The Feathered Bridegroom
The Feathered Bridegroom
LONG, long ago, before the coming of the white man to the shores of America, there lived, far up in the north country, near the banks of a broad river, a squaw named Speckled Eagle, with her little son Running Buffalo and her beautiful daughter Deerfoot, a maiden of fifteen.
Speckled Eagle was the widow of a great warrior and she determined that her daughter should never marry until there came to woo her some mighty chieftain of a powerful tribe. Many a young brave came to the tepee, forDeerfoot was as good as she was lovely. Many a one would have wed her, but none were ever rich or noble enough to please Speckled Eagle.
But one day as the family sat before its tent, weaving mats of sweet grass, a white canoe came gliding down the broad river, and in it there sat a handsome stranger. He was clad all in white, in garments made of deer-skin, sewed over with beads and shells and trimmed with ermine tails.
Speckled Eagle looked at him eagerly. Ah, if only he were coming to woo Deerfoot! As she watched, the stranger gave a few skillful strokes of his paddle that sent his canoe out of the current and brought it gliding toward the shore before Speckled Eagle’s lodge. In anothermoment he was stepping out upon the pebbly shore.
All a-flutter with excitement Speckled Eagle went hurrying down to meet him, not forgetting in her haste to snatch up a bundle of bark which hung in the tepee. When she had greeted the strange brave and bade him welcome to her lodge, she spread pieces of the bark before him on the ground from the landing to the tepee, to do him honor. When he had reached the campfire, she begged him to rest on a soft pile of skins while she and her daughter prepared a feast for him.
Everyone in her camp was delighted with the handsome stranger—all but one old dog which growled and showed his teeth from the moment the unknownbrave stepped ashore. The man trembled at the dog’s angry snarls, and said he could not eat a bit of the feast until that ugly animal was taken away.
DEERFOOT GREETS THE STRANGER
Anxious to please her noble guest, Speckled Eagle led the old dog out into the bushes and killed him, though she dared not tell Deerfoot what she had done, for the girl was fond of the faithful dog.
Soon the stranger made it known that he was a chieftain from the far north, who had made a temporary camp down the river a few miles below Speckled Eagle’s tepee. Furthermore he said that he wished to wed the lovely Deerfoot. The girl was so charmed by his handsome face, his well-built figure and splendid carriage that she consented atonce. Speckled Eagle was more than satisfied to have so fine a son-in-law. So a great wedding feast was held and Deerfoot married the strange brave that night.
On the following morning when Speckled Eagle was ready to make a fire, she went out into the bushes to get some dry faggots. There lay the body of the old dog she had killed, pecked full of holes as if a great bird had feasted on it. The soft earth round about was marked by strange three-toed prints.
A sudden fear came to Speckled Eagle’s heart. She hurried back to the camp, and asked all present to take off their moccasins or shoes. All did as she bade—all but the stranger.
“I never take off my shoes,” he said haughtily, “It is a custom of my tribe.”
“But see the beautiful moccasins I have made for you,” insisted Speckled Eagle. For many moons she had worked on them, intending them to be a wedding gift for her noble son-in-law, whenever he should appear. They were of the softest leather, heavily beaded and worked in quills of the porcupine, and the stranger’s eyes began to glisten as he looked at them. Like a flash he whipped off his own moccasins, and put on the new ones before Speckled Eagle could see his feet. But the little brother’s eyes were sharp.
“Mother,” he cried in terror, “he has feet like a bird—he has only three toes.”
At this the stranger grew angry and looked at the little boy so fiercely that he said no more, but Speckled Eagle was strangely troubled and felt that all was not right.
When they had breakfasted the stranger ordered his bride to follow him to his camp, far down the river, where he had many beautiful gifts for her. Deerfoot did not want to go. The incident of the moccasins had frightened her, but her husband promised her they should return by sundown, so at last she climbed into the stern of his canoe, while the stranger took his place at the bow, and they paddled away down stream.
Deerfoot looked back at the camp as long as she could see it, and watchedSpeckled Eagle and the little brother, Running Buffalo, waving to her from the shore. But at last a turn of the river hid them from view.
For several hours Deerfoot and her husband went on down the river with the current, he paddling, she giving an occasional stroke, where the stream did not run as fast as usual. About noon-day it began to rain, a shower at first, then a downpour. As the rain continued to fall harder and harder, the bride suddenly noticed that the water was washing away her husband’s splendid white coat, and beneath it she could see black feathers and a long black tail.
Then she knew what evil had befallen her. She had married a Crow,the bird of wickedness, whose tricky ways oft deceived the Indians.
Deerfoot was very much frightened, but she began to plan her escape at once. With her small deft hands she tied the long black tail to the crossbar of the canoe, using a leather thong from her moccasins.
“What are you doing?” asked the Crow, as he felt her fingers among his feathers.
“Smoothing down your beautiful coat, and sewing on some of the beads that have become loosened,” she replied.
“Ah, I see you are industrious, as a good wife should be,” he answered with a sly grin, but without turning.
All the long afternoon they floated down the river, and as it drew on toward sunset the canoe glided alonginto a rushy, reed-covered marsh where the wild ducks made their nests. As the canoe slipped among the grasses, dozens of frightened birds rose in great flocks and flew across the marshes.
“These shores are full of duck eggs, husband,” said Deerfoot, as she watched the circling birds. Seized by a sudden idea she cried: “Let me land here for a moment, and I will soon find a dozen for your supper.”
Now the Crow was hungry, and the prospect of a dozen roasted duck eggs pleased him immensely.
“You are a good wife,” he said, “but make haste—we still have far to go,” and he ran the canoe close to the shore.
Before the keel had even grated onthe pebbles, like the swift-footed deer for whom she was named, the Indian maid had sprung ashore and darted up the bank into the forest. She was soon out of sight speeding like an arrow through the woods, back to her mother, her brother, and her home.
The Crow gave a harsh cry, which resembled a caw, as he saw her go, and began screaming at the top of his voice: “Stop—stop—I’ll bring you back, and punish you for this.”
But he could not free himself to follow her. Deerfoot had fastened his tail too securely to the crossbar for him to loosen it easily. It took him nearly an hour to untie the last knot, for it was no easy task to reach around behind his back, and, by the sense of touch alone,pick out countless knots tied in wet leather.
By the time the Crow had untied all the thongs that held him. Deerfoot was far away in the forest, so he sunk his canoe, resumed his bird shape once more and flew off screeching as he went: “Again I have tricked my enemy—man.”