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The Indian Fairy Book

by Henry Rowe Schoolcraft · English · Gutenberg #48469 · 415,429 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Indian Fairy Book

Author: Henry Rowe Schoolcraft

Illustrator: Florence Choate
        Elizabeth Curtis


        
Release date: March 12, 2015 [eBook #48469]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48469

Credits: Produced by David Widger from page images generously
        provided by the Internet Archive


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INDIAN FAIRY BOOK ***

THE INDIAN FAIRY BOOK

By Henry R. Schoolcraft

From The Original Legends

With Eight Illustrations In Color By Florence Choate Elizabeth Curtis

Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers

1916

[Illustration: 0008]

[Illustration: 0009]




FOREWORD

These Indian fairy tales are chosen from the many stories collected by
Mr. Henry R. Schoolcraft, the first man to study how the Indians lived
and to discover their legends. He lived among the Indians in the West
and around the Great Lakes for thirty years in the first part of the
Nineteenth Century and wrote many books about them.

When the story-tellers sat at the lodge fires in the long evenings to
tell of the manitoes and their magic, of how the little boy snared the
sun, of the old Toad Woman who stole the baby, and the other tales that
had been retold to generation after generation of red children, time out
of mind, Mr. Schoolcraft listened and wrote the stories down, just as he
heard them.

In 1856 this collection of his stories was published by Mason Brothers
in New York City. A small brown book with quaint engravings for
pictures, it is now only to be found here and there in families that
have always treasured its delightful contents. It is republished, with
revisions and with new illustrations in color, so that these stories may
be passed on as they deserve.




THE INDIAN FAIRY BOOK




I. THE BOY WHO SET A SNARE FOR THE SUN

|The boy came home unsuccessful. Then his sister told him that he must
not despair, but try again the next day.

She accordingly left him again at the gathering-place of the wood and
returned to the lodge. Toward nightfall she heard his little footsteps
crackling through the snow, and he hurried in and threw down, with an
air of triumph, one of the birds which he had killed.

"My sister," said he, "I wish you to skin it and stretch the skin, and
when I have killed more, I will have a coat made out of the skins."

"But what shall we do with the body?" said she; for they had always up
to that time lived upon greens and berries.

"Cut it in two," he answered, "and season our pottage with one half of
it at a time."

It was their first dish of game, and they relished it greatly.

The boy kept on in his efforts, and in the course of time he killed ten
birds-out of the skins of which his sister made him a little coat. Being
very small, he had a very pretty coat, and a bird-skin to spare.

"Sister," said he one day, as he paraded up and down before the lodge,
enjoying his new coat and fancying himself the greatest little fellow
in the world--as he was, for there was no other besides him--"My sister,
are we really alone in the world, or are we playing at it? Is there
nobody else living? And tell me, was all this great broad earth and this
huge big sky made for a little boy and girl like you and me?"

"Ah, no," answered the sister, "there are many others, but not harmless
as you and I are. They live in a certain other quarter of the earth, and
if we would not endanger our lives we must keep away from there. They
have killed off all our kinsfolk and will kill us, too, if we go near
where they are."

To this the boy was silent; but his sister's words only served to
inflame his curiosity the more, and soon after he took his how and
arrows and went in the forbidden direction.

After walking a long time and meeting no one, he became tired and
stretched himself upon a high green knoll where the day's warmth had
melted off the snow. It was a charming place to lie, and he soon fell
asleep. While he slept, the sun heat upon him. It not only singed his
bird-skin coat, but so shrivelled and shrunk and tightened it on the
little boy's body as to wake him up. And then when he felt how the sun
had seared the coat he was so proud of, and saw the mischief its fiery
beams had played, he flew into a great passion. He vowed fearful things,
and berated the sun in a terrible way for a little boy no higher than a
man's knee.

"Do not think you are too high," said he; "I shall revenge myself. Oh,
sun! I will have you for a plaything yet."

On coming home he gave an account of his misfortune to his sister, and
bitterly bewailed the spoiling of his new coat. He would not eat--not so
much as a single berry. He lay down as one that fasts; nor did he move
or change his manner of lying for ten full days, though his sister
strove to prevail on him to rise. At the end of ten days he turned over,
and then he lay full ten days on the other side.

When he got up he was very pale, but very resolute too. He bade his
sister make a snare.

"For," said he, "I mean to catch the sun."

"I have nothing strong to make a snare of," objected the sister. But on
his insisting, she brought forward a deer's sinew which their father
had left, and soon made it into a string suitable for a noose. But the
brother was not pleased with it; he told her that it would not do and
directed her to find something else. She said she had nothing--nothing
at all; but at last she thought of the bird-skin that was left over
when the coat was made, and she wrought this into a string. And now the
little boy was more vexed than before.

"The sun has had enough of my bird-skins," he said; "find something
else."

She went out of the lodge, saying to herself, "Was there ever so
obstinate a boy?" She did not dare to answer this time that she had
nothing. Then luckily she thought of her own beautiful hair, and pulling
some of it from among her locks, she quickly braided it into a cord,
and, returning, handed it to her brother. The moment his eye fell upon
the jet black braid he was delighted.

"This will do," he said, and he immediately began to run it back and
forth through his hands as swiftly as he could; and as he drew it forth,
he tried its strength. He said again, "This will do," and winding it in
a glossy coil about his shoulders, he set out a little after midnight.

His object was to catch the sun before it rose. He fixed his snare
firmly on a spot just where the sun must strike the land as it rose
above the earth; and sure enough, he caught the sun, so that it was held
fast in the cord and did not rise.

The animals who ruled the earth were immediately put into great
commotion. They had no light; and they ran to and fro, calling out to
one another and inquiring what had happened. They summoned a council
to debate upon the matter, and an old dormouse, suspecting where the
trouble lay, proposed that some one should be appointed to go and cut
the cord. This was a bold thing to undertake, as the rays of the sun
could not fail to burn whoever should venture so near to them.

At last the venerable dormouse himself undertook it, for the very good
reason that no one else would. But all were glad to accept his offer, so
he hastened to the spot where the sun lay ensnared.

Now at this time the dormouse was the largest animal in the world. When
he stood up he looked like a mountain, and when he walked the earth
trembled. His courage was great in proportion, but as he came nearer and
nearer to the sun his back began to smoke and burn with the heat, and
soon the whole top of his huge bulk was turned to enormous heaps of
ashes. He succeeded, however, in cutting the cord with his teeth, and
the sun, free, as round and beautiful as ever, rolled up again into the
wide blue sky. But the dormouse--or blind woman as it is called--was
shrunk away to a very small size; and that is the reason why it is now
one of the tiniest creatures upon the earth.

The little boy returned home when he discovered that the sun had escaped
his snare, and devoted himself entirely to hunting.

"If the beautiful hair of my sister would not hold the sun fast, nothing
in the world could," he said. "I was not born, a little fellow like
myself, to look after the sun. It requires one greater and wiser than I
to regulate that."

So he went out and shot ten more snow-birds; for in this business he was
very expert; and he had a new bird-skin coat made, which was prettier
than the one he had worn before.

[Illustration: 0022]




II. MANABOZHO, THE MISCHIEF-MAKER


|THERE was never in the whole world a more mischievous busy-body than
that notorious giant Manabozho. He was everywhere, in season and out
of season, running about and putting his hand in whatever was going
forward. To carry on his game, he could take almost any shape he
pleased; he could be very foolish or very wise; very weak or very
strong; very poor or very rich--just as happened to suit his humor best.
Whatever any one else could do, he would attempt without a moment's
reflection. He was a match for any man he met, and there were few
mani-toes that could get the better of him. By turns he would be very
kind, or very cruel; an animal or a bird; a man or a spirit. And yet, in
spite of all these gifts, Manabozho was always getting himself involved
in all sorts of troubles; and more than once, in the course of his busy
adventures, was this great maker of mischief driven to his wits' ends to
come off with his life.

To begin at the beginning, Manabozho, while yet a youngster, was living
with his grandmother near the edge of a wide prairie. It was on this
prairie that he first saw animals and birds of every kind; he also there
made first acquaintance with thunder and lightning; he would sit by the
hour watching the clouds as they rolled, and musing on the shades of
light and darkness as the day rose and fell.

For a stripling, Manabozho was uncommonly wideawake. Every new sight he
beheld in the heavens was a subject of remark; every new animal or bird,
an object of deep interest; and every sound that came from the bosom of
nature was like a new lesson which he was expected to learn. He often
trembled at what he heard and saw.

To the scene of the wide open prairie his grandmother sent him at an
early age to watch. The first sound he heard was that of the owl, at
which he was greatly terrified. Quickly descending the tree he had
climbed, he ran with alarm to the lodge.

"Noko! noko! grandmother!" he cried. "I have heard a monedo."

She laughed at his fears and asked him what kind of noise his reverence
made. He answered:

"It makes a noise like this: Ko-ko-ko-ho."

His grandmother told him he was young and foolish; that what he heard
was only a bird which derived its name from the peculiar noise it made.

He returned to the prairie and continued his watch. As he stood there
looking at the clouds, he thought thus to himself:

"It is singular that I am so simple and my grandmother so wise; and that
I have neither father nor mother. I have never heard a word about them.
I must ask and find out."

He went home and sat down, silent and dejected. Finding that this did
not attract the notice of his grandmother, he began a loud lamentation,
which he kept increasing, louder and louder, till it shook the lodge and
nearly deafened the old grandmother. She at length said:

"Manabozho, what is the matter with you? You are making a great deal of
noise."

Manabozho started off again with his doleful hubbub; but succeeded in
jerking out between his big sobs, "I haven't got any father or mother; I
haven't," and he set out again lamenting more boisterously than ever.

Knowing that he was of a wicked and revengeful temper, his grandmother
dreaded to tell him the story of his parentage; as she knew he would
make trouble of it.

Manabozho renewed his cries and managed to throw out, for a third or
fourth time, his sorrowful lament that he was a poor unfortunate, who
had no parents and no relations. Finally his grandmother said:

"Yes, you have a father and three brothers living. Your mother is dead.
She was taken for a wife by your father, the West, without the consent
of her parents. Your brothers are the North, East, and South; and being
older than yourself, your father has given them great power with the
winds, according to their names. You are the youngest of his children.
I have nursed you from your infancy; for your mother, owing to the
ill-treatment of your father, died when you were born. I have no
relations beside you. Your mother was my only child, and you are my only
hope."

"I am glad my father is living," said Manabozho. "I shall set out in the
morning to visit him."

His grandmother would have discouraged him, saying it was a long
distance to the place where his father, Ningabiun, or the West, lived.

This information seemed rather to please than to disconcert Manabozho;
for by this time he had grown to such a size and strength that he had
been compelled to leave the narrow shelter of his grandmother's lodge
and to live out of doors. He was so tall that, as he stood up, he could
have snapped off the heads of the birds roosting in the topmost branches
of the highest trees, without being at the trouble to climb. And if
he had at any time taken a fancy to one of the same trees for a
walking-stick, he would have had no more to do than to pluck it up with
his thumb and finger and strip down the leaves and twigs with the palm
of his hand.

Bidding good-bye to his venerable old grandmother, who pulled a very
long face over his departure, Manabozho set out at great headway, for he
was able to stride from one side of a prairie to the other at a single
step.

He found his father on a high mountain-ground, far in the west. His
father espied his approach at a great distance and bounded down the
mountain-side several miles to give him welcome; and, side-by-side,
apparently delighted with each other, they reached in two or three of
their giant paces the lodge of the West, which stood high up near the
clouds.

They spent some days in talking with each other--for these two great
persons did nothing on a small scale, and a whole day to deliver a
single sentence was quite an ordinary affair, such was the immensity of
their discourse.

One evening Manabozho asked his father what he was most afraid of on
earth.

He replied--"Nothing."

"But is there nothing you dread, here--nothing that would hurt you if
you took too much of it? Come, tell me."

Manabozho was very urgent, and at last his father said:

"Yes, there is a black stone to be found a couple of hundred miles
from here, over that way," pointing as he spoke. "It is the only thing
earthly that I am afraid of, for if it should happen to hit me on any
part of my body it would hurt me very much."

The West made this important circumstance known to Manabozho in the
strictest confidence.

"Now you will not tell any one, Manabozho, that the black stone is bad
medicine for your father, will you?" he added. "You are a good son, and
I know you will keep it to yourself. Now tell me, my darling boy, is
there not something that you don't like?"

Manabozho answered promptly--"Nothing."

His father, who was of a very steady and persevering temper, put the
same question to him seventeen times, and each time Manabozho made the
same answer--"Nothing."

But the West insisted--"There must be something you are afraid of."

"Well, I will tell you," said Manabozho, "what it is."

He made an effort to speak, but it seemed to be too much for him.

"Out with it," said Ningabiun, or the West, fetching Manabozho such a
blow on the back as shook the mountain with its echo.

"Je-ee, je-ee--it is--" said Manabozho, apparently in great pain. "Yeo,
yeo! I cannot name it, I tremble so."

The West told him to banish his fears and to speak up; no one would hurt
him.

Manabozho began again, and he would have gone over the same make-believe
of anguish, had not his father, whose strength he knew was more than a
match for his own, threatened to pitch him into a river about five miles
off. At last he cried out:

"Father, since you will know, it is the root of the bulrush."

He who could with perfect ease spin a sentence a whole day long, seemed
to be exhausted by the effort of pronouncing that one word, "bulrush."

Some time after, Manabozho observed:

"I will get some of the black rock, merely to see how it looks."

"Well," said the father, "I will also get a little of the bulrush-root,
to learn how it tastes."

They were both double-dealing with each other, and in their hearts
getting ready for some desperate work.

They had no sooner separated for the evening than Manabozho was striding
off the couple of hundred miles necessary to bring him to the place
where the black rock was to be procured, while down the other side of
the mountain hurried Ningabiun.

At the break of day they each appeared at the great level on the
mountain-top, Manabozho with twenty loads, at least, of the black stone,
on one side, and on the other the West, with a whole meadow of bulrush
in his arms.

Manabozho was the first to strike--hurling a great piece of the black
rock, which struck the West directly between the eyes. The West returned
the favor with a blow of bulrush that rung over the shoulders of
Manabozho, far and wide, like the whip-thong of the lightning among the
clouds.

And now both rallied, and Manabozho poured in a tempest of black rock,
while Ningabiun discharged a shower of bulrush. Blow upon blow, thwack
upon thwack--they fought hand to hand until black rock and bulrush were
all gone. Then they betook themselves to hurling crags at each
other, cudgeling with huge oak-trees, and defying each other from one
mountain-top to another. At times they shot enormous boulders of granite
across at each other's heads, as though they had been mere jack-stones.
The battle, which had commenced on the mountains, had extended far west.
The West was forced to give ground. Manabozho pressing on, drove him
across rivers and mountains, ridges and lakes, till at last he got him
to the very brink of the world.

"Hold!" cried the West. "My son, you know my power, and although I allow
that I am now fairly out of breath, it is impossible to kill me. Stop
where you are, and I will also portion you out with as much power as
your brothers. The four quarters of the globe are already occupied, but
you can go and do a great deal of good to the people of the earth. They
are beset with serpents, beasts and monsters, who make great havoc of
human life. Go and do good, and if you put forth half the strength you
have to-day, you will acquire a name that will last forever. When you
have finished your work I will have a place provided for you. You will
then go and sit with your brother, Kabinocca, in the North."

Manabozho gave his father his hand upon this agreement. And parting
from him, he returned to his own grounds, where he lay for some time
sore of his wounds.

These being, however, greatly allayed and soon after cured by his
grandmother's skill in medicines, Manabozho, as big and sturdy as ever,
was ripe for new adventures. He set his thoughts immediately upon a war
excursion against the Pearl Feather, a wicked old manito, who had killed
his grandfather. Pearl Feather lived on the other side of the great
lake, but that was nothing to Manabozho. He began his preparations by
making huge bows and arrows without number; but he had no heads for
his shafts. At last Noko told him that an old man, whom she knew, could
furnish him with such as he needed. He sent her to get some. She soon
returned with her wrapper full. Manabozho told her that he had not
enough and sent her again. She came back with as many more. He thought
to himself, "I must find out the way of making these heads."

Instead of directly asking how it was done, he preferred--it was just
like Manabozho--to deceive his grandmother and come at the knowledge he
desired by a trick.

"Noko," said he, "while I take my drum and rattle, and sing my
war-songs, do you go and try to get me some larger heads, for these you
have brought me are all of the same size. Go and see whether the old man
is not willing to make some a little larger."

As she went he followed at a distance, having left his drum at the
lodge, with a great bird tied at the top, whose fluttering should keep
up the drum-beat the same as if he were tarrying at home. He saw the old
workman busy and learned how he prepared the heads; he also beheld the
old man's daughter, who was very beautiful. Manabozlio now discovered
for the first time that he had a heart of his own, and the sigh he
heaved passed through the arrow-maker's lodge like a gale of wind.

"How it blows!" said the old man.

"It must be from the south," said the daughter; "for it is very
fragrant."

Manabozho slipped away, and in two strides he was at home, shouting
forth his songs as though he had never left the lodge. He had just time
to free the bird which had been beating the drum, when his grandmother
came in and delivered to him the big arrowheads.

In the evening the grandmother said, "My son, you ought to fast before
you go to war, as your brothers do, to find out whether you will be
successful or not."

He said he had no objection; and privately stored away, in a shady
place in the forest two or three dozen juicy bears, a moose, and twenty
strings of the tender-est birds. The place of his fast had been chosen
by Noko, and she had told him it must be so far as to be beyond the
sound of her voice or it would be unlucky. So Manabozho would retire
from the lodge so far as to be entirely out of view of his grandmother,
fall to and enjoy himself heartily, and at nightfall, having just
despatched a dozen birds and half a bear or so, he would return
tottering and woe-begone, as if quite famished, so as to move deeply the
sympathies of his wise old granddame.

But after a time Manabozho, who was always spying out mischief, said to
himself, "I must find out why my grandmother is so anxious to have me
fast at this spot."

The next day he went but a short distance. She cried out, "A little
farther off;" but he came nearer to the lodge, the rogue that he was,
and cried out in a low, counterfeited voice, to make it appear that he
was going away instead of approaching. He had now got so near that he
could see all that passed in the lodge.

He had not been long in ambush when an old magician crept into the
lodge. This old magician had very long hair, which hung across his
shoulders and down his back like a bush or foot-mat. Noko welcomed him
kindly and they commenced talking earnestly. In doing so, they put their
two old heads so very close together that Manabozho was satisfied they
were kissing each other. He was indignant that any one should take such
a liberty with his venerable grandmother, and to mark his sense of the
outrage, he touched the bushy hair of the old magician with a live coal
which he had blown upon. The old magician felt the flame; he jumped out
into the air, making his hair burn only the fiercer, and ran, blazing
like a fire-ball, across the prairie.

Manabozho who had, meanwhile, stolen off to his fasting-place, cried out
in a heart-broken tone and as if on the very point of starvation, "Noko!
Noko! is it time for me to come home?"

"Yes," she cried. And when he came in she asked him, "Did you see
anything?"

"Nothing," he answered, with an air of childish candor; looking as much
like a big simpleton as he could. The grandmother looked at him very
closely and said no more.

Manabozho finished his term of fasting, in the course of which he slyly
despatched twenty fat bears, six dozen birds, and two fine moose. Then
he sang his war-song and embarked in his canoe, fully prepared for war.
Besides weapons of battle, he had stowed in a large supply of oil.

He traveled rapidly night and day, for he had only to will or speak, and
the canoe went. At length he arrived at a place guarded by many fiery
serpents. He paused to view them, observing that they were some distance
apart, and that the flames which they constantly belched forth reached
across the pass. He gave them a good morning and began talking with them
in a very friendly way; but they answered:

"We know you, Manabozho; you cannot pass."

He was not, however, to be put off so easily. Turning his canoe as if
about to go back, he suddenly cried out with a loud and terrified voice:

"What is that behind you?"

The serpents, thrown off their guard, instantly turned their heads, and
he glided past them in a moment.

"Well," said he quietly, after he had got by, "how do you like my
movement?"

He then took up his bow and arrows, and with deliberate aim shot every
one of them, easily, for the serpents were fixed to one spot and could
not even turn around. They were of an enormous length, and a bright
color.

Having thus escaped the sentinel serpents, Mana-bozho pushed on in
his canoe until he came to a part of the lake called Pitch-water, as
whatever touched it was sure to stick fast. But Manabozho was prepared
with his oil, and rubbing his canoe freely from end to end, he slipped
through with ease, the first person who had ever succeeded in passing
through the Pitch-water.

"There is nothing like a little oil to help one through pitch-water,"
said Manabozho to himself.

Now in view of land, he could see the lodge of Pearl Feather, the
Shining Manito, high upon a distant hill.

Putting his clubs and arrows in order, Manabozho began his attack,
yelling and shouting, heating his drum, and calling out in triple
voices:

"Surround him! surround him! run up! run up!" making it appear that he
had many followers. He advanced, shouting aloud:

"It was you that killed my grandfather," and shot off a whole forest of
arrows.

The Pearl Feather appeared on the height, blazing like the sun, and paid
back the discharges of Mana-bozho with a tempest of bolts, which rattled
like the hail.

All day long the fight was kept up, and Manabozho had fired all of his
arrows but three, without effect; for the Shining Manito was clothed
in pure wampum. It was only by immense leaps to right and left that
Manabozho could save his head from the sturdy blows which fell about
him on every side, like pine-trees, from the hands of the Manito. He was
badly bruised and at his very wits' end, when a large woodpecker flew
past and lit on a tree. It was a bird he had known on the prairie, near
his grandmother's lodge.

"Manabozho," called out the woodpecker, "your enemy has a weak point;
shoot at the lock of hair on the crown of his head."

He shot his first arrow and only drew blood in a few drops. The Manito
made one or two unsteady steps, then recovered himself. He began to
parley, but Manabozho, knowing that he had discovered a way to reach
him, was in no humor to trifle, and let slip another arrow, which
brought the Shining Manito to his knees. And now, having the crown of
his head within good range, Manabozho sent in his third arrow, which
laid the Manito out upon the ground, stark dead.

Manabozho lifted up a huge war-cry, beat his drum, and took the scalp
of the Manito as his trophy. Then calling the woodpecker to come and
receive a reward for the timely hint he had given him, he rubbed the
blood of the Shining Manito on the woodpecker's head, the feathers of
which are red to this day. Full of his victory, Manabozho returned home,
beating his war-drum furiously and shouting aloud his songs of
triumph. His grandmother was on the shore ready to welcome him with
the war-dance, which she performed with wonderful skill for one so far
advanced in years.

The heart of Manabozho swelled within him. He was fairly on fire and
an unconquerable desire for further adventures seized upon him. He had
destroyed the powerful Pearl Feather, killed his serpents, and escaped
all his wiles and charms. He had prevailed in a great land fight, his
next trophy should be from the water.

He tried his prowess as a fisherman, and with such success that he
captured a fish monstrous in size and so rich in fat that with the
oil Manabozho was able to form a small lake. To this, being generously
disposed and having a cunning purpose of his own to answer, he invited
all the birds and beasts of his acquaintance; and he made the order in
which they partook of the banquet the measure of their fatness for all
time to come. As fast as they arrived he told them to plunge in and help
themselves.

The first to make his appearance was the bear, who took a long and
steady draught; then came the deer, the opossum, and such others of the
family as are noted for their comfortable case. The moose and bison were
slack in their cups, and the partridge, always lean in flesh, looked on
till the supply was nearly gone. There was not a drop left by the time
the hare and the martin appeared on the shore of the lake, and they are,
in consequence, the slenderest of all creatures.

When this ceremony was over, Manabozho suggested to his friends, the
assembled birds and animals, that the occasion was proper for a little
merry-making; and taking up his drum, he cried out:

"New songs from the South! Come, brothers, dance!"

In order to make the sport more mirthful, he directed that they should
shut their eyes and pass around him in a circle. Again he beat his drum
and cried out:

"New songs from the South! Come, brothers, dance!"

[Illustration: 0039]

They all fell in and commenced their rounds. Whenever Manabozho, as he
stood in the circle, saw pass by him a fat fowl which he fancied, he
adroitly wrung its neck and slipped it in his girdle, at the same time
beating his drum and singing at the top of his lungs to drown the
noise of the fluttering. And he all the time called out in tones of
admiration:

"That's the way, my brothers; that's the way!"

At last a small duck, of the diver family, thinking there was something
wrong, opened one eye and saw what Manabozho was doing.

"Ha-ha-a! Manabozho is killing us!" he cried, giving a spring and
making for the water.

Manabozho, quite vexed that the creature should have played the spy upon
his house-keeping, followed him; and just as the duck was diving into
the water, he gave him a kick, which is the reason that the diver's
tail-feathers are few, his back flattened, and his legs straightened
out, so that when he gets on land he makes a poor figure in walking.

Meantime, the other birds, having no ambition to be thrust in
Manabozho's girdle, flew off, and the animals scampered into the woods.

Manabozho, stretching himself at ease in the shade along the side of
the prairie, thought what he should do next. He concluded that he would
travel and see new countries; and having once made up his mind, such was
his length of limb and the immensity of his stride, that in less than
three days he had walked over the entire continent and looked into every
lodge by the way--and with such nicety of observation that he was able
to inform his good old grandmother what each family had for a dinner at
a given hour.

By way of relief to these grand doings, Manabozho was disposed to vary
his experiences by bestowing a little time upon the sports of the woods.
He had heard reported great feats in hunting, and he had a desire to try
his power in that way. Besides that, it was a slight consideration that
he had devoured all the game within reach of the lodge. And so, one
evening, while walking along the shore of the great lake, weary and
hungry, he was quite delighted to encounter a great magician in the form
of an old wolf, with six young ones.

The wolf no sooner caught sight of him than he told his whelps, who were
close about his side, to keep out of the way of Manabozho. "For I know,"
he said, "that it is that mischievous fellow whom we see yonder."

The young wolves were in the act of running off, when Manabozho cried
out:

"My grandchildren, where are you going? Stop and I will go with you. I
wish to have a little chat with your excellent father."

Saying which he advanced and greeted the old wolf, expressing himself
pleased at seeing him looking so well.

"Whither do you journey?" he asked.

"We are looking for a good hunting-ground to pass the winter," the old
wolf answered. "What brings you here?"

"I was looking for you," said Manabozho. "For I have a passion for the
chase, brother. I always admired your family; are you willing to change
me into a wolf?"

The wolf gave him a favorable answer, and he was forthwith changed into
a wolf.

"Well, that will do," said Manabozho; then looking at his tail, he
added, "Oh! could you oblige me by making my tail just a little longer
and more bushy, please?"

"Certainly," said the old wolf; and he gave Mana-bozho such a length and
spread of tail that it was constantly getting between his legs, and
it was so heavy that it was as much as he could do to find strength to
carry it. But having asked for it, he was ashamed to say a word; and
they all started off in company, dashing up a ravine.

After getting into the woods for some distance, they fell in with the
tracks of moose. The young ones scampered off in pursuit, the old wolf
and Manabozho following at their leisure.

"Well," said the old wolf, by way of opening discourse, "who do you
think is the fastest of the boys? Can you tell by the jumps they take?"

"Why," Manabozho replied, "that one that takes such long jumps, he is
the fastest, to be sure!"

"Ha! ha! you are mistaken," said the old wolf. "He makes a good start,
but he will be the first to tire out; this one, who appears to be
behind, will be the one to kill the game."

By this time they had come to the spot where the boys had started in
chase. One had dropped what seemed to be a small medicine-sack, which he
carried for the use of the hunting-party.

"Take that, Manabozho," said the old wolf.

"Esa," he replied, "what will I do with a dirty dogskin?"

The old wolf took it up; it was a beautiful robe.

"Oh, I will carry it now," cried Manabozho.

"Oh, no," said the old wolf, who had exerted his magical powers, "it is
a robe of pearls. Come along!"

And away sped the old wolf at a great rate of speed.

"Not so fast," called Manabozho after him; and then he added to himself
as he panted after, "Oh, this tail!"

Coming to a place where the moose had lain down, they saw that the young
wolves had made a fresh start after their prey.

"Why," said the old wolf, "this moose is poor. I know by the tracks; in
that way I can always tell whether they are fat or not."

A little farther on, one of the young wolves, in dashing at the moose,
had broken a tooth on a tree.

"Manabozho," said the old wolf, "one of your grandchildren has shot at
the game. Take his arrow; there it is."

"No," replied Manabozho; "what will I do with a dirty dog's tooth?"

The old wolf took it up, and behold it was a beautiful silver arrow.

When they at last overtook them, they found that the youngsters had
killed a very fat moose. Manabozho was exceedingly hungry; but the
old wolf just then again exerted his magical powers, and Manabozho saw
nothing but the bones picked quite clean. He thought to himself, "Just
as I expected! Dirty, greedy fellows! If it had not been for this log
at my back, I should have been in time to have got a mouthful;" and he
cursed the bushy tail which he carried, to the bottom of his heart. He,
however, sat down without saying a word.

At length the old wolf spoke to one of the young ones, saying:

"Give some meat to your grandfather."

One of them obeyed, and coming near to Manabozho, he presented him the
other end of his own bushy tail, which was nicely seasoned with burrs
gathered in the course of the hunt.

Manabozho jumped up and called out:

"You dog, now that your stomach is full, do you think I am going to eat
you to get at my dinner? Get you gone into some other place."

Saying which, Manabozho, in his anger, walked off by himself.

"Come back, brother," cried the wolf. "You are losing your eyes."

Manabozho turned back.

"You do the child injustice. Look there!" and behold, a heap of fresh,
ruddy meat was lying on the spot, already prepared.

Manabozho, at the view of so much good provision, put on a smiling face.

"Amazement!" he said; "how fine the meat is!"

"Yes," replied the old wolf, "it is always so with us; we know our work
and always get the best. It is not a long tail that makes the hunter."

Manabozho hit his lip.

They now fixed their winter quarters. The youngsters went out in search
of game, and they soon brought in a large supply. One day, during the
absence of the young hunters, the old wolf amused himself in cracking
the large bones of a moose.

"Manabozho," said he, "cover your head with the robe, and do not look at
me while I am busy with these bones, for a piece may fly in your eye."

Manabozho did as he was bid; but looking through a rent in the robe, he
saw what the other was about. Just at that moment a piece flew off and
hit him on the eye. He cried out:

"Tyau, why do you strike me, you old dog?"

The wolf answered--"You must have been looking at me."

"No, no," retorted Manabozho, "why should I want to look at you?"

"Manabozho," said the old wolf, "you must have been looking or you would
not have got hurt."

"No, no," he replied again, "I was not." But he thought to himself, "I
will repay the saucy wolf this mischief."

So the next day, taking up a bone to obtain the marrow, he said to the
wolf:

"Brother, cover your head and do not look at me, for I very much fear a
piece may fly in your eye."

The wolf did so; and Manabozho, taking the large leg-bone of the moose,
first looking to see if the wolf was well covered, hit him a blow with
all his might. The wolf jumped up, cried out, and fell prostrate from
the effects of the blow.

"Why," said he, when he came to a little and was able to sit up, "why
did you strike me so?"

"Strike you?" said Manabozho, with well-feigned surprise. "No; you must
have been looking at me."

"No," answered the wolf, "I say I have not."

But Manabozho insisted, and as the old wolf was no great master of
tricky argument, he was obliged to give it up.

Shortly after this the old wolf suggested to Manabozho that he should go
out and try his luck in hunting by himself.

When he chose to put his mind upon it Manabozho was quite expert, and
this time he succeeded in killing a fine fat moose, which he thought he
would take aside slyly and devour alone, having prepared to tell the old
wolf a pretty story on his return, to account for his failure to bring
anything with him.

He was very hungry, and he sat down to eat; but as he never could go to
work in a straightforward way, he immediately fell into great doubts as
to the proper point at which to begin.

"Well," said he, "I do not know where to commence. At the head? No.
People will laugh, and say--'He ate him backward.'"

He went to the side. "No," said he, "they will say I ate him sideways."

He then went to the hind-quarter. "No, that will not do, either; they
will say I ate him forward. I will begin here, say what they will."

He took a delicate piece from the small of the back and was just on the
point of putting it to his mouth, when a tree close by made a creaking
noise. He seemed vexed at the sound. He raised the morsel to his mouth
the second time, when the tree creaked again.

"Why," he exclaimed, "I cannot eat when I hear such a noise. Stop,
stop!" he said to the tree. He put the meat down, exclaiming--"I cannot
eat with such a noise"; and starting away he climbed the tree, and was
pulling at the limb which had offended him, when his fore-paw was caught
between the branches so that he could not free himself.

While thus held fast, he saw a pack of wolves advancing through the wood
in the direction of his meat. He suspected them to be the old wolf and
his cubs, but night was coming on and he could not make them out.

"Go the other way, go the other way!" he cried out; "what would you come
to get here?"

The wolves stopped for a while and talked among themselves, and said:

"Manabozho must have something there, or he would not tell us to go
another way."

"I begin to know him," said the old wolf, "and all his tricks. Let us go
forward and see."

They came on, and finding the moose, they soon made away with it.
Manabozho looked wistfully on to see them eat till they were fully
satisfied, when they scampered oft in high spirits.

A heavy blast of wind opened the branches and released Manabozho, who
found that the wolves had left nothing but the bare bones. He made for
home, where, when he related his mishap, the old wolf took him by the
fore-paw and condoled with him deeply on his ill-luck. A tear even
started to his eye as he said:

"My brother, this should teach us not to meddle with points of ceremony
when we have good meat to eat."

On a bright morning in the early spring, the winter having by this time
drawn fairly to a close, the old wolf addressed Manabozho:

"My brother, I am obliged to leave you; and although I have sometimes
been merry at your expense, I will show that I care for your comfort. I
shall leave one of the boys behind me to be your hunter and to keep you
company through the long summer afternoons."

The old wolf galloped off with his five young ones; and as they
disappeared from view, Manabozho was disenchanted in a moment and
returned to his mortal shape.

Although he had been sometimes vexed and imposed upon, he had,
altogether, passed a pleasant winter with the cunning old wolf, and now
that he was gone, Manabozho was downcast and low in spirit. But as
the days grew brighter he recovered by degrees his air of cheerful
confidence and was ready to try his hand upon any new adventure that
might occur to him. The old spirit of mischief was still alive within
him.

The young wolf who had been left with him was a good hunter and never
failed to keep the lodge well supplied with meat. One day Manabozho
addressed him as follows:

"My grandson, I had a dream last night, and it does not portend good. It
is of the large lake which lies in that direction. You must be careful
always to go across it, whether the ice seem strong or not. Never go
around it, for there are enemies on the further shore who lie in wait
for you. The ice is always safe."

Now Manabozho knew well that the ice was thinning every day under the
warm sun, but he could not stay himself from playing a trick upon the
young wolf.

In the evening when he came to the lake, after a long day's travel
in quest of game, the young wolf, confiding to his grandfather, said,
"Hwooh! the ice does look thin, but Nesho says it is sound"; and he
trotted upon the glassy plain.

He had not got half way across when the ice snapped, and with a
mournful cry, the young wolf fell in and was immediately seized by the
water-serpents. They knew that it was Manabozho's grandson and were
thirsting for revenge upon him for the death of their relations in the
war upon Pearl Feather.

Manabozho heard the young wolf's cry as he sat in his lodge; he knew
what had happened; and from that moment he was deprived of the greater
part of his magical power.

He returned scarcely more than an ordinary mortal to his former place
of dwelling, whence his grandmother had departed no one knew whither.
He married the arrow-maker's daughter, and became the father of several
children, and very poor. He was scarcely able to procure the means of
living. His lodge was pitched in a remote part of the country where he
could get no game. It was winter, and he had not the common comforts of
life.

He said to his wife one day:

"I will go out a-walking and see if I can not find some lodges."

After walking some time he saw a lodge at a distance. The children were
playing at the door. When they saw him approaching they ran in and told
their parents that Manabozho was coming.

It was the residence of the large red-headed woodpecker. He came to
the door and asked Manabozho to enter. This invitation was promptly
accepted.

After some time, the woodpecker, who was a magician, said to his wife:

"Have you nothing to give Manabozho? He must be hungry." She answered,
"No."

"He ought not to go without his supper," said the woodpecker. "I will
see what I can do."

In the center of the lodge stood a large tamarack tree. Upon this the
woodpecker flew, and commenced going up, turning his head on each side
of the tree and every now and then driving in his bill. At last he
pulled something out of the tree and threw it down; when, behold! a fine
fat raccoon lay on the ground. He drew out six or seven more. He then
descended and told his wife to prepare them.

"Manabozho," he said, "this is the only thing we eat; what else can we
give you?"

"It is very good," replied Manabozho.

They smoked their pipes and conversed with each other.

After eating, Manabozho got ready to go home. Then the woodpecker
said to his wife, "Give him the other raccoons to take home for his
children."

In the act of leaving the lodge, Manabozho, on purpose, dropped one of
his mittens, which was soon after observed upon the ground.

"Run," said the woodpecker to his eldest son, "and give it to him; but
mind that you do not give it into his hand; throw it at him, for there
is no knowing him, he acts so curiously."

The boy did as he was directed.

"Grandfather," said he to Manabozho, as he came up to him, "you have
left one of your mittens. Here it is."

"Yes," he said, affecting to be ignorant of the circumstance, "it is so;
but don't throw it, you will soil it on the snow."

The lad, however, threw it, and was about to return, when Manabozho
cried out:

"Bakah! Bakah! stop--stop! Is that all you eat? Do you eat nothing else
with your raccoon? Tell me!"

"Yes, that is all," answered the young Woodpecker; "we have nothing
else."

"Tell your father," continued Manabozho, "to come and visit me, and
let him bring a sack. I will give him what he shall eat with his
raccoon-meat."

When the young one returned and reported this message to his father, the
old woodpecker turned up his nose at the invitation.

"I wonder," he said, "what he thinks he has got, poor fellow!"

He was bound, however, to answer the proffer of hospitality, so he went
accordingly to pay a visit to Manabozho, taking along a cedar-sack.

Manabozho received the old red-headed woodpecker with great ceremony.
He had stood at the door awaiting his arrival, and as soon as he came in
sight Manabozho commenced, while he was yet far off, bowing and opening
wide his arms in token of welcome; all of which the woodpecker returned
in due form by ducking his bill and hopping to right and left upon the
ground, extending his wings to their full length and fluttering them
back to his breast.

When the woodpecker at last reached the lodge, Manabozho made various
remarks upon the weather, the appearance of the country, and especially
on the scarcity of game.

"But we," he added, "we always have enough. Come in, and you shall not
go away hungry, my noble bird!"

Manabozho had always prided himself on being able to give as good as he
had received; and to be up with the woodpecker, he had shifted his lodge
so as to inclose a large dry tamarack tree.

"What can I give you?" said he to the woodpecker. "But as we eat so
shall you eat."

With this Manabozho hopped forward, and jumping on the tamarack tree,
attempted to climb it just as he had seen the woodpecker do in his own
lodge. He turned his head first on one side, then on the other, in the
manner of the bird, meanwhile striving to go up, and as often slipping
down. Ever and anon he would strike the tree with his nose, as if it had
been a bill, and draw back, but he pulled out no raccoons; and he dashed
his nose so often against the trunk that at last the blood began to
flow, and he tumbled down senseless upon the ground.

The woodpecker started up with his drum and rattle and by beating them
violently be succeeded in bringing him to.

As soon as he came to his senses, Manabozbo began to lay the blame of
his failure upon his wife, saying to his guest:

"Nemesho, it is this woman-relation of yours--she is the cause of my not
succeeding. She has made me a worthless fellow. Before I took her I also
could get raccoons."

The woodpecker said nothing, but flying on the tree, drew out several
fine raccoons.

"Here," said be, "this is the way we do!" and left in disdain, carrying
his bill high in the air and stepping over the door-sill as if it were
not worthy to be touched by his toes.

After this visit, Manabozbo was sitting in the lodge one day with his
head down. He heard the wind whistling around it, and thought that by
attentively listening he could hear the voice of some one speaking to
him. It seemed to say to him:

"Great chief, why are you sorrowful? Am not I your friend--your guardian
spirit?"

Manabozbo immediately took up his rattle, and without rising from the
ground where he was sitting, began to sing the chant which has at every
close the refrain of, "Wha lay le aw."

When he had dwelt for a long time on this peculiar chant, which he had
been used to sing in all his times of trouble, he laid his rattle aside
and determined to fast. For this purpose he went to a cave which faced
the setting sun and built a very small fire, near which he lay down,
first telling his wife that neither she nor the children must come near
him till he had finished his i fast.

At the end of seven days he came back to the lodge, pale and thin,
looking like a spirit himself, and as if he had seen spirits. His wife
had in the meantime dug | through the snow and got a few of the roots
called truffles. These she boiled and set before him, and this was all
the food they had or seemed likely to obtain.

When he had finished his light repast, Manabozho took up his station in
the door to see what would happen. As he stood thus, holding in his hand
his large bow, with a quiver well filled with arrows, a deer glided past
along the far edge of the prairie; but it was miles away, and no shaft
that Manabozho could shoot would be able to touch it.

Presently a cry come down the air, and looking up he beheld a great
flight of birds; but they were so far up in the sky that he would have
lost his arrows in a vain attempt among the clouds.

Still he stood watchful and confident that some turn of luck was about
to occur, when there came near to the lodge two hunters, who bore
between them on poles, a bear; and it was so fine and fat a bear that it
was as much as the two hunters could do with all their strength to carry
it.

As they came to the lodge-door, one of the hunters asked if Manabozho
lived thereabout.

"He is here," answered Manabozho.

"I have often heard of you," said the first hunter, "and I was curions
to see you. But you have lost your magical power. Do you know whether
any of it is left?"

Manabozho answered that he was himself in the dark on the subject.

"Suppose you make a trial," said the hunter.

"What shall I do?" asked Manabozho.

"There is my friend," said the hunter, pointing to his companion, "who
with me owns this bear which we are carrying home. Suppose you see if
you can change him into a piece of rock."

"Very well," said Manabozho; and he had scarcely spoken before the other
hunter became a rock.

"Now change him hack again," said the first hunter.

"That I can't do," Manabozho answered; "there my power ends."

The hunter looked at the rock with a bewildered face.

"What shall I do?" he asked. "This bear I can never carry alone, and it
was agreed between my friend there and myself, that we should not divide
it till we reached home. Can't you change my friend hack, Manabozho?"

"I would like to oblige you," answered Manabozho, "but it is utterly out
of my power."

With this, looking again at the rock with a sad and bewildered face, and
then casting a sorrowful glance at the bear, which lay by the door of
the lodge, the hunter took his leave, bewailing bitterly at heart the
loss of his friend and his bear.

He was scarcely out of sight when Manabozho sent the children to get
red willow sticks. Of these he cut off as many pieces of equal length as
would serve to invite his friends among the beasts and birds to a feast.
A red stick was sent to each one, not forgetting the woodpecker and his
family.

"When they arrived they were astonished to see such an abundance of meat
prepared for them at such a time of scarcity. Manabozho understood their
glance and was proud of a chance to make such a display.

"Akewazi," he said to the oldest of the party, "the weather is very
cold, and the snow lasts a long time; we can kill nothing now but small
squirrels, and they are all black. I have sent for you to help me eat
some of them."

The woodpecker was the first to try a mouthful of the bear's meat, but
he had no sooner begun to taste it than it changed into a dry powder and
set him coughing. It appeared as bitter as ashes.

The moose was affected in the same way, and it brought on such a dry
cough as to shake every bone in his body.

One by one, each in turn joined the company of coughers, except
Manabozho and his family, to whom the bear's meat proved very savory.

But the visitors had too high a sense of what was due to decorum and
good manners to say anything. The meat looked very fine, and being
keenly set and strongly tempted by its promising look, they thought they
would try more of it. The more they ate the faster they coughed and the
louder became the uproar, until Mana-bozho, exerting the magical gift
which he found he retained, changed them all into squirrels; and to this
day the squirrel sutlers from the same dry cough which was brought on by
attempting to sup off of Manabozho's ashen bear's meat.

And even after this transformation, when Mana-bozho lacked provisions
for his family, he would hunt the squirrel, a supply of which never
failed him, so that he was always sure to have a number of his friends
present, in this shape, at the banquet.

The rock into which he changed the hunter, thus becoming possessed of
the bear, and laying the foundations of his good fortune, ever
after remained by his lodge-door, and it was called the Game-Bag of
Mana-bozho, the Mischief-Maker.

[Illustration: 0059]




III. THE RED SWAN


|THREE brothers were left destitute at an early age by the death of
their parents. The eldest was not yet able to provide fully for their
support, but he did all that he could in hunting; and with this aid, and
the stock of provisions already laid by in the lodge, they managed to
keep along. They had no neighbors to lend them a helping hand, for the
father had withdrawn many years before from the body of the tribe and
had lived ever since in a solitary place. The lads had no idea that
there was a human being near them. They did not even know who their
parents had been; for at the time of their death, the eldest was too
young to remember it.

Forlorn as they were, they nevertheless kept a good heart, made use of
every chance and in course of time acquired a knowledge of hunting
and the pursuit of game. The eldest became expert in the craft of the
forest, and he was very successful in procuring food. He was noted for
his skill in killing buffalo, elk, and moose; and he instructed his
brothers, so that each should become a master over a particular animal
which was assigned to him.

After they had become able to hunt and to take care of themselves, the
elder proposed to leave them and to go in search of the world, promising
to return and bring them wives as soon as he could procure them. In this
intention he was over-ruled by his brothers, who said that they could
not part with him.

Jeekewis, the second, was loud in disapproval of the scheme, saying:
"What will you do with those you propose to get? We have lived so long
by ourselves, we can still do without them." This counsel prevailed, and
for a time the three brothers continued together.

One day they each agreed to kill a male of that kind of animal which
each was most expert in hunting, for the purpose of making quivers
from the skins. When these quivers were prepared, they were straightway
filled with arrows; for the brothers all had a presentiment that
something was about to happen which called upon them to be ready.

Soon after they hunted on a wager to see who should come in first with
game. This one was to have the privilege of acting as entertainer to the
others, but they were to shoot no other beast or bird than such as each
was in the habit of killing.

They set out on different paths. Maidwa, the youngest, had not gone far
before he saw a bear, an animal he was not to kill, according to the
agreement. He, however, followed him closely, and driving an arrow
through and through him, brought him to the ground.

Then Maidwa commenced skinning him, when suddenly something red tinged
the air all around him. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was perhaps
deceived; but rub as hard as he would, the red hue still crimsoned the
air, and tinged with its delicate splendor every object that he looked
on--the tree-tops, the river that flowed, and the deer that glided away
along the edge of the forest.

As he stood musing on this fairy spectacle, a strange noise came to his
ear from a distance. At first it seemed like a human voice. Following
the sound, he reached the shore of a lake. Floating at a distance upon
its waters sat a most beautiful Red Swan, whose plumage glittered in
the sun. When it lifted up its neck, it uttered the peculiar tone he had
heard. He was within long bow-shot, and, drawing the arrow to his ear,
he took careful aim and discharged the shaft. It had no effect. The
beautiful bird sat proudly on the water still pouring forth its peculiar
chant, still spreading the radiance of its plumage far and wide, and
lighting up the whole world with its ruby splendors.

Maidwa shot again and again, till his quiver was empty, for he longed
to possess so glorious a creature. But the swan, untouched, did not even
spread its wings to fly. Circling round and round, it stretched its long
neck and dipped its bill into the water, as if indifferent to mortal
shafts.

Maidwa ran home, and bringing all the arrows in the lodge, shot them
away. He then stood with his bow dropped at his side, lost in wonder,
gazing at the beautiful bird.

While standing thus, with a heart beating more and more eagerly every
moment for the possession of this fair swan, Maidwa remembered the
saying of his elder brother, that in their dead father's medicine-sack
were three magic arrows; but his brother had not told Maidwa that their
father, on his death-bed, had especially bequeathed the arrows to his
youngest son, Maidwa, from whom they had been wrongfully kept. The
thought of the magic arrows put heart in Maidwa, and he hastened with
all speed to procure them.

At any other time he would have shrunk from opening his father's
medicine-sack, but something prompted him to believe that there was
no wrong in it now, and snatching the arrows forth, he ran back, not
staying to restore the other contents to the sack but leaving them
scattered, here and there, about the lodge.

He feared that the swan must by this time have taken wing; but as he
emerged from the wood, he found to his great delight the air as rosy
as ever, and there sat the glorious Red Swan in her own serene and
beautiful way.

With trembling hand he shot the first of his magic shafts; it grazed
a wing. The second came closer, and cut away a few of the bright red
feathers, which fluttered and fell like flakes of fire in the water. The
third, which he carefully aimed and drew home upon the string with all
his force, made the lucky hit, and passed through the neck of the bird a
little above the breast.

[Illustration: 0065]

"She is mine," cried Maidwa, but to his great surprise, instead of
drooping its neck and drifting to the shore, the Red Swan flapped its
wings, rose slowly, and flew off with a majestic motion toward the
falling sun.

Maidwa, that he might meet his brothers with a good face, rescued two of
the magic arrows from the water. And although the third was borne off,
he had a hope yet to recover that one, too, and to be master of the
swan. He was noted for his speed; for he would shoot an arrow and then
run so fast that the arrow always fell behind him. He now set off at his
best speed of foot.

"I can run fast," he thought, "and I can get up with the swan sometime
or other."

He sped on over hills and prairies toward the west, and was only going
to take one more run and then seek a place to sleep for the night,
when, suddenly, he heard noises at a distance, like the murmur of waters
against the shore. As he went on, he heard voices, and presently he saw
people, some of whom were busy felling trees, the strokes of their labor
echoing through the woods. He passed on, and when he emerged from the
forest, the sun was just falling below the edge of the sky.

He was bent on success in pursuit of the swan, whose red track he marked
well far westward till she was lost to sight. Meanwhile he would tarry
for the night and procure something to eat, as he had fasted since he
had left home.

At a distance, on rising ground, he could see the lodges of a large
village. He went toward it and soon heard the voice of the watchman,
who was set on a height to overlook the place and give notice of the
approach of friends or foes. "We are visited," he cried, and a loud
halloo indicated that all had heard it.

When Maidwa advanced, the watchman pointed to the lodge of the chief.
"It is there you must go in," he said, and left him.

"Come in, come in," said the chief; "take a seat there," pointing to the
side of the lodge where his daughter sat. "It is there you must sit."

They gave him something to eat, and very few questions were put to him,
because he was a stranger; it was only when he spoke that the others
answered.

"Daughter," said the chief, as soon as the night had set in, "take out
son-in-law's moccasins and see if they be torn; if so, mend them for him
and bring in his bundle."

Maidwa thought it strange that he should be so warmly received, and
instantly married against his own wishes, although he could not help
noticing that the chief's daughter was pretty.

It was some time before she would take the moccasins which he had laid
off. It displeased him to see her loth to do so; and when at last she
did reach them, he snatched them from her hand and hung them up himself.
He lay down and thought of the swan, and made up his mind to be off with
the dawn. He wakened early, and finding the chief's daughter looking
forth at the door, he spoke to her, but she gave no answer. He touched
her lightly.

"What do you want?" she said, and turned her face away from him.

"Tell me," said Maidwa, "what time the swan passed. I am following it;
come out, and point the way."

"Do you think you can overtake it?" she said.

"Yes," he answered.

"Naubesah--fool!" retorted the chief's pretty daughter.

She went out, however, and pointed in the direction he should go. The
young man paced slowly along till the sun arose, when he commenced
traveling at his accustomed speed. He passed the day in running, and
although he could not see the Red Swan anywhere on the horizon, he
thought that he discerned a faint red light far over in the west.

When night came, he was pleased to find himself near another village.
When still at a distance he heard the watchman crying out, "We are
visited," and soon the men of the village stood out to see the stranger.

He was again told to enter the lodge of the chief, and his reception
was in every respect the same as on the previous night; except that this
young woman was more beautiful than the first, and that she entertained
him very kindly. Although urged to stay with them, the mind of Maidwa
was fixed on the object of his journey.

Before daybreak he asked the young woman at what time the Red Swan
passed, and to point out the way. She marked against the sky with
her finger the course it had taken, and told him that it had passed
yesterday when the sun was between midday and its falling-place.

Maidwa again set out rather slowly, but when the sun had risen, he
tried his speed by shooting an arrow ahead and running after it; it fell
behind him, and he knew that he had lost nothing of his quickness of
foot.

Nothing remarkable happened through the day, and he went on leisurely.
Some time after dark, as he was peering around the country for shelter,
he saw a light emitted from a small low lodge. He went up to it very
slyly, and, peeping through the door, he discovered an old man alone,
with his head down upon his breast, warming his back before the fire.

Maidwa thought that the old man did not know that he was standing near
the door; but in this he was mistaken, for, without turning his eyes to
look at him, the old man said:

"Walk in, my grandchild; take a seat opposite to me, and take off
your things and dry them, for you must be fatigued. I will prepare you
something to eat; you shall have something very delicate."

Maidwa accepted this kind invitation and entered the lodge. The old man
then remarked, as if in mere course of conversation:

"My kettle with water stands near the fire." Immediately a small earthen
pot with legs appeared by the fire. He then took one grain of corn, also
one of whortleberry, and put them in the pot.

Maidwa was very hungry, and seeing the limited scale of the old man's
housekeeping, he thought his chance for a supper was slight. The old man
had promised him something very delicate, and he seemed likely to keep
his word. But Maidwa looked on silently, and did not change his face any
more than if the greatest banquet that was ever spread had been going
forward.

The pot soon boiled, whereupon the old man said in a very quiet way:

"The pot will stand at a distance from the fire."

The pot removed itself, and the old man added to Maidwa:

"My grandchild, feed yourself," handing him at the same time a dish and
ladle of the same ware as the pot itself.

The young man, whose hunger was very great, helped himself to all that
was in the pot. He felt ashamed to think that he had done so, but before
he could speak the old man said:

"Eat, my grandchild; eat, eat!" and soon after he again said--"Help
yourself from the pot."

Maidwa was surprised, on dipping in his ladle, to see that the pot
was full; and although he emptied it a second time, it was still again
filled and refilled till his hunger was entirely satisfied. The old man
then observed, without raising his voice:

"The pot will return to its corner," and the pot took itself off to its
accustomed place in an out-of-the-way corner of the lodge.

Maidwa observed that the old man was about to address him, and took an
attitude which showed that he was prepared to listen.

"Keep on, my grandchild," said the old man; "you will surely gain that
which you seek. To tell you more I am not permitted; but go on as you
have begun and you will not be disappointed. To-morrow you will again
reach one of my fellow old men, but it is the one you will see after
him who will tell you all, and the manner in which you must proceed to
accomplish your journey. Often has this Red Swan passed, and those
who have followed it have never returned; but you must be firm in your
resolution, and be prepared for all that may happen."

"So will it be," answered Maidwa; and they both lay down to sleep.

Early in the morning the old man ordered his magic kettle to prepare
breakfast, so that his guest might eat before leaving. As Maidwa passed
out, the old man gave him a blessing with his parting advice.

Maidwa set forth in better spirits than at any time since he had
started; and night again found him in company with another old man who
also had a frisky little kettle which hurried up to the fire before it
was spoken to, bustled about and set supper briskly before Maidwa,
and then frisked away again, without waiting for orders. This old man
entertained him kindly and also carefully directed him on his way in the
morning.

He traveled with a light heart, as he now expected to meet the one who
was to give him directions how to proceed to get the Red Swan.

Toward night-fall Maidwa reached the lodge of the third old man. Before
coming to the door he heard him saying:

"Grandchild, come in." And going in promptly he felt quite at home.

The old man prepared him something to eat, acting as the other magicians
had done; and his kettle was of the same size, and looked as if it were
an own brother of the two others which had feasted him, except that this
kettle, in coming and going about its household duties, would make a
passing remark or sing a little tune for itself.

The old man waited until Maidwa had fully satisfied his hunger before he
addressed him:

"Young man, the errand you are bound on is beset with trials and
difficulties. Numbers have passed with the same purpose as that which
now prompts you, but they never returned. Be careful, and if your
guardian spirits are powerful, you may succeed. This Red Swan you are
following is the daughter of a magician who has abundance of everything,
but only this one child, whom he values more than the sacred arrows. In
former times he wore a cap of wampum, which was attached to his scalp;
but powerful Indians, warriors of a distant chief, came and told him
that their chief's daughter was on the brink of the grave, and that she
herself requested his wampum-cap, which she was confident would save
her life. 'If I can only see it,' she said, 'I will recover.' It was
for this cap they had come, and after long solicitation the magician
at length consented to part with it, in hope that it would restore to
health the dying maiden, although when he took it off to hand it to the
messengers it left the crown of his head bare and bloody. Years have
passed since, and his head has not healed. The coming of the warriors
to procure the cap for the sick maiden was a cheat, and they are now
constantly making sport of the unhappy scalp--dancing it about from
village to village--and on every insult it receives the poor old chief
to whom it belongs groans with pain. Those who hold it are too powerful
for the magician, and many have sacrificed themselves to recover it for
him, but without success. The Red Swan has enticed many a young man,
as she has you, to enlist them to procure the scalp, and whoever is so
fortunate as to succeed, it is understood, will receive the Red Swan
as his reward. In the morning you will proceed on your way, and toward
evening you will come to this magician's lodge. You will know it by the
groans which you will hear far over the prairie as you approach. He will
ask you in. You will see no one but himself. He will question you much
as to your dreams and the strength of your guardian spirits. If he is
satisfied with your answers, he will urge you to attempt the recovery
of his scalp. He will show you the course to take, and if you feel
inclined, as I see that you shall, go forward, my son, with a strong
heart; persevere, and I have a presentiment that you will succeed."

Maidwa answered, "I will try."

Betimes in the morning he set off on his journey, after having eaten
from the magic kettle, which sang a sort of farewell chant on its way
from the fireplace to its station in the corner.

Toward evening as he crossed a prairie, Maidwa heard groans from a
distant lodge, which were only interrupted by a voice from a person whom
he could not see, calling to him aloud:

"Come in! come in!"

As the young man entered the lodge, the magician heaved a great groan
from the very bottom of his chest, and Maidwa saw that the crown of his
head was all bare and bloody.

"Sit down, sit down," he said, "while I prepare you something to eat.
You see how poor I am. I have to attend to all my own wants, with no
other servant than that poor little kettle in the corner. Kettle, we
will have something to eat, if you please."

"In a moment," the kettle spoke up from the corner.

"You will oblige me by making all the despatch you can," said the
magician, in a very humble tone, still addressing the kettle.

"Have patience," replied the kettle, "and I will be with you presently."

After a considerable delay, there came forward ont of the corner from
which it had spoken a great heavy-browed and pot-bellied kettle, which
advanced with much stateliness and solemnity of manner till it had come
directly in front of the magician, whom it addressed with the question:

"What shall we have, sir?"

"Corn, if you please," the magician answered.

"No, we will have whortleberries," rejoined the kettle, in a firm voice.

"Very well; just as you choose."

When he supposed it was time, the magician invited Maidwa to help
himself.

"Hold a minute," interposed the kettle, as Maidwa was about to dip in
his ladle. He paused, and after a delay, the kettle, shaking itself up
and simmering very loudly, said, "Now we are ready."

Maidwa fell to and satisfied his hunger.

"Will the kettle now withdraw?" asked the magician, with an air of much
deference.

"No," said the kettle, "we will stay and hear what the young man has to
say for himself."

"Very well," said the magician. "You see," he added to Maidwa, "how poor
I am. I have to take counsel with the kettle, or I should be all alone,
without a day's food, and with no one to advise me."

All this time the Red Swan was carefully concealed in the lodge, behind
a curtain, from which Maidwa heard now and then a rustling noise that
fluttered his spirits and set his heart to beating at a wonderful rate.

As soon as Maidwa had partaken of food and laid aside his leggings and
moccasins, the old magician commenced telling him how he had lost his
scalp, the insults it was receiving, the pain he suffered thereby, his
wishes to regain it, the many unsuccessful attempts that had already
been made, and the numbers and power of those who retained it. He would
interrupt his discourse at times with sudden groans, and say:

"Oh, how shamefully they are treating it."

Maidwa listened to all the old magician had to say with solemn
attention.

The magician renewed his discourse and inquired of Maidwa as to his
dreams, or what he saw in his sleep, at such times as he had fasted and
darkened his face to procure guardian spirits.

Maidwa then told him one dream. The magician groaned.

"No, that is not it," he said.

Maidwa told him of two or three others.

The magician groaned again and again and said, rather peevishly, "No,
these are not the dreams."

"Keep cool," said the kettle. It had left the fire and was standing in
the middle of the floor, where a pleasant breeze was blowing through the
lodge. Then it added, "Have you no more dreams of another kind?"

"Yes," said Maidwa, and he told him one.

"That will do," said the kettle. "We are much pleased with that."

"Yes, that is it--that is it!" the magician added. "You will cause me to
live. That was what I was wishing you to say. Will you then go and see
if you can not recover my poor scalp?"

"Yes," said Maidwa, "I will go; and the day after to-morrow, when you
hear the ka-kak cries of the hawk, you will know that I am successful.
You must prepare your head, and lean it out through the door, so that
the moment I arrive I may place your scalp on."

"Yes, yes," said the magician. "As you say it will be done."

Early the next morning, Maidwa set out to fulfil his promise; and in
the afternoon, when the sun hangs toward home, he heard the shouts of a
great many people. He was in a wood at the time, and saw, as he thought,
only a few men, but as he went on they increased in numbers. When he
emerged upon the plain, their heads appeared like the hanging leaves,
they were so many.

In the middle of the plain he perceived a post and something waving at
its top. It was the wampum scalp; and every now and then the air was
rent with the war-song, for they were dancing the war-dance in high
spirit around it.

Before he could be observed, Maidwa changed himself into a humming-bird,
and flew toward the scalp. When he passed some of those who were
standing by, he came close to their ears; as they heard the rapid whirr
or murmur which this bird makes when it flies, they jumped aside and
asked each other what it could be. Maidwa by this time had nearly
reached the scalp, but fearing that he should be perceived while untying
it, he again changed himself into the down that floats lightly on the
air, and sailed slowly on to the scalp. He loosened it, and moved
off heavily, as the weight was almost too great for him to carry. The
Indians around would have snatched it away had not a lucky current of
air just then buoyed him up. As they saw that it was moving away they
cried out:

"It is taken from us! it is taken from us!"

Maidwa was borne gently along but a little way above their heads; and
as they followed him, the rush and hum of the people was like the dead
heating of the surges upon a lake shore after a storm. But the good
wind, gaining strength, soon carried him beyond their pursuit. A little
further on he changed himself into a hawk and flew swiftly off with his
trophy, crying, "Ka-kak! ka-kak!" till the hawk cry resounded with its
shrill tone throughout the whole country, far and wide.

Meanwhile the magician had remembered the instructions of Maidwa,
placing his head outside of the lodge as soon as he heard the ka-kak cry
of the hawk.

In a moment Maidwa came past with rustling wings, and as he flew he gave
the magician a severe blow on the head with the wampum-scalp. The old
man's limbs extended and quivered in pain, but the scalp adhered,
just as Maidwa, in his own person, walked into the lodge and sat down,
feeling perfectly at home.

The magician was so long in recovering from the stunning blow which
had been dealt him, that Maidwa feared he had destroyed his life in
restoring the crown of his head. Presently, however, he was pleased to
see him show by the motion of his hands and limbs that his strength was
returning; and in a little while he rose and stood upon his feet. What
was the delight of Maidwa to behold, instead of a withered old man far
advanced in years and stricken in sorrow, a bright and cheerful youth,
who glittered with life as he stood up before him.

"Thank you, my friend," he said. "Your kindness and bravery of heart
have restored me to my former shape. It was so ordained, and you have
now accomplished the victory."

They embraced, and the young magician urged the stay of his deliverer
for a few days. This invitation Maidwa was glad to accept and they
formed a strong attachment to each other.

The magician, to the deep regret of Maidwa, never once alluded to the
Red Swan in all their conferences.

At last the day arrived when Maidwa prepared to return to his home. The
young magician bestowed on him ample presents of wampum, fur, robes, and
other costly things. Although Maidwa's heart was burning within him to
see the Red Swan, to hear her spoken of, and to learn what his fortune
was to be in regard to that fond object of his pursuit, he constrained
his feelings and so checked his countenance as never to look where he
supposed she might be. His friend the young magician observed the same
silence and caution.

Maidwa's pack for traveling was now ready, and he was taking his
farewell smoke, when the young magician thus addressed him:

"My friend Maidwa, you know for what cause you came thus far, and why
you have risked so much and waited so long. You have proved my friend
indeed. You have accomplished your object, and your noble perseverance
shall not go unrewarded. If you undertake other things with the same
spirit, you will always succeed. My destiny compels me to remain where
I am, although I should feel happy to be allowed to go with you. I have
given you, of ordinary gifts, all you will need as long as you live;
but I see you are backward to speak of the Red Swan. I appreciate your
delicacy, but I vowed that whoever procured me my lost wampum-scalp
should be rewarded by possessing her."

He then spoke in a language which Maidwa did not understand, the curtain
of the lodge parted, and the Red Swan met his delighted gaze. It was a
beautiful maiden that he beheld, so majestic and airy in her look, that
he seemed to see a creature whose home should rather be in the free
heaven, among the rosy clouds, than in this dusky lodge.

"Take her," the young magician said, "she is my sister; treat her well.
She is worthy of you, and what you have done for me merits more. She is
ready to go with you to your kindred and friends, and has been so ever
since your arrival. My good wishes shall go with you both."

The Red Swan smiled kindly on Maidwa, who advanced and greeted her. Hand
in hand, then, they took their way forth from the lodge, and, watched
by the young magician, advanced across the prairie on their homeward
course.

They traveled slowly and looked with double joy on the beautiful country
over which they had both so lately passed with hearts ill at ease.

After two or three days they reached the lodge of the third old man
who had entertained him with the singing kettle; but the kettle was not
there. The old man, nevertheless, received them very kindly, and said to
Maidwa:

"You see what your perseverance has secured you; do so always, and you
will succeed in whatever you undertake."

On the following morning, when they were about to start, he pulled from
the side of the lodge a bag, which he presented to Maidwa, saying:

"Grandchild, I give you this; it contains a present for you; and I hope
you will live happily till old age."

Bidding him farewell, they again set forward; and they soon came to the
second old man's lodge. He also gave them a present and bestowed his
blessing.

Nor did Maidwa see anything here of the frisky little kettle which had
been so lively on his former visit.

As they went on and came to the lodge of the first old man, their
reception and farewell were the same; only when Maidwa glanced to the
corner he failed to see the silent kettle, which had served him so well.
The old man smiled when he discovered the direction of Maidwa's glance,
but he said nothing.

When, on continuing their journey, they at last approached the first
town that Maidwa passed in his pursuit, the watchman gave notice as
before, and Maidwa was shown into the chief's lodge.

"Sit down there, son-in-law," said the chief, pointing to a place near
his daughter. "And you also," he said to the Red Swan.

The chief's daughter was engaged in coloring a girdle, and, as
indifferent to these visitors, she did not even raise her head.
Presently the chief said, "Let some one bring in the bundle of our
son-in-law."

When the bundle was laid before him, Maidwa opened one of the bags
which had been given to him. It was filled with various costly
articles--wampum, robes, and trinkets of much richness and value;
these, in token of his kindness, he presented to the chief. The chief's
daughter stole a glance at the costly gifts, then at Maidwa and his
beautiful wife. She stopped working and was silent and thoughtful all
the evening. The chief himself talked with Maidwa of his adventures,
congratulated him on his good fortune, and concluded by telling him that
he should take his daughter along with him in the morning.

"Yes," said Maidwa.

The chief then spoke up, saying, "Daughter, be ready to go with him in
the morning."

Now it happened when the chief was thus speaking that there was a
foolish fellow in the lodge, who had thought to have got this chief's
daughter for a wife. He jumped up, looked grimly at Maidwa, and said:
"Who is he that he should take her for a few presents? I will kill him."

And he raised a knife which he had in his hand and gave it a mighty
flourish in the air. He kept up this terrible flourish till some one
came and pulled him back to his seat. He had been waiting for this and
yielded quietly enough.

At peep of day amid the greetings of their new friends, Maidwa and the
Red Swan, with the chief's daughter, took their leave. Toward evening
they reached the other town. The watchman gave the signal, and numbers
of men, women and children stood out to see them. They were again
shown into the chief's lodge, and the chief welcomed Maidwa, saying:
"Son-in-law, you are welcome."

And he requested Maidwa to take a seat by his daughter, and the two
women did the same.

After suitable refreshments for all, and while Maidwa smoked a pipe,
the chief asked him to relate his adventures in the hearing of all the
inmates of the lodge and of the strangers who had gathered in at report
of his singular fortunes.

Maidwa gave them his whole story. When he came to those parts which
related to the Red Swan, they turned and looked upon her in wonder and
admiration, for she was very beautiful.

The chief then informed Maidwa that his brothers had been to their town
in search of him, but that they had gone back some time before, having
given up all hopes of ever seeing him again.

"But you are a man of spirit," the chief continued, "whom fortune is
pleased to befriend. Take my daughter with you and treat her well. So
shall we be more closely bound together."

It is always the case in an assembly or gathering that some one of the
number is foolish and disposed to play the clown. It happened to be so
here. One of this very sort was in the lodge, and now this pretender
jumped up in a passion and cried out:

"Who is this stranger, that he should have her? I want her myself."

The chief bade him be quiet, and not to disturb or quarrel with one who
was enjoying their hospitality.

"No, no," he exclaimed, rushing forward as in act to strike.

Maidwa sat unmoved and paid no heed to his threats.

He cried the louder--"I will have her, I will have her!" whereupon the
old chief, being now vexed past patience, took his great war-club and
tapped this clownish fellow upon the head, which so far subdued him
that he sat for some time quite still; when, after a while, he came to
himself, the chief upbraided him for his folly and told him to go out
and tell stories to the old women.

When at last Maidwa was about to leave he made rich presents and invited
a number of the families of the chief to go with him and visit his
hunting-grounds, where he promised them that they would find game in
abundance. They consented, and in the morning a large company assembled
and joined Maidwa; and the chief, with a party of warriors, escorted
them a long distance. When ready to return, the chief made a speech and
besought the blessing of the Good Spirit on Maidwa and his friends.

The two companies parted, marching away over the prairie, each on its
own course, their waving feathers glittering in the morning sun, their
war-drums sounding afar.

After several days' travel, Maidwa and his friends came in sight of his
home. The others rested within the woods while he went alone in advance
to see his brothers.

He entered the lodge. It was all in confusion and covered with ashes. On
one side was his elder brother, sitting among the cinders, with his
face blackened, and crying aloud. On the other side sat the younger,
Jee-kewis, also with blackened face, his head covered with stray
feathers and tufts of swan-down. This one presented so curious a
figure that Maidwa could not keep from laughing. He seemed to be so lost
and far-gone in grief that he could not notice his brother's arrival.
The eldest, however, lifted up his head and recognized Maidwa, then
jumped up and shook hands, kissed him, and expressed much joy at his
return.

Maidwa, as soon as he had received his brother's greeting, made known
that he had brought each of; them a wife. And now Jeekewis, hearing a
wife spoken of, roused from his torpor and sprang to his feet, crying
loudly:

"Why, did you come just now?" and at once made for the door and peeped
out to see the strangers. He then commenced jumping and laughing and
crying out, "Women! women!" and that was all the reception he: gave his
brother. But Maidwa told them to wash themselves and put the lodge in
order while he went to fetch the wives in.

Jeekewis scampered about and began to wash himself; but he would every
now and then, with one side of his head all feathers and the other clear
and shining, peep forth to look at the women again. When they came near,
he said, "I will have this one. No, that one"; he did not exactly know
which; he would sit down for an instant, and then rise, and peep about
and laugh; in fact he acted like one beside himself.

As soon as order was restored, and all the company who had been brought
in were seated, Maidwa presented one of the chief's daughters to his
eldest brother, saying: "These women were given to me, to dispose of in
marriage. I now give one to each. I intended so from the first."

Maidwa led the other daughter to Jeekewis and said, "My brother, here is
a wife for you. Live happily."

Jeekewis hung down his head as if he were ashamed, but he would every
now and then steal a look at his wife and also at the other women.

By and by he turned toward his wife and acted as if he had been married
for years.

Maidwa, seeing that no preparation had been made to entertain the
company, said, "Are we to have no supper?"

He had no sooner spoken, than forth from a corner stepped the silent
kettle, which placed itself by the fire and began bubbling and boiling
quite briskly. Presently this was joined by the big talking kettle,
which said, addressing itself to Maidwa, "Master, we shall be ready
presently." And then, dancing along, there came from still another
corner the frisky little kettle, which hopped to their side and took
an active part in the preparations for the evening meal. When all was
nearly ready, a delicate voice was heard singing in the last corner of
the lodge, and keeping up its dainty carol all the way to the fireplace,
the fourth kettle joined the three cooks. Then they all fell to with all
their might to despatch their work in the best possible humor.

It was not long before the big kettle advanced toward Maidwa and said,
in his own confident way, "Supper is ready!"

The feast was a jovial one, for they were all hungry, and plied their
ladles with right good will. And yet the four magic kettles held out,
dip in as often as they would, and had plenty to the end of the revel.

And now to draw to a close, Maidwa and his friends lived in peace for
a time; their town prospered; there was no lack of children; and
everything else was in abundance.

But one day the two brothers began to look darkly upon Maidwa. They
reproached him for having taken from the medicine-sack their dead
father's magic arrows; they upbraided him especially that one was lost.

After listening to them in silence, he said that he would go in search
of the lost arrow, and that it should be restored; and the very next
day, true to his word, he left them.

After traveling a long way and looking in every direction, almost
hopeless of discovering the lost treasure, he came to an opening in
the earth. When he descended this, it led him to the abode of departed
spirits. The country appeared beautiful, the pastures were greener than
his own, the sky bluer than that which hung over the lodge, and the
extent of it was utterly lost in a dim distance. Moreover he saw animals
of every kind wandering about in great numbers. The first he came to
were buffalos; and his surprise was great when they addressed him as
human beings.

They asked him what he came for, how he had descended, and why he was so
bold as to visit the abode of the dead.

He answered that he was in quest of a magic arrow, to appease the anger
of his brothers.

"Very well," said the leader of the buffalos, whose form was nothing
but bone. "Yes, we know it," and he and his followers moved off a little
space from Maidwa, as if they were afraid of him. "You have come,"
resumed the buffalo-spirit, "to a place where a living man has never
before been. Return immediately to your tribe, for under pretence of
recovering one of the magic arrows which belong to you by your father's
dying wish, your brothers have sent you off so that they may become
possessed of your beautiful wife, the Red Swan. Speed home! You will
find the magic arrow at the lodge-door. You will live to a very old age,
and die happily. You can go no farther in these abodes of ours."

Maidwa looked, as he thought, to the west, and saw a bright light as if
the sun was shining in its splendor, but he saw no sun.

"What light is that yonder?" he asked.

The buffalo whose form was nothing but bone answered--"It is the place
where those who were good dwell."

"And that dark cloud?" Maidwa again asked.

"It is the place of the wicked," answered the buffalo.

This cloud was very dark and to look upon it pained his eyes. So Maidwa
moved away with the help of his guardian spirits, stood upon the earth
again, and beheld the sun giving light as usual.

All else that he learned in the abodes of the dead is unknown, for he
never spoke of it to any human being.

After regaining the earth and wandering a long time to gather knowledge
to make his people happy and to add to their comfort, he drew near to
his village one evening. Passing all the other lodges he came to his own
door, where he found the magic arrow, as he had been promised. He heard
his brothers within at high words with each other. They were quarrelling
for the possession of his wife, who had remained constant through all
his absence, and sadly awaited his return. Maidwa listened in shame and
sorrow.

He entered the lodge, holding his head aloft as one conscious of good
principle and shining with anger. He spoke not a word, but placing the
magic arrow to his bow, he would have laid his brothers dead at his
feet.

Just then, however, the talking kettle stepped forward and spoke such
words of wisdom, the singing kettle trolled forth such a soothing little
song, the guilty brothers were so contrite and keenly repentant of their
intended wrong, the Red Swan was so radiant and forgiving, the silent
kettle straightway served them up so hearty and wholesome a meal, and
the frisky little kettle was so joyful and danced about so merrily, that
Maidwa decided to forgive them. And when the magic arrows were laid away
in the medicine-sack, there was in all the Indian country that night no
happier family than the three brothers, who ever after dwelt together in
all kindness, as all good brothers should.

[Illustration: 0091]




IV. THE CELESTIAL SISTERS


|WAUPEE, or the White Hawk, lived in a remote part of the forest, where
animals abounded. Every day he returned from the chase with a large
spoil, for he was one of the most skilful and lucky hunters of his
tribe. His form was like the cedar; the fire of youth beamed from his
eye; there was no forest too gloomy for him to penetrate, and no track
made by bird or beast of any kind which he could not readily follow.

One day he had gone beyond any point which he had ever before visited.
He traveled through an open wood, which enabled him to see a great
distance. At length he beheld a light breaking through the foliage of
the distant trees, which made him sure that he was on the borders of
a prairie. It was a wide plain, covered with long blue grass, and
enamelled with flowers of a thousand lovely tints.

After walking for some time without a path, musing upon the open country
and enjoying the fragrant breeze, he suddenly came to a ring worn among
the grass and the flowers, as if it had been made by footsteps moving
lightly round and round. But it was strange--so strange as to cause the
White Hawk to pause and gaze long and fixedly upon the ground--there was
no path which led to this flowery circle. There was not even a crushed
leaf or a broken twig, nor did he find the least trace of a footstep,
approaching or retiring. So wondering he thought he would hide himself
and lie in wait to discover, if he could, what this strange circle
meant.

Presently he heard faint sounds of music in the air. Looking up in the
direction they came from, he saw floating a small object, like a little
summer cloud that approaches down from above the earth. At first it was
very small, and seemed as if it could have been blown away by the first
breeze that came along; but it rapidly grew as he gazed upon it, and
the music every moment came clearer and more sweetly to his ear. As it
neared the earth it appeared as a basket, and it was filled with twelve
sisters, of the most lovely forms and enchanting beauty.

As soon as the basket touched the ground they leaped out, and began
straightway to dance around the magic ring, in the most joyous manner,
striking a shining ball, which uttered ravishing melodies, keeping time
as they danced.

[Illustration: 0095]

The White Hawk, from his concealment, gazed with delight upon their
graceful forms and movements. He admired them all, but he was most
pleased with the youngest. He longed to be at her side, to embrace her,
to call her his own; and unable to remain longer a silent admirer, he
rushed out and endeavored to seize this twelfth beauty who so enchanted
him. But the sisters, the moment they descried the form of a man, leaped
back into the basket with the swiftness of birds, and were drawn up into
the sky.

Lamenting his ill-luck, Waupee gazed longingly upon the fairy basket as
it ascended bearing the lovely sisters from his view.

"They are gone," he said, "and I shall see them no more."

He returned to his solitary lodge, but found no relief to his mind.
He walked abroad, but to look at the sky, which had withdrawn from his
sight the only being he had ever loved, was painful to him now.

The next day, selecting the same hour, the White Hawk went back to the
prairie, and took his station near the ring. But in order to deceive the
sisters, he assumed the form of an opossum, and sat among the grass as
if he were there engaged in chewing the cud. He had not waited long when
he saw the cloudy basket descend, and heard the same sweet music falling
as before. He crept slowly toward the ring; but the instant the sisters
caught sight of him they were startled, and sprang into their car. It
rose a short distance when one of the elder sisters spoke:

"Perhaps," she said, "it has come to show us how the game is played by
mortals."

"Oh, no," the youngest replied; "quick, let us ascend."

And all joining in a chant, they rose out of sight.

Then Waupee, casting off his disguise, walked sorrowfully back to his
lodge--but ah, the night seemed very long to lonely White Hawk! His
whole soul was filled with the thought of the beautiful sister.

Betimes, the next day, he returned to the haunted spot, hoping and
fearing, and sighing as though his very soul would leave his body in its
anguish. He reflected upon the plan he should follow to secure success.
He had already failed twice; to fail a third time would be fatal. By
searching he found nearby an old stump, much covered with moss, and just
then in use as the residence of a number of mice, who had stopped there
on a pilgrimage to some relatives on the other side of the prairie. The
White Hawk was so pleased with their tidy little forms that he
thought he, too, would be a mouse, especially as they were by no means
formidable to look at, and would not be at all likely to create alarm.

He accordingly brought the stump and set it near the ring. Then, without
further notice, he became a mouse, and peeped and sported, and kept his
sharp little eyes busy with the others; only he did not forget to keep
one eye up toward the sky, and one ear wide open in the same direction.

It was not long before the sisters, at their customary hour, came down
and resumed their sport.

"But see," cried the youngest sister, "that stump was not there before."

She ran off, frightened, toward the basket. But her sisters only smiled,
and gathering round the old tree-stump, struck it, in jest, when out ran
the mice, and among them Waupee. This was sport for the sisters and they
chased and killed them all save one, which was pursued by the twelfth
sister, who had decided after all to join in the game. As she raised a
silver stick which she held in her hand to put an end to that, too, the
form of the White Hawk arose, and he clasped his prize in his arms. The
other eleven sprang to their basket, and were drawn up to the skies.

Delighted with his success, Waupee exerted all his skill to please
his bride and win her affections. He wiped the tears from her eyes; he
related his adventures in the chase; he dwelt upon the charms of life
on the earth. He was constant in his attentions, keeping fondly by
her side, and picking out the way for her to walk as he led her gently
toward his lodge. He felt his heart glow with joy as he entered it, and
from that moment he was one of the happiest of men.

Winter and summer passed rapidly away, and as spring drew near with its
balmy gales and its many-colored flowers, their happiness was increased
by the presence of a beautiful boy in their lodge, a son with both his
mother's beauty and his father's strength. What more of earthly blessing
was there for them to enjoy?

Waupee's wife, however, was a daughter of one of the stars; and as the
scenes of earth began to pall upon her sight, she sighed to revisit her
father. But she hid these feelings from her husband. She remembered the
charm that would carry her up, and while White Hawk was engaged in the
chase, she took occasion to construct a wicker basket, which she kept
concealed. In the meantime, she collected such rarities from the earth
as she thought would please her father, as well as the most dainty kinds
of food.

Then on a day when all was in readiness and Wau-pee absent, she went out
to the charmed ring, taking with her her little son. As they entered the
car she commenced her magical song, and the basket rose. The song was
sad, and of a lowly and mournful cadence, and as it was wafted far away
by the wind, it caught her husband's ear. It was a voice which he well
knew, and he instantly ran to the prairie. But though he made breathless
speed, he could not reach the ring before his wife and child had
ascended beyond his reach. He lifted up his voice in loud appeals, but
they were unavailing. The basket still went up. He watched it till it
became a small speck, and finally it vanished in the sky. He then bent
his head down to the ground and was miserable.

Through a long winter and a long summer Waupee bewailed his loss, but he
found no relief. The beautiful spirit had come and gone, and he should
see it no more!

In the meantime his wife had reached her home in the stars, and in the
blissful employments of her father's house she almost forgot that she
had left a husband upon the earth. But her son, as he grew up, resembled
his father more and more, and every day he was restless and anxious to
revisit the scene of his birth. His grandfather, perceiving this, said
to his daughter:

"Go, my child, take your son down to his father, and ask him to come up
and live with us. But tell him to bring along a specimen of each kind of
bird and animal he kills in the chase."

The mother accordingly took the boy and descended. And the White Hawk,
who was ever near the enchanted spot, heard her voice as she came down
the sky. His heart beat with impatience as he saw her form and that of
his son, and they were soon clasped in his arms.

He heard the message of the Star, and he began to hunt with the greatest
activity, that he might collect the present with all despatch. He
spent whole nights, as well as days, in searching for every curious and
beautiful animal and bird. But he only preserved a foot, a wing, or a
tail of each.

When all was ready, Waupee visited once more each favorite spot--the
hill-top whence he had been used to see the rising sun; the stream where
he had sported as a boy; the old lodge, which he was to sit in no more;
and last of all, he came to the magic circle, and gazed widely around
him with tearful eyes. Then taking his wife and child by the hand, he
entered the car, and they were drawn up--into a country far beyond the
flight of birds, or the power of mortal eye to pierce.

Great joy was manifested upon their arrival at the starry plains.
The Star Chief invited all his people to a feast; and when they had
assembled, he proclaimed aloud that each one might continue as he was,
an inhabitant of his own dominions, or select of the earthly gifts such
as he liked best. A very strange confusion immediately arose; not one
but sprang forward. Some chose a foot, some a wing, some a tail, and
some a claw. Those who selected tails or claws were changed into animals
and ran off; the others assumed the form of birds and flew away. Waupee
chose a white hawk's feather. His wife and son followed his example, and
each one became a white hawk. He spread his wings, and, followed by his
wife and son, descended with the other birds to the earth, where they
are still to be found, with the brightness of the starry plains in their
eyes and the freedom of the heavenly breezes in their wings.

[Illustration: 0101]




V. GRAY EAGLE AND HIS FIVE BROTHERS


|THERE were six falcons living in a nest, five of whom were still too
young to fly, when it so happened that both the parent birds were shot
in one day. The young brood waited anxiously for their return; but night
came, and they were left without parents and without food.

Gray Eagle, the eldest, and the only one whose feathers had become stout
enough to enable him to leave the nest, took his place at the head of
the family and assumed the duty of stifling his brothers' cries
and providing the little household with food. In this he was very
successful. But one day, while out on a foraging excursion, he got one
of his wings broken. This was more to be regretted as the season had
arrived when they were soon to go to a southern country to pass the
winter, and the children were only waiting to become a little stronger
and more expert on the wing to set out on the journey.

Finding that their elder brother did not return, they resolved to go in
search of him. After beating up and down the country for the better part
of a whole day, they last found him, sorely wounded and unable to fly,
lodged in the upper branches of a sycamore tree.

"Brothers," said Gray Eagle, as they gathered around, questioning him
about his injuries, "an accident has befallen me, but let not this
prevent your going to a warmer climate. Winter is rapidly approaching,
and you cannot remain here. It is better that I alone should die, than
for you all to suffer on my account."

"No, no," they replied, with one voice. "We will not forsake you. We
will share your sufferings; we will abandon our journey and take care of
you as you did of us before we were able to take care of ourselves. If
the chill climate kills you, it shall kill us. Do you think we can so
soon forget your brotherly care, which has equalled a father's, and even
a mother's kindness? Whether you live or die, we will live or die with
you."

They sought out a hollow tree to winter in, and contrived to carry their
wounded nest-mate thither; and before the rigor of the season had set
in, they had, by diligence and economy, stored up food enough to carry
them through the winter months.

To make the provisions they had laid in last the better, it was agreed
among them that two of their number should go south, leaving the other
three to watch over, feed, and protect their wounded brother. So the
travelers set forth, sorry to leave home, but resolved that the first
promise of spring should bring them back again. And the three who
remained, mounting to the very peak of the tree and bearing Gray Eagle
in their arms, watched them, as they vanished away southward, till their
forms blended with the air and were wholly lost to sight.

Then Gray Eagle was propped up in a snug fork with cushions of dry
moss, and the household was set in order. The oldest of the five younger
brothers took upon himself the charge of nursing Gray Eagle, preparing
his food, bringing him water, and changing his pillows when he grew
tired of one position. He also looked to it that the house itself was
kept in a tidy condition, and that the pantry was supplied with food.
To the next brother was assigned the duty of physician, and he was to
prescribe such herbs and other medicines as the health of Gray Eagle
seemed to require. As the doctor brother had no other invalid on his
visiting-list, he devoted the time not given to the cure of his patient
to the killing of game wherewith to stock the housekeeper's larder; so
that, whatever he did, he was always busy in the line of professional
duty--killing or curing. On his hunting excursions Doctor Falcon carried
with him his youngest brother, who, being a foolish young fellow and
inexperienced in the ways of the world, it was not thought safe to trust
alone.

In due time, what with good nursing, good feeding, and good air, Gray
Eagle recovered from his wound; and he then repaid the kindness of
his brothers by giving them such advice and instruction in the art of
hunting as his age and experience qualified him to impart. As spring
advanced they began to look about for the means of replenishing their
storehouse, whose supplies were running low; and they were all quite
successful in their quest except the youngest, whose name was Peepi, or
the Pigeon-Hawk. He had of late begun to set up for himself, but being
small and foolish and feather-headed, flying hither and yonder without
any set purpose, it so happened that Peepi always came home, so to
phrase it, with an empty game-bag and his pinions terribly rumpled.

At last Gray Eagle spoke to him and demanded the cause of his ill-luck.

"It is not my smallness or weakness of body," Peepi answered, "that
prevents my bringing home provender as well as my brothers. I am all the
time on the wing, hither and thither. I kill ducks and other birds every
time I go out; but just as I get to the woods, on my way home, I am met
by a large ko-ko-ho, who robs me of my prey; and," added Peepi, with
great energy, "it's my settled opinion that the villain lies in wait for
the very purpose of doing so."

"I have no doubt you are right, Brother Peepi," rejoined Gray Eagle. "I
know this pirate--his name is White Owl; and now that I feel my strength
fully recovered, I will go out with you to-morrow and help you look
after this greedy bush-ranger."

The next day they went forth in company and arrived at a fine
fresh-water lake. Gray Eagle seated himself hard by, while Peepi started
out. The latter soon pounced upon a duck.

"Well done!" thought his brother, who saw his success; but just as
little Peepi was getting to land with his prize, up sailed a large white
owl from a tree where he, too, had been watching, and laid claim to it.
He was on the point of wresting it from Peepi, when Gray Eagle, calling
out to the intruder to stop, rushed up, fixed his talons in both sides
of the owl, and without further introduction or ceremony flew away with
him.

The little Pigeon-Hawk followed closely, with the duck under his wing,
rejoiced and happy to think that he had something to carry home at last.
He was naturally much vexed with the owl, and had no sooner delivered
over the duck to the housekeeper, than he flew in the owl's face and,
venting an abundance of reproaches, would have torn the very eyes out of
the White Owl's head in his passion.

"Softly, Peepi," said the Gray Eagle, stepping in between them. "Don't
be in such a huff, my little brother, or show so revengeful a temper. Do
you not know that we are to forgive our enemies? White Owl, you may go;
but let this be a lesson to you, not to play the tyrant over those who
may chance to be weaker than yourself."

So, after adding to this much more good advice and telling him what kind
of herbs would cure his wounds.

Gray Eagle dismissed White Owl, and the brothers sat down to supper.

The next day, betimes, before the household had fairly rubbed the
cobwebs out of the corners of their eyes, there came a knock at the
front door--which was a dry branch that lay down before the hollow of
the tree in which they lodged--and being called to come in, who should
make their appearance but the two nest-mates, who had just returned from
the South where they had been wintering. There was great rejoicing over
their return, and now that they were all happily reunited, each one soon
chose a mate and began to keep house in the woods for himself.

Spring had now revisited the North. The cold winds had all blown
themselves away, the ice had melted, the streams were open and smiled as
they looked at the blue sky once more; and the forests, far and wide, in
their green mantle, echoed every cheerful sound.

But it is in vain that spring returns, and that the heart of Nature is
opened in bounty, if we are not thankful to the Master of Life, who has
preserved us through the winter. Nor does that man answer the end for
which he was made who does not show a kind and charitable feeling to all
who are in want or sickness.

The love and harmony of Gray Eagle and his brothers continued. They
never forgot each other. Every week, on the fourth afternoon of the week
(for that was the time when they had found their wounded elder brother),
they had a meeting in the hollow of the old sycamore tree, when they
talked over family matters and advised with each other about their
affairs, as brothers should.

[Illustration: 0108]




VI. HE OF THE LITTLE SHELL


|ONCE upon a time, all the people of a certain country had died,
excepting two helpless children, a baby boy and a little girl.

When their parents died, these children were asleep. The little girl,
who was the elder, was the first to awake. She looked around her, but
seeing nobody but her little brother, who lay smiling in his dreams, she
quietly resumed her bed.

At the end of ten days her brother moved, without opening his eyes.

At the end of ten days more he changed his position, lying on the other
side, and in this way he kept on sleeping for a long time; and pleasant,
too, must have been his dreams, for his little sister never looked at
him that he was not quite a little heaven of smiles and flashing
lights, which beamed about his head and filled the lodge with a strange
splendor.

The girl soon grew to be a woman, but the boy increased in stature very
slowly. It was a long time before he could even creep, and he was well
advanced in years before he could stand alone. When he was able to walk,
his sister made him a little bow and arrows, and hung around his neck a
small shell, saying:

"You shall be called Dais-Imid, or He of the Little Shell."

Every day he would go out with his bow, shooting at the small birds. The
first bird he killed was a tom-tit. His sister was highly pleased when
he took it to her. She carefully prepared and stuffed it, and put it
away for him.

The next day he killed a red squirrel. His sister preserved this, too.
The third day he killed a partridge, and this they had for their evening
meal.

After this he acquired more courage and would venture some distance from
home. His skill and success daily increased, and he killed the deer,
bear, moose, and other large animals inhabiting the forest.

At last, although so very small of stature, he became a great hunter,
and all that he shot he brought home and shared with his sister; and
whenever he entered the lodge, a light beamed about his head and filled
the place with a strange splendor.

He had now arrived at the years of manhood, but he still remained a
perfect infant in size.

One day, walking about in quest of game, he came to a small lake.

It was in the winter season; and upon the ice of the lake he saw a man
of giant height, employed in killing beavers.

Comparing himself with this great man, he felt that he was no bigger
than an insect. He seated himself on the shore and watched his
movements.

When the large man had killed many beavers, he put them on a hand-sled
which he had, and pursued his way home. When he saw him retire, the
dwarf hunter followed, and, wielding his magic shell, he cut off the
tail of one of the heavers and ran home with the prize.

The giant, on reaching his lodge with his sled-load of heavers, was
surprised to find one of them shorn of its tail.

The next day the little hero of the shell went to the same lake. The
giant, who had been busy there for some time, had already loaded his
sled and commenced his return; but running nimbly forward and overtaking
him, Dais-Imid succeeded in securing another of the heaver-tails.

"I wonder," said the giant, on reaching his lodge and overlooking his
heavers, "what dog it is that has thus cheated me. Could I meet him, I
would make his flesh quiver at the point of my javelin."

The giant forgot that he had taken without permission these very heavers
out of a beaver-dam which belonged to the little shell-man and his
sister.

The next day he pursued his hunting at the beaver-dam near the lake, and
he was again followed by the little man with the shell.

This time the giant was so nimble in his movements that he had nearly
reached home before Little Shell could overtake him; but making his best
speed, he was just in time to clip another beaver's tail before the sled
slipped into the lodge.

The giant would have been a patient giant, indeed, if his anger had not
been violent at these constant tricks played upon him. What vexed him
most, was, that he could not get sight of his enemy. Sharp eyes he would
have needed to do so, inasmuch as He of the Little Shell had the gift of
making himself invisible whenever he chose.

The giant, giving vent to his feelings with many loud rumbling words,
looked sharply around to see whether he could discover any tracks.
He could find none. The unknown had stepped too lightly to leave the
slightest mark behind.

The next day the giant resolved to disappoint his mysterious follower by
going to the beaver-dam very early; and accordingly, when Dais-Imid came
to the place, he found the fresh traces of his work, but the giant
had already gone away. He followed hard upon his tracks but failed to
overtake him. When He of the Little Shell came in sight of the lodge,
the stranger was in front of it, employed in skinning his beavers.

As Dais-Imid stood looking at him--he had been all this time
invisible--he thought:

"I will let him have a view of me."

Presently the man, who proved to be no less a personage than the
celebrated giant, Manabozho, looked up and saw him. After regarding him
with attention, he said:

"Who are you, little man? I have a mind to kill you."

The little hero of the shell replied:

"If you were to try to kill me you could not do it."

With this speech of the little man, Manabozho grabbed at him; but when
he thought to have had him in his hand, Little Shell was gone.

"Where are you now, little man?" cried Manabozho.

"Here, under your girdle," answered the shell-dwarf. At which giant
Manabozho, thinking to crush him, slapped down his great hand with all
his might; but on unloosing his girdle he was disappointed at finding no
dwarf there.

"Where are you now, little man?" he cried again, in a greater rage than
ever.

"In your right nostril!" the dwarf replied. Whereupon the giant
Manabozho seized himself by the finger and thumb at the place, and gave
it a violent tweak; but as he immediately heard the voice of the dwarf
at a distance upon the ground, he was satisfied that he had only pulled
his own nose to no purpose.

"Good-bye, Manabozho," said the voice of the invisible dwarf. "Count
your beaver-tails, and you will find that I have taken another for
my sister"; for He of the Little Shell never, in his wanderings or
pastimes, forgot his sister and her wishes. "Good-bye, beaver-man!"

And as he went away he made himself visible once more, and a light
beamed about his head and lit the air around him with a strange
splendor; a circumstance which Manabozho, who was at times quite
thick-headed and dull of apprehension, could in no way understand.

When Dais-Imid returned home, he told his sister that the time drew nigh
when they must separate.

"I must go away," said Dais-Imid, "it is my fate. You, too," he added,
"must go away soon. Tell me where you would wish to dwell."

She said, "I would like to go to the place of the breaking of daylight.
I have always loved the East. The earliest glimpses of light are from
that quarter, and it is to my mind the most beautiful part of the
heavens. After I get there, my brother, whenever you see the clouds,
in that direction, of various colors, you may think that your sister is
painting her face."

"And I," said he, "I, my sister, shall live on the mountains and rocks.
There I can see you at the earliest hour; there the streams of water run
clear; the air is pure; and the golden lights will shine ever around my
head. I shall ever be called 'Puck-Ininee, or the Little Wild Man of the
Mountains.' But," he resumed, "before we part forever, I must go and
try to find what manitoes rule the earth, and see which of them will be
friendly to us."

He left his sister and traveled over the surface of the globe, and then
went far down into the earth.

He had been treated well wherever he went. But at last he came to a
giant manito, who had a large kettle which was forever boiling. The
giant, who was a first cousin to Manabozho, and had already heard of the
tricks which Dais-Imid had played upon his kinsman, regarded him with a
stern look, and, catching him up in his hand, threw him unceremoniously
into the kettle.

It was evidently the giant's intention to drown Dais-Imid. In this he
was unsuccessful, for by means of his magic shell, little Dais, in less
than a second's time, hailed the water to the bottom, leaped from the
kettle, and ran away unharmed.

He returned to his sister and related his rovings and adventures. He
finished his story by addressing her thus:

"My sister, there is a manito at each of the four corners of the earth.
There is also one above them, far in the sky, a Great Being who assigns
to you and to me and to all of us, where we must go. And last," he
continued, "there is another and wicked one who lives deep down in
the earth. It will be our lot to escape out of his reach. We must now
separate. When the winds blow from the four corners of the earth, you
must then go. They will carry you to the place you wish. I go to the
rocks and mountains, where my kindred will ever delight to dwell."

Dais-Imid then took his hall-stick and commenced running up a high
mountain; a bright light shone about his head all the way, and he kept
singing as he went:=

```Blow, winds, blow! my sister lingers

````For her dwelling in the sky,

```Where the mom, with rosy fingers,

````Shall her cheeks with vermil dye.

```There my earliest views directed,

````Shall from her their color take,

```And her smiles, through clouds reflected,

````Guide me on by wood or lake.

```While I range the highest mountains,

````Sport in valleys green and low,

```Or, beside our Indian fountains,

````Raise my tiny hip-hallo.=

His voice rose faintly and more faint, and at last the maiden was alone.

But presently the winds blew, and, as Dais-Imid had predicted, his
sister was borne by them to the eastern sky, where she has ever since
lived, and her name is now the Morning Star.

[Illustration: 0116]




VII. OSSEOJ THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR


|THERE once lived an Indian in the north who had ten daughters, all of
whom grew up to womanhood. They were noted for their beauty, especially
Oweenee, the youngest, who was very independent in her way of thinking.
She was a great admirer of romantic places and spent much of her time
with the flowers and winds and clouds in the open air. It mattered not
to her that the flower was homely, if it was fragrant--that the winds
were rough, if they were healthful--and that the clouds were dark, if
they embosomed the fruitful rain; she knew how, in spite of appearances,
to acknowledge the good qualities concealed from the eye.

Her elder sisters were all sought in marriage, and one after another
went off to dwell in the lodges of their husbands. But Oweenee paid very
little attention to the many handsome young men who came to her father's
lodge for the purpose of seeing her. She was deaf to all proposals, till
at last to the great surprise of her kinsfolk she married an old man
called Osseo, who was scarcely able to walk, and who was too poor to
have things like other people. The only property he owned in the world
was the walking-staff which he carried in his hand. But though thus poor
and homely, Osseo was a devout and good man, faithful in all his duties,
and obedient in all things to the Good Spirit. Of course they jeered and
laughed at Oweenee on all sides, but she seemed to be quite happy, and
said to them:

"It is my choice and you will see in the end who has acted the wisest."

They made a special mock of the walking-staff, and scarcely an hour in
the day passed that they had not some disparaging reference to make
to it. Among themselves they spoke of "Osseo of the walking-staff," in
derision, as one might speak of "the owner of the big woods," or "the
great timberman."

"True," said Oweenee, "it is but a simple stick; but as it supports the
steps of my husband, it is more precious to me than all the forests of
the north."

A time came when the sisters and their husbands and their parents were
all invited to a feast. As the distance was considerable, they doubted
whether Osseo, so aged and feeble, would be able to undertake the
journey; but in spite of their friendly doubts, he joined them and set
out with a good heart.

As they walked along the path they could not help pitying their young
and handsome sister who had such an unsuitable mate. She, however,
smiled upon Osseo, and kept with him on the way the same as if he had
been the comeliest bridegroom in all the company. Osseo often stopped
and gazed upward; but the others could perceive nothing in the direction
in which he looked, unless it was the faint glimmering of the evening
star. They heard him muttering to himself as they went along, and one of
the elder sisters caught the words:

"Pity me, my father!"

"Poor old man," said she, "he is talking to his father. What a pity it
is that he would not fall and break his neck, that our sister might have
a young husband."

Presently as they came to a great rock where Osseo had been used to
breathe his morning and his evening prayer, the star emitted a brighter
ray, which shone directly in his face. Osseo, with a sharp cry, fell
trembling to the earth, where the others would have left him. But his
good wife raised him up, whereupon he sprang forward on the path, and
with steps light as the reindeer's he led the party, no longer decrepit
and infirm, but a beautiful young man. All were delighted, but when they
turned around to look for his wife, behold! she had become changed at
the same moment into an aged and feeble woman, bent almost double, and
walking with the staff which he had cast aside.

Osseo immediately joined her, and with looks of fondness and the
tenderest regard bestowed on her every endearing attention, and
constantly addressed her by the term of "De-ne-moosh-a," or "my
sweetheart."

As they walked along, whenever they were not gazing fondly in each
other's faces they bent their looks on heaven, and a light, as if of
far-off stars, was in their eyes.

On arriving at the lodge of the hunter with whom they were to feast,
they found the banquet ready, and as soon as their entertainer had
finished his harangue--in which he told them his feasting was in honor
of the Evening or Woman's Star--they began to partake of the portion
dealt out to each one of the guests, according to age and character. The
food was very delicious, and they were all happy but Osseo, who looked
at his wife and then gazed upward, as if he were still looking into the
substance of the sky. Then sounds were heard, as if from far-off voices
in the air, and they became plainer and plainer, till he could clearly
distinguish some of the words.

"My son, my son," said the voice, "I have seen your afflictions, and
pity your wants. I come to call you away from a scene that is stained
with blood and tears. The earth is full of sorrows. Wicked spirits, the
enemies of mankind, walk abroad and lie in wait to ensnare the children
of the sky. Every night they are lifting their voices to the Power of
Evil, and every day they make themselves busy in casting mischief in the
hunter's path. You have long been their victim, but you shall be their
victim no more. The spell you were under is broken. Your evil genius is
overcome. I have cast him down by my superior strength, and it is this
strength I now exert for your happiness. Ascend, my son; ascend into the
skies, and partake of the feast I have prepared for you in the stars,
and bring with you those you love.

"The food set before you is enchanted and blessed. Fear not to partake
of it. It is endowed with magic power to give immortality to mortals and
to change men to spirits. Your bowls and kettles shall no longer be wood
and earth. The one shall become silver, and the other pure gold. They
shall shine like fire, and glisten like the most beautiful scarlet.
Every maiden shall also change her state and looks, and no longer be
doomed to laborious tasks. She shall put on the beauty of the star-light
and become a shining bird of the air. She shall dance and not work. She
shall sing, and not cry.

"My beams," continued the voice, "shine faintly on your lodge, but they
have power to transform it into the lightness of the skies and decorate
it with the colors of the clouds. Come, Osseo, my son, and dwell no
longer on earth. Think strongly on my words and look steadfastly at my
beams. My power is now at its height. Doubt not, delay not. It is the
voice of the Spirit of the Evening Star that calls you away to happiness
and celestial rest."

The words were clear to Osseo, but his companions thought them some
far-off sounds of music, or birds singing in the woods. Very soon the
lodge began to shake and tremble, and they felt it rising into the air.
It was too late to run out, for they were already as high as the tops
of the trees. Osseo looked around him as the lodge passed through the
topmost boughs, and behold, their wooden dishes were changed into shells
of a scarlet color, the poles of the lodge to glittering rods of silver,
and the bark that covered them into the gorgeous wings of insects.

A moment more and his brothers and sisters, and their parents and
friends, were transformed into birds of various plumage. Some were jays,
some partridges and pigeons, and others gay singing birds, who hopped
about displaying their many-colored feathers and singing songs of
cheerful note.

But his wife, Oweenee, still kept her earthly garb and showed all the
signs of extreme old age. He again cast his eyes in the direction of the
clouds and uttered the peculiar cry which had given him the victory at
the rock. In a moment the youth and beauty of his wife returned; her
dingy garments assumed the shining appearance of green silk, and her
staff was changed into a silver feather.

The lodge again shook and trembled, for they were now passing through
the uppermost clouds, and they immediately afterward found themselves in
the Evening Star, the residence of Osseo's father.

"My son," said the old man, "leave the cage of birds at the door of the
lodge. Then enter, and I will inform you why you and your wife have been
sent for."

Osseo obeyed, and then took his seat in the lodge.

"Pity was shown to you," resumed the King of the Star, "on account of
the contempt of your wife's sisters, who laughed at her ill fortune and
ridiculed you while you were under the power of that wicked spirit whom
you overcame at the rock. That spirit lives in the next lodge, the
small star you see on the left of mine. He has always felt envious of
my family because we had greater power, and especially that we had
committed to us the care of the female world. He failed in many attempts
to destroy your brothers and sisters-in-law, but succeeded at last in
transforming yourself and your wife into decrepit old persons. You must
be careful and not let the light of his beams fall on you, while you are
here, for therein lies the power of his enchantment. A ray of light is
the bow and arrow he uses."

Osseo and Oweenee lived happy and contented in the parental lodge, and
in the course of time had a son, who grew up rapidly and in the very
likeness of Osseo himself. He was very quick and ready in learning
everything that was done in his grandfather's dominions, but he wished
also to learn the art of hunting, for he had heard that this was a
favorite pursuit below. To gratify him, his father made him a bow and
arrows and then let the birds out of the cage that he might practise
shooting. In this pastime he soon became expert, and the very first day
he brought down a bird; but when he went to pick it up, to his amazement
it was a beautiful young woman, with the arrow sticking in her breast.
It was one of his younger aunts.

The moment her blood fell upon the surface of that pure and spotless
planet, the charm was dissolved. The boy immediately found himself
sinking, although he was partly upheld by something like wings until
he had passed through the lower clouds. He then suddenly dropped upon a
high, breezy island in a large lake. He was pleased, on looking up, to
see all his aunts and uncles following him in the form of birds, and he
soon discovered the silver lodge descending with his father and mother,
its waving tassels fluttering like so many insects' gilded wings. It
rested on the loftiest cliffs of the island, and there they fixed
their residence. They all resumed their natural shapes, but they were
diminished to the size of fairies; and as a mark of homage to the King
of the Evening Star, they never failed on every pleasant evening during
the summer season to join hands and dance upon the top of the rocks.
These rocks were quickly observed by the Indians to be covered, on
moonlight evenings, with a larger sort of Ininees, or little men. They
called them Mish-in-e-mok-in-ok-ong, or Little Spirits, and the island
is named from them to this day.

Their shining lodge can be seen in the summer evenings, when the moon
beams strongly on the pinnacles of the rocks; and the fishermen who go
near those high cliffs at night have even heard the voices of the happy
little dancers. And Osseo and his wife, as fondly attached to each other
as ever, always lead the dance.

[Illustration: 0125]




VIII. THE WONDERFUL EXPLOITS OF GRASSHOPPER


|A MAN of small stature found himself standing alone on a prairie. He
thought to himself: "How came I here? Are there no beings on this earth
but myself? I must travel and see. I must walk till I find the abodes of
men."

So soon as his mind was made up, he set out, he knew not whither,
in search of habitations. He was a resolute little fellow, and no
difficulties could turn him from his purpose; neither prairies, rivers,
woods nor storms had the effect to daunt his courage or turn him back.
After traveling a long time he came to a wood, in which he saw decayed
stumps of trees looking as if they had been cut in ancient times, but
aside from that no other trace of men. Pursuing his journey, he found
more recent marks of the same kind; after this he came upon fresh traces
of human beings; first their footsteps, and then the wood they had
felled, lying in heaps. Pushing on, he emerged toward dusk from the
forest and beheld at a distance a large village of high lodges standing
on rising ground.

"I am tired of this dog-trot," he said to himself. "I will arrive there
on a run."

He started off with all his speed. On coming to the first lodge he
jumped over it, without any special exertion, and found himself standing
by the door on the other side. Those within saw something pass over the
opening in the roof; they thought from the shadow it cast that it must
have been some huge bird--and then they heard a thump upon the ground.

"What is that?" they all said and several ran out to see.

They invited him in, and he found himself in company with an old chief
and several men who were seated in the lodge. Meat was set before him;
after which the old chief asked him whither he was going and what was
his name. He answered that he was in search of adventures and that his
name was "Grasshopper."

They all opened their eyes upon the stranger with a broad stare.

"Grasshopper!" whispered one to another; and a general titter went
round.

They invited him to stay with them, which he was inclined to do; for
it was a pleasant village, but so small as constantly to embarrass
Grasshopper. He was in perpetual trouble; whenever he shook hands with a
stranger, to whom he might be introduced, such was the abundance of his
strength that, without meaning it he wrung his arm off at the shoulder.
Once or twice, in mere sport, he cuffed the boys by the side of the
head, and they flew out of sight as though they had been shot from a
bow; nor could they ever be found again, though they were searched
for in all the country round, far and wide. If Grasshopper proposed to
himself a short stroll in the morning, he was at once miles out of town.
When he entered a lodge, if he happened for a moment to forget himself,
he walked straight through the leathern, or wooden, or earthen walls, as
if he had been merely passing through a bush. At his meals he broke
in pieces all the dishes, set them down as lightly as he would; and
stretching a bit when he rose, it was a common thing for him to push off
the top of the lodge.

He wanted more elbow-room; and after a short stay, in which by
accidentally letting go of his strength he had nearly laid waste the
whole place, filling it with demolished lodges and broken pottery and
one-armed men, he made up his mind to go farther, taking with him a
young man who had formed a strong attachment for him, and who might
serve him as his pipe-bearer. For Grasshopper was a huge smoker, and
vast clouds followed him wherever he went; so that people could say,
"Grasshopper is coming!" by the mighty smoke he raised.

They set out together, and when his companion was fatigued with walking,
Grasshopper would put him forward on his journey a mile or two by giving
him a cast in the air and lighting him in a soft place among the trees,
or in a cool spot in a water-pond, among the sedges and water-lilies. At
other times he would lighten the way by showing off a few tricks, such
as leaping over trees, or turning round on one leg till he made the
dust fly; at which the pipe-bearer was mightily pleased, although it
sometimes happened that the character of these gambols frightened him.
For Grasshopper would, without the least hint of such an intention, jump
into the air far ahead, and it would cost the little pipe-bearer half
a day's hard travel to come up with him. And then, too, the dust
Grasshopper raised was often so thick and heavy as completely to bury
the poor little pipe-bearer, and compel Grasshopper to dig diligently
and with might and main to get him out alive.

One day they came to a very large village, where they were well
received. After staying in it some time (in the course of which
Grasshopper, in a fit of abstraction, walked straight through the
sides of three lodges without stopping to look for the door), they
were informed of a number of wicked manitoes or spirits who lived at
a distance, and who made it a practise to kill all who came to their
lodge. Attempts had been made to destroy them, but they had always
proved more than a match for such as had come out against them.

Grasshopper determined to pay them a visit, although he was strongly
advised not to do so. The chief of the village warned him of the great
danger he would incur, but finding Grasshopper resolved, he said:

"Well, if you will go, being my guest, I will send twenty warriors to
serve you."

Grasshopper thanked him for the offer, although he suggested that he
thought he could get along without them; at which the little pipe-bearer
grinned, for his master had never shown in that village what he could
do, and the chief thought that Grasshopper, being little himself, would
be likely to need twenty warriors, at the least, to encounter the wicked
spirits with any chance of success. So twenty young men made their
appearance. They set forward, and after about a day's journey they
descried the lodge of the Manitoes.

Grasshopper placed the warriors and his friend, the pipe-bearer, near
enough to see all that passed, while he went alone to the lodge.

As he entered, Grasshopper saw five horrid-looking Manitoes in the act
of eating. It was the father and his four sons. They were really hideous
to look upon. Their eyes were swimming low in their heads, and they
glared about as if they were half starved. They offered Grasshopper
something to eat, which he politely refused, for he had a strong
suspicion that it was the thigh-bone of a man.

"What have you come for?" said the old one.

"Nothing," answered Grasshopper. "Where is your uncle?"

They all stared at him and answered:

"We ate him, yesterday. What do you want?"

"Nothing," said Grasshopper. "Where is your grandfather?"

They all answered, with another broad stare:

"We ate him a week ago. Do you not wish to wrestle?"

"Yes," replied Grasshopper, "I don't mind if I do take a turn; but you
must be easy with me, for you see I am very little."

Pipe-bearer, who stood near enough to overhear the conversation, grinned
from ear to ear when he caught this remark. The Manitoes answered:

"Oh, yes, we will be easy with you."

And as they said this they looked at one another, and rolled their eyes
about in a dreadful manner. A hideous smile came over their faces as
they whispered among themselves:

"It's a pity he's so thin." Then, "You go," they said to the eldest
brother.

The two got ready--the Manito and Grasshopper--and they were soon
clinched in each other's arms for a deadly throw. Grasshopper knew their
object--his death; they wanted a taste of his delicate little body, and
he was determined they should have it, but perhaps in a different sense
from what they intended.

"Haw! haw!" they cried, and soon the dust and dry leaves flew about
as if driven by a strong wind. The Manito was strong, but Grasshopper
thought he could master him; and all at once giving him a sly trip, just
as the wicked spirit was trying to finish his breakfast with a piece out
of his shoulder, he sent the Manito head-foremost against a stone; and
calling aloud to the three others, he bade them come and take the body
away.

The brothers now stepped forth in quick succession, but Grasshopper,
having got his blood up and limbered himself by exercise, soon
dispatched the three--sending one this way, another that, and the third
straight up into the air, so high that he never came down again.

It was time for the old Manito to be frightened, and dreadfully
frightened he got, and ran for his life, which was the very worst thing
he could have done; for Grasshopper, of all his gifts of strength, was
most noted for his speed of foot. The old Manito set off, and for mere
sport's sake, Grasshopper pursued him. Sometimes he was before the
wicked old spirit, sometimes he was flying over his head, and then he
would keep along at a steady trot just at his heels, till he had blown
all the breath out of the old knave's body.

Meantime his friend, the pipe-bearer, and the twenty young warriors
cried out:

"Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha! Grasshopper is driving the Manito before him."

The Manito only turned his head now and then to look back. At length
when he was tired of the sport, Grasshopper, to be rid of him, with a
gentle application of his foot sent the wicked old Manito whirling
away through the air, where he made a great number of the most curious
turn-overs in the world till he came to alight. It so happened, then,
that he fell astride of an old bull-buffalo grazing in a distant
pasture, who straightway set off with him at a long gallop; and the old
Manito has not been heard of to this day.

Then the warriors and the pipe-bearer and Grasshopper set to work and
burned down the lodge of the wicked spirits, and when they came to look
about, they saw that the ground was strewn on all sides with human bones
bleaching in the sun; these were the unhappy victims of the Manitoes.
Grasshopper then took three arrows from his girdle, and after having
performed a ceremony to the Great Spirit, he shot one into the air,
crying:

"You are lying down; rise up, or you will be hit!"

The bones all moved to one place. He shot the second arrow, repeating
the same words, and each bone drew toward its fellow-bone. The third
arrow brought forth to life the whole multitude of people who had been
killed by the Manitoes. Grasshopper conducted the crowd to his friend,
the chief of the village, and gave them into his hands, telling who they
were and the manner in which they had come to life again. Meanwhile the
twenty warriors, pipe-bearer, and all the people cried together:

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Grasshopper has killed the wicked Manito."

The chief was there with his counsellors, to whom he spoke apart.

"Who is more worthy to rule than you?" said the chief to Grasshopper.
"_You_ alone can defend us all."

Grasshopper thanked him and told him that he was in search of more
adventures.

"I have done some things," said little Grasshopper, rather boastfully,
"and I think I can do some more."

The chief still urged him, but he was eager to go, and naming
Pipe-bearer to tarry and take his place, Grasshopper set out again on
his travels, promising that he would some time or other come back and
see them.

"Ho! ho! ho!" they all cried. "Come back again and see us!" He renewed
his promise that he would; and then set out alone.

After traveling some time he came to a great lake, and on looking about
he discovered a very large otter on an island. He thought to himself,
"His skin will make me a fine pouch." And he immediately drew up at long
shot and drove an arrow into the otter's side. Then he waded into
the lake, and with some difficulty dragged him ashore and up a hill
overlooking the lake.

As soon as Grasshopper got the otter into the warm sunshine, he skinned
him and threw the carcass some distance off, thinking the war-eagle
would come, and that he would have a chance to secure his feathers
as ornaments for the head; for Grasshopper began to be proud, and was
disposed to display himself.

He soon heard a rushing noise as of a loud wind, but could see nothing.
Presently a large eagle dropped, as if from the air, upon the otter's
carcass. Grasshopper drew his bow, and the arrow passed through under
both of his wings. The bird made a convulsive flight upward, with such
force that the cumbrous body was borne up several feet from the ground;
but the heavy otter, in which the bird's claws were deeply fixed,
brought the eagle back to the earth. Grasshopper possessed himself of a
handful of the prime feathers, crowned his head with the trophy, and set
off in high spirits on the look-out for something new.

After walking a while, he came to a body of water which flooded the
trees on its hanks--it was a lake made by beavers. Taking his station on
the raised dam where the stream escaped, he watched to see whether any
of the beavers would show themselves. A head presently peeped out of the
water to see who it was that disturbed them.

"My friend," said Grasshopper in his most persuasive manner, "could you
not oblige me by turning me into a beaver like yourself? Nothing would
please me so much as to make your acquaintance, I can assure you." For
Grasshopper was curious to know how these watery creatures lived, and
what kind of notions they had.

"I do not know," replied the heaver, who was rather short-nosed and
surly. "I will go and ask the others. Meanwhile stay where you are, if
you please."

"To be sure," answered Grasshopper, stealing down the bank several paces
as soon as the beaver's back was turned.

Presently there was a great splashing of the water, and all the heavers
showed their heads, and looked warily to where he stood, to see if he
was armed. But he had knowingly left his bow and arrows in a hollow tree
at a short distance.

After a long conversation, which they conducted in a whisper so that
Grasshopper could not catch a word, strain his ears as he would,
they all advanced in a body toward the spot where he stood; the chief
approaching the nearest and lifting his head highest out of the water.

"Can you not," said Grasshopper, noticing that they waited for him to
speak first, "turn me into a beaver? I wish to live among you."

"Yes," answered their chief. "Lie down." And Grasshopper in a moment
found himself a beaver, and was gliding into the water, when a thought
seemed to strike him, and he paused at the edge of the lake.

"I am very small," he said to the beaver in a sorrowful tone. "You must
make me large." For Grasshopper was terribly ambitious and wanted always
to be the first person in every company. "Larger than any of you; in my
present size it's hardly worth my while to go into the water."

"Yes, yes!" said they. "By and by, when we get into the lodge it shall
be done."

They all dived into the lake, and when in passing great heaps of limbs
and logs at the bottom, Grasshopper asked their use, they answered, "For
our winter's provision."

When they all got into the lodge the number was about one hundred. The
lodge was large and warm.

"Now we will make you large," said they. Then, "Will _that_ do?"

"Yes," he answered; for he found that he was ten times the size of the
largest.

"You need not go out," said the others. "We will bring you food into the
lodge, and you will be our chief."

"Very well," Grasshopper answered. He thought, "I will stay here and
grow fat at their expense."

But, soon after, one of them ran into the lodge out of breath, crying
out:

"We are visited by the Indians!"

All huddled together in great fear. The water began to lower, for the
hunters had broken down the dam, and soon they could be heard on the
roof of the lodge, breaking it up. Out jumped all the beavers into the
water, and so escaped.

Grasshopper tried to follow, then to call them back; but either they did
not hear or would not attend to him. So he had to find his own way of
getting out. Now, unfortunately, in order to gratify his ambition, the
beavers had made him too large to crawl out of the hole. He wiggled and
twisted in vain, and only worried himself till the sweat stood out on
his forehead in knobs and huge bubbles. He looked like a great bladder
swollen and blistered in the sun.

Although he heard and understood every word that the hunters spoke--and
some of their expressions suggested terrible ideas--he could not turn
himself back into a man. He had chosen to be a beaver, and a beaver
he must he. One of the hunters, a prying little man with a single lock
dangling over one eye, put his head in at the top of the lodge.

"Ty-au!" cried he. "Tut ty-au! Me-shau-mik--king of beavers is in."

Whereupon the whole crowd of hunters began upon him with their clubs,
and knocked his skull about until it was no harder than a morass in the
middle of summer. Grasshopper thought as well as ever he did, although
he was inhabiting the carcass of a beaver; and he felt that he was in a
rather foolish scrape.

Presently seven or eight of the hunters hoisted his body upon long
poles and marched away home with him. As they went, he reflected in this
manner:

"What will become of me? My ghost or shadow will not die after they get
me to their lodges. So perhaps then I will be free again."

Invitations were immediately sent out for a grand feast. But as soon as
Grasshopper's body got cold, his soul flew off, being uncomfortable in a
house without heat.

Having reassumed his mortal shape, Grasshopper found himself standing
near a prairie. After walking a distance, he saw a herd of elk feeding.
He admired their apparent ease and enjoyment of life, and thought there
could be nothing more pleasant than the liberty of running about and
feeding on the prairies. He had been a water animal and now he wished to
become a land animal, to learn what passed in an elk's head as he
roved about. So he asked them if they could not turn him into one of
themselves.

"Yes," they answered, after a pause. "Get down on your hands and feet."

He obeyed their directions and forthwith found himself an elk.

"I want big horns, big feet," said he. "I wish to be very large." For
all the conceit and vain-glory had not been knocked out of Grasshopper,
even by the sturdy thwacks of the hunters' clubs.

"Yes, yes," they answered. "There," exerting their power, "are you big
enough?"

"That will do," he replied, for, looking into a lake hard by,
Grasshopper saw that he was very large.

The elk spent their time in grazing and running to and fro; but what
astonished Grasshopper was that although he often lifted up his head and
directed his eyes that way, he could never see the stars, which he had
so admired as a human being.

Being rather cold one day, Grasshopper went into a thick wood for
shelter, whither he was followed by most of the herd. They had not been
long there when some elks from behind passed the others like a strong
wind, calling out:

"The hunters are after us!"

All took the alarm, and off they ran, Grasshopper with the rest.

"Keep out on the plains," they said. But it was too late to profit by
this advice, for they had already got entangled in the thick woods.
Grasshopper soon scented the hunters, who were closely following his
trail, for they had left all the other elk and were making after him in
full cry. He jumped furiously, dashed through the underwood, and broke
down whole groves of saplings in his flight. But this only made it the
harder for him to get on, such a huge and lusty elk was he by his own
request.

Presently, as he dashed past an open space, he felt an arrow in his
side. They could not well miss him, he presented so wide a mark to the
shot. He bounded over trees under the smart, but the shafts clattered
thicker and thicker at his ribs, and at last one entered his heart.
He fell to the ground, and heard the whoop of triumph sounded by the
hunters. On coming up, they looked on the carcass with astonishment, and
with their hands up to their mouths, exclaimed:

"Ty-au! ty-au!"

There were about sixty in the party, which had come out on a special
hunt, as one of their number the day before had observed his large
tracks on the plains. Now they were highly elated at having caught this
giant elk and immediately set about dividing the spoils. But as soon as
the skin was removed, the flesh grew cold. His spirit took its flight
from the dead body, and Grasshopper found himself again in human shape,
with a bow and arrows.

But his passion for adventure was not yet cooled; for on coming to a
large lake with a sandy beach, he saw a large flock of brant. Speaking
to them in the brant language, he requested them to make a brant of him.

"Yes," they replied at once, for the brant is a bird of a very obliging
disposition.

"But I want to be very large," he said. There was no end to the ambition
of little Grasshopper.

"Very well," they answered, and he soon found himself a large brant, all
the others standing gazing in astonishment at his great size.

"You must fly as leader," they said.

"No," answered Grasshopper, "I will fly behind."

"Very well," rejoined the brant. "One thing more we have to say to you,
brother Grasshopper. You must be careful, in flying, not to look down,
or something may happen to you."

"Well, it is so," said he; and soon the flock rose up into the air, for
they were bound north. They flew very fast--he behind.

One day, while going with a strong wind and as swiftly as their wings
could flap, they passed over a large village. The Indians raised a great
shout on seeing them, particularly on Grasshopper's account, for his
wings were broader than two large mats. The village people made such
a frightful noise that he forgot what had been told him about looking
down. They were now scudding along as swift as arrows; and as soon as he
brought his neck in and stretched it down to look at the shouters, his
huge tail was caught by the wind, and over and over he was blown. He
tried to right himself, but without success, for he had no sooner got
out of one heavy air-current than he fell into another, which treated
him even more rudely than that which he had escaped from. Down, down
he went, making more turns than he wished for, from a height of several
miles.

The first moment he had to look about him, Grasshopper, in the shape of
a big brant, was aware that he was jammed into a large hollow tree. To
get backward or forward was out of the question, and there, in spite of
himself, was Grasshopper forced to tarry till his brant life was ended
by starvation, when, his spirit being at liberty, he was once more a
human being.

As he journeyed on in search of further adventures, Grasshopper came to
a lodge in which were two old men, with heads white from extreme age.
They were very fine old men to look at. There was such sweetness and
innocence in their features that Grasshopper was very glad to accept
their invitation to enter the lodge and tarry a while.

They treated him well, and when he made known to them that he was going
back to his village, his friends and people, the two white-headed old
men very heartily wished him a good journey and abundance of comfort in
seeing his friends once more. They even arose, old and infirm as they
were, and tottering with exceeding difficulty to the door, were at great
pains to point out to him the exact course he should take; and called
his attention to the circumstance that it was much shorter and more
direct than the one he would have taken himself. Ah! what merry
deceivers were these two old men with very white heads.

Grasshopper, with blessings showered on him until he was fairly out
of sight, set forth with good heart. He thought he heard loud laughter
resounding after him in the direction of the lodge; but it could not
have been the two old men, for they were, certainly, too old to laugh.

He walked briskly all day, and at night he had the satisfaction of
reaching a lodge in all respects like that which he had left in the
morning. There were two more fine old men, and his treatment was in
every particular the same, even down to the parting blessing and the
laughter that followed him as he went his way.

After walking the third day and coming to a lodge the same as before,
he was satisfied from the bearings of the course he had taken and by a
notch which he had cut in the door-post, that he had been journeying
in a circle, that these were the same two old men, all along, and that,
despite their innocent faces and their very white heads, they had been
playing him a sorry trick.

"Who are you," said Grasshopper, "to treat me so? Come forth, I say."

They were compelled to obey his summons, lest, in his anger, he should
take their lives; and they appeared on the outside of the lodge.

"We must have a little trial of speed, now," said Grasshopper.

"A race?" they asked. "We are very old; we cannot run."

"We will see," said Grasshopper. Whereupon he set them out upon the road
and gave them a gentle push, which put them in motion. Then he pushed
them again--harder--harder--until they got under fine headway, when he
gave each of them an astounding shock with his foot, and off they flew
at a great rate, round and round the course; and such was the magic
virtue of the foot of Grasshopper, that no object once set a-going by
it could by any possibility stop; so that, for aught we know to the
contrary, the two innocent, whiteheaded, merry old men are trotting to
this day, with all their might and main around the circle in which they
beguiled Grasshopper.

Continuing his journey, Grasshopper, although his head was warm and
buzzing with all sorts of schemes, did not know exactly what to do until
he came to a big lake. He mounted a high hill to try and see to the
other side, but he could not. He then made a canoe and sailed forth. The
water was very clear--a transparent blue--and he saw that it abounded
with fish of a rare and delicate complexion. This circumstance inspired
him with a wish to return to his own village, so that he might bring his
people to live near this beautiful lake.

Toward evening, coming to a woody island, he encamped and ate the fish
he had speared, and they proved to be as comforting to the stomach as
they were pleasing to the eye. The next day Grasshopper returned to the
mainland, and as he wandered along the shore he espied at a distance the
celebrated giant, Manabozho, who is a bitter enemy of Grasshopper and
loses no opportunity to stop him on his journeyings and to thwart his
plans.

At first it occurred to Grasshopper to have a trial of wits with the
giant, but on second thoughts he said to himself, "I am in a hurry now;
I will see him another time."

With no further mischief than raising a great whirlwind of dust, which
caused Manabozho to rub his eyes severely, Grasshopper quietly slipped
out of the way; and he made good speed withal, for in much less time
than you could count half the stars in the sky of a winter night, he had
reached home.

His return was welcomed with a great hubbub of feasting and songs; and
he had scarcely set foot in the village before he had invitations to
take pot-luck at different lodges, and ate enough to have lasted him the
rest of his natural life. Pipe-bearer, who had some time before given
up the cares of a ruler and fallen back upon his native place, fairly
danced with joy at the sight of Grasshopper, who, not to be outdone,
dandled him affectionately in his arms by casting him up and down in the
air half a mile or so, till little Pipe-bearer had no breath left in his
body to say that he was happy to see Grasshopper home again.

Grasshopper gave the village folks a lively account of his adventures,
and when he came to the blue lake and the abundant fish, he dwelt upon
their charms with such effect that they agreed, with one voice, that it
must be a glorious place to live in, and if he would show them the way
they would shift camp and settle there at once.

He not only showed them the way, but bringing his wonderful strength and
speed of foot to bear, in less than half a day he had transported the
whole village, with its children, women, tents, and implements of war,
to the new water-side.

Here, for a time, Grasshopper appeared to be content, until one day a
message was brought him by a bear, who said that their king wished to
see him immediately at his village. Grasshopper was ready in an instant;
and mounting upon the messenger's back, off he went. Toward evening they
climbed a high mountain and came to a cave where the bear-king lived.
He was a very large person; and puffing with fat and a sense of his own
importance, he made Grasshopper welcome by inviting him into his lodge.

As soon as it was proper, the king spoke, and said that he had sent for
him on hearing that he was the chief who was moving a large party into
the bears' hunting-ground.

"You must know," said the bear-king with a terrible growl, "that you
have no right there, and I wish you would leave the country with your
party, or else the strongest force will take possession. This I say."

"Very well," replied Grasshopper, going toward the door, for he
suspected that the king of the bears was preparing to give him a hug.
"So be it."

He wished to gain time and to consult his people; for he had seen as he
came along that the bears were gathering in great force on the side of
the mountain. He also made known to the bear-king that he would go back
that night so that his people might be put in immediate possession of
the royal behest.

The bear-king replied that Grasshopper might do as he pleased, but that
one of his young men was at his command; so jumping nimbly on his back,
Grasshopper rode home.

He assembled the people and ordered the bear's head off, to be hung
outside of the village, that the bear spies, who were lurking in the
neighborhood, might see it and carry the news to their chief.

The next morning, by break of day, Grasshopper had all of his young
warriors under arms and ready for a fight. And none too soon, for about
the middle of the afternoon the bear war-party came in sight, led on by
the fat king. The bears advanced on their hind-legs, making a tremendous
noise, and a very imposing display of their teeth and eyeballs.

The bear-chief himself came forward, and with a majestic wave of his
right hand, said that he did not wish to shed the blood of the young
warriors; but that if Grasshopper consented, they two would have a race.
The winner should kill the losing chief, and all his young men should be
servants to the other.

Grasshopper agreed, of course--how little Pipe-bearer, who stood by,
grinned as they came to terms!--and they started to run before the whole
company of warriors who stood in a circle looking on.

At first there was a prospect that Grasshopper would be badly beaten;
for although he kept crowding the great fat bear-king till the sweat
trickled from his shaggy ears, he never seemed to be able to push past
him. But by and by, Grasshopper, going through a number of the most
extraordinary maneuvers in the world, raised about the great fat
bear-king such eddies and whirlwinds of sand, and so danced about,
before and after him, that the king at last got fairly bewildered, and
cried out for mercy. But Grasshopper still went on and reached the goal
where he only waited for the bear-king to come up to drive an arrow
through him. And now in fulfilment of the agreement the bears must
become servants, and Grasshopper ordered them to take the body off and
prepare it for supper.

"I am hungry," he said, "and would hold a great feast to celebrate our
victory."

All the bears had to help, and although bound to act becomingly
according to the forfeit, they made many a wry face as they carved up
the body of their late royal master. And either by accident or design
they fell into many curions blunders. One sprightly young fellow of an
inquisitive turn of mind was found upon the roof of the lodge, with his
head half-way down the smoke-hole, with a view to learn what they were
to have for dinner. Another, a middle-aged bear with very long arms,
who was put in charge of the children as nurse while the mothers were
outside to look after the preparations, squeezed three or four of the
most promising young papooses to death; another, when he should have
been waiting at the back of his master, had climbed a shady tree and was
indulging in his afternoon nap. And when, at last, the dinner was ready
to be served, they came tumbling in with the dishes, heels over head,
one after the other, so that one-half of the feast was spread upon the
ground, and the other half deposited out of doors, on the other side of
the lodge.

After a while, however, by strict discipline and threatening to cut off
their provisions, the bear-servants were brought into tolerable control.

Yet Grasshopper, with his ever restless disposition, was uneasy; and,
having done so many wonderful things, he resolved upon a strict and
thorough reform in all the affairs of the village. To prevent future
difficulty, he determined to adopt new regulations between the bears and
their masters.

With this view, he issued an edict that henceforward the bears should
eat at the first table, and that the Indians were to wait upon them;
that in all public processions of an honorable character the bears
should go first; and that when any fighting was to be done, the Indians
should have the privilege reserved of receiving the first shots. A
special exemption was made in behalf of Grasshopper's favorite and
confidential adviser, the Pipe-bearer, who had been very busy in
private, recommending the new order of things. He was to be allowed to
sit at the head of the feast, and to stay at home with the old women in
the event of battle.

Having seen his orders strictly enforced and the rights of the bears
over the Indians fairly established, Grasshopper fixed his mind upon
further adventures. He determined to go abroad for a time, and having
an old score to settle with Manabozho, he set out with a hope of soon
falling in with that famous giant. Grasshopper was a blood relation of
Dais-Imid, or He of the Little Shell, and had heard of what had passed
between that giant and his kinsman.

After wandering a long time he came to the lodge of Manabozho, who was
absent. He thought he must play him a trick; and so he turned everything
in the lodge upside down and killed his birds, of which there was an
extraordinary attendance. For Manabozho is master of the fowls of the
air, and this was the appointed morning for them to call and pay their
court to him. Among the number was a raven, accounted the meanest of
birds, which Grasshopper killed and hung up by the neck, as an insult.

He then went on till he came to a very high point of rocks running ont
into the lake, from the top of which he could see the country, back as
far as the eye could reach. While sitting there, Manabozho's mountain
chickens flew around and past him in great numbers. Out of mere spite
to their master, Grasshopper shot them by the score, for his arrows were
sure and the birds very plenty, and he amused himself by throwing the
birds down the rocks. At length a wary bird cried out:

"Grasshopper is killing us; go and tell our father."

Away sped a delegation of the birds which were the quickest of wing, and
Manabozho soon made his appearance on the plain below. Grasshopper, who,
when he is in the wrong, is no match for Manabozho, made his escape on
the other side. Manabozho, who had in two or three strides reached the
top of the mountain, cried out:

"You are a rogue. The earth is not so large but I can get up to you."

Off ran Grasshopper and Manabozho after him. The race was sharp; and
such leaps and strides as they made! Over hills and prairies with all
his speed went Grasshopper, and Manabozho hard upon him. Grasshopper had
some mischievous notions still left in his head which he thought might
befriend him. He knew that Manabozho was under a spell to restore
whatever he, Grasshopper, destroyed. Forthwith he stopped and climbed a
large pine-tree, stripped off its beautiful green foliage, threw it to
the winds, and then went on.

When Manabozho reached the spot, the tree addressed him:

"Great chief," said the tree, "will you give me my life again?
Grasshopper has killed me."

"Yes," replied Manabozho, who, as quickly as he could, gathered the
scattered leaves and branches, renewed its beauty with his breath, and
set off. Although Grasshopper in the same way compelled Manabozho to
lose time in repairing the hemlock, the sycamore, cedar, and many other
trees, the giant did not falter, but pushing briskly forward, was fast
overtaking him, when Grasshopper happened to see an elk. Asked for old
acquaintance' sake, to take him on his back, the elk did so, and for
some time made good headway, but still Manabozho was in sight.

He was fast gaining upon him, when Grasshopper threw himself off the
elk's back. Striking a great sandstone rock near the path, he broke
it into pieces, and scattered the grains in a thousand directions.
Manabozho was so close upon him at this place that he had almost caught
him; but the foundation of the rock, cried out:

"Haye! Ne-me-sho, Grasshopper has spoiled me. Will you not restore me to
life?"

"Yes," replied Manabozho, and re-established the rock in all its
strength.

He then pushed on in pursuit, and had got so near to Grasshopper as to
put out his arm to seize him; but Grasshopper dodged him, and, as
his last chance, he immediately raised such a dust and commotion by
whirlwinds, as made the trees break and the sand and leaves dance in the
air. Again and again Manabozho stretched out his arm, but Grasshopper
escaped him at every turn and kept up such a tumult of dust that he was
able to dash into a hollow tree which had been blown down, and change
himself into a snake without Manabozho's seeing him. He crept out at the
roots just in time to save his life, for at that moment Manabozho, who
had the power of lightning, struck the tree, and it was strewn about in
little pieces.

Again Grasshopper was in human shape, and Manabozho was pressing him
hard. At a distance he saw a very high bluff of rocks jutting out into
a lake, and he ran for the foot of the precipice, which was abrupt and
elevated. As he came near, to his surprise and great relief, the Manito
of the rock opened his door and told Grasshopper to come in. The door
was no sooner closed than Manabozho knocked.

"Open it!" he-cried, with a loud voice.

The Manito was afraid of Manabozho; but he said to Grasshopper:

"Since I have taken you as my guest, I would sooner die with you than
open the door."

"Open it!" Manabozho again cried, in a louder voice than before.

The Manito kept silent. Manabozho, however, made no attempt to open it
by force. He waited a few moments.

"Very well," he said, "I give you till morning to live."

Grasshopper trembled, for he thought his last hour had come; but the
Manito bade him to be of good cheer.

When the night came on the clouds were thick and black, and as they were
torn open by the lightning, such discharges of thunder as bellowed forth
were never before heard. The clouds advanced slowly and wrapped the
earth about with their vast shadows as in a huge cloak. All night long
the clouds gathered, and the lightning flashed, and the thunder roared,
and above all could be heard Manabozho muttering vengeance upon poor
little Grasshopper.

"You have led a very foolish kind of life, Grasshopper," said his friend
the Manito.

"I know it--I know it!" Grasshopper answered.

"You had great gifts of strength awarded to you," said the Manito.

"I am aware of it," replied Grasshopper.

"Instead of employing it for useful purposes, and for the good of your
fellow-creatures, you have done nothing since you became a man but raise
whirlwinds on the highways, leap over trees, break whatever you met in
pieces, and perform a thousand idle pranks."

Grasshopper, with great penitence, confessed that his friend the Manito
spoke but too truly; and at last his host, with a still more serious
manner, said:

"Grasshopper, you still have your gift of strength. Dedicate it to the
good of mankind. Lay all of these wanton and vainglorious notions out of
your head. In a word, be as good as you are strong."

"I will," answered Grasshopper. "My heart is changed; I see the error of
my ways."

Black and stormy as it had been all night, when morning came the sun
was shining, the air was soft and sweet as the summer down and the blown
rose; and afar off upon the side of a mountain sat Manabozho, his head
upon his knees, languid and cast down in spirit. His power was gone, for
now Grasshopper was in the right, and he could touch him no more.

With many thanks Grasshopper left the good Manito, taking the nearest
way home to his own people.

As he passed on, he fell in with an old man who was wandering about the
country in search of some place which he could not find. As soon as he
learned his difficulty, Grasshopper, placing the old man upon his back,
hurried away, and in a short hour's despatch of foot set him down among
his own kindred, of whom he had been in quest.

Losing no time, Grasshopper next came to an open plain where a small
number of men stood at bay and on the very point of being attacked by
many armed warriors, fierce of aspect and of prodigious strength. When
Grasshopper saw this unequal struggle, he rushed forward, seized a
long bare pole, and, wielding it with his whole force, drove the fierce
warriors back. Laying about him on every hand, he soon sent them a
thousand ways in great haste, and in a very sore plight.

Without tarrying to receive the thanks of those to whom he had brought
this timely relief, he made his utmost speed, and by the close of
the afternoon he had come in sight of his own village. What were his
surprise and horror, as he approached nearer, to discover the bears
in excellent condition and flesh, seated at lazy leisure in the trees,
looking idly on while his brother Indians were dancing a fantastic and
wearisome dance, for their pastime, in the course of which they were
frequently compelled to go upon all fours and bow their heads in
profound obeisance to their bear-masters in the trees.

As he drew nearer, his heart sank within him to see how starved and
hollow-eyed and woe-begone they were; and his horror was at its height
when, as he entered his own lodge, he beheld his favorite and friend,
Pipe-bearer, also on all fours, smoothing the floor with the palms of
his hands to make it a comfortable sitting-place for the bears on their
return from the dance.

It did not take Grasshopper a long time to resolve what he should do.
He immediately resumed power in the village, bestowed a sound cudgeling
upon the bears, and sent them off to live in the mountains among their
own people, as bears should; restored to his people all their rights;
gave them plenty to eat and drink; exerting his great strength in
hunting, in rebuilding their lodges, keeping in check their enemies, and
doing all the good he could to everybody.

Peace and plenty soon shone and showered upon the spot; and never once
thinking of his wild and wanton frolics, the people blessed Grasshopper
for all his kindness, and sincerely prayed that his name might be held
in honor for a thousand years to come, as no doubt it will.

Little Pipe-hearer stood by Grasshopper in all his course, and admired
his ways as much now that he had taken to being orderly and useful,
as in the old times when he was walking a mile a minute, and in mere
wantonness bringing home whole forests in his arms for fire-wood, in
midsummer.

It was a great old age to which Grasshopper lived, and when at last he
came to die, there was not a dry eye in all that part of the world where
he spent his latter days.

[Illustration: 0157]




IX. THE TOAD-WOMAN


|GREAT good luck once happened to a young woman who was living all alone
in the woods with nobody near her but her little dog; for she found
fresh meat every morning at her door. She was much surprised and
very curious to know who it was that supplied her. So she watched one
morning, just as the sun had risen, and saw a handsome young man gliding
away into the forest. Having seen her, he became her husband, and they
had a son.

One evening not long after this, he did not return as usual from
hunting. She waited till late at night, but he came not at all.

The next day she swung her child to sleep in its cradle, and then said
to her dog, "Take care of your brother while I am gone, and when he
cries, halloo for me."

The cradle was made of the finest wampum, and all its bandages and
ornaments were of the same precious stuff.

After a short time, the woman heard the cry of the dog, and running
home as fast as she could, she found her child gone, and the dog too. On
looking around, she saw scattered upon the ground pieces of the wampum
of her child's cradle, and she knew that the dog had been faithful and
had striven his best to save the babe from being carried off.

Now the thief was an old woman from a distant country, called Mukakee
Mindemoea, or the Toad-Woman. The mother hurried off at full speed in
pursuit of her. As she flew along, she came from time to time to lodges
inhabited by old women, who told her at what time the child-thief had
passed; they also gave her shoes that she might follow on. A number of
these old women seemed to be prophetesses, and knew what was to come
long beforehand. Each of them would say to her that when she had arrived
at the next lodge, she must set the toes of the moccasins they had given
her pointing homeward, and that they would then return of themselves.
The young woman was very careful to send back in this manner all the
shoes she borrowed.

She thus followed in the pursuit, from valley to valley, and stream to
stream, for many months and years, and at length came to the lodge of
the last of the friendly old grandmothers, as they were called, who gave
her final instructions how to proceed. She told the mother that she was
near the place where her son was to be found; and she directed her to
build a lodge of cedar-boughs hard by the old Toad-Woman's lodge, and
to make a little bark dish, and to fill it with the juice of the wild
grape.

"Then," she said, "your first child (meaning the dog) will come and find
you out."

These directions the young woman followed just as they had been given to
her, and in a short time she heard her son, now grown up, going out
to hunt. The dog was following and she called out to him,
"Pee-waubik--Spirit-Iron--Twee! Twee!"

The dog came into the lodge, and she set before him the dish of
grape-juice.

"See, my child," she said, addressing him, "the pretty drink your mother
gives you."

Spirit-Iron took a long draught, and immediately left the lodge with
his eyes wide open; for this was the drink which teaches one to see the
truth of things as they are. He rose up when he got into the open air,
stood upon his hind-legs, and looked about.

"I see how it is," he said; and marching off, erect as a man, he sought
out his young master.

Approaching him in great confidence, he bent down and whispered in
his ear, having first looked cautiously around to see that no one was
listening:

"This old woman here in the lodge is no mother of yours. I have found
your real mother, and she is worth looking at. When we come back from
our day's sport, I'll prove it to you."

They went out into the woods, and at the close of the afternoon they
brought back a great spoil of meat of all kinds. Then the young man, as
soon as he had laid aside his weapons, said to the old Toad-Woman, "Send
some of the best of this meat to the stranger who has arrived lately."

The Toad-Woman answered, "No! Why should I send to her, the poor widow!"
But the young man would not be refused; and at last the old Toad-Woman
consented to take something and throw it down at the door.

"My son gives you this," she called out. But, being bewitched by Mukakee
Mindemoea, the meat was so bitter and distasteful that the young woman
immediately cast it out of the lodge after her.

In the evening the young man paid the stranger a visit at her lodge of
cedar-houghs. She then told him that she was his real mother, and
that he had been stolen away from her by the old Toad-Woman, who was a
child-thief and a witch. As the young man appeared to doubt, she said
to him: "Feign yourself sick when you go home to her lodge; and when the
Toad-Woman asks what ails you, say that you wish to see your cradle;
for your cradle was of wampum, and your faithful brother the dog, in
striving to save you, tore off these pieces which I show you."

They were real wampum, white and blue, shining and beautiful; and the
young man, placing them in his bosom, set off. He did not seem quite
steady in his belief of the strange woman's story. But the dog,
Spirit-Iron, taking his arm, kept close by his side and gave him many
words of encouragement as they went along. They entered the lodge
together; and the old Toad-Woman saw, from something in the dog's eye,
that trouble was coming.

"Mother," said the young man, placing his hand to his head and leaning
heavily upon Spirit-Iron, as if a sudden faintness had come upon him,
"Why am I so different in looks from the rest of your children?"

"Oh," she answered, "there was a very bright, clear blue sky when you
were born; that is the reason."

He seemed to be so very ill that the Toad-Woman at length asked what she
could do for him. He said that nothing could do him good but the sight
of his cradle. She ran immediately and brought a cedar cradle; but he
said:

"That is not my cradle."

She went and got another of her own children's cradles, of which there
were four; but he turned his head and said:

"That is not mine; I am as sick as ever."

When she had shown the four, and they had all been rejected, she at
last produced the real cradle. The young man saw that it was of the same
stuff as the wampum which he had in his bosom. He could even see the
marks of the teeth of Spirit-Iron left upon the edges, where he had
taken hold, striving to hold it back. So he had no doubt, now, which was
his mother.

To get free of the old Toad-Woman, it was necessary that the young man
should kill a fat bear; and, being directed by Spirit-Iron, who was
very wise in such a matter, he secured the fattest in all that country.
Having stripped a tall pine of all its bark and branches, he perched
the carcass in the top, with its head to the east and its tail due west.
Then returning to the lodge, he informed the old Toad-Woman that the
fat hear was ready for her, but that to get it she would have to go very
far, even to the end of the earth. She answered:

"It is not so far but that I can get it!" For of all things in the
world, a fat bear was the delight of the old Toad-Woman.

She at once set forth; and she was no sooner out of sight than the young
man and his dog, Spirit-Iron, blew a strong breath in the face of the
Toad-Woman's four children (who were all bad spirits, or bear-fiends),
and so put out their life. Then setting them up by the side of the door,
they thrust a piece of the white bear-fat in each of their mouths.

The Toad-Woman spent a long time in finding the bear which she had been
sent after, and she made at least five and twenty attempts before she
was able to climb to the carcass. She slipped down three times where she
went up once. But at last she succeeded and returned with the great bear
on her back. As she drew near her lodge she was astonished to see
the four children standing up by the door-posts with the fat in their
mouths. She was angry with them, and called out:

"Why do you thus insult the pomatum of your brother?"

She was still more angry when they made no answer to her complaint; but
when she found that they were stark dead and had been placed in this way
to mock her, her fury was very great indeed. She ran after the tracks of
the young man and his mother as fast as she could; so fast, indeed, that
she was on the very point of overtaking them, when the dog, Spirit-Iron,
coming close up to his master, whispered to him--"Snake-berry!"

"Let the snakeberry spring up to detain her!" cried out the young man.
And immediately the berries spread for a long distance like scarlet all
over the path, and the old Toad-Woman, who was almost as fond of these
berries as she was of fat bears, could not avoid stooping down to pick
and eat.

[Illustration: 0165]

The old Toad-Woman was very anxious to get forward, but the
snakeberry-vines kept spreading out on every side; and they grew and
grew, and spread and spread. And to this day the wicked old Toad-Woman
is busy picking the berries. She will never be able to get beyond to the
other side, to disturb the happiness of the young hunter and his mother,
who still live, with their faithful dog, in the shadow of the beautiful
wood-side where they were born.

[Illustration: 0164]




X. THE ORIGIN OF THE ROBIN


|AN old man had an only son, named Iadilla, who had come to that age
when it is thought to be time for a boy to make the long and final fast
which is to secure through life a guardian genius or spirit. The father
was ambitious that his son should surpass all others in whatever was
deemed wisest and greatest among his people. He thought it necessary
that the young Iadilla, to do this, should fast a much longer time than
any of those renowned for their power or wisdom. The father therefore
directed his son to prepare with great ceremony for the important event.
First he was to go several times to the sweating-lodge and bath, which
were to prepare and purify him for communion with his good spirit. Then
he was to lie down upon a clean mat in a little lodge expressly provided
for him. He was especially enjoined, at the same time, to endure his
fast like a man, and promised that at the end of twelve days he should
receive food and the blessing of his father.

The lad carefully observed these commands, and lay with his face
covered, calmly awaiting the approach of the spirit which was to decide
his good or evil fortune for all the days of his life.

Every morning his father came to the door of the little lodge and
encouraged him to persevere, dwelling at length on the vast honor and
renown that must ever attend him, should he accomplish the full term of
trial allotted to him.

To these glowing words of promise and glory the boy never replied, but
he lay without the least sign of discontent or murmuring until the ninth
day, when he addressed his father as follows:

"My father, my dreams forbode evil. May I break my fast now, and at a
more favorable time make a new fast?"

The father answered:

"My son, you know not what you ask. If you get up now, all your glory
will depart. Wait patiently a little longer. You have but three days
more, and your term will be completed. You know it is for your own good,
and I encourage you to persevere. Shall not your aged father live to see
you a star among the chieftains and the beloved of battle?"

The son assented; and covering himself more closely, that he might shut
out the light which prompted him to complain, he lay till the eleventh
day, when he repeated his request.

The father addressed Iadilla as he had the day before, and promised that
he would himself prepare his first meal and bring it to him by the dawn
of the next morning.

The son moaned, and the father added:

"Will you bring shame upon your father when he is is falling in the west?"

"I will not shame you, my father," replied Iadilla; he lay so still and
motionless that you could only know that he was living by the gentle
heaving of his chest.

At the spring of day, the father, delighted at having gained his end,
prepared a repast for his son and hastened to set it before him. But on
coming to the door of rhe little lodge, he was surprised to hear his son
talking to himself. He stooped his ear to listen, and, looking through
a small opening, was yet more astonished when he beheld his son painted
with vermillion over all his breast. He was just in the act of finishing
his work by laying on the paint as far back on his shoulders as he could
reach, saying at the same time to himself: "My father has destroyed my
fortune as a man. He would not listen to my requests. He has urged me
beyond my tender strength. He will be the loser. I shall be forever
happy in my new state, for I have been obedient to my parent. He alone
will be the sufferer, for my guardian spirit is a just one. Though
not propitious to me in the manner I desired, he has shown me pity in
another way--he has given me another shape; and now I must go."

At this moment the old man broke in, exclaiming:

"My son! my son! I pray you leave me not!"

But the young man, with the quickness of a bird, had flown to the top of
the lodge and perched himself on the highest pole, having been changed
into a beautiful robin red-breast. He looked down upon his father with
pity beaming in his eyes, and addressed him as follows:

"Regret not, my father, the change you behold. I shall be happier in
my present state than I could have been as a man. I shall always be the
friend of men and keep near their dwellings. I shall ever be happy and
contented; and although I could not be a mighty warrior as you wished,
it will be my daily aim to make you amends for it as a harbinger of
peace and joy. I will cheer you by my songs and strive to inspire in
others the joy and lightsomeness of heart I feel in my present state.
This will be some compensation to you for the loss of glory you
expected. I am now free from the cares and pains of human life. My food
is spontaneously furnished by the mountains and fields, and my path of
fife is in the bright air."

Then stretching himself on his toes, as if delighted with the gift of
wings, Iadilla carolled one of his sweetest songs and flew away into a
neighboring wood.

[Illustration: 0170]




XI. WHITE FEATHER AND THE SIX GIANTS


|THERE was an old man living in the depth of a forest with his grandson,
whom he had taken in charge when quite an infant. The child had no
parents, brothers, or sisters; they had all been destroyed by six large
giants, and he was informed that he had no other relative living besides
his grandfather. The band of Indians to whom he had belonged had put up
their children on a wager in a race against those of the giants, and had
thus lost them. But there was an old tradition in the tribe, that one
day it would produce a great man, who would wear a white feather, and
who would astonish every one by his feats of skill and bravery.

The grandfather, as soon as the child could play about, gave him a bow
and arrows to amuse himself with. He went into the edge of the woods
one day and saw a rabbit; but not knowing what it was, he ran home and
described it to his grandfather, who told him that its flesh was good to
eat, and that if he would shoot one of his arrows into its body he would
kill it. The boy went out again and brought home the little animal,
which he asked his grandfather to boil, that they might feast on it. The
old man humored the boy in this and encouraged him to go on acquiring
the knowledge of hunting, until he could kill deer and the larger kinds
of game. And thus he became, as he grew up, an expert hunter.

As they lived alone, and away from other Indians, the curiosity of the
stripling was excited to know what was passing in the world. One day
he came to the edge of a prairie, where he saw ashes like those at his
grandfather's lodge, and lodge-poles left standing. He returned and
inquired whether his grandfather had put up the poles and made the fire.

"No," answered the old man, "nor do I believe that you have seen
anything of the kind; you must have lost your sense to be thinking of
such things."

Another day the youth went out to see what there was, within a day's
hunt, that was curious; and on entering the woods he heard a voice
calling out to him:

"Come here, you who are destined to wear the White Feather. You do not
wear it, yet, but you are worthy of it. Return home and take a short
nap. You will dream of hearing a voice, which will tell you to rise and
smoke. You will see in your dream a pipe, a smoking-sack, and a large
white feather. When you awake you will find these articles. Put the
feather on your head, and you will become a great hunter, a great
warrior, and a great man, able to do anything. As a proof that these
things shall come to pass, when you smoke, the smoke will turn into
pigeons."

The voice then informed the youth who he was, and made known the
character of his grandfather, who was imposing upon him to serve his own
ends.

The voice-spirit then caused a vine to be laid at his side, and told him
that he was now of an age to avenge the wrongs of his kindred.

"When you meet your enemy," the spirit added, "you will run a race with
him. He will not see the vine, because it is enchanted. While you are
running, you will throw it over his head and entangle him, so that you
will win the race."

Long before this speech was ended the youth had turned to the quarter
from which the voice proceeded, and was astonished to behold a man; as
yet he had never seen any human being besides his grandfather.

As he looked more keenly, he saw that this man, who had the looks of
great age, was wood from the breast downward, and that he appeared to
be fixed in the earth. As the youth's eye dwelt upon this strange being,
the countenance by degrees faded away, and when he advanced to the spot
whence it had addressed him, it was gone.

He returned home; slept, and in the midst of his slumbers, as from
the hollow of the air, heard the voice; wakened and found the promised
gifts. It was all just as the old man had said. The grandfather on
awakening was greatly surprised to find the youth with a white feather
on his forehead, and to see flocks of pigeons flying out of the lodge.
He then remembered the old tradition, and knowing that now the day had
come when he should lose control of his charge, he bitterly bewailed the
hour.

Possessed of his three magic gifts, the young man departed the next
morning, to seek his enemies and to demand revenge.

The six giants lived in a very high lodge in the middle of a wood. He
traveled on with good heart till he reached this lodge, where he found
that his coming had been made known by the little spirits who carry
the news. The giants hastened out and gave a cry of joy as they saw him
drawing near. "When he approached within hail, they began to make sport
of him, saying:

"Here comes the little man with the white feather, who is to achieve
such wonderful wonders."

When, however, he had arrived among them, they spoke him fair, saying he
was a brave man and would do brave things. Their object was to encourage
him, so that he would be bold to engage in some foolhardy trial of
strength.

Without paying much heed to their fine speeches, White Feather went
fearlessly into their lodge; and without waiting for invitation, he
challenged them to a foot-match. They agreed; and by way of being easy
at first, told him to begin the race with the smallest of their number.

The point to which they were to run was a peeled tree toward the rising
sun, and then back to the starting-place, which was a war-club of iron.
Whoever won this stake was empowered to use it in despatching the
defeated champion. If White Feather should overcome the first giant, he
was to try the second, and so on, until they had all measured speed with
him. To this the giants agreed without a thought that he would survive
the first trial. But White Feather feared nothing and, by a dexterous
use of the vine, gained the race, struck down his competitor, and cut
off his head.

The next morning he raced with the second giant, whom he also outran,
killed and beheaded.

He went on in this way for five mornings, always conquering by the aid
of his vine, and lopping off the heads of the vanquished.

Finally the last of the giants who was yet to run with him acknowledged
his power, but prepared secretly to deceive him. By way of parley, he
proposed that White Feather should leave the heads with him, and offered
to give him a handsome start for odds. This White Feather declined, as
he preferred to keep the heads as trophies of his victory.

On his way to the giant's lodge the sixth morning, White Feather met
his old counsellor in the woods. He was standing rooted in the earth,
as before. He told White Feather that he was about to give him a word of
warning.

"On your way this morning," he said, "you will meet the most beautiful
woman in the world, but do not trust her or pay the least attention to
her. As soon as you catch her eye you must wish yourself changed into an
elk. The change will take place immediately. Do not look at her again."

White Feather thanked his kind adviser, who even as he spoke was
disappearing as befor

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