eyes twinkled as he asked: “Oh, you really say so?”
“Yes, my friend, you are a skillful fellow. Now let us have a little contest. Let us see who can jump over the deer without touching a hair on his hide,” suggested Iktomi.
“Oh, I fear I cannot do it!” cried Patkaša, rubbing his funny, thick palms together.
“Have no coward’s doubt, Patkaša. I say you are a skillful fellow who finds nothing hard to do.” With these words Iktomi led Patkaša a short distance away. In little puffs Patkaša laughed uneasily.
“Now, you may jump first,” said Iktomi.
Patkaša, with doubled fists, swung his fat arms to and fro, all the while biting hard his under lip.
Just before the run and leap Iktomi put in: “Let the winner have the deer to eat!”
It was too late now to say no. Patkaša was more afraid of being called a coward than of losing the deer. “Ho-wo,” he replied, still working his short arms. At length he started off on the run. So quick and small were his steps that he seemed to be kicking the ground only. Then the leap! But Patkaša tripped upon a stick and fell hard against the side of the deer.
“Hĕ-hĕ-hĕ!” exclaimed Iktomi, pretending disappointment that his friend had fallen.
Lifting him to his feet, he said: “Now it is my turn to try the high jump!” Hardly was the last word spoken than Iktomi gave a leap high above the deer.
“The game is mine!” laughed he, patting the sullen Patkaša on the back. “My friend, watch the deer while I go to bring my children,” said Iktomi, darting lightly through the tall grass.
Patkaša was always ready to believe the words of scheming people and to do the little favors anyone asked of him. However, on this occasion, he did not answer “Yes, my friend.” He realized that Iktomi’s flattering tongue had made him foolish.
He turned up his nose at Iktomi, now almost out of sight, as much as to say: “Oh, no, Ikto; I do not hear your words!”
Soon there came a murmur of voices. The sound of laughter grew louder and louder. All of a sudden it became hushed. Old Iktomi led his young Iktomi brood to the place where he had left the turtle, but it was vacant. Nowhere was there any sign of Patkaša or the deer. Then the babes did howl!
“Be still!” said father Iktomi to his children. “I know where Patkaša lives. Follow me. I shall take you to the turtle’s dwelling.” He ran along a narrow footpath toward the creek near by. Close upon his heels came his children with tear-streaked faces.
“There!” said Iktomi in a loud whisper as he gathered his little ones on the bank. “There is Patkaša broiling venison! There is his teepee, and the savory fire is in his front yard!”
The young Iktomis stretched their necks and rolled their round black eyes like newly hatched birds. They peered into the water.
“Now, I will cool Patkaša’s fire. I shall bring you the broiled venison. Watch closely. When you see the black coals rise to the surface of the water, clap your hands and shout aloud, for soon after that sign I shall return to you with some tender meat.”
Thus saying Iktomi plunged into the creek. Splash! splash! the water leaped upward into spray. Scarcely had it become leveled and smooth than there bubbled up many black spots. The creek was seething with the dancing of round black things.
“The cooled fire! The coals!” laughed the brood of Iktomis. Clapping together their little hands, they chased one another along the edge of the creek. They shouted and hooted with great glee.
“Āhäš!” said a gruff voice across the water. It was Patkaša. In a large willow tree leaning far over the water he sat upon a large limb. On the very same branch was a bright burning fire over which Patkaša broiled the venison. By this time the water was calm again. No more danced those black spots on its surface, for they were the toes of old Iktomi. He was drowned.
The Iktomi children hurried away from the creek, crying and calling for their water-dead father.
Dance in a Buffalo Skull
It was night upon the prairie. Overhead the stars were twinkling bright their red and yellow lights. The moon was young. A silvery thread among the stars, it soon drifted low beneath the horizon.
Upon the ground the land was pitchy black. There are night people on the plain who love the dark. Amid the black level land they meet to frolic under the stars. Then when their sharp ears hear any strange footfalls nigh they scamper away into the deep shadows of night. There they are safely hid from all dangers, they think.
Thus it was that one very black night, afar off from the edge of the level land, out of the wooded river bottom glided forth two balls of fire. They came farther and farther into the level land. They grew larger and brighter. The dark hid the body of the creature with those fiery eyes. They came on and on, just over the tops of the prairie grass. It might have been a wildcat prowling low on soft, stealthy feet. Slowly but surely the terrible eyes drew nearer and nearer to the heart of the level land.
There in a huge old buffalo skull was a gay feast and dance! Tiny little field mice were singing and dancing in a circle to the boom-boom of a wee, wee drum. They were laughing and talking among themselves while their chosen singers sang loud a merry tune.
They built a small open fire within the center of their queer dance house. The light streamed out of the buffalo skull through all the curious sockets and holes.
A light on the plain in the middle of the night was an unusual thing. But so merry were the mice they did not hear the “king, king” of sleepy birds, disturbed by the unaccustomed fire.
A pack of
