LEELINAU was the favorite daughter of a hunter, who lived on the lake shore near the base of the lofty highlands called Kang Wudjoo.
From her earliest youth Leelinau was observed to be thoughtful and retiring. She passed much of her time in solitude and seemed ever to prefer the companionship of her own shadow to the society of the lodge-circle.
Whenever she could leave her father's lodge she would fly to remote haunts and recesses in the woods, or sit in lonely reverie upon some high promontory of rock overlooking the lake. In such places she would often linger long, with her face turned upward, in contemplation of the air, as if she were invoking her guardian spirit and beseeching him to lighten her sadness.
But of all the leafy haunts, none drew her steps toward it so often as a forest of pines on the open shore, called Manitowok, or the Sacred Wood. It was one of those hallowed places which is the resort of the little wild men of the woods, and of the turtle spirits or fairies which delight in romantic scenes.
Owing to this circumstance, its green retirement was seldom visited by Indians, who feared to fall under the influence of its mischievous inhabitants. Whenever they were compelled by stress of weather to make a landing on this part of the coast, they never failed to leave an offering of tobacco or some other token, to show that they desired to stand well with the proprietors of the fairy ground.
To this sacred spot Leelinau had made her way at an early age, gathering strange flowers and plants, which she would bring home to her parents, and relating to them all the haps and mishaps that had occurred in her rambles.
Although they discountenanced her frequent visits to the place, they were not able to restrain them, for she was of so gentle and delicate a temper that they feared to thwart her.
Her attachment to the fairy wood, therefore, grew with her years. If she wished to solicit her guardian spirits to procure pleasant dreams, or any other maiden favor, Leelinau repaired to the Manitowok. If her father remained abroad in the hunt later than usual, and it was feared that he had been overwhelmed by the tempest or had met with some other mischance, Leelinau offered up her prayers for safety at the Manitowok. It was there that she fasted, mused, and strolled.
She at length became so engrossed by the fairy pines that her parents began to suspect that some evil spirit had enticed her to its haunts and had cast upon her a charm which she had not the power to resist.
This belief was confirmed when, one day, her mother, who had secretly followed her, overheard her murmuring to some unknown and invisible companion, appeals like these:
"Spirit of the dancing leaves!" whispered Leelinau, "hear a throbbing heart in its sadness. Spirit of the foaming stream! visit thou my nightly pillow, shedding over it silver dreams of mountain brook and pebbly rivulet. Spirit of the starry night! lead my foot-prints to the blushing mis-kodeed, or where the burning passion-flower shines with carmine hue. Spirit of the greenwood plume!" she concluded, turning with passionate gaze to the beautiful young pines which stood waving their green beauty over her head, "shed on me, on Leelinau the sad, thy leafy fragrance, such as spring unfolds from sweetest flowers, or hearts that to each other show their inmost grief. Spirits! hear, oh, hear a maiden's prayer!"
Day by day these strange communings with unseen beings drew away the heart of Leelinau more and more from the simple duties of the lodge, and she walked among her people, melancholy and silent, like a spirit who had visited them from another land.
The pastimes which engaged the frolic moments of her young companions passed by her as little trivial pageants in which she had no concern.
When the girls of the neighboring lodges assembled to play before the lodge-door at the favorite game of pappus-e-kowaun, or the block and string, Leelinan would sit vacantly by, or enter so feebly into the spirit of the play as to show that it was irksome to her.
Again, in the evening, when the young people formed a ring around the lodge, and the piepeendjigun, or leather and bone, passed rapidly from one to the other, she either handed it along without attempting to play, or if she took a part, it was with no effort to succeed.
The time of the corn-gathering had come, and the young people of the tribe were assembled in the field, busy in plucking the ripened maize. One of the girls, noted for her beauty, had found a red ear, and every one congratulated her that a brave admirer was on his way to her father's lodge. She blushed, and hiding the trophy in her bosom, thanked the Good Spirit that it was a red ear, and not a crooked, that she had found.
Presently it chanced that one who was there among the young men espied in the hands of Leelinau, who had plucked it indifferently, one of the crooked kind, and at once the word "Wa-ge-min!" was shouted aloud through the field, and the whole circle was set in a roar.
"The thief is in the corn-field!" exclaimed the young man, Iagoo by name, and famous in the tribe for his mirthful powers of story-telling; "see you not the old man stooping as he enters the field? See you not signs that he crouched as he crept in the dark? Is it not plain by this mark on the stalk that he was heavily bent in his hack? Old man! be nimble, or some one will take thee while thou art taking the ear."
These questions Iagoo accompanied with the action of one bowed with age stealthily entering' the cornfield. He went on:
"See how he stoops as he breaks off the ear. Nushka! He seems for a moment to tremble. Walker, be nimble! Hooli! It is plain the old man is the thief."
He turned suddenly where she sat in the circle, pensively regarding the crooked ear which she held in her hand, and exclaimed:
"Leelinau, the old man is thine!"
Laughter rang merrily through the corn-field, but Leelinau, casting down upon the ground the crooked ear of maize, walked pensively away.
The next morning the eldest son of a neighboring chief called at her father's lodge. He was quite advanced in years; but he enjoyed such renown in battle, and his name was so famous in the hunt, that the parents accepted him as a suitor for their daughter. They hoped that his shining qualities would draw back the thoughts of Leelinau from that spirit-land whither she seemed to have wholly directed her affections.
It was this chief's son whom Iagoo had pictured as the corn-taker, but, without objecting to his age or giving any other reason, Leelinau firmly declined his proposals. The parents ascribed the young daughter's hesitancy to maiden shyness, and paying no further heed to her refusal, fixed a day for the marriage-visit to the lodge.
The young warrior came to the lodge-door, and Leelinau refused to see him, informing her parents, at the same time, that she would never consent to the match.
It had been her custom to pass many of her hours in her favorite place of retirement under a broad-topped young pine, whose leaves whispered in every wind that blew; but most of all in that gentle murmur of the air at the evening hour, dear to lovers, when the twilight steals on.
Thither she now repaired, and, while reclining pensively against the young pine-tree, she fancied that she heard a voice addressing her. At first it was scarcely more than a sigh; presently it grew more clear, and she heard it distinctly whisper—
"Maiden! think me not a tree; but thine own dear lover; fond to be with thee in my tall and blooming strength, with the bright green nodding plume that waves above thee. Thou art leaning on my breast, Leelinau; lean forever there and be at peace. Fly from men who are false and cruel, and quit the tumult of their dusty strife for this quiet, lonely shade. Over thee I will fling my arms, fairer than the lodge's roof. I will breathe a perfume like that of flowers over thy happy evening rest. In my bark canoe I'll waft thee over the waters of the sky-bine lake. I will deck the folds of thy mantle with the sun's last rays. Come and wander with me on the mountains, a fairy free!"
Leelinau drank in with eager ear these magical words. Her heart was fixed. No warrior's son should clasp her hand. She listened in the hope to hear the airy voice speak more; but it only repeated, "Again! again!" and entirely ceased.
On the eve of the day fixed for her marriage, Leelinau decked herself in her best garments. She arranged her hair according to the fashion of her tribe and put on all of her maiden ornaments in beautiful array. With a smile, she presented herself before her parents.
"I am going," she said, "to meet my little lover, the Chieftain of the Green Plume, who is waiting for me at the Spirit Grove."
Her face was radiant with joy, and the parents, taking what she had said as her own fanciful way of expressing acquiescence in their plans, wished her good fortune in the happy meeting.
"I am going," she continued, addressing her mother as they left the lodge, "I am going from one who has watched my infancy and guarded my youth; who has given me medicine when I was sick and prepared my food when I was well. I am going from a father who has ranged the forest to procure the choicest skins for my dress and kept his lodge supplied with the best spoil of the chase. I am going from a lodge which has been my shelter from the storms of winter and my shield from the heats of summer. Farewell, my parents, farewell!"
So saying, she sped faster than any could follow her to the margin of the fairy wood, and in a moment was lost to sight.
As she had often thus withdrawn herself from the lodge, the parents were not in fear but confidently awaited her return. Hour chased hour, as the clouds of evening rolled up in the west; darkness came on, but no daughter returned. With torches they hastened to the wood, but although they lit up every dark recess and leafy gloom, their search was in vain. Leelinau was nowhere to be seen. They called aloud, in lament, upon her name, but she answered not.
Suns rose and set, but nevermore in their light did the bereaved parents' eyes behold the lost form of their beloved child. Their daughter was lost indeed. Whither she had vanished no mortal tongue could tell; although it chanced that a company of fishermen, who were spearing fish near the Spirit Grove, descried something that seemed to resemble a maiden's figure standing on the shore. As the evening was mild and the waters calm, they cautiously pulled their canoe toward land, but the slight ripple of their oars excited alarm. The figure fled in haste, but they could recognise in the shape and dress as she ascended the hank, the lost daughter, and they saw the green plumes of her fairy-lover waving over his forehead as he glided lightly through the forest of young pines.
5236Original
AN old man was sitting alone in his lodge by the side of a frozen stream. It was the close of winter, and his fire was almost ont. He appeared very old and very desolate. His locks were white with age, and he trembled in every joint. Day after day passed in solitude, and he heard nothing but the sounds of the tempest, sweeping before it the new-fallen snow.
One day as his fire was just dying, a handsome young man approached and entered his dwelling. His cheeks were red with the blood of youth; his eyes sparkled with life; and a smile played upon his lips. He walked with a light and quick step. His forehead was bound with a wreath of sweet grass, in place of the warrior's frontlet, and he carried a bunch of flowers in his hand.
"Ah! my son," said the old man, "I am happy to see you. Come in. Come, tell me of your adventures, and what strange lands you have been to see. Let us pass the night together. I will tell you of my prowess and exploits, and what I can perform. You shall do the same, and we will amuse ourselves."
He then drew from his sack a curiously wrought antique pipe, and having filled it with tobacco rendered mild by an admixture of certain dried leaves, he handed it to his guest. "When this ceremony was attended to, they began to speak.
"I blow my breath," said the old man, "and the streams stand still. The water becomes stiff and hard as clear stone."
"I breathe," said the young man, "and flowers spring up all over the plains."
"I shake my locks," retorted the old man, "and snow covers the land. The leaves fall from the trees at my command, and my breath blows them away. The birds rise from the water and fly to a distant land. The animals hide themselves from the glance of my eye, and the very ground where I walk becomes as hard as flint."
"I shake my ringlets," rejoined the young man, "and warm showers of soft rain fall upon the earth. The plants lift up their heads out of the ground like the eyes of children glistening with delight. My voice recalls the birds. The warmth of my breath unlocks the streams. Music fills the groves wherever I walk, and all nature welcomes my approach."
At length the sun began to rise. A gentle warmth came over the place. The tongue of the old man became silent. The robin and the blue-bird began to sing on the top of the lodge. The stream began to murmur by the door, and the fragrance of growing herbs and flowers came softly on the breeze.
Daylight fully revealed to the young man the character of his entertainer. When he looked upon him he saw the visage of Peboan, the icy old Winter-Spirit. Streams began to flow from the old man's eyes. As the sun increased he grew less and less in stature, and presently he had melted completely away. Nothing remained on the place of his lodge-fire but the mis-kodeed, a small white flower with a pink border, which the young visitor, Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring, placed in the wreath upon his brow, as his first trophy in the North.
5239Original
ALONG, long time ago, a little boy was living with his sister entirely alone in an uninhabited country far out in the north-west. He was called the Boy That Carries the Ball on his Back, from an idea that he possessed magical powers. This boy was in the habit of meditating alone and asking within himself whether there were other beings similar to himself and his sister on the earth.
When he grew up to manhood, he inquired of his sister whether she knew of any human beings besides themselves. She replied that she did; and that there was, at a great distance, a large village.
As soon as he heard this, he said to his sister:
"I am now a young man and very much in want of a companion."
He asked his sister to make him several pairs of moccasins. She complied with his request; and as soon as he received the moccasins, he took up his war-club and set out in quest of the distant village.
He traveled on till he came to a small wigwam, in which he discovered a very old woman sitting alone by the fire. As soon as she saw the stranger, she invited him in, and thus addressed him:
"My poor grandchild, I suppose you are one of those who seek for the distant village, from which no person has ever yet returned. Unless your guardian is more powerful than the guardians of those who have gone before you, you will share a similar fate to theirs. Be careful to provide yourself with the invisible bones those people use in the medicine-dance, for without these you cannot succeed." After she had thus spoken, she gave him the following directions for his journey:
"When you come near to the village which you seek, you will see in the center a large lodge, in which the chief of the village, who has two daughters, resides. Before the door there is a great tree, which is smooth and without bark. On this tree, about the height of a man from the ground, is hung a small lodge, in which these two false daughters dwell. It is here that so many have been destroyed, and among them your two elder brothers. Be wise, my grandchild, and abide strictly by my directions."
The old woman then gave to the young man the bones which were to secure his success; and she informed him with great care how he was to proceed.
Placing them in his bosom, Onwee Bahmondang, or The Wearer of the Ball, continued his journey and kept eagerly on until he arrived at the village of which he was in search. Here, on gazing around, he saw both the tree and the lodge which the old woman had mentioned.
He at once bent his steps toward the tree, and approaching, endeavored to reach the suspended lodge. But all his efforts were in vain; for as often as he attempted to reach it, the tree began to tremble, and it soon shot up so that the lodge could hardly be perceived.
He bethought him of his guardian spirit, so invoking his aid and changing himself into a squirrel, he mounted nimbly up again, in the hope that the lodge would not now escape him. But to his disappointment away shot the lodge, climb as briskly as he might.
Panting and out of breath, he at last remembered the instructions of the old woman. Drawing from his bosom one of the bones, he thrust it into the trunk of the tree and rested himself upon it to be ready to start again.
As often as he wearied of climbing, for even a squirrel cannot climb forever, he repeated the little ceremony of the bones; but whenever he came near the lodge and put forth his hand to touch it, the tree would shoot up as before and carry the lodge up far beyond his reach.
At length the bones being all gone, and the lodge well-nigh out of sight, he began to despair, for the earth, too, had long since vanished entirely from his view.
Summoning his whole heart, he resolved to try once more. On and up he went, but as soon as he put forth his hand to touch it, the tree again shook, and away went the lodge.
One more endeavor, brave Onwee, and in he goes; for having now reached the arch of heaven, the flyaway lodge could go no higher.
Onwee entered with a fearless step and beheld the two wicked sisters sitting opposite each other. He asked their names. The one on his left hand called herself Azhabee, and the one on the right, Negahna-bee.
After talking with them a little while, he discovered that whenever he addressed the one on his left hand, the tree would tremble as before and settle down to its former place; but when he addressed the one on his right hand, it would again shoot upward.
When he thus perceived that by addressing the one on his left hand the tree would descend, he continued to do so until it had again settled down to its place near the earth. Then seizing his war-club, he said to the sisters:
"You who have caused the death of so many of my brethren I will now put an end to, and thus have revenge for those you have destroyed."
As he spoke this he raised the club and with one blow laid the two wicked women dead at his feet.
Onwee then descended, and learned that these sisters had a brother living with their father, who had shared in the spoils of all such as the wicked sisters had betrayed. This youth would now pursue him for having put an end to their wicked profits, so Onwee set off at random, not knowing whither he went.
The father, coming in the evening to visit the lodge of his daughters, discovered what had happened. He immediately sent word to his son that the sisters had been slain, and that there were no more spoils to be had. Now this news greatly inflamed the brother's temper, especially the woful announcement at the end. He was chafing and half beside himself with rage.
"Oh," he cried. "The person who has done this must be that Boy That Carries the Ball on his Back. I know his mode of going about his business, and since he would not allow himself to be killed by my sisters, he shall have the honor of dying by my hand. I will pursue him and have revenge."
"It is well, my son," replied the father; "the spirit of your life grant you success. But I counsel you to be wary in the pursuit. Onwee Bahmondang is a cunning youth. It is a strong spirit who has put him on to do this injury to us, and he will try to deceive you in every way. Above all, avoid tasting food till you succeed; for if you break your fast before you see his blood, your power will be destroyed."
The son took this fatherly advice all in good part, except that portion which enjoined upon him to abstain from staying his stomach; over that command he made a number of wry faces, for the brother of the two wicked sisters had, among numerous noble gifts, a very noble appetite. Nevertheless, he took up his weapons and departed at the top of his speed in pursuit of Onwee Bahmondang.
Onwee, finding that he was closely followed, climbed up into one of the tallest sycamore-trees and shot forth the magic arrows with which he had provided himself.
Seeing that his pursuer was not turned back by his arrows, Onwee renewed his flight; and when he found himself hard pressed and his enemy close behind him, he transformed himself into the skeleton of a moose that had been killed many moons before. He then remembered the moccasins which his sister had given him, and taking a pair of them, he placed them near the skeleton.
"Go," said he to them, "to the end of the earth."
The moccasins then left him, and their tracks remained.
The angry brother at length came to the skeleton of the moose. When he perceived that the track he had been long pursuing did not stop there, he continued to follow it up till he arrived at the end of the earth, where, for all his trouble, he found only a pair of moccasins.
Vexed that he had been outwitted by following a pair of moccasins instead of their owner, he complained bitterly, resolving not to give up his revenge and to be more wary in the future.
He then called to mind the skeleton he had met with on his way, and concluded that it must be the object of his search.
So the brother retraced his steps toward the skeleton, but to his surprise it had disappeared, and the tracks of the Wearer of the Ball were in another direction. He now became faint with hunger, and lost heart; but when he remembered the blood of his sisters, and that he should not be allowed to enjoy a meal, or so much as a mouthful, until he had put an end to Onwee Bahmondang, he plucked up his spirits and determined again to pursue.
Onwee, finding that he was closely followed and that the hungry brother was approaching very fast, changed himself into a very old man, with two daughters. They lived in a large lodge in the center of a beautiful garden, which was filled with everything that could delight the eye or was pleasant to the taste. He made himself appear so very old as to be unable to leave his lodge and to require his daughters to bring him food and wait on him, as though he had been a mere child. The garden also had the appearance of old age, with its ancient bushes and hanging branches and decrepit vines loitering lazily about in the sun.
Meanwhile the brother kept on until he was nearly starved and ready to sink to the earth. He exclaimed, with a long-drawn and most mournful sigh:
"Oh! I will forget the blood of my sisters, for I am starving. Oh! oh!"
But again he thought of the blood of his sisters, and what a fine appetite he would have if he should ever be allowed to eat anything again, and once more he resolved to pursue and to be content with nothing short of the amplest revenge.
He pushed on till he came to the beautiful garden. He advanced toward the lodge.
As soon as the fairy daughters perceived him, they ran and told their father that a stranger approached.
Their father replied, "Invite him in, my children, invite him in."
They did so promptly, and, by the command of their father, they boiled some corn and prepared several other palatable dishes. The savor was most delicious to the nostrils of the hungry brother, who had not the least suspicion of the sport that was going on at his expense.
He was faint and weary with travel, and he felt that he could endure fasting no longer; for his appetite was terribly inflamed by the sight of the choice food that was steaming before him.
He fell to and partook heartily of the meal; and by so doing he was overcome and lost his right of revenge. All at once he forgot the blood of his sisters, and even the village of his nativity; he also forgot his father's lodge, and his whole past life. He ate so keenly, and came and went to the choice dishes so often, that drowsiness at length overpowered him, and he soon fell into a profound sleep.
Onwee Bahmondang watched his opportunity, and as soon as he saw that the false brother's sleep was sound, he resumed his youthful form and sent off the two fairy daughters and the old garden. Then drawing the magic-ball from his back, and turning it into a great war-club, he fetched the slumbering brother a mighty blow, which sent him away too. And thus did Onwee Bahmondang vindicate his title as The Wearer of the Ball.
Such was the great force and weight of the club with which he had despatched the brother of the two wicked women that it swung Onwee straight around, and he found himself in a large village, surrounded by a great crowd of people. At the door of a beautiful lodge stood his sister, smiling, and ready to invite him in. Onwee entered, and hanging up his war-club and the enchanted moccasins, he rested from his labors and smoked his evening pipe, with the admiration and approval of the whole world.
With one exception only, Onwee Bahmondang had the hearty praises of all the people.
Now it happened that there lived in this same village an envious and boastful fellow, who had been once a chief. Always coming home badly whipped, he had been put out of office, and now spent his time about the place, proclaiming certain great things which he had in his eye and which he meant to do—one of these days.
This man's name was Ko-ko, the Owl; and hearing much of the wonderful achievements of the Wearer of the Ball, Ko-ko put on a big look and announced that he was going to do something extraordinary himself.
Onwee Bahmondang, he said, had not half done his work, and he, Ko-ko, meant to go on the ground and finish it up as it should he.
He began by procuring an oak ball, which he thrust down his back, and, confident in its magical powers, he, too, called himself The Wearer of the Ball. In fact it was the self-same hall that Onwee had employed, except that the magic had entirely gone out of it. Coming by night in the shadow of Onwee's lodge, this bad fellow thrust his arm in at the door and stealthily possessed himself of the enchanted moccasins. He would have taken away Onwee's war-club, too, if he could have carried it; but although he was twice the size and girth of Onwee, he had not the strength to lift it; so he borrowed a club from an old chief, who was purblind and mistook Ko-ko for his brother, who was a brave man. This accomplished, Ko-ko raised a terrible tumult with his voice and a great dust with his heels, and set out.
He had traveled all day, when he came to a small wigwam, on looking into which he discovered a very old woman sitting alone by the fire; just as Onwee had before.
This is the wigwam, said Ko-ko, and this is the old woman.
"What are you looking for?" asked the old woman.
"I want to find the lodge with the wicked young women in it, those who slay travelers and steal their trappings," answered Ko-ko.
"You mean the two young women who lived in the flying lodge?" asked the old woman.
"The same," answered Ko-ko. "I am going to kill them."
With this he gave a great flourish with his borrowed club, and looked as desperate and murderous as he could.
"They were slain yesterday by The Wearer of the Ball," said the old woman.
Ko-ko looked around for the door in a very owlish way and heaved a short hem from his chest. Then he acknowledged that he had heard something to that effect down in one of the villages.
"But there's the brother. I'll have a chance at him," said Ko-ko.
"He is dead, too," said the old woman.
"Is there then nobody left for me to kill!" cried Ko-ko. "Must I then go back without any blood upon my hands?"
He made as if he could shed tears over his sad mishap.
"The father is still living; and you will find him in the lodge, if you have a mind to call on him. He would like to see the Owl," the old woman added.
"He shall," replied Ko-ko. "Have you any bones about the house; for I suppose I shall have to climb that tree."
"Oh, yes; plenty," answered the old woman. "You can have as many as you want."
And she gave him a handful of fish-bones, which Ko-ko thrust into his bosom, taking them to be the Invisible Tallies which had helped Onwee Bahmondang in climbing the magical tree.
"Thank you," said Ko-ko, taking up his club and striding toward the door.
"Will you not have a little advice," said the old woman. "This is a dangerous business you are going on."
Ko-ko turned about and laughed to scorn the proposal. Then putting forth his right foot from the lodge first, an observance in which he had great hopes, he started for the lodge of the wicked father.
Ko-ko ran very fast, as if he feared he should lose the chance of massacring any member of the wicked family, and soon came in sight of the lodge hanging upon the tree.
He then slackened his pace and crept forward with a wary eye, lest somebody might chance to be looking out at the door. All was still up there, however, and Ko-ko clasped the tree and began to climb.
Away went the lodge, and up went Ko-ko, puffing and panting, after it. And it was not a great while before the Owl had puffed and panted away all the wind he had to spare; and yet the lodge kept flying aloft, higher, higher. What was to be done!
Ko-ko, of course, bethought him of the bones, for that was just what, as he knew, had occurred to Onwee Bahmondang under the like circumstances.
He had the bones in his bosom; but first it was necessary for him to be a squirrel. He immediately called on several guardian spirits whom he knew of by name, and requested them to convert him into a squirrel. But not one of all of them seemed to pay the slightest attention to his request; for there he hung, the same heavy-limbed, big-headed, be-clubbed, and be-blanketed Ko-ko as ever.
He then desired that they would turn him into an opossum; an application which met with the same luck as the previous one. After this he petitioned to be a wolf, a gophir, a dog, or a bear—if they would be so obliging. The guardian spirits were either all deaf, or indifferent to his wishes, or absent on some other business.
Ko-ko, in spite of all his begging and supplication and beseeching, was obliged to be still Ko-ko.
"However, the bones are good," he said to himself. "I shall get a nice rest, at any rate, if I am forced to climb as I am."
With this he drew out one of the bones from his bosom, and shouting aloud, "Ho! ho! who is there?" he thrust it into the trunk of the tree and would have indulged himself in a rest; but being no more than a common fish-bone, without the slightest savor of magic in it, it snapped with Ko-ko, who came tumbling down, with the door of the lodge, which he had shaken loose, rattling after him.
"Ho! ho! who is there?" cried the wicked father, making his appearance at the opening and looking down.
"It is I, Onwee Bahmondang!" cried Ko-ko, thinking to frighten the wicked father.
"Ah! it is you, is it? I will be there presently," called the old man. "Do not be in haste to go away!"
Ko-ko, observing that the old man was in earnest, scrambled up from the ground and set off promptly at his highest rate of speed.
When he looked back and saw that the wicked father was gaining upon him, Ko-ko mounted a tree, as had Onwee Bahmondang before. Then he fired off a number of arrows, but as they were no more than common arrows, he got nothing by it, but was obliged to descend and run again for his life.
As he hurried on he encountered the skeleton of a moose, into which he would have transformed himself; but not having the slightest confidence in any one of all the guardians who should have helped him, he passed on.
The wicked father was hot in pursuit and Ko-ko was suffering terribly for lack of wind, when luckily he remembered the enchanted moccasins. He would not send them to the end of the earth, as had Onwee Bahmondang.
"I will improve on that dull fellow," said Ko-ko. "I will put them on myself."
Accordingly, Ko-ko had just time to draw on the moccasins when the wicked father came in sight.
"Go now!" cried Ko-ko, giving orders to the enchanted moccasins; and go they did. But to the astonishment of the Owl, they turned immediately about in the way in which the wicked father was furiously approaching.
"The other way! the other way!" cried Ko-ko.
Cry as loud as he would, the enchanted moccasins would keep on in their own course; and before he could shake himself out of them, they had run him directly into the face of the wicked father.
"What do you mean, you Owl?" cried the wicked father, falling upon Ko-ko with a huge club, and counting his ribs at every stroke.
"I cannot help it, good man," answered Ko-ko. "I tried my best—"
Ko-ko would have gone the other way, but the enchanted moccasins kept hurrying him forward.
"Stand off, will you?" cried the old man.
By this time the moccasins were taking him past, allowing the wicked father chance to bestow no more than five-and-twenty more blows upon Ko-ko.
"Stop!" cried the old man again. "You are running away. Ho! ho! you are a coward!"
"I am not, good man," answered Ko-ko, carried away by the magical shoes, "I assure you." But ere he could finish his avowal, the moccasins had hurried him out of sight.
"At any rate, I shall soon be home at this speed," said Ko-ko to himself.
The moccasins seemed to know his thoughts; for just then they gave a sudden leap, slipped away from his feet, and left the Owl flat upon his back! while they glided home by themselves to the lodge of Onwee Bahmondang, where they belonged.
A party of hunters passing that way after several days, found Ko-ko sitting among the bushes, looking greatly bewildered. When they inquired of him how he had succeeded with the wicked father at the lodge, he answered that he had demolished the whole establishment, but that his name was not Ko-ko, but Onwee Bahmondang; saying which, he ran away into the woods, and was never seen more.
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THERE once lived a man and his wife and their son in a lonely forest. The father went forth every day, according to the custom of the Indians, to hunt for food to supply his family.
One day while he was absent, his wife, on going out of the lodge, looked toward the lake that was near and saw a very large man walking on the water, coming fast toward the lodge. He was already so near that she could not escape by flight, even if she had wished to.
"What shall I say to the monster?" she thought to herself.
As he advanced rapidly, she ran in, and taking the hand of her son, a boy of three or four years old, she led him out. Speaking very loud, "See, my son," she said, "your grandfather"; and then added in a tone of appeal and supplication, "he will have pity on us." The giant approached and said, with a loud ha I ha! "Yes, my son"; and added, addressing the woman, "Have you anything to eat?"
By good luck the lodge was well supplied with meats of various kinds. The woman thought to please him by handing him these, which were savory and carefully prepared. But he pushed them away in disgust, saying, "I smell fire"; and not waiting to be invited, he seized upon the carcass of a deer which lay by the door and despatched it almost without stopping to take breath.
When the hunter came home he was surprised to see the monster, he was so very frightful. He had again brought a deer, which he had no sooner put down than the cannibal seized it, tore it in pieces, and devoured it as though he had been fasting for a week. The hunter looked on in fear and astonishment, and in a whisper he told his wife that he was afraid for their lives, as this monster was one of those monsters whom Indians call Weendigoes. He did not even dare to speak to him, nor did the cannibal say a word, but as soon as he had finished his meal, stretched himself down and fell asleep.
In the evening the Weendigo told the people that he should go out a-hunting; and he strided away toward the North. Toward morning he returned, all besmeared with blood, but he did not make known where he had been or of what kind of game he had been in quest; but the hunter and his wife had dreadful suspicions of the sport in which he had been engaged. Withal his hunger did not seem to be staid, for he took up the deer which the hunter had brought in and devoured it eagerly, leaving the family to make their meal of the dried meats which had been reserved in the lodge.
In this manner the Weendigo and the hunter's family lived for some time, and it surprised them that the monster did not attempt their lives; he never slept at night, but always went out and returned by the break of day stained with blood and looking very wild and famished. When there was no deer to be had wherewith to finish his repast, he said nothing. In truth he was always still and gloomy, and he seldom spoke to any of them; when he did, his discourse was chiefly addressed to the boy.
One evening, after he had thus sojourned with them for many weeks, he informed the hunter that the time had now arrived for him to take his leave, but that before doing so, he would give him a charm that would bring good luck to his lodge. He presented to him two arrows, and thanking the hunter and his wife for their kindness, the Weendigo departed, saying, as he left them, that he had all the world to travel over.
The hunter and his wife were happy when he was gone, for they had looked every moment to have been devoured by him. Then they tried the arrows, which never failed to bring down whatever they were aimed at.
So they lived on, prosperous and contented, for a year. One day when the hunter was absent, his wife, going out of the lodge, saw something like a black cloud approaching.
She looked until it came near, when she perceived that it was another Weendigo, or Giant Cannibal.
Remembering the good conduct of the other, she had no fear of this one, and asked him to look into the lodge.
He did so; but finding after he had glared around that there was no food at hand, he grew very wroth, and being sorely disappointed, he took the lodge and threw it to the winds. He seemed hardly at first to notice the woman in his anger; but presently he cast a fierce glance upon her, and seizing her by the waist, in spite of her cries and entreaties, he bore her oft. To the little son, who ran to and fro lamenting, he paid no heed.
When the hunter returned from the forest at nightfall, he was amazed. His lodge was gone, and he saw his son sitting near the spot where it had stood, shedding tears. The son pointed in the direction the Ween-digo had taken, and as the father hurried along he found the bones of his wife strewn upon the ground.
The hunter blackened his face and vowed in his heart that he would have revenge. He built another lodge, and gathering together the bones of his wife, he placed them in the hollow part of a dry tree.
He left his boy to take care of the lodge while he was absent. Then he went hunting and roaming about from place to place, striving to forget his misfortune, and always searching for the wicked Weendigo.
One morning he had been gone but a little while, when his son shot his arrows out through the top of the lodge; running out to look for them, he could find them nowhere. The boy had been trying his luck, and he was puzzled that he had shot his shafts entirely out of sight.
His father made him more arrows, and when he was again left alone, he shot one of them out; but although he looked as sharply as he could toward the spot where it fell, and ran thither at once, he could not find it. He shot another, which was lost in the same way. Returning to the lodge to replenish his quiver, he happened to espy one of the lucky arrows which the first Weendigo had given to his father, hanging upon the side of the lodge. He reached up, and having secured it, he shot it out at the opening. Immediately running out to find where it fell, he was surprised to see a beautiful boy just in the act of taking it up and hurrying away with it to a large tree. There he disappeared.
The hunter's son followed, and having come to the tree, beheld the face of the boy looking out through an opening in the hollow part.
"Ha! ha!" he said, "my friend, come out and play with me." And he urged the boy till he consented. They played and shot their arrows by turns.
Suddenly the young boy said, "Your father is coming. We must stop. Promise me that you will not tell him."
The hunter's son promised, and the other disappeared in the tree.
When the hunter returned from the chase, his son sat demurely by the fire: In the course of the evening he asked his father to make him a new bow; and when he was questioned as to the use he could find for two bows, he answered that one might break or get lost.
The father, pleased at his son's diligence in the practise of the bow, made him the new weapon; and the next day, as soon as his father had gone away, the boy ran to the hollow tree and invited his little friend to come out and play, at the same time presenting to him the new bow. They went and played in the lodge together, and in their sport they raised the ashes all over it.
Suddenly again the youngest said, "Your father is coming, I must leave."
He again exacted a promise of secrecy and went back to his tree. The eldest took his seat near the fire.
When the hunter came in he was surprised to see the ashes scattered about. "Why, my son," he said, "you must have played very hard to-day to raise such a dust all alone."
"Yes," the boy answered, "I was very lonesome, and I ran round and round—that is the cause of it."
The next day the hunter made ready for the chase as usual. The boy said:
"Father, try and hunt all day, and see what you can kill."
He had no sooner set out than the boy called his friend, and they played and chased each other round the lodge. They had great delight in each other's company and made merry by the hour. The hunter was again returning, and came to a rising ground which caught the winds as they passed, when he heard his son laughing and making a noise; but the sounds as they reached him on the hill-top, seemed as if they arose from two persons playing.
At the same time the younger boy stopped, and after saying, "Your father is coming," stole away under cover of the high grass to his hollow tree, which was not far off.
The hunter, on entering, found his son sitting by the fire, very quiet and unconcerned, although he saw that all the articles of the lodge were lying thrown about in all directions.
"Why, my son," he said, "you must play very hard every day; and what is it that you do, all alone, to throw the lodge in such confusion?"
The boy again had his excuse. "Father," he answered, "I play in this manner: I chase and drag my blanket around the lodge, and that is the reason you see the ashes spread about."
The hunter was not satisfied until his son had shown him how he played with the blanket, which he did so adroitly as to set his father laughing and at last drive him out of the lodge with the great clouds of ashes that he raised.
The next morning the boy renewed his request that his father should be absent all day, and see if he could not kill two deer. The hunter thought this a strange desire on the part of his son, but as he had always humored the boy, he went into the forest as usual, bent on accomplishing his wish, if he could.
As soon as he was out of sight, his son hastened to his young companion at the tree, and they continued their sports.
The father on nearing his home in the evening again heard the sounds of play and laughter; and as the wind brought them straight to his ear, he was now certain that there were two voices.
The boy from the tree had no more than time to escape, when the hunter entered and found his son sitting as usual near the fire. When he cast his eyes around, he saw that the lodge was in greater confusion than before.
"My son," he said, "you must be very foolish to play so when alone. But, tell me, my son; I heard two voices, I am sure," and he looked closely on the prints of the footsteps in the ashes. "True," he continued, "here is the print of a foot which is smaller than yours," and he was now satisfied that his suspicions were well founded, and that some very young person had been the companion of his son during his absence.
The boy could not now refuse to tell his father what had happened.
"Father," he said, "I found a boy in the hollow of that tree near the lodge, where you placed my mother's bones."
Strange thoughts came over the mind of the hunter; did his wife live again in this beautiful child?
Fearful of disturbing the dead, he did not dare to visit the place where he had deposited her remains.
He, however, engaged his son to entice the boy to a dead tree by the edge of a wood, where they could kill many flying-squirrels by setting it on fire. He said that he would conceal himself near-by and take the boy.
The next day the hunter accordingly went into the woods, and his son, calling the boy from the tree, urged him to go with him to kill the squirrels. The boy objected that the father was near, but he was at length prevailed on to go, and after they had fired the tree, and while they were busy killing or taking the squirrels, the hunter suddenly made his appearance and clasped the strange boy in his arms.
"Kago, kago, don't, don't," cried the child. "You will tear my clothes!" For he was clad in a fine apparel, which shone as if it had been made of a beautiful transparent skin. The father reassured him by every means in his power.
By constant kindness and gentle words the boy was reconciled to remain with them; but chiefly by the presence of his young friend, the hunter's son, to whom he was fondly attached. The children were never parted from each other; and when the hunter looked upon the strange boy, he seemed to see living in him the better spirit of his lost wife. He was thankful to the Great Spirit for this act of goodness, and in his heart he felt assured that in time the boy would show great virtue and in some way avenge him on the wicked Weendigo who had destroyed the companion of his lodge.
The hunter grew at ease in his spirit and gave all of the time he could spare from the chase to the society of the two children; but what affected him most, both of his sons, although they were well-formed and beautiful, grew no more in stature but remained children still. Every day they resembled each other more and more, and they never ceased to sport and divert themselves in the innocent ways of childhood.
One day the hunter had gone abroad with his bow and arrows, leaving behind in the lodge, at the request of the strange boy, one of the two shafts which the friendly Weendigo had given to him.
When he returned, what were his surprise and joy to see stretched dead by his lodge-door the black giant who had slain his wife. He had been stricken down by the magic shaft in the hands of the little stranger from the tree; and ever after the boy, or the Bone-Dwarf as he was called, was the guardian and good genius of the lodge. No evil spirit, giant, or Weendigo, ever again dared approach it to mar their peace.