The following is taken verbatim from the book "Indian Sleep-Man Tales - Authentic Legends of the Otoe Tribe" by Bernice G. Anderson (Bramhall House Publishing - 1940).

Ms. Anderson compiled the stories and legends of the Otoe Indians (who lived in the rolling prairie hills of what is now the state of Nebraska) through word-of-mouth experiences with the tribal elders.

These stories were typically told to the children as "bedtime stories" and were designed to be as educational as they were entertaining.

...In the Far Back Times When Animals Could Talk, Wacunda, the Great Spirit, sent word to the birds and animals of the Snow Season that He was planning to make them a visit. The Spirit Runner who brought the message said that Wacunda would tarry only where He might find a camping ground of smooth clean snow kept in readiness for Him.

On a snow-spread hillside the birds and animals of the Snow Season built a council fire; and after the flames were leaping high, in an attempt to meet the millions of tiny council fires in the far sky, a plain little bird without a name arose from the circle.

"I know of a place on the prairie where the snow is fresh and clean and smooth," he said.

"I know of such a place, too," said another plain little bird without a name. "When daylight returns I can easily find it."

The morning came at last. By this time the council fire was but ashes.

"Now show us this place," a red fox demanded; and he hid a smile behind his paw.

"Then follow my flight," replied the plain little bird without a name, and he mounted the sky, trailed by his brother birds.

The animals left the council fire and loped along the crusty white prairie trails, while they kept their eyes upon the tracery of wings against the sky.

But when the fox saw the birds sinking lower and lower toward a smooth hollow between two knolls his grin ran out at the corners of his mouth like the juice of crushed berries, and he made a sudden dash into the very heart of the hollow.

All the animals gasped in surprise. But they soon understood that the fox was having another of his little jokes, and so they made the air brittle with their laughter.

The plain little birds without a name were heavy of heart - so heavy that they could not immediately rise again. For only happy hearts can mount the skies. They sank down upon the trampled snow.

"Let us return to our council fire," said the mischief maker, "and decide where next to look for a place where the snow is fresh and clean and smooth," and his laughter echoed over the knolls and hollows as he led the other animals back to the fire.

But the birds did not attempt to follow. After they had sat awhile quivering unhappily in the snow their head chief stood up.

"I know of another hollow as smooth and as clean as this one was. Let us fly to it and protect it with our breasts until Wacunda shall come to us," he said.

And so the hearts of the bird tribe became light again, and they sang to the sky as they arose.

This time they did not tell the animals to follow their flight. They went secretly; and their prayers ascended to the Great Spirit as their wings flickered sharply against the doors of the heavens.

Having found the hollow of clean smooth snow, they saw that the white crust would hold up their tiny bodies without receiving the slightest mar. And so the tribe of plain little birds without a name settled lightly down upon the surface to protect its beauty with their soft breasts. They did not mind the cold. They cared only for the coming of Wacunda.

As night dropped a purple blanket over the sleeping plains the little birds longed to seek a safe tree in which to sleep, but they dared not leave the smooth clean hollow lest the naughty fox should come along and trample its surface. They would not have time to find another place before the Great Spirit should come.

At midnight, when the world was as black as the black dyes in your mother's color pots, and the snow was the only whiteness anywhere - except the stars - the birds awoke suddenly, as one bird, jerking their fuzzy heads out from beneath their wings.

Why were those hundreds of lights circling about them? Had the stars come down from the sky to serve as tiny campfires to warm their shivering bodies?

No! The lights were only reflections of the stars in wild animals' eyes! The animals who had once been their friends were now their tormentors! They had hunted until they had found them, and were now going to drive them from the place they had been keeping spotless for the coming of the Great Spirit.

The birds trembled. But like braves on the warpath they would not show their fear.

Suddenly, out of the stillness, the voice of Wacunda came like the hissing of an arrow:

"Go, thoughtless beasts! I come only to visit these who have kept in readiness a camping ground of smooth clean snow. For the snow is like living hearts. Only untrampled snow is clean enough to receive the visits of the Great Spirit!"

The animals hung their heads so low their noses plowed the snow as they slunk away. But the birds mounted on happy wings, alighting on the shoulders and outstretched hands of the Great Spirit. And Wacunda put songs into their throats.

Snow clung to the breasts and flecked the wings and heads of the plain little birds without a name.

"You are plain birds no longer," said Wacunda, with a smile that warmed the place like summer. "For the snow shall remain where it clings. And let no one say that you are birds without a name, for from now on your names shall be Bird of Snow, because your hearts were ready to receive the Great Spirit."

That is how the Bird of Snow (Snow Bunting) earned its name...