Indian Story and Song, from North America

								

THE DEATHLESS VOICE (Dakota)                              42
ZON´-ZI-MON-DE (Omaha)                                46
LOVE-SONG. Poetical Transcription by
Miss E.D. Proctor (Omaha)                               50
THE WREN (Pawnee)                                         54
SONG TO THE SPIRIT (Omaha)                                58
THE MOTHER'S VOW (Dakota)                                 66
A LOVE-CALL (Omaha)                                       69
GAME SONG (Vancouver's Island)                            72
THE INDIAN COQUET (Omaha)                                 75
AN OLD MAN'S LOVE-SONG (Omaha)                            78
WE´-TON SONG (Dakota)                                   84
LOVE-SONG (Pawnee)                                        87
A WARRIOR'S SONG. Mi´-ka-thi (Ponka)                      92
MOCKING-BIRD'S SONG (Tigua)                               95
SONG OF THE GHOST DANCE (Arapaho)                         98
CHORAL. Sacred Song of Peace (Omaha)                     105
THE GIFT OF PEACE (Otoe)                                 107
KAWAS, THY BABY IS CRYING (Pawnee)                       109
THY FATHER IS COMING (Pawnee)                            111
LOOK UP (Pawnee)                                         113
PRAYER FOR RAIN (Mexico)                                 123
KWAKIUTL SONG (British Columbia)                         123

INDIAN STORY AND SONG

STORY AND SONG OF THE HE-DHU´-SHKA.[1]
[Footnote 1: In the Indian words and vocables the vowels have the
continental sound. G is hard, as in go; dh is like th in
the; th, as in thin; n as in French en.]

It had been a warm September day; and I was resting in my hammock,
swung from a wide-spreading tree that stood near the tent of my Indian
host. We had partaken of our evening meal beside an outdoor fire. The
mother was busy clearing away the supper dishes, the men had gone off
to look after the horses, the children had fallen asleep, and I lay
watching the shadowy darkness come out of the east and slowly pursue
the glowing trail of the retreating sun, thinking of the Indian's
imagery of night ever haunting and following upon the track of day,
seeking to gain the mastery. I was aroused from my musings by hearing
the mother say, "It is chilly!" for the fire had died down, and the
deep blue of twilight was all about us.
She dropped beside the embers, blew them into a feeble blaze, threw on
fresh wood, that crackled and sent up a shower of sparks and soon
bright yellow flames illumined the under side of the branches beneath
which I was swinging.
The call of the fire summoned one tall form after another out of the
dusky surroundings, and around the blazing logs robes were spread here
and there, on which the men reclined. By and by the women came and
dropped down near the fire, and added the treble of their voices to
the deep tones of the men, as the chat of the day's occurrences went