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Updated: July 29, 2025
The dramatic power with which Pukumakun accompanied his narrative, his genuine sorrow at the tragic death of his mother, and then his fierce excitement as he described the last long race and its end, simply fascinated our young friends, and they declared that it was the most wonderful story they had ever heard.
The scheme worked admirably, and here is his interesting story: His name was Pukumakun, which means a club or a hammer. He was a Kinistenaux Indian, and when he was a boy his family and people lived a part of each year on the banks of the Assiniboine River. Here he grew up as other Indian lads, and was early taught the use of the bow and arrows, and how to skillfully throw the lasso.
But it was all in vain. She was held with too tight a grip. Seeing this, and fearing that Pukumakun might also begin to sink in the sands, she again put him upon her shoulders, and then both of them shouted and called loudly for help. But no help came. No human beings were within many miles' distance. Some prairie wolves heard their voices, and came to the river's bank to see what it meant.
One day while they were travelling along over the prairies Pukumakun had the misfortune to be bitten on his leg by a poisonous snake. His mother, having first killed the snake, then sucked the wound until she had drawn out nearly all the poison. By this brave act she undoubtedly saved his life.
But that woman never wept, for she was the daughter of a chief. But we must let Pukumakun tell the rest of the story, which fairly thrilled and fascinated the boys: "By and by my feet began to touch the water, which ran a few inches deep over the bad sands, that had so caught hold of my mother, and into which she was sunk now nearly up to her waist.
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