Native American Legends
Iktomi and the Ducks
A Lakota Legend
One day Iktomi sat hungry within his tipi. Suddenly he rushed out,
dragging after him his blanket. Quickly spreading it on the ground,
he tore up dry tall grass with both his hands and tossed it fast
into the blanket.
Tying all the four corners together in a knot, he threw the light
bundle of grass over his shoulder. Snatching up a slender willow
stick with his free left hand, he started off with a hop and a leap.
From side to side bounced, the bundle on his back, as he ran light-footed
over the uneven ground.
Soon he came to the edge of the great level land. On the hilltop
he paused for breath. With wicked smacks of his dry parched lips,
as if tasting some tender meat, he looked straight into space toward
the marshy river bottom. With a thin palm shading his eyes from
the western sun, he peered far away into the lowlands, munching
his own cheeks all the while.
"Ah-ha!" grunted he, satisfied with what he saw. A group
of wild ducks were dancing and feasting in the marshes. With wings
outspread, tip to tip, they moved up and down in a large circle.
Within the ring, around a small drum, sat the chosen singers, nodding
their heads and blinking their eyes.
They sang in unison a merry dance-song, and beat a lively tattoo
on the drum. Following a winding footpath near by, came a bent figure
of a Lakota brave. He bore on his back a very large bundle. With
a willow cane he propped himself up as he staggered along beneath
his burden.
"Ho! who is there?" called out a curious old duck, still
bobbing up and down in the circular dance. Hereupon the drummers
stretched their necks till they strangled their song for a look
at the stranger passing by.
"Ho, Iktomi! Old fellow, pray tell us what you carry in your
blanket. Do not hurry off! Stop! halt!" urged one of the singers.
"Stop! stay! Show us what is in your blanket!" cried
out other voices.
"My friends, I must not spoil your dance. Oh, you would not
care to see if you only knew what is in my blanket. Sing on! dance
on! I must not show you what I carry on my back," answered
Iktomi, nudging his own sides with his elbows.
This reply broke up the ring entirely. Now all the ducks crowded
about Iktomi. "We must see what you carry! We must know what
is in your blanket!" they shouted in both his ears. Some even
brushed their wings against the mysterious bundle.
Nudging himself again, wily Iktomi said, "My friends, 'It
is only a pack of songs I carry in my blanket."
"Oh, then let us hear your songs!" cried the curious
ducks.
At length Iktomi consented to sing his songs. With delight all
the ducks flapped their wings and cried together, "Hoye! hoye!"
Iktomi, with great care, laid down his bundle on the ground. "I
will build first a round straw house, for I never sing my songs
in the open air," said he.
Quickly he bent green willow sticks, planting both ends of each
pole into the earth. These he covered thick with reeds and grasses.
Soon the straw hut was ready. One by one the fat ducks waddled in
through a small opening, which was the only entranceway. Beside
the door Iktomi stood smiling, as the ducks, eying his bundle of
songs, strutted into the hut.
In a strange low voice Iktomi began his queer old tunes. All the
ducks sat round-eyed in a circle about the mysterious singer. It
was dim in that straw hut, for Iktomi had not forgot to cover up
the small entrance way. All of a sudden his song burst into full
voice. As the startled ducks sat uneasily on the ground, Iktomi
changed his tune into a minor strain. These were the words he sang:
"Istokmus wacipo, tuwayatunwanpi kinhan ista nishashapi kta,"
which is, "With eyes closed you must dance. He who dares to
open his eyes, forever red eyes shall have."
Up rose the circle of seated ducks and holding their wings close
against their sides began to dance to the rhythm of Iktomi's song
and drum. With eyes closed they did dance! Iktomi ceased to beat
his drum. He began to sing louder and faster. He seemed to be moving
about in the center of the ring.
No duck dared blink a wink. Each one shut his eyes very tight and
danced even harder. Up and down! Shifting to the right of them they
hopped round and round in that blind dance. It was a difficult dance
for the curious folk.
At length one of the dancers could close his eyes no longer! It
was a Skiska who peeped the least tiny blink at Iktomi within the
center of the circle. "Oh! oh!" squawked he in awful terror!
"Run! fly! Iktomi is twisting your heads and breaking your
necks! Run out and fly! fly!" he cried. Hereupon the ducks
opened their eyes.
There beside Iktomi's bundle of songs lay half of their crowd -
flat on their backs. Out they flew through the opening Skiska had
made as he rushed forth with his alarm. But as they soared high
into the blue sky they cried to one another: "Oh! your eyes
are red-red!" "And yours are red-red!" For the warning
words of the magic minor strain had proven true.
"Ah-ha!" laughed Iktomi, untying the four corners of
his blanket, "I shall sit no more hungry within my dwelling."
Homeward he trudged along with nice fat ducks in his blanket. He
left the little straw hut for the rains and winds to pull down.
Having reached his own tipi on the high level lands, Iktomi kindled
a large fire out of doors. He planted sharp-pointed sticks around
the leaping flames. On each stake he fastened a duck to roast. A
few he buried under the ashes to bake.
Disappearing within his tipi, he came out again with some huge
seashells. These were his dishes. Placing one under each roasting
duck, he muttered, "The sweet fat oozing out will taste well
with the hard-cooked breasts."
Heaping more willows upon the fire, Iktomi sat down on the ground
with crossed shins. A long chin between his knees pointed toward
the red flames, while his eyes were on the browning ducks. Just
above his ankles he clasped and unclasped his long bony fingers.
Now and then he sniffed impatiently the savory odor.
The brisk wind which stirred the fire also played with a squeaky
old tree beside Iktomi's wigwam. From side to side the tree was
swaying and crying in an old man's voice, "Help! I'll break!
I'll fall!"
Iktomi shrugged his great shoulders, but did not once take his
eyes from the ducks. The dripping of amber oil into pearly dishes,
drop by drop, pleased his hungry eyes.
Still the old tree man called for help. "He! What sound is
it that makes my ear ache!" exclaimed Iktomi, holding a hand
on his ear. He rose and looked around. The squeaking came from the
tree. Then he began climbing the tree to find the disagreeable sound.
He placed his foot right on a cracked limb without seeing it. Just
then a whiff of wind came rushing by and pressed together the broken
edges. There in a strong wooden hand Iktomi's foot was caught.
"Oh! my foot is crushed!" he howled like a coward. In
vain he pulled and puffed to free himself.
While sitting a prisoner on the tree he spied, through his tears,
a pack of gray wolves roaming over the level lands. Waving his hands
toward them, he called in his loudest voice, "He! Gray wolves!
Don't you come here! I'm caught fast in the tree so that my duck
feast is getting cold. Don't you come to eat up my meal."
The leader of the pack upon hearing Iktomi's words turned to his
comrades and said: "Ah! hear the foolish fellow! He says he
has a duck feast to be eaten! Let us hurry there for our share!"
Away bounded the wolves toward Iktomi's lodge. From the tree Iktomi
watched the hungry wolves eat up his nicely browned fat ducks. His
foot pained him more and more. He heard them crack the small round
bones with their strong long teeth and eat out the oily marrow.
Now severe pains shot up from his foot through his whole body.
"Hin-hin-hin!" sobbed Iktomi. Real tears washed brown
streaks across his red-painted cheeks.
Smacking their lips, the wolves began to leave the place, when
Iktomi cried out like a pouting child, "At least you have left
my baking under the ashes!"
"Ho! Po!" shouted the mischievous wolves; "he shays
more ducks are to be found under the ashes! Come! Let us have our
fill this once!" Running back to the dead fire, they pawed
out the ducks with such rude haste that a cloud of ashes rose like
gray smoke over them.
"Hin-hin-hin!" moaned Iktomi, when the wolves had scampered
off. All too late, the sturdy breeze returned, and, passing by,
pulled apart the broken edges of the tree. Iktomi was released.
But alas! he had no duck feast.
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