The folk-lore and tales of the Sioux, though not so numerous, perhaps, as among the more sociable Pawnees, are full of interest and the superstitions of the tribe.

Many years ago, in a camp of delighted trappers, one of the chiefs of the Brule Sioux related the following story of his own experience when only a young brave in the councils of his nation:—­

When I was a youthful warrior, I used to delight in war, and very seldom did a party go out on the war-path without me.  My scars (which the old fellow showed on his body) prove to you that I am speaking the truth, and that I was always to be found in the thickest of the fight.  We hardly ever came back to our village without a dozen or more scalps torn from the heads of our enemies.  Sometimes, too, we returned like fools, without a single scalp, and then were ashamed to present ourselves at the dances.

Once we were out after the Crows, and our spies were far in advance of the main body of warriors.  We were hurrying on, expecting soon to meet the enemy, when we saw the spy, whom we had sent ahead, come back without any bows or arrows; his scalp was torn off and his face was covered with blood.

When questioned about his strange appearance, he replied that the enemy were aware of the approach of our band, and were lying in ambush for us in great numbers.  He suddenly came upon their runners, who robbed him of his arms, tore off his scalp, and left him for dead.  He stated that he remained quietly where he had fallen until night came on, and when the breeze came down from the mountains it gave him strength to come to us and warn us of the enemy’s nearness and great numbers.

        Believing his story to be true, we turned tail and made our
        way back to our village empty-handed, to be laughed at.

Three moons passed, and we again started for the country of our enemies.  The warrior who had lost his scalp having recovered, and being again with us, he was sent out as a spy.  He soon returned with the scalps of two of the enemy dangling from his spear-point.  He did not stop to tell of his adventures, but hurried us on to meet the foe, and following him eagerly, we soon came to where they were, and after a hard fight came out victorious.

Among those who were killed was a warrior whose scalp was missing.  Who did this? asked one of the other, but no one answered.  At last our spy laughingly said, “Behind that hill over there,” pointing with his spear to a large mountain, “there is a fountain that sings a melody fit for the ears of great warriors; let’s go to it and drink.”

Following his footsteps, he led us to a beautiful spring whose water was as shining as silver, and which fell in beautiful song over the rocks in its bed, and all around the charming spot were large old cottonwoods, which threw a grateful shade over the fountain, making