?” His companion glanced over and saw what appeared to him like nothing but a ragged, rotten old fragment of a worn out moccasin, and answered, “O, that is just an old wrinkled moccasin.” So the bird escaped his enemies, and it is from that that the people call him “hupa-hishe.”