A Little Brave and the Medicine Woman – Lakota

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 through 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 through 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.

From Blue Panther Keeper of Stories