The 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 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 ill 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 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.

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