ight over his shoulders, he descended the hill with
hurrying feet.

He was soon upon the edge of the ravine. A young moon, like a bright
bent bow, climbed up from the southwest horizon a little way into the
sky.

In this pale light Iktomi stood motionless as a ghost amid the thicket.
His woodpile was not yet kindled. His pointed stakes were still bare as
he had left them. But where was the deer--the venison he had felt warm
in his hands a moment ago? It was gone. Only the dry rib bones lay on
the ground like giant fingers from an open grave. Iktomi was troubled.
At length, stooping over the white dried bones, he took hold of one and
shook it. The bones, loose in their sockets, rattled together at his
touch. Iktomi let go his hold. He sprang back amazed. And though he wore
a blanket his teeth chattered more than ever. Then his blunted sense
will surprise you, little reader; for instead of being grieved that he
had taken back his blanket, he cried aloud, "Hin-hin-hin! If only I had
eaten the venison before going for my blanket!"

Those tears no longer moved the hand of the Generous Giver. They were
selfish tears. The Great Spirit does not heed them ever.

IKTOMI AND THE MUSKRAT

BESIDE a white lake, beneath a large grown willow tree, sat Iktomi on
the bare ground. The heap of smouldering ashes told of a recent open
fire. With ankles crossed together around a pot of soup, Iktomi bent
over some delicious boiled fish.

Fast he dipped his black horn spoon into the soup, for he was ravenous.
Iktomi had no regular meal times. Often when he was hungry he went
without food.

Well hid between the lake and the wild rice, he looked nowhere save into
the pot of fish. Not knowing when the next meal would be, he meant to
eat enough now to last some time.

"How, how, my friend!" said a voice out of the wild rice. Iktomi
started. He almost choked with his soup. He peered through the long
reeds from where he sat with his long horn spoon in mid-air.

"How, my friend!" said the voice again, this time close at his side.
Iktomi turned and there stood a dripping muskrat who had just come out
of the lake.

"Oh, it is my friend who startled me. I wondered if among the wild rice
some spirit voice was talking. How, how, my friend!" said Iktomi. The
muskrat stood smiling. On his lips hung a ready "Yes, my friend," when
Iktomi would ask, "My friend, will you sit down beside me and share my
food?"

That was the custom of the pl