The Spectre Bride
From American Myths and Legends by
Charles M. Skinner, 1903
Fighting Buffalo, a young hunter of the Osages, left camp
on the Nickanansa to sell his furs in St. Louis and to buy there
some ornaments worthy to be worn by Prairie Flower, the girl
who had promised to marry him, on his return. This journey, eighty
or ninety years ago, was a matter of toil and difficulty, so
that he was absent for about three weeks during which time he
had no news of affairs at home.
When he regained the Nickanansa and had neared the site of
his village he quickened his pace, for there were no lodge peaks
above the earth waves of the prairie, no wisps of smoke to promise
the comfort of supper. Not greatly wondering at this, as he knew
and shared the migratory habits of his people, he looked about
to find some picture-writing that should guide him to the new
village of the tribe.
He was pleasantly surprised on seeing at a distance the figure
of a young woman, seated among the ashes and refuse of the vanished
camp, and bent, as if weeping. The pleasure of this discovery
was in the recognition of the girl. It was Prairie Flower. He
ran forward eagerly, and would have embraced her, but she turned
her head sadly and would not look at him.
"I have jewels and ribbons for you, my bride," he
said, tossing off his pack. She gave a little sob. "Where
are our people?" he asked.
"Gone. Gone to the Wagrushka."
"But you are here, alone."
"I was waiting for you."
"Then we will go to our people at once, and tomorrow
we shall be married, and you will be the most beautiful of all
the girls, yes, in all the flat country."
She still averted her face. "I will carry your pack,"
she said. Among Indians the burdens that are not borne by horses
are usually carried by women, so this was quite the thing to
do.
Fighting Buffalo laughed a little as his sweetheart picked
up the bundle, for it was filled with gifts that would make her
happy. But why did she hide her face? And now that they had started
on the march for the Wagrushka, why did she gather her cloak
about her in that fashion, and cover her head, like the head
of a corpse ready for burial? "There is no accounting for
women's tempers," thought the hunter. "She will be
more kind tomorrow."
Plodding on through the tall grass, she following silently
in his footsteps, seldom speaking and then but quietly, they
came at sunset to the new camp of the Osages and saw the blue
smoke curling pleasantly above the tepees. The girl stopped.
"It is better that we should not enter the camp together.
you know that is the custom only with married people. I will
wait for a time beneath this tree."
Fighting Buffalo ran on ahead, aroused the village with a
joyful shout, and called greeting to his relatives while yet
a quarter mile away. Tomorrow Prairie Flower would be his wife,
and he was happy. As he went nearer he was chilled by a boding.
The people were sad and silent. Even the children desisted from
their play. "What ails you all?" he asked. "Has
anyone died since I left you?"
There was no answer. Then he addressed his sister: "Feather
Cloud, go back and tell Prairie Flower to come to us."
His sister recoiled. "Do not speak like that," she
murmured with a sidelong glance toward her parents, as if she
feared they might have heard her brother's words.
"Tell me, what has come over everyone? Why have you moved?
Why will you not bring my bride to me?"
"Prairie Flower is dead and is buried beneath that tree."
"This is poor fun, if you intend to joke. She came with
me from the Nickanansa and brought my pack as far as that tree.
Faugh! I will go after her myself."
He walked hastily back in the twilight, his people following
at a distance. His pack lay at the tree-foot, on a new grave.
With a choking cry he pressed his hands upon his heart and fell
on the mound, dead.
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