OLD INDIAN LEGENDS by Zidkala Shah, section one. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Old Indian Legends, section one. Iktomai and the Ducks. Iktomai is a spider fairy. He wears brown deerskin leggings with long soft fringes on either side and tiny beaded moccasins on his feet. His long black hair is parted in the middle and wrapped with red, red bands. Each round braid hangs over a small brown ear and falls forward over his shoulders.  He wears a deerskin jacket with bright colored beads so tightly on it. Iktomai dresses like a real Dakota brave. In truth his paint and deerskins are the best part of him. If ever dress is part of a man or fairy. Iktomai is a wily fellow. His hands are always kept in mischief. He prefers to spread a snare rather than to earn the smallest things with honest hunting. Why he laughs outright with wide open mouth when some simple folk are caught in a trap? Sure and fast. He never dreams another lives so bright as he. Often his own conceit leads him hard against the common sense of simpler people. Poor Iktomai cannot help being a little imp and so long as he is a naughty fairy he cannot find a single friend. No one helps him when he is in trouble. No one really loves him. Those who come to admire his handsome beaded jacket and long fringed leggings soon go away sick and tired of his vain, vain words and heartless laughter. Thus Iktomai lives alone in a cone shaped wigwam upon the plane. One day he sat hungry within his teepee. Suddenly he rushed out dragging after him his blanket. Quickly spreading it on the ground he tore up dry tall grass with both hands and tossed it fast into the blanket. Tying all the four corners together in a knot he drew 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. Aha! 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.  They sang in unison a merry dance-song and beat a lively tattoo on the drum. Following a winding footpath nearby came a bent figure of a Dakota brave. He bore on his back a very large bundle. With a will o' cane he propped himself up as he staggered along beneath his burden. Oh! 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. Oh! Iktomai, old friend, 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 will 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 Iktomai nudging his own sides with his elbows. This reply broke up the ring entirely. Now all the ducks crowded about, Iktomai. 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, Wiley Iktomai said, My friends, tis only a pack of songs I carry in my blanket. Oh! then let us hear your songs, cried the curious ducks. At length Iktomai consented to sing his songs. With delight all the ducks flapped their wings and cried together. Hoie, hoie! Iktomai, 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 entrance way. Beside the door Iktomai stood smiling as the ducks, eyeing his bundle of songs, strutted into the hut. In a strange low voice Iktomai 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 Iktomai 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. Iktomai changed his tune into a minor strain. These were the words he sang. Istokmus wasipo, tuwaya tunwampi, kinhan istah, nisasa pi, kitah, which is, with eyes closed, you must dance. He who dares to open his eyes, for ever red eyes he shall have. Up rose the circle of seated ducks, and holding their wings close against their sides, began to dance to the rhythm of Iktomai's song and drum. With eyes closed they did dance. Iktomai 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.  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 blank at Iktomai within the center of the circle. Oh oh! squawked he in awful terror. Run, fly! Iktomai is twisting your heads and breaking your necks. Run out and fly, fly! he cried. Hereupon the ducks opened their eyes. There, beside Iktomai'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. Aha! left Iktomai, untieing the four corners of his blanket, I shall sit no more hungry within my dwelling.  He left the little straw hut for the rains and winds to pull down. Having reached his own teepee on the high-level lands, Iktomai 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 teepee 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. Heeping more willows upon the fire Iktomai sat down on the ground and 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 Iktomai'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! Iktomai 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 Iktomai holding a hand to 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 Iktomai's foot was caught.  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.  The leader of the pack upon hearing Iktomai'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 Iktomai's lodge.  His foot pained him more and more.  Now severe pains shot up from his foot through his whole body. Hin, hin, hin, sobbed Iktomai. Real tears washed brown streaks across his red-painted cheeks. Smacking their lips the wolves began to leave the place. When Iktomai cried out, like a pouting child, at least you have left my baking under the ashes. Ho! ho! shouted the mischievous wolves. He says more ducks are to be found under the ashes. Come, let us have our fill this once.  Hin, hin, hin moaned Iktomai when the wolves had scampered off. All too late the sturdy breeze returned and passing by pulled apart the broken edges of the tree. Iktomai was released but alas he had no duck-feast. End of Section 1, Iktomai and the Ducks. Recording by Robert Scott, July 29, 2007. Old Indian Legends by Zitkala Shah. Section 2, Iktomai's Blanket. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Iktomai's Blanket. Alone, within his teepee, sat Iktomai. The sun was but a hands-breath from the western edge of land. Those bad, bad gray wolves, they ate up all my nice fat ducks, muttered he, rocking his body to and fro. He was cuddling the evil memory he bore those hungry wolves. At last he ceased to sway his body backward and forward, but sat still and stiff as a stone image. Oh, I'll go to Inyan, the great grandfather, and pray for food, he exclaimed. At once he hurried forth from his teepee and with his blanket over his shoulder drew nigh to a huge rock on a hillside. With half-crouching, half-running strides he fell upon Inyan with outspread hands. Grandfather, pity me, I am hungry, I am starving, give me food, great grandfather, give me meat to eat, he cried. All the while he stroked and caressed the face of the great stone god. The all-powerful great spirit who makes the trees and grass can hear the voice of those who pray in many varied ways. The hearing of Inyan, the large hard stone, was the one most sought after. He was the great grandfather, for he had sat upon the hillside many, many seasons. He had seen the prairie put on a snow-white blanket and then change it for a bright green robe more than a thousand times. Still, unaffected by the myriad moons, he rested on the everlasting hill listening to the prayers of Indian warriors. Before the finding of the magic arrow, he had sat there. Now, as Iktomai prayed and wept before the great grandfather, the sky in the west was red like a glowing face. The sunset poured a soft mellow light upon the huge gray stone and the solitary figure beside it. It was the smile of the great spirit upon the grandfather and the wayward child. The prayer was heard. Iktomai knew it. Now, grandfather, accept my offering, tis all I have, said Iktomai as he spread his half-worn blanket upon Indian's cold shoulders. Then, Iktomai, happy with the smile of the sunset sky, followed a footpath leading toward a thicketed ravine. He had not gone many paces into the shrubbery when before him lay a freshly wounded deer. This is the answer from the red western sky, cried Iktomai, with hands uplifted. Slipping a long thin blade from out of his belt, he cut large chunks of choice meat.  On these stakes he meant to roast the venison. While he was rubbing briskly two long sticks to start a fire, the sun in the west fell out of the sky below the edge of land. Twilight was over all. Iktomai felt the cold night air upon his bare neck and shoulders. Oh! he shivered as he wiped his knife on the grass, tucking it in a bead case hanging from his belt. Iktomai stood erect, looking about. He shivered again. Oh! ah! I am cold. I wish I had a blanket, whispered he, hovering over the pile of dry sticks and the sharp stakes round about it. Suddenly he paused and dropped his hands at his sides. The old great grandfather does not feel the cold as I do. He does not need my old blanket as I do. I wish I had not given it to him. Oh! I think I'll run up there and take it back, said he, pointing his long chin toward the gray stone. Iktomai in the warm sunshine had no need of his blanket, and it had been very easy to part with a thing which he could not miss. But the chilly night wind quite froze his ardent thank-offering. Thus, running up the hillside, his teeth chattering all the way, he drew near to Inyan, the sacred symbol.  Give me my blanket back, old grandfather. You do not need it. I do. This was very wrong, yet Iktomai did it. For his wit was not wisdom. Drawing the blanket tight 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, Iktomai 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. Iktomai 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. Iktomai let go his hold. He sprang back amazed, and though he wore a blanket, his teeth chattered more than ever.  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. End of section 2 Iktomai's Blanket Recording by Robert Scott, July 29, 2007 Old Indian Legends by Zitkala Shah Section 3 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Old Indian Legends, Section 3, Iktomai and the Muskrat Beside a white lake, beneath a large grown willow tree, sat Iktomai on the bare ground. The heap of smoldering ashes told of a recent open fire. With ankles crossed together around a pot of soup, Iktomai bent over some delicious boiled fish. Fast he dipped his black horned spoon into the soup, for he was ravenous. Iktomai had no regular mealtimes. 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. Iktomai started. He almost choked with his soup. He peered through the long reeds from where he sat, with his long horned spoon in mid-air. How, my friend, said the voice again. This time, close at his side, Iktomai turned and there stood a dripping muskrat who had just come out of the lake. Oh, it's my friend who startled me. I wondered if among the wild rice some spirit voice was talking. How-how, my friend, said Iktomai. The muskrat stood smiling. On his lips hung a ready, yes, my friend, when Iktomai would ask, My friend, will you sit down beside me and share my food? That was the custom of the plainspeople, yet Iktomai sat silent. He hummed an old dance-song and beat on the edge of the pot with his buffalo horned spoon. The muskrat began to feel awkward before such lack of hospitality and wished himself under water. After many heart-throbs, Iktomai stopped drumming with his horn ladle and looked upward into the muskrat's face. He said, My friend, let us run a race to see who shall win this pot of fish. If I win, I shall not need to share it with you. If you win, you shall have half of it. Springing to his feet, Iktomai began at once to tighten the belt around his waist. My friend, Iktomai, I cannot run a race with you. I am not a swift runner and you are nimble as a deer. We shall not run any race together, answered the hungry muskrat. For a moment Iktomai stood with a hand on his long protruding chin. His eyes were fixed upon something in the air. The muskrat looked out of the corners of his eyes without moving his head. He watched the wily Iktomai concocting a plot. Yes, yes, said Iktomai, suddenly turning his gaze upon the unwelcome visitor. I shall carry a large stone on my back that will slacken my usual speed and the race will be a fair one. Saying this, he laid a firm hand upon the muskrat's shoulder and started off along the edge of the lake. When they reached the opposite side, Iktomai pried about in search of a heavy stone. He found one half buried in the shallow water. Pulling it out upon dry land, he wrapped it in his blanket. Now, my friend, you shall run on the left side of the lake and I on the other. The race is for the boiled fish in yonder kettle, said Iktomai. The muskrat helped to lift the heavy stone upon Iktomai's back. Then they parted, each took a narrow path through the tall reeds fringing the shore. Iktomai found his load a heavy one. Perspiration hung like beads on his brow, his chest heaved hard and fast. He looked across the lake to see how far the muskrat had gone, but nowhere did he see any sign of him. Well, he is running low under the wild rice, said he. Yet, as he scanned the tall grasses on the lakeshore, he saw not one stir as if to make way for the runner. Ah, has he gone so fast ahead that the disturbed grasses in his trail have quieted again? exclaimed Iktomai. With that thought he quickly dropped the heavy stone. No more of this, said he, patting his chest with both hands. Off with the springing bound he ran swiftly toward the gull. Tufts of reeds and grass fell flat under his feet. Hardly had they raised their heads when Iktomai was many paces gone. Soon he reached the heap of cold ashes. Iktomai halted, stiff as if he had struck an invisible cliff. His black eyes showed a ring of white about them as he stared at the empty ground. There was no pot of boiled fish. There was no water-man in sight. Oh, if only I had shared my food like a real Dakota, I would not have lost it all. Why did I not know the muskrat would run through the water? He swims faster than I could ever run. That is what he has done. He has laughed at me for carrying a weight on my back while he shot hither like an arrow. Crying thus to himself, Iktomai stepped to the water's brink. He stooped forward with a hand on each bent knee and peeped far into the deep water.  My friend, I am hungry. Give me a bone. Ha, ha, ha! laughed the water-man, the muskrat. The sound did not rise up out of the lake, for it came down from overhead.  Opening wide his mouth, he begged. My friend, my friend, give me a bone to gnaw. Ha, ha! laughed the muskrat, and leaning over the limb he sat upon, he let fall a small sharp bone which dropped right into Iktomai's throat. Iktomai almost choked to death before he could get it out. In the tree the muskrat sat laughing loud. Next time, say to a visiting friend, be seated beside me, my friend, let me share with you my food. End of Section 3. Iktomai and the Muskrat. Recording by Robert Scott, July 30, 2007. Old Indian Legends by S. A. Zitkala. Section 4. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Old Indian Legends. Section 4. Iktomai and the coyote. A far off, on a large level land, a summer sun was shining bright. Here and there, over the rolling green, were tall bunches of coarse-gray weeds. Iktomai, in his fringed buckskins, walked alone. Across the prairie with a black bare head, glossy in the sunlight. He walked through the grass without following any well-worn footpath. From one large bunch of coarse weeds to another he wound his way about the great plain. He lifted his foot lightly and placed it gently forward like a wildcat, prowling noiselessly through the thick grass. He stopped a few steps away from a very large bunch of wild sage. From shoulder to shoulder he tilted his head. Still farther he bent from side to side, first low over one hip and then over the other. Far forward he stooped, stretching his long thin neck like a duck, to see what lay under a fur coat beyond the bunch of coarse grass. A sleek, gray-faced prairie wolf. His pointed black nose tucked in between his four feet, drawn snugly together.   This is what Iktomai spied. Carefully he raised one foot and cautiously reached out with his toes. Gently he lifted the foot behind and placed it before the other. Thus he came nearer and nearer to the round fur ball lying motionless under the sage grass. Now Iktomai stood beside it, looking at the closed eyelids that did not quiver the least bit. Pressing his lips into straight lines and nodding his head slowly, he bent over the wolf. He held his ear close to the coyote's nose, but not a breath of air stirred from it. Dead, said he at last, dead, but not long since he ran over these plains. See, there in his paw is caught a fresh feather.  Taking hold of the paw with the bird feather fast on it, he exclaimed, Why, he is still warm. I'll carry him to my dwelling and have a roast for my evening meal. Aha! he laughed as he seized the coyote by its two forepaws and its two hind feet and swung him overhead across his shoulders. The wolf was large and the teepee was far across the prairie. Iktomai trudged along with his burden, smacking his hungry lips together. He blinked his eyes hard to keep out the salty perspiration streaming down his face. All the while the coyote on his back lay gazing into the sky with wide open eyes. His long white teeth fairly gleamed as he smiled and smiled. To ride on one's own feet is tiresome, but to be carried like a warrior from a brave fight is great fun, said the coyote in his heart. He had never been born on anyone's back before and this new experience delighted him. He lay there lazily on Iktomai's shoulders, now and then blinking blue winks. Did you ever see a birdie blink a blue wink? This is how it first became a saying among the plainspeople. When a bird stands aloof, watching your strange ways, a thin bluish-white tissue slips quickly over his eyes and as quickly off again. So quick that you think it was only a mysterious blue wink. Sometimes when children grow drowsy they blink blue winks. While others who are too proud to look with friendly eyes upon people blink in this cold bird manner. The coyote was affected by both sleepiness and pride. His winks were almost as blue as the sky. In the midst of his new pleasure the swaying motion ceased. Iktomai had reached his dwelling-place. The coyote felt drowsy no longer, for in the next instant he was slipping out of Iktomai's hands. He was falling, falling through space, and then he struck the ground with such a bump he did not wish to breathe for a while. He wondered what Iktomai would do. Thus he lay still where he fell. Humming a dance song, one from his bundle of mystery songs, Iktomai hopped and darted about at an imaginary dance and feast. He gathered dry willow-sticks and broke them in two against his knee. He built a large fire out of doors. The flames leaped up high in red and yellow streaks. Now Iktomai returned to the coyote who had been looking on through his eyelashes. Taking him again by his paws and hind feet he swung him to and fro. Then as the wolf swung toward the red flames Iktomai let him go. Once again the coyote fell through space. Hot air smote his nostrils. He saw red dancing fire and now he struck a bed of crackling embers. With a quick turn he leaped out of the flames. From his heels were scattered a shower of red coals upon Iktomai's bare arms and shoulders. Dumbfounded Iktomai thought he saw a spirit walk out of his fire. His jaws fell apart. He thrust a palm to his face hard over his mouth. He could scarce keep from shrieking.   Sitting on his haunches on the opposite side of the fire from where Iktomai stood the coyote began to laugh at him. Another day my friend do not take too much for granted make sure the enemy is stoned dead before you make a fire. Then off he ran so swiftly that his long bushy tail hung out in a straight line with his back. End of Section 4 Recording by Robert Scott, July 30, 2007 Old Indian Legends by S.A. Zitkala, Section 5 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Section 5 Iktomai and the Faun In one of his wanderings through the wooded lands Iktomai saw a rare bird sitting high in a treetop. Its long fan-like tail feathers had caught all the beautiful colors of the rainbow. Handsome in the glistening summer sun set the bird of rainbow plumage. Iktomai hurried hither with his eyes fast on the bird. He stood beneath the tree looking long and wistfully at the peacock's bright feathers. At length he heaved a sigh and began, Oh, I wish I had such pretty feathers. How I wish I were not I. If only I were a handsome feathered creature how happy I would be. I'd be so glad to sit upon a very high tree and bask in the summer sun like you. Said he suddenly pointing his bony finger up toward the peacock who was eyeing the stranger below turning his head from side to side. I beg of you make me into a bird with green and purple feathers like yours. Implored Iktomai, tired now of playing the brave in beaded buckskins. The peacock then spoke to Iktomai. I have a magic power. My touch will change you in a moment into the most beautiful peacock if you can keep one condition. Yes, yes, shouted Iktomai jumping up and down patting his lips with his palm which caused his voice to vibrate in a peculiar fashion. Yes, yes, I could keep ten conditions if only you would change me into a bird with long bright tail feathers. Oh, I am so ugly. I am so tired of being myself. Change me. Do. Here upon the peacock spread out both his wings and scarce moving them he sailed slowly down upon the ground. Right beside Iktomai he alighted. Very low in Iktomai's ear the peacock whispered. Are you willing to keep one condition though hard it be? Yes, yes, I've told you ten of them if need be exclaimed Iktomai with some impatience. Then I pronounce you handsome feathered bird. No longer are you Iktomai the mischief maker. Saying this the peacock touched Iktomai with the tips of his wings. Iktomai vanished at the touch. There stood beneath the tree two handsome peacocks. While one of the pair strutted about with a head turned aside as if dazzled by his own bright tinted tail feathers. The other bird soared slowly upward.  He seemed content to perch there on a large limb in the warm sunshine. After a little while the vain peacock dizzy with his bright colors spread out his wings and lit on the same branch with the elder bird. Oh! he exclaimed. How hard to fly! Bright tinted feathers are handsome, but I wish they were light enough to fly. Just there the elder bird interrupted him. This is the one condition. Never try to fly like other birds. Upon the day you try to fly you shall be changed into your former self. Oh! what a shame that bright feathers cannot fly into the sky! cried the peacock. Already he grew restless. He longed to soar through space. He yearned to fly above the trees high upward to the sun. Oh! there I see a flock of birds flying thither. Oh! oh! said he, flapping his wings. I must try my wings. I am tired of bright tail feathers. I want to try my wings. No, no! clucked the elder bird. The flock of chattering birds flew by with whirring wings. Oh! oh! called some to their mates. Possessed by an irresistible impulse the Iktomai peacock called out. He, I want to come. Wait for me. And with that he gave a lunge into the air. The flock of flying feathers wheeled about and lowered over the tree whence came the peacock's cry. Only one rare bird sat on the tree and beneath on the ground stood a brave in brown buckskins. I am my old self again, groaned Iktomai in a sad voice. Make me over, pretty bird. Try me this once again, he pleaded in vain. Old Iktomai wants to fly. Ah! we cannot wait for him, sang the birds as they flew away.  One by one they rose in the air and shot a straight line over the prairie. Others shot up into the blue sky and were soon lost in sight. Only one was left. He was making ready for his flight when Iktomai rushed upon him and wailed. I want to be an arrow. Make me into an arrow. I want to pierce the blue-blue overhead. I want to strike yonder summer sun in its center. Make me into an arrow. Can you keep one condition? One condition, though hard it be, the arrow turned to ask. Yes, yes, shouted Iktomai, delighted. Hereupon the slender arrow tapped him gently with his sharp flint beak. There was no Iktomai, but two arrows stood ready to fly. Now, young arrow, this is the one condition. Your flight must always be in a straight line. Never turn a curve nor jump about like a young fawn. Said the arrow magician, he spoke slowly and sternly. At once he set about to teach the new arrow how to shoot in a long straight line. This is the way to pierce the blue overhead, said he, and off he spun high into the sky. While he was gone a herd of deer came trotting by. Behind them played the young fawns together. They frolicked about like kittens. They bounced on all fours like balls. Then they pitched forward, kicking their heels in the air. The Iktomai arrow watched them so happily on the ground. Looking quickly up into the sky he said in his heart, The magician is out of sight. I'll just romp and frolic with these fawns until he returns. Fawns, friends, do not fear me. I want to jump and leap with you. I long to be happy as you are, said he. The young fawns stopped with stiff legs and stared at the speaking arrow with large brown, wondering eyes. See, I can jump as well as you, went on Iktomai. He gave one tiny leap like a fawn. All of a sudden the fawns snorted with extended nostrils at what they beheld. There among them stood Iktomai in brown buckskins and the strange talking arrow was gone. Oh, I am myself. My old self, cried Iktomai, pinching himself and plucking imaginary pieces out of his jacket. Hin, hin, hin, I wanted to fly. The real arrow now returned to the earth. He alighted very near Iktomai. From the high sky he had seen the fawns playing on the green. He had seen Iktomai make his one leap and the charm was broken. Iktomai became his former self. Arrow, my friend, change me once more, begged Iktomai. No, no more, replied the arrow, then away he shot through the air in the direction his comrades had flown. By this time the fawns gathered close around Iktomai. They poked their noses at him, trying to know who he was. Iktomai's tears were like a spring shower. A new desire dried them quickly away. Stepping boldly to the largest fawn he looked closely at the little brown spots all over the furry face. Oh, fawn, what beautiful brown spots on your face.  Yes, said the fawn.  She dug a large hole in the ground and made a soft bed of grass and twigs in it. Then she placed me gently there. She covered me over with dry sweet grass and piled dry cedars on top. From a neighbor's fire she brought hither a red, red ember. This she tucked carefully in at my head. This is how the brown spots were made on my face. Now, fawn, my friend, will you do the same for me? Won't you mark my face with brown, brown spots just like yours? Asked Iktomai, always eager to be like other people. Yes, I can dig the ground and fill it with dry grass and sticks. If you will jump into the pit, I'll cover you with sweet smelling grass and cedar wood, answered the fawn. Say, interrupted Iktomai, will you be sure to cover me with a great deal of dry grass and twigs? You will make sure that the spots will be as brown as those you wear? Oh yes, I'll pile up grass and willows once oftener than my mother did. Now, let us dig the hole, pull the grass and gather sticks, cried Iktomai, in glee.  After the hole was dug and cushioned with grass, Iktomai, muttering something about brown spots, leaped down into it. Lengthwise, flat on his back, he lay. While the fawn covered him over with cedars, a far away voice came up through them. Brown-brown spots to wear, for ever. A red ember was tucked under the dry grass, offscampered the fawns after their mothers. And when a great distance away, they looked backward. They saw a blue smoke rising, writhing upward till it vanished in the blue ether. Is that Iktomai's spirit, asked one fawn of another? No, I think he would jump out before he could burn into smoke and cedars, answered his comrade. End of Section 5 Recording by Robert Scott July 30, 2007 Old Indian Legends by Zitkala Shah Section 6 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Old Indian Legends, Section 6 The Badger and the Bear On the edge of a forest there lived a large family of badgers. In the ground their dwelling was made. Its walls and roof were covered with rocks and straw. Old Father Badger was a great hunter. He knew well how to track the deer and the buffalo. Every day he came home carrying on his back some wild game. This kept Mother Badger very busy, and the baby badgers very chubby.  As fast as the meats were dried and seasoned by the sun and wind, she packed them carefully away in a large thick bag. This bag was like a huge stiff envelope, but far more beautiful to see, for it was painted all over with many bright colors. These firmly tied bags of dried meat were laid upon the rocks in the walls of the dwelling. In this way they were both useful and decorative. One day Father Badger did not go off for a hunt. He stayed at home making new arrows. His children sat about him on the ground floor.  All of a sudden there was heard a heavy footfall near the entranceway. The oval-shaped door frame was pushed aside, and stepped a large black foot with great big claws. Then the other clumsy foot came next. All the while the baby badger stared hard at the unexpected comer, after the second foot inpeaped the head of a big black bear. His black nose was dry and parched. Silently he entered the dwelling and sat down on the ground by the doorway. His black eyes never left the painted bags on the rocky walls. He guessed what was in them. He was a very hungry bear. Seeing the racks of meat hanging in the yard he had come to visit the badger family. Though he was a stranger and his strong paws and jaws frightened the small badgers, the Father said, How friend, your lips and nose look feverish and hungry, will you eat with us? Yes, my friend, said the bear, I am starved. I saw your racks of red fresh meat and knowing your heart is kind I came hither. Give me meat to eat, my friend.  How, how, replied the bear, drawing himself closer to the wall and crossing his shins together. Mother badger chose the most tender red meat and soon over a bed of coals she broiled the venison. That day the bear had all he could eat. At nightfall he rose and smacking his lips together. That is, the noisy way of saying, the food was very good. He left the badger dwelling. The baby badgers peeping through the door flap after the shaggy bear saw him disappear into the woods nearby. Day after day the crackling of twigs in the forest told of heavy footsteps. Out would come the same black bear. He never lifted the door flap, but thrusting it aside entered slowly in. Always in the same place by the entranceway he sat down with crossed shins. His daily visits were so regular that Mother Badger placed a fur rug in his place. She did not wish a guest in her dwelling to sit upon the bear-hard ground. At last one time when the bear returned his nose was bright and black, his coat was glossy.  As he entered the dwelling a pair of wicked gleams shot out of his shaggy head, surprised by the strange behavior of the guest who remained standing upon the rug, leaning his round back against the wall, Father Badger queried, How, my friend, what? The bear took one stride forward and shook his paw in the badger's face. He said, I am strong, very strong. Yes, yes, so you are, replied the badger. From the farther end of the room Mother Badger muttered over her beadwork. Yes, you grew strong from our well-filled bowls. The bear smiled, showing a row of large, sharp teeth. I have no dwelling. I have no bags of dried meat. I have no arrows. All these I have found here on this spot, said he, stamping his heavy foot. I want them. See, I am strong, repeated he, lifting both his terrible paws. Quietly the Father Badger spoke, I fed you. I called you friend, though you came here a stranger and a beggar. For the sake of my little ones, leave us in peace. Mother Badger, in her excited way, had pierced hard through the buckskin and stuck her fingers repeatedly with her sharp awl, until she had laid aside her work. Now, while her husband was talking to the bear, she motioned with her hands to the children. On tiptoe they hastened to her side. For reply came a low growl. It grew louder and more fierce. Wa-oh! he roared, and by force hurled the Badgers out. First the Father Badger, then the Mother. The little Badgers he tossed by pairs. He threw them hard upon the ground. Standing in the entrance way, and showing his ugly teeth, he snarled. Begone!  No sooner had the baby Badgers caught their breath than they howled and shrieked with pain and fright.   He made it of bent willows and covered it with dry grass and twigs. This was shelter for the night, but alas it was empty of food and arrows. All day Father Badger prowled through the forest, but without his arrows he could not get food for his children.   The bear was slicing red meat to hang upon the rack. He did not pause for a look at the comer. As the Badger stood there unrecognized, he saw that the bear had brought with him his whole family. Little cubs played under the high-hanging new meats. They laughed and pointed with their wee noses upward at the thin-sliced meats upon the pole.  My children are starving. Give me a small piece of meat for them, begged the Badger. Wow! growled the angry bear, and pounced upon the Badger. Be gone, said he, and with his big hind foot he sent Father Badger sprawling on the ground. All the little ruffian bears hooted and shouted, Ha Ha! to see the Badger fall upon his face. There was one, however, who did not even smile. He was the youngest cub. His fur coat was not as black and glossy as those his elders wore. The hair was dry and dingy. It looked more like kinky wool. He was the ugly cub.  He had always been laughed at by his older brothers. He could not help being himself. He could not change the differences between himself and his brothers. Thus again, though the rest laughed aloud at the Badger's fall, he did not see the joke. His face was long and earnest. In his heart he was sad to see the Badgers crying and starving. In his breast spread a burning desire to share his food with them. I shall not ask my father for meat to give away. He would say no.  In an instant, as if his good intention had passed from him, he was singing happily and skipping around his father at work. Singing in his small high voice and dragging his feet in long strides after him, as if a prankish spirit oozed out from his heels. He strayed off through the tall grass. He was ambling toward the small round hut. When directly in front of the entranceway, he made a quick side kick with his left hind leg. Low, there fell into the Badger's hut a piece of fresh meat. It was tough meat, full of sinews, yet it was the only piece he could take without his father's notice. Thus, having given meat to the hungry Badgers, the ugly baby bear ran quickly away to his father again. On the following day, the father Badger came back once more. He stood watching the big bear cutting thin slices of meat. Give, he began, when the bear turning upon him with a growl thrust him cruelly aside. The Badger fell on his hands. He fell where the grass was wet with the blood of the newly carved buffalo.  Looking fearfully toward the bear and seeing his head was turned away, he snatched up the small thick blood. Underneath his girdled blanket he hid it in his hands. On his return to his family he said within himself, I'll pray the great spirit to bless it. Thus he built a small round lodge. Sprinkling water upon the heated heap of sacred stones within, he made ready to purge his body. The buffalo blood too must be purified before I ask a blessing upon it, thought the Badger. He carried it into the sacred vapor lodge. After placing it near the sacred stones he sat down beside it. After a long silence he muttered, great spirit bless this little buffalo blood. Then he arose and with a quiet dignity stepped out of the lodge. Close behind him someone followed. The Badger turned to look over his shoulder and to his great joy he beheld a Dakota brave in handsome buckskins. In his hand he carried a magic arrow across his back dangled a long fringed quiver. In answer to the Badger's prayer the Avenger had sprung from out of the red globules. My son exclaimed the Badger with extended right hand. How, father, replied the brave, I am your Avenger.  Listening closely the young man stood looking steadily upon the ground. At length the father Badger moved away. Where? queried the Avenger. My son, we have no food, I'm going again to beg for meat, answered the Badger. Then I go with you, replied the young brave. This made the old Badger happy. He was proud of his son. He was delighted to be called father by the first human creature. The bear saw the Badger coming in the distance. He narrowed his eyes at the tall stranger walking beside him. He spied the arrow. At once he guessed it was the Avenger of whom he had heard long, long ago. As they approached the bear stood erect with hand on his thigh. He smiled upon them. How, Badger, my friend, here is my knife. Cut your favorite piece from the deer. Said he, holding out a long thin blade. How, said the Badger, eagerly, he wondered what had inspired the big bear to such a generous deed. The young Avenger waited till the Badger took the long knife in his hand. Gazing full into the black bear's face, he said, I come to do justice. You have returned only a knife to my poor father. Now return to him his dwelling. His voice was deep and powerful.  The long, strong teeth of the bear rattled against each other. And his shaggy body shook with fear. A how, cried he, as if he had been shot. Running into the dwelling he gasped, breathless and trembling. Come out, all of you, this is the Badger's dwelling. We must flee to the forest for fear of the Avenger who carries the magic arrow. Out they hurried all the bears and disappeared into the woods. Singing and laughing the Badgers returned to their own dwelling. Then the Avenger left them. I go, said he, imparting, over the earth. End of Section 6. It was a clear summer day. The blue, blue sky dropped low over the edge of the green-level land. A large yellow sun hung directly overhead. The singing of birds filled the summer space between earth and sky with sweet music. Again and again sang a yellow-breasted birdie. Coda-ni-da-coda, coda-ni-da-coda. He insisted upon it. Coda-ni-da-coda. Which was, friend, yora-da-coda, friend, yora-da-coda. Perchance the birdie meant the Avenger with the magic arrow. For there, across the plain, he strode. He was handsome in his paint and feathers. Proud with his great buckskin quiver on his back and a long bow in his hand. A far to an eastern camp of cone-shaped tepees he was going. There, over the Indian village, hovered a large red eagle, threatening the safety of the people. Every morning rose this terrible bird out of a high chalk bluff and spreading out his gigantic wings, soared slowly over the round campground. Then it was that the people, terror-stricken, ran screaming into their lodges. Covering their heads with their blankets, they sat trembling with fear. No one dared to venture out till the red eagle had disappeared beyond the west, where meet the blue and green. In vain tried the chieftain of the tribe to find among his warriors a powerful marksman who could send a death arrow to the man-hungry bird. At last, to urge his men to their utmost skill, he bade his crier proclaim a new reward. Of the chieftain's two beautiful daughters, he would have his choice who brought the dreaded red eagle with an arrow in its breast. Upon hearing these words, the men of the village, both young and old, both heroes and cowards, trimmed new arrows for the contest. At gray dawn there stood, indistinct under the shadow of the bluff, many human figures, silent as ghosts and wrapped in robes girdled tight about their waists. They waited with chosen bow and arrow. Some cunning old warriors stayed not with the group. They crouched low upon the open ground, but all eyes alike were fixed upon the top of the high bluff. Breathless they watched for the soaring of the red eagle. From within the dwellings many eyes peeped through the small holes in the front lapels of the tepee. With shaking knees and hard-set teeth the women peered out upon the Dakota men prowling about with bows and arrows. At length, when the morning sun also peeped over the eastern horizon at the armed Dakotas, the red eagle walked out upon the edge of the cliff. Pluming his gorgeous feathers, he ruffled his neck and flapped his strong wings together. Then he dived into the air. Slowly he winged his way over the round campground, over the men with their strong bows and arrows. In an instant the long bows were bent. Strong straight arrows with red feathered tips sped upward into the blue sky. Ah! Slowly moved those indifferent wings untouched by the poison-beaked arrows. Off to the west, beyond the reach of arrow, beyond the reach of eye, the red eagle flew away. A sudden clamor of high-pitched voices broke the deadly stillness of the dawn. The women talked excitedly about the invulnerable red of the eagle's feathers, while the would-be heroes sulked within their wigwams. He he he groaned the chieftain. On the evening of the same day sat a group of hunters around a bright-burning fire. They were talking of a strange young man whom they spied while out upon a hunt for deer beyond the bluffs. They saw the stranger taking aim.  The arrow sprang from the bow. It darted into the skull of the foremost buffalo. But unlike other arrows it pierced through the head of the creature and spinning in the air lit into the next buffalo head. One by one the buffalo fell upon the sweet grass they were grazing. With straight, quivering limbs they lay on their sides. The young man stood calmly by, counting on his fingers the buffalo as they dropped dead to the ground. When the last one fell he ran thither and picking up his magic arrow wiped it carefully on the soft grass. He slipped it into his long, fringed quiver. He is going to make a feast for some hungry tribe of men or beasts, cried the hunters among themselves as they hastened away. They were afraid of the stranger with the sacred arrow. When the hunter's tail of the stranger's arrow reached the ears of the chieftain his face brightened with a smile. He sent forth fleet horsemen to learn of him his birth, his name, and his deeds. If he is the Avenger with the magic arrow sprung up from the earth out of a clot of buffalo blood bid him come hither.  Let him win for himself one of my beautiful daughters he had said to the messengers for the old story of the Badger's Manson was known all over the level lands. After four days and nights the Braves returned. He is coming, they said. We have seen him.  He paints his round cheeks with bright red and wears the penciled lines of red over his temples like our men of honored rank. He carries on his back a long fringed quiver in which he keeps his magic arrow. His bow is long and straight.  Now it chance that immortal Iktomai fully recovered from the brown burnt spots overheard the people talking. At once he was filled with a new desire. If only I had the magic arrow I would kill the red eagle and win the chieftain's daughter for a wife said he in his heart. Back to his lonely wigwam he hastened.  His keen eyes scanned the wide plain he was watching for the Avenger. He is coming said the people, muttered old Iktomai. All of a sudden he raised an open palm to his brow and peered afar into the west. The summer sun hung bright in the middle of a cloudless sky. There across the green prairie was a man walking bareheaded toward the east. Ha ha, tis he the man with the magic arrow laughed Iktomai. And when the bird with the yellow breast sang loud again. Kota ni dakota friend you are a dakota. Iktomai put his hand over his mouth as he threw his head far backward laughing at both the bird and the man.  He is a dakota but soon he'll grow into the bark of this tree. Ha ha ha he laughed again. The young Avenger walked with swaying strides nearer and nearer toward the lonely wigwam and tree. Iktomai heard the swish swish of the stranger's feet through the tall grass. He was passing now beyond the tree when Iktomai springing to his feet called out, How how my friend I see you are dressed in handsome deerskins and have red paint on your cheeks. You are going to some feast or dance, may I ask? Seeing the young man only smiled, Iktomai went on. I have not had a mouthful of food this day, have pity on me young brave and shoot yonder bird for me. With these words Iktomai pointed toward the treetop where sat a bird on the highest branch. The young Avenger, always ready to help those in distress, sent an arrow upward and the bird fell. In the next branch it was caught between the forked prongs. My friend climbed the tree and get the bird. I cannot climb so high I would get dizzy and fall, pleaded Iktomai. The Avenger began to scale the tree when Iktomai cried to him, My friend your beaded buckskins may be torn by the branches, leave them safe upon the grass till you are down again. You are right replied the young man quickly slipping off his long fringed quiver together with his dangling pouches and tinkling ornaments. He placed it on the ground. Now he climbed the tree unhindered. Soon from the top he took the bird. My friend, toss to me your arrow that I may have the honor of wiping it clean on soft deerskin, exclaimed Iktomai. How? said the brave and threw the bird and arrow to the ground. At once Iktomai seized the arrow, rubbing it first on the grass and then on a piece of deerskin. He muttered indistinct words all the while. The young man stepping downward from limb to limb hearing the low muttering said, Iktomai I cannot hear what you say. Oh, my friend, I was only talking of your big heart. Again, stooping over the arrow, Iktomai continued his repetition of charm words. Grow fast, grow fast to the bark of the tree, he whispered. Still the young man moved slowly downward. Suddenly, dropping the arrow and standing a rack, Iktomai said aloud, Grow fast to the bark of the tree, before the brave could leap from the tree he became tight-grown to the bark. Aha! left the bad Iktomai, I have the magic arrow, I have the beaded buckskins of the great Avenger. Hooting and dancing beneath the tree, he said, I shall kill the red eagle, I shall wed the chieftain's beautiful daughter. Oh, Iktomai set me free, begged the tree-bound Dakota Brave, but Iktomai's ears were like the fungus on a tree, he did not hear with them. Wearing the handsome buckskins and carrying proudly the magic arrow in his right hand, he started off eastward. Imitating the swaying strides of the Avenger, he walked away with a face turned slightly skyward. Oh, set me free, I'm glued to the tree like its own bark, cut me loose, moaned the prisoner. A young woman carrying on her strong back a bundle of lightly-bound willow-sticks passed nearby the lonely tepee. She heard the welling man's voice. She paused to listen to the sad words. Looking around she saw nowhere a human creature. It may be a spirit, thought she. Oh, cut me loose, set me free, Iktomai has played me false, he has made me bark of his tree, cried the voice again. The young woman dropped her pack of firewood to the ground. With her stone axe she hurried to the tree. There before her astonished eyes clung a young Brave close to the tree. Too shy for words, yet too kind-hearted to leave the stranger tree-bound, she cut loose the whole bar. Like an open jacket she drew it to the ground. With it came the young man also. Free once more he started away. Looking backward a few paces from the young woman he waved his hand upward and downward before her face. This was a sign of gratitude used when words fail to interpret strong emotion. When the bewildered woman reached her dwelling she mounted a pony and rode swiftly across the rolling land. To the campground in the east, to the chieftain troubled by the red eagle she carried her story. End of Section 7 Read by Robert Scott July 31, 2007 Old Indian Legends by Zitkala Shah Section 8 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Old Indian Legends Section 8 Shooting of the Red Eagle A man in buckskins sat upon the top of a little hillock. The setting sun shone bright upon a strong bow in his hand. His face was turned toward the round campground at the foot of the hill. He had walked a long journey hither. He was waiting for the chieftain's men to spy him. Soon four strong men ran forth from the center wigwam toward the hillock, where sat the man with the long bow. He is the Avenger, come to shoot the red eagle, cried the runners, to each other as they bent forward, swinging their elbows together. They reached the side of the stranger, but he did not heed them. Proud and silent, he gazed upon the cone-shaped wigwams beneath him. Threading a handsomely decorated buffalo robe before the man, two of the warriors lifted him by each shoulder and placed him gently on it. Then the four men took each a corner of the blanket and carried the stranger with long proud steps toward the chieftain's teepee. Ready to greet the stranger, the tall chieftain stood at the entrance way. How, you are the Avenger with the magic arrow! said he, extending to him a smooth, soft hand. How, great chieftain, replied the man, holding long the chieftain's hand. Entering the teepee, the chieftain motioned the young man to the right side of the doorway, while he sat down opposite him with a center fire burning between them. Wordless, like a bashful Indian maid, the Avenger ate in silence the food set before him on the ground in front of his crossed shins. When he had finished his meal, he handed the empty bowl to the chieftain's wife, saying, Mother-in-law, here is your dish. Han, my son, answered the woman, taking the bowl. With the magic arrow in his quiver, the stranger felt not in the least too presuming in addressing the woman as his mother-in-law. Seeing of fatigue, he covered his face with his blanket and soon, within the chieftain's teepee, he lay fast asleep. The young man is not handsome after all, whispered the woman in her husband's ear. Ah, but after he has killed the red eagle, he will seem handsome enough, answered the chieftain. One night the star men, in their burial procession in the sky, reached the low northern horizon before the center fires within the teepees had flickered out. The ringing laughter which had floated up through the smoke lapels was now hushed, and only the distant howling of wolves broke the quiet of the village. But the lull between midnight and dawn was short indeed. Very early the oval-shaped door flaps were thrust aside, and many brown faces peered out of the wigwams toward the top of the highest bluff. Now the sun rose up out of the east. The red-painted Avenger stood ready within the campground for the flying of the red eagle. He appeared that terrible bird. He hovered over the round village as if he could pounce down upon it and devour the whole tribe. When the first arrow shot up into the sky, the anxious watchers thrust a hand quickly over their half-uttered Hinun. The second and third arrows flew upward but missed by a wide space the red eagle, soaring with lazy indifference over the little man with the long bow. All his arrows he spent in vain. Ah! my blanket brushed my elbow and shifted the course of my arrow, said the stranger as the people gathered around him. During this happening a woman on horseback halted her pony at the chieftain's teepee. It was no other than the young woman who cut loose the tree-bound captive. While she told the story, the chieftain listened with downcast face. I passed him on my way. He is near. She ended. Indignant at the bold imposter, the wrathful eyes of the chieftain snapped fire like red cinders in the night time. His lips were closed. At length, to the woman, he said, How, you have done me a good deed. Then, with quick decision, he gave command to a fleet horseman to meet the Avenger. Clothe him in these, my best box-skins, said he, pointing to a bundle within the wigwam. In the meantime, strong men seized Iktomai and dragged him by his long hair to the hilltop.  Grown-ups and children sneered and hooded at Iktomai's disgrace. For a half a day he lay there, the laughing-stock of the people. Upon the arrival of the real Avenger, Iktomai was released and chased away beyond the outer limits of the campground. On the following morning, at daybreak, peeped the people out of half-open doorflaps. There again, in the midst of the large campground, was a man in beaded box-skins. In his hand was a strong bow and red-tipped arrow. Again, the big red eagle appeared on the edge of the bluff. He plumed his feathers and flapped his huge wings. The young man crouched low to the ground. He placed the arrow on the bow, drawing a poisoned flint for the eagle. As the bird rose into the air, he moved his outspread wings one, two, three times and low. The eagle tumbled from the great height and fell heavily to the earth. An arrow stuck in his breast. He was dead. How quick was the hand of the Avenger, so sure his sight, that no one had seen the arrow fly from his long bent bow. In awe and amazement, the village was dumb. And, when the Avenger, plucking a red eagle feather, placed it in his black hair, a loud shout of the people went up to the sky. Then hither and thither ran singing men and women, making a great feast for the Avenger. Thus he won the beautiful Indian Princess, who never tired of telling to her children the story of the big red eagle. End of Section 8 Read by Robert Scott, July the 31st, 2007 Old Indian Legends by Zitkala Shah, Section 9 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Old Indian Legends, Section 9, Iktomai and the Turtle The Huntsman, Patkasa, which means turtle, stood bent over a newly slain deer. The red-tipped arrow he drew from the wounded deer was unlike the arrows in his own quiver. Another stray shot had killed the deer. Patkasa had hunted all the morning without so much as spying an ordinary blackbird. At last, returning homeward, tired and heavy-hearted, that he had no meat for the hungry mouths in his wigwam, he walked slowly with downcast eyes. Kind ghosts pitied the unhappy hunter and led him to the newly slain deer, that his children should not cry for food. When Patkasa stumbled upon the deer in his path, he exclaimed, Good spirits have pushed me hither. Thus he leaned long over the gift of the friendly ghosts. How, my friend, said a voice behind his ear, and a hand fell on his shoulder. It was not a spirit this time, it was old Iktomai. How, Iktomai, answered Patkasa, still stooping over the deer. My friend, you are a skilled hunter, began Iktomai, smiling a thin smile which spread from one ear to the other.   Now let us have a little contest. Let us see who can jump over the deer without touching a hair on its hide, suggested Iktomai. Oh, I fear I cannot do it, cried Patkasa, rubbing his funny thick palms together.  With these words Iktomai led Patkasa a short distance away. In little puffs, Patkasa laughed uneasily. Now, you may jump first, said Iktomai. Patkasa, with doubled fists, swung his fat arms to and fro, all the while biting hard his upper lip. Just before the run and leap Iktomai put in, let the winner have the deer to eat. It was too late now to say no. Patkasa was more afraid of being called a coward than of losing the deer. Ho-wa! he replied, still working his short arms. At length he started off on the run. So quick and small were his steps that he seemed to be kicking the ground only. Then the leap. But Patkasa tripped upon a stick and fell hard against the side of the deer. He-he-he exclaimed Iktomai, pretending disappointment that his friend had fallen. Lifting him to his feet, he said, now it is my turn to try the high jump. Hardly was the last word spoken, then Iktomai gave a leap high above the deer. This game is mine, laughed he, patting the sullen Patkasa on the back. My friend watched the deer while I go to bring my children, said Iktomai, darting lightly through the tall grass. Patkasa was always ready to believe the words of scheming people and to do the little favors anyone asked of him. However, on this occasion he did not answer. Yes, my friend. He realized that Iktomai's flattering tongue had made him foolish. He turned up his nose at Iktomai, now almost out of sight, as much as to say, oh, no, Ikto, I do not hear your words. Soon there came a murmur of voices, the sound of laughter grew louder and louder. All of a sudden it became hushed. Old Iktomai led his young Iktomai brood to the place where he had left the turtle, but it was vacant. Nowhere was there any sign of Patkasa or the deer. Then the babies did howl. Be still, said Father Iktomai to his children. I know where Patkasa lives. Follow me. I shall take you to the turtle's dwelling. He ran along a narrow footpath toward the creek nearby. Close upon his heels came his children with tear-streaked faces. There, said Iktomai, in a loud whisper, as he gathered his little ones on the bank, there is Patkasa, broiling venison.  The young Iktomais stretched their necks and rolled their round black eyes like newly hatched birds. They peered into the water. Now I will cool Patkasa's fire. I shall bring you the broiled venison. Watch closely. When you see the black coals rise to the surface of the water, clap your hands and shout aloud. For soon after that sign I shall return to you with some tender meat. Thus saying, Iktomai plunged into the creek. Splash, splash, the water leaped upward into spray. Scarcely had it become levelled and smooth than their bubbled-up, many black spots. The creek was seething with the dancing of round black things. The cooled fire, the coals, left the brood of Iktomais, clapping together their little hands. They chased one another along the edge of the creek. They shouted and hooded with great glee. Ahas! said a gruff voice across the water. It was Patkasa.  On the very same branch was a bright burning fire over which Patkasa broiled the venison. By this time the water was calm again. No more danced those black spots on its surface, for they were the toes of old Iktomai. He was drowned. The Iktomai children hurried away from the creek, crying and calling for their water-dead father. End of section 9. Recording by Robert Scott, July 31, 2007


So we're going to talk a little bit about building real-time applications in Ember. First, a moment or two to introduce myself. Hi, I'm Steve. I am an instructor at the Turing School of Software and Design out in Denver, Colorado. We are a not-for-profit, seven-month intensive developer training program. If you're interested in mentoring young aspiring developers, please come talk to me after this. I also have t-shirts, so if you like t-shirts, also. Please come talk to me after this. So we teach Ruby, we teach Rails, we teach JavaScript, and most importantly, we teach Ember. So even if you're just getting started with Ember, you know more than somebody's been doing it for a day or two. And I really advocate for how much you will learn, how much your skills will level up working with aspiring developers. Also, if you're interested in hiring junior developers, also talk to me. I got junior developers for you. So I have been working with Ember for about 18 months. It's incredible how much has changed. Decision to choose Ember as a framework that I wanted to learn came like most things in my life through exhaustive, laborious, comprehensive research, as you can see here. You can see I did get a favorite from an Angular news site. And that should be of no surprise if you've ever tweeted anything with the word JavaScript in it, then you're probably familiar with that. I did initially only get one response, seemed like some good advice. And I got to say, I followed that advice, and I definitely believe it was the right choice. For me, there are, somebody else did respond later on, saying, do you even need a JavaScript framework? But we'll just ignore that. There's always somebody. So really, there's three major considerations when choosing a framework to work with. The first is the merits of the technology itself. That is one of the three. The other two are the core team's priorities and aesthetic. Does it jive with my own? In this case, I definitely believe that's true. And finally, the community. It's the community awesome. And I think from the keynote on forward yesterday, we've seen that all three of these are, I think, really solidly in Ember's favor. So I'm very excited to be working with Ember. So we're going to talk a little bit about building real-time applications in Ember. Ember is a framework for building ambitious web apps. And I am of the philosophy that real-time applications definitely fall under the category of ambitious. So on one hand, this is a story about web sockets. On the other hand, it's not just a story about web sockets. It's a story about any kind of browser functionality that you want to integrate into your application. It's a story about web sockets as much as it's a story about geolocation, as much as a story about user sessions, as much as it's a story about the web audio API. It's also a story about working with third-party libraries that weren't expressly written with Ember in mind. So in this case, web sockets are going to be our hero in the telling of the story. So we should probably address, make sure we're all on the same page with what a web socket actually is. I think that's a really good question. And luckily, it has a very straightforward answer. Web sockets are HTTP-independent bidirectional TCP-based protocol over port 80 standardized in 2011 by the IETFS RFC 6455. But you already all knew that. It didn't need me to tell you. More specifically, the traditional way that we work with web applications is through the request-response cycle. We make a request. The server does whatever those server-side people do. We get a response. We then work with that response. The problem is, is that if stuff happens and changes on the server, the server doesn't have any way to tell us, theoretically. It has to wait for another request and then it can send us the new information. Some websites handle this by polling every five, 10 seconds and trying to make believe their real-time applications. A web socket is more like a two-way tube across the internet where the server can send messages when it has new things to tell the client and then the client can then respond to those messages. So what a web socket is used for? Collaboration on documents, analytics dashboards. I think Luke mentioned yesterday, it can be really useful if your app is actually out of date and changed. And you want to prompt the user to bring in a new version of the application. You can send that message over a web socket. In this case, I think that the hello world of real-time applications is the chat or instant messaging application. So we're going to build one of those together today. First, just a quick demo of web sockets in action. Here we've got a live Twitter feed. It's taken from the streaming Twitter API. And as it hits the server, a web socket pushes that tweet up to Ember, which does its thing and brings it into the model and updates the application accordingly. So if you want to say, like, hi, mom, and have it on the screen, now's the time. Hello world. Cool. So the other thing about some of this fancy client-side technology is, can we actually use it? Is this some kind of Chrome canary Firefox nightly thing? Or is this widespread available? My user comes to the site, and I have some of the web sockets. Are they going to be able to take advantage of that? The answer is for the most part, yeah, with my apologies to the Opera Mini user. But I think they're used to it at this point. In the event, we have a little red in some earlier versions of the Android browser, a little bit of red in some earlier versions of Internet Explorer. If you do need to target these older browsers, you're not actually out of luck. There's a lot of libraries that will actually give you some backwards compatibility. These libraries are also really great, because they will give you fallbacks if you can't make a solid web socket connection. They'll fall back to long polling. They'll fall back to flash sockets if they need to. Socket.io is a library for Node. Fe is actually a library for both Node as well as rack-based Ruby applications. But this is not like language or ecosystem-specific. Whatever your server-side language or choices, there is a library that supports that. I've also heard that Rails 5 is going to support it, but I don't know. Cool. So now that we are experts on WebSock, because we can all go update our resumes, we're going to endorse each other. Let's actually go forward and begin to implement these. This is ultimately what we're going to build by the end of our first iteration. It's a very simple chat application. You put in your name, you put in any name, because anonymity on the internet is awesome. You put in your name, you put in a message, theoretically somebody else does the same thing. It pushes to your application. This is a brief sample of what we're going to start with with some boilerplate, other than style sheets and things. This is a very lonely chat room right now. As you can see, there's no WebSock that's involved. The only thing you can do in this chat room right now is talk to yourself. Which is what I feel like I do on Twitter most of the time, so it's not much different. So we're actually going to begin to add to this a little bit. But before we can do that, this is not a talk on server side WebSockets, don't worry. We do need a server that's going to push those WebSockets to our client so we can actually react and deal with them. So we're going to start with a very simple WebSocket server. It's 14 lines. Again, any language you want, any framework you want, it's cool. I did it in Node because I made the assumption that we're all familiar with the JavaScript programming language. And here it is. So what we'll do is we'll acquire the WebSocket library, we'll start up our server at port 8080. On any new connection, we'll bind an event that when a message comes in from that connection, we will broadcast that message. What does it mean to broadcast that message? Well, it means that we're going to take all of the connected clients and we're going to send it to them, to their client over the WebSocket. So what does this traditionally look like on the client? Like, how do people normally work with WebSockets? I took a look at the Socket.io documentation and just grabbed their hello world for a client on the client side. It's pretty straightforward. You can see we're going to do some down traversal. We're going to grab some stuff from an input. We're going to get the value of it. We're going to append a list item to what I believe is another element that's a UL. This is fine in this example. It's okay. However, we've seen where this goes. We've seen where this road leads. This road leads to a term that I stole from Eric Brent, called selector-based programming, which is less and less like you're developing an application and more and more like you're running around the DOM, like trying to update stuff and move stuff around and append stuff and remove stuff to give the illusion that you have a Web application. We can do better. One of the things I love about Ember is that it allows me to build my application. And then the DOM becomes a representation of the state of my application. I don't have to run around and do all these hijinks. I don't have to do that. So we're going to try two or three different approaches here. The first is we use a standalone controller. And we're just going to start that with Ember Generate Controller WebSocket. And this is going to give us a new file called AppControllersWebSocket. In here, we'll talk through the code.  Or not all day, like in this half hour. We're going to start out with an array of, we've looked at some pretty intense code today. We're going to start out with this list of callbacks, this list of subscribed functions that we want to call on every message. And what we'll do is we'll expose ourselves a subscribe function that will put something, that will register a callback. And we'll also have an unsubscribed function that will deregister the callback. In here, we'll simply make a connection to our server. When a message comes in, we'll parse that message and we'll call all the registered callbacks that we did with subscribe and unsubscribe. We'll also give ourselves a nice abstraction to send a message. So in our chat room, let's actually get some other people in here. What we'll do is we'll say that we need this new WebSocket controller. We'll say we rely on it. And it'll actually make it available to us under controllers.websocket, which we're going to use a computed alias to give ourselves a cleaner interface too. Then what we can do is we can implement a subscribe where we'll actually have a, we need to name this function so that we can deregister it later. So we'll have a function that receives a message, which will simply take the message and pop it on to our model which starts out as an empty array. We will then use the WebSocket controller and subscribe our new function. We will also do the same thing on our way out of that controller. We'll clean up after ourselves. And finally, when a message gets submitted, we will actually send it to the server over a WebSocket. Lastly, we've wired everything up. We just need to turn stuff on and turn stuff off. We only have one control in this application, but this would be useful if we had more than one controller. We'll simply on our way in on the chat room route, we'll call that subscribe method on the chat room controller. And on our way out, we will again clean up after ourselves. So let's see that in action. It's true, it's cute. I will do. Cool, so we can see that I'm getting trolled remotely. And so the system works. This approach is great, as you can see it works. Somewhat limited, right? Right now it works between controllers. What happens if we wanna have the stuff in a component? What happens if we want to bring our WebSocket into our models? Right now this approach isn't well suited for that. The best thing about being in an amazing community is that you share these struggles together, right? You're not the only one that feels some of this pain. Tom actually made a proposal about 11 months ago for something called services, which would be kind of a way to bring this functionality in other places in your application. So let's actually refactor our code. We'll refactor it to take it out of this standalone controller and we'll move it into a service. A very similar approach will go Ember Generate Service WebSocket. That'll give us two files in Ember 0-1-15. I've heard from Robert Jackson that in 0.2 you will not get that second file, which we'll talk about cause it's here and then we won't use. What it does is it takes our service and it injects it. In this case it's injecting it into every route. And so this service would be available in every route. If we wanted it available in every controller, you can do that. You want it available in just the chatroom controller, you can do that as well. We're not gonna do any of that. Ember 0-1-10 gives us a new syntax for bringing it in that I think is cleaner and a little more declarative. So how do we refactor this controller into a service? That's it. We just inherit, now it's a, we just moved it to this new file that we generated and we inherit from Ember Object instead. We'll get rid of that controller. We don't need it anymore. And then we do need to update our chatroom controller. So we're gonna take out this logic that relies on our standalone controller and we're going to instead, WebSocket is gonna be Ember Inject Service. The eagle-eyed among you might notice that I didn't actually have to pass in a service there. What Ember will do in 1.10 will look at the name of the property and say, hey, to find the WebSocket property you probably want the WebSocket service. If I named this property sandwich, then I would have to be a little bit more explicit. That's also a terrible idea. And that's it. We've now refactored our standalone controller into a service. So let's go, right now we have a very vanilla WebSocket implementation. I'm thinking we pull in a third-party library, right, for the laws and we'll kind of take advantage of some of the things that has to offer. Point of interest, Socket.io has both a client-side library and a server-side library. We're gonna use the server-side library on the server, client-side library on the client, and they'll separate them out. So we'll actually refactor our server to be, to use Socket.io on the server-side. You can see I took my 14-line WebSocket server. It is now nine lines, if you wanna be like that. Six lines, effectively. I can, Socket.io gives us lots of things like chat rooms or rooms and channels and a whole bunch of different options as well as like events for connection and disconnection. Here's just an example of different events that you can kind of bind to. We'll also install that on the client. This is just solely the client-side library. And what we'll do is, in our Brock file, we will import that into our build process. So when we build our application, it's included. Finally, so you don't actually need to make a whole bunch of changes to your service if you didn't need to, bring in this library. You're simply now gonna have, bringing in this Socket.io client library exposes an IO global that you can just kind of use. I'm gonna show you kind of a stripped-down service with the hope that if you're not interested, you don't have a burning desire in your heart right now to make a real-time application. Maybe you're more interested in geolocation. Should be like the bare minimum so you can see what that would look like. So here we're simply exposing the WebSocket connection that we've made on a knit. And we're actually gonna keep that sugary send method as well to send stuff back over the socket. Okay, so let's go into, let's look at some of the things that we could do with this new setup. We could bind to all sorts of different events. We could have if somebody connects, disconnects if they press the party button. Cause every app needs a party button, am I right? So we're gonna try one more thing in our time together. Just more, isn't there? So we're gonna play a game called what is your favorite JavaScript feature? Our options are Nan does not equal Nan. Semi-colons as a whole. Double equals that the type of Nan is a number. ES4 or Rails. And if you're interested, you can play along at home by going to bit.ly slash jspol and should you conference Wi-Fi permitting, you should be able to cast your vote. I'm about to, this is my favorite right here. Away for some connections. Or you can play with this for a little bit. Big Rails fans in here. Awesome. So thank you very much. The code for the chat room is online. You can harass me on Twitter or GitHub. You can email me and you can hire our students. Thank you.


We are very proud of our Golden Circle in Switzerland. These doors where our connections with doctors always gives us a lot of inspiration to develop always special products. And these collagen films are exactly one of these happy moments where our friendship with the doctors allows us to have an insight, access to some ingredients which are a bit beyond the classic skincare ingredients. So these doctors allowed us to identify and team up with a German supplier which is producing special collagen films for hospitals to rebuild seriously burned skin and develop together with them this skincare grade that now you can all experience in China. So I'm sure if there is a question you want me to ask is what's unique about pure collagen films and what makes them different from other collagen films which are available already in China. So let's talk figures. We talk 92% collagen. That's how much collagen, pure collagen you have in each film. And this is very important because you do have products with collagen in China. If you look at the number of ingredients you will see something like these which includes preservatives, fragrance, water, etc. You will see in Switzerland in key for pure collagen films three, four ingredients. So I repeat 92% collagen which means there is 8% something else. But even more exciting, other than 92% I want to tell you 97% because this is how much molecular identity there is between the collagen we are using and the human collagen. So this means that it's osmotic, they will bind hand in hand perfectly because they are 97% identical. But of course the collagen cannot walk and work alone because it needs the activator which wakes up all the goods contained in collagen. And for that we at Switzerland went an extra mile and this makes also the uniqueness of the product because the activator is not merely water-based like many activators out there, it's yellow-eronic acid-based. And this adds a whole new dimension to the whole results because the water intention with yellow-eronic acid and collagen it's something very, very exciting. Together with that we have added lactic acid which will deliver the peptides, the amino acids containing the collagen raw material and probiotics to also benefit the health, the resilience and benefit sensitive skin. So a totally different story. 92% collagen with swiss line activator. This is something which makes it unique. I'm sure you're also very curious about clinical tests and efficacy. The efficacy we've seen in pure collagen films application it's overwhelming. It was expected because we talk about 92% collagen as I said. But the clinical tests that surprised me the most are those showing how much the symbiotic use of the films and the activator make it far and above what classic activators which are water-based can deliver while applying collagen. So the line-filling capacity, the moisturizing capacity but even more exciting in my eyes, there is a freshness. Consumers trying felt that skin looks fresher in the end and this is also the combined result with the eoluronic acid, lactic acid and the probiotics. So it's like adding skin to your own skin makes your skin fresher and healthier and all the safety in the formulation it's also what allows us to very, very safely and comfortable say that the pure collagen films can be applied after some aesthetic procedures such as laser, needling, even chemical peelings everything which is healthy skin aesthetic procedures as a healing calming down step the pure collagen films turn everything better. The main benefits of the pure collagen films have everything to do of course with surprise, surprise collagen. What is collagen doing in human skin is retaining moisture and adding density structure to skin. So when we add these pure levels of collagen to the skin surface we have an immense increase in moisturization a plumping effect and this plumping effect it's visible from the first application so reduction on lines and wrinkles and over time with continued applications we can also see a reverse in signs of inflammation, redness, sensitivity and even which maybe is the most important recovery, tissue recovery from sun damages or the side effects of some more invasive procedures so basically you give back collagen to the skin you do what collagen does. So I'm sure you want me to talk a little bit about the advanced cryo-safe method the patent way to produce the collagen films but as the word say is patented so I will not disclose everything because there is some inside secret but very important is to talk about the sourcing of the raw material collagen because we are very proud to say that we are doing a no cruelty sourcing of collagen because the collagen we are using or our German partner is obtaining to produce the films is a by-product of the food industry so there is no animal-sottering to obtain the collagen and then it goes through a process of cryo-preservation which basically it's dehydration together with freezing temperatures which produce this material which then is stabilized and dispersed into a film the way you can see it which is 92% collagen, pure collagen but also interesting to say that the application has been studied to the detail and the activator has been developed together with R&D Switzerland to make sure that the same purity and the same concentration of peptides and amino acids in the raw collagen can then be delivered to the skin