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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 he 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 right. "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
teepee. 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 teepees. Hearing the screaming, every
woman in camp ran to her teepee 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
teepee, 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.
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