A Little Brave And The Medicine Woman

A village of Indians moved out of winter camp and pitched their tents

in a circle on high land overlooking a lake. A little way down the

declivity was a grave. Choke cherries had grown up, hiding the grave

from view. But as the ground had sunk somewhat, the grave was marked by

a slight hollow.

One of the villagers going out to hunt took a short cut through the

choke cherry bushes. As he pushed them aside
e saw the hollow grave,

but thought it was a washout made by the rains. But as he essayed to

step over it, to his great surprise he stumbled and fell. Made curious

by his mishap, he drew back and tried again; but again he fell. When he

came back to the village he told the old men what had happened to him.

They remembered then that a long time before there had been buried there

a medicine woman or conjurer. Doubtless it was her medicine that made

him stumble.

The story of the villager's adventure spread thru the camp and made many

curious to see the grave. Among others were six little boys who were,

however, rather timid, for they were in great awe of the dead medicine

woman. But they had a little playmate named Brave, a mischievous little

rogue, whose hair was always unkempt and tossed about and who was never

quiet for a moment.

"Let us ask Brave to go with us," they said; and they went in a body to

see him.

"All right," said Brave; "I will go with you. But I have something to

do first. You go on around the hill _that_ way, and I will hasten around

_this_ way, and meet you a little later near the grave."

So the six little boys went on as bidden until they came to a place near

the grave. There they halted.

"Where is Brave?" they asked.

Now Brave, full of mischief, had thought to play a jest on his little

friends. As soon as they were well out of sight he had sped around the

hill to the shore of the lake and sticking his hands in the mud had

rubbed it over his face, plastered it in his hair, and soiled his hands

until he looked like a new risen corpse with the flesh rotting from his

bones. He then went and lay down in the grave and awaited the boys.

When the six little boys came they were more timid than ever when they

did not find Brave; but they feared to go back to the village without

seeing the grave, for fear the old men would call them cowards.

So they slowly approached the grave and one of them timidly called out:

"Please, grandmother, we won't disturb your grave. We only want to see

where you lie. Don't be angry."

At once a thin quavering voice, like an old woman's, called out:

"Han, han, takoja, hechetuya, hechetuya! Yes, yes, that's right, that's


The boys were frightened out of their senses, believing the old woman

had come to life.

"Oh, grandmother," they gasped, "don't hurt us; please don't, we'll go."

Just then Brave raised his muddy face and hands up thru the choke cherry

bushes. With the oozy mud dripping from his features he looked like some

very witch just raised from the grave. The boys screamed outright. One

fainted. The rest ran yelling up the hill to the village, where each

broke at once for his mother's tepee.

As all the tents in a Dakota camping circle face the center, the boys as

they came tearing into camp were in plain view from the tepees. Hearing

the screaming, every woman in camp ran to her tepee door to see what

had happened. Just then little Brave, as badly scared as the rest, came

rushing in after them, his hair on end and covered with mud and crying

out, all forgetful of his appearance:

"It's me, it's me!"

The women yelped and bolted in terror from the village. Brave dashed

into his mother's tepee, scaring her out of her wits. Dropping pots and

kettles, she tumbled out of the tent to run screaming with the rest. Nor

would a single villager come near poor little Brave until he had gone

down to the lake and washed himself.