The Injured Warrior and the Skeleton: A Tale of Survival and Redemption
In the days before horses, a group of young Arapaho set out one autumn morning to hunt game in the western mountains. They carried ample supplies of food and spare moccasins. One day, while crossing the rocky bed of a small stream, one of the young warriors suddenly felt a sharp pain in his ankle. It swelled, and the pain worsened until they set up camp for the night.
By the next morning, the ankle had swollen so much that it was impossible for the warrior to continue the journey with his companions. His friends decided the best thing to do was to leave him there. They cut young willows and tall grasses to make him a shelter, and when it was finished, they gathered a pile of dry wood so he could keep a fire burning.
“When your ankle heals,” they told him, “don’t try to follow us. Return to our village and wait for us there.”
After several days alone, the injured warrior tested his ankle to see if it would support him, but it was too sore for him to walk. Then one night, a fierce snowstorm trapped him in the shelter. Since he had been unable to hunt, his food supplies were nearly gone.
One late afternoon, he looked outside and saw a large herd of bison pawing through the snow for grass, right near his shelter. He reached for his bow and shot an arrow at the fattest bison, killing it. Dragging himself out of the shelter, he reached the animal, skinned it, and brought the meat inside.
He built a large bed of coals and placed some ribs over the fire to roast. By the time they were cooked, night had fallen. Just as the warrior was about to pick one up to eat, he heard the crunch of footsteps on the icy snow. The steps drew closer to the tent flap of his shelter.
“Who could it be?” the warrior wondered. “I’m alone here and can’t run, but I’ll defend myself if necessary.” He gripped his bow and an arrow.
A moment later, the tent flap opened, and a skeleton wrapped in a dark cloak appeared, staring at the injured warrior. The cloak was fastened tightly at the neck, so only the skull above and the skeletal feet below were visible. Terrified, the warrior averted his gaze.
“Do not fear me,” said the skeleton in a raspy voice. “I have taken pity on you, and now you must have pity on me. Give me one of those ribs to eat, for I am very hungry.”
Still wary of the unexpected visitor, the warrior placed a large piece of meat into the bony hand extended toward him. He watched in amazement as the skeleton chewed the meat with bare teeth and swallowed it.
“I was the one who caused your ankle to swell so you could not continue the hunt,” said the skeleton. “Had you gone with your companions, you would have been killed. The day they left you here, a group of enemies attacked them and killed them all. I saved your life.”
The skeleton’s bony hand reached out again, this time to massage the warrior’s swollen ankle. The pain and swelling vanished instantly.
“Now you can walk again,” said the ghost. “Your enemies are scattered nearby, but if you follow me, I will guide you safely back to your village.”
At dawn, they left the shelter and began walking through the snow, with the skeleton leading the way. They passed through dense woods, along frozen streams, and over tall hills.
Late in the afternoon, the skeleton led the warrior to the top of a steep ridge. When the warrior reached the summit, the ghost had vanished. But below, in the valley, he could see the smoke rising from the tepees of his Arapaho village.
