Rejoiced would they have been to have had the bark of trees for food; but they were on the open prairie.

There was nothing to satisfy the wretched cravings of hunger, and her child--the very child that clung to her bosom--was killed by the unhappy mother, and its tender limbs supplied to her the means of life.
She reached the place of destination, but it was through instinct, for forgetting and forgotten by all was the wretched maniac who entered her native village.
The Indians feared her; they longed to kill her, but were afraid to do so.

They said she had no heart.
Sometimes she would go in the morning to the shore, and there, with only her head out of water, would she lie all day.
Now, she has been weeping over the infant who sleeps by her.

She is perfectly harmless, and the wife of the war chief kindly gives her food and shelter whenever she wishes it.
But it is not often she eats--only when desperate from long fasting--and when her appetite is satisfied, she seems to live over the scene, the memory of which has made her what she is.
After all but she had eaten of the fish, the Elk related to them the story of the large fish that obstructed the passage of the St.Croix river.

The scene of this tradition was far from them, but the Dahcotahs tell each other over and over again the stories which have been handed down from their fathers, and these incidents are known throughout the tribe.