Why Children Lose Their Teeth
Eyes-in-the-water arose and stepping to her grandfather’s side she thrust forth her little hand, which, upon reaching its arm’s length suddenly opened, exposing a tiny tooth.
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
“Why Children Lose Their Teeth” from Indian Old-Man Stories: More Sparks From War Eagle's Lodge-Fire by Frank B. Linderman, 1920.
The fire in War Eagle‘s lodge was burning brightly when the children entered.
There was an air of mystery among them as they seated themselves about the cheerful blaze.
"What would you tell me? I know you have something to say by looking at your faces. I have finished my smoking. You may speak.” he said.
Eyes-in-the-water arose and stepping to her grandfather’s side she thrust forth her little hand, which, upon reaching its arm’s length suddenly opened, exposing a tiny tooth. "See, grandfather. See, I have lost a tooth. It came out of my mouth."
There was awe in the eyes of the children as gravely the old warrior took the tooth from his granddaughter’s hand and smiled.
"Six snows have passed," he said. "It does not seem so long as that since you came to live on this world, Eyes-in-the-water. But it must be so six snows."
"It’s almost seven snows, grandfather," declared Muskrat; "for I am nearly nine, now."
"And did not your teeth fall out, young warrior?" asked War Eagle.
"Yes, but I was not frightened," said the boy. "Everybody loses his teeth, doesn't he, grandfather?"
"Yes," he said. "Oh, yes, and it is all because of Old-man. All because he was greedy and dishonest, but we have paid for it all. All the people have paid, and will pay, as long as there are people."
"Tell us about it, grandfather," begged the children.
"Put two sticks upon the fire, Muskrat, and I will tell you how it came about. Of course it was long ago, and in the fall when the leaves of the cottonwoods were yellow along the streams. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the wind had not visited the plains for days. One could see an object a long distance upon the ground or in the air, for the days were clear in the bright sunshine. It was one of those days when echoes sleep lightly and are easily disturbed by travellers.
"Old-man was walking toward a hilltop on the plains when he saw a Crane flying over the land. ‘That bird is going toward water, I know.’ said Old-man, for he talks much to himself. ‘I’ll watch the Crane and see where he goes. That is what I will do.’
"The Crane flew on until he seemed but a speck in the air. Then he suddenly dropped from sight. He was gone.
"That is funny,’ said Old-man. I can’t see any water where the Crane came to the ground, but I will go and see. That is a wise Person, and perhaps I shall learn something new.’
"He walked fast and at last came to a river. It was not a large stream, but it was very crooked and made great bends as it flowed through the land. The ground was deeply cut by the water, and the river banks were high, and sometimes steep; but trees grew along the stream under the banks in little meadow-places that were pretty to look upon.
"Old-man looked for the Crane but could not see him. The water rippled over sand-bars, and was shallow in some places and deep in others, like most of the rivers that flow through the plains, but the Crane was not in sight. He called: ‘Hey, you Crane-person! Where are you?’ Echoes answered him, and his own voice came back from the banks of the stream and seemed to mock him. That made Old-man angry. ‘Hey, you Crane-bird!’ called Old-man, and ‘Hey, you Crane-bird!’ the echoes answered. ‘I want to talk to you, Crane,’ yelled Old-man, and ‘I want to talk to you,’ yelled the echoes. Ho! he was growing angrier at every call because the echoes mocked him. ‘Don’t talk to me, you Echo-people,’ he roared, and ‘Don’t talk to me, you Echo-people’ came back to him from the banks and among the trees. ‘I’ll stop talking, myself’ he said, and no words came back to him, for he had not spoken them loudly as he had the others. On he went down the stream when, turning a bend in the river, he saw the Crane on the far side near the bank. The bird was wading in the shallow water and looking for something to eat.
"Say, you; why don’t you answer when you hear a Person call. When I call People I want them to answer me. I guess I know what I want.’
"I didn't hear you, Old-man,’ said the Crane. ‘This water makes a lot of noise where I am.’
"What are you doing here, anyhow?’ asked Old-man.
"I’m minding my own business,’ said the Crane. ‘What are you doing here, yourself?’
"I’m looking for something to eat, of course! Don’t be so cross.’
"That’s my business here, too,’ said the Crane, ‘and I'm not cross. I—there! You made me lose a big fish with your talking. Why do you talk so much?
"Ha, ha, ha,’ laughed Old-man. ‘It serves you right for not answering me when I called you. I hope you don’t catch a fish all day. Not even a frog. Ha, ha, ha ha, ha, ha. Good-by.’
"He left the Crane and went on down the river, which turned and twisted so suddenly that sometimes the sun would be looking upon his face, and at other times it shone upon his back. Sometimes the river crossed great stretches where there were no trees at all, but at other times it ran through groves of cotton-woods. Its course was most crooked in these places. The water liked the shade of the trees, and stayed as long as it could without stopping altogether. Often it was but a little way across the bends by land, and ever so far by the water’s route. You have seen rivers that were like that. By walking across the necks of land a man can reach a point down the stream quicker than the water can. Yes, and much quicker than anything that is floating on the water. Old-man knew all about that, of course, for he made the rivers made them straight in some places, but crooked in others.
"In one of the bends of the river Old-man saw something floating on the water. Whatever it was bobbed along over the ripples, stopped, and often turned around in the eddies, but after a while it always went with the water. It was round. It was almost white, and it floated well and lightly.
"That’s Back-fat,’ said Old-man. ‘I am sure it is Back-fat. It looks fresh and fine. Yes, I know it is Back-fat. Hey, you Ball-thing, he cried, come in here. Come closer to me. I want to talk to you.’
"The river brought it nearer and nearer until finally it was near the shore, and Old-man reached and picked it from the water. It felt like Back-fat in his fingers, and its color was the same as that of Fat, but he was not sure; so he asked: What's your name, Ball-thing?’
"You made me, yourself, and you should know my name without asking me.’ replied the Ball-thing.
"Yes, I did make you,’ said OW-man, ‘but everything on this world has two names; so tell me your name.’
"My name is One-bite,’ said the Ball-thing.
"Ha! Well, I’m hungry,’ said Old-man, and took one big bite from the Ball-thing, for he was sure that it was Back-fat. Then he tossed the Ball-thing back into the water, and it began its journey down the stream at once.
"But the bite tasted good. ‘Good-by, Ball-thing,’ cried Old-man. But just as the Ball-thing went around a bend in the river, he ran like a deer across a neck of land and so came to the water again and far below the Ball-thing that had to go the way of the stream. When he reached the river he waited, for he knew the water would bring the Ball-thing and, of course, it did. As soon as it came into view Old-man called: ‘Hey, you Ball-thing. Come closer. I want to talk to you.’
"The Ball-thing came close to the shore with the water, and Old-man grabbed it. ‘What’s your name, Ball-thing?’ he asked as though he had never seen it before.
"You made me, and you should know my name without asking me,’ said the Ball-thing.
"Yes, I guess I did make you, but everything on this world has two names, so tell your name.’
"My name is One-bite,’ said the Ball-thing, and Old-man took another and larger bite. He wanted to eat it all, but he was afraid because of the Ball-thing’s name, you see. So he threw it back into the stream. As soon as it struck the water Old-man ran across another bend and waited for the Ball-thing to come along that way. He was laughing now and talking to himself. ‘Ha, ha, ha—Oh—Ho! I’ll eat it all—one bite at a time, if this river stays crooked enough.’ The Ball-thing nearly passed him before he saw it that time; he was so merry that his eyes were filled with tears—laugh-tears.
The Ball-thing was a little way past him when he saw it, and he was obliged to run to catch up, but he called to it and it came to the shore as it had done before. He asked the same questions, and the Ball-thing answered as it had done twice before. Old-man bit again. He had taken three bites now, and he threw the Ball-thing back upon the water, but there wasn’t much left of it, not much. Of course he ran away to meet the Ball-thing again, and to bite it again, but something had happened. Ho! something queer had happened to the Ball-thing—something that Old-man did not know about. The Ball-thing had changed itself into a stone that floats. Its color was the same. Its shape was as before, so that Old-man did not know there had been a change.
"Very soon the water brought the Ball-thing around the bend where Old-man waited, and he called: ‘Hey, you Ball-thing, come in here. I want to talk to you,’ and it came, of course.
‘What’s your name, Ball-thing?’ he asked.
‘You made me and you should know my name without asking me,’ said the Ball-thing.
‘Yes, I know I made you, but everything on this world has two names; so tell me your name,’
"One-bite,’ said the Ball-thing, and SWOW! Old-man bit the Ball-thing that had turned to stone that floats. Oh, Ho! Oh, Ho! all those teeth that grow in front were broken off at the gums, and he spat them into his left hand. Blood was running from his mouth, and tears were in his eyes. Oh, Ho! Oh, Ho! now there was no laughing. ‘That was a mean trick you played, Ball-thing. That was wrong. You are wicked. You should not treat me so. I made you, and you have hurt me and hurt all the other people of my kind, too, for from this day onward EVERY CHILD THAT LIVES SHALL LOSE ITS TEETH WHEN SIX SNOWS HAVE PASSED ITS HEAD.’
"Then he threw the Ball-thing back into the river and sat down upon a log and cried over his broken teeth like an old woman. That is why our children lose their teeth. It is just as Old-man said it would be; and it was because the Ball-thing made a fool of him. Ho!"
Linderman, Frank Bird. Indian Old-Man Stories: More Sparks From War Eagle's Lodge-Fire, Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1920.
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