ORIGIN OF BULLFROGS
Once upon a time in a mountain valley there was a group of Indian lodges where the people dwelt very happily. It was an excellent place for a village. In the thick forests which covered the mountain slopes there was abundance of game, and through the valley flowed a sparkling clear brook fed by a full torrent and many slender rills which leaped down the wild mountain sides. So pure and delicious was the water from this stream that the Indians felt sure it was a gift to them from the Great Spirit.
Each day it was the custom for the Indian maidens to take their kettles to the brook and fill them with water. They were much surprised one summer morning to note that the stream was not so deep as usual.
"Is it because we have had little rain lately?" they asked each other.
They reported what they had noticed to the villagers who said, "Our brook will not fail us. The weather has been very dry of late; but soon we shall have plenty of rain which will swell the waters of our precious stream."
But, strange to say, the rain did not deepen the brook and when the Indians saw that the water was becoming shallower each day they were very much alarmed. One morning they found that the brook and the waters which fed it had entirely disappeared. With sad hearts they gazed at the bed of shining pebbles which marked the course of their beloved stream.
"Is the Great Spirit angry with us?" they whispered. "What have we done to make him take away our life-giving water?"
The chief called the men to the council lodge in order to determine the best thing to do.
Now it happened that the people of the happy village had often heard rumors of another group of Indians who lived higher up on the mountain. After much deliberation awise man rose in the council lodge and said, "Let us send one of our fleet-footed braves on a journey to discover this village which we have heard about but whose people we know not. Perhaps they can tell him what has stopped the flow of waters. Let the runner follow the bed of the mountain stream which leaped most willingly to our precious brook."
Accordingly a swift runner was chosen to search for the other Indian village. He was advised to follow a trail which led to the source of the brook. It was a hazardous journey up the slippery path of the mountain slope which was covered with dense thickets of tangled underbrush and forest trees.
For three days the young brave pursued his task of climbing the mountain. At last he came to a small stretch of level plain and there he saw a group of wigwams. Back of the village the runner could see a clear stream of water whose course further down the mountain had been stopped by a large dam which checked the water and turned it into a great pond. Several Indians came out of their wigwamsand gazed coldly at the stranger. Not a word of welcome did they give.
"Why have you done this mischief?" asked the runner, pointing to the dam. "Know you not that this stopping of the mountain brook has cut off the supply of water to us who live in the valley below?"
"The dam was built by the order of our chief," replied one of the men.
"Lead me to him that I may tell him the misery he has caused my people. Surely he will be merciful," said the runner.
But no one offered to lead the way. In a little while one of them pointed to the pond and said, "The chief lives there."
The runner went quickly to the edge of the pond and there, lying in the mud, he saw a monster whose bloated body of giant size was half hidden. His great yellow eyes bulged out like knots on a tree-trunk; his mouth reached almost from ear to ear. At the approach of the Indian this creature aroused himself and stretched out his great broad skinny feet.
In a hoarse frog-like voice the monster chief croaked, "What do you want? What do you want?"
"I came to see why the brook which brought our village water has dried up. It is because you have built a dam to stop its course," said the runner.
"What do I care?" lazily replied the chief. "What do I care?"
"We cannot live without the water from our brook," pleaded the Indian.
"What do I care?" again croaked the monster. "If you want water go somewhere else! Go somewhere else!"
"My people are dying from thirst! No one may rightfully keep for his own use the water from a mountain stream. The Great Spirit sent the brook to our village!" said the runner earnestly.
The monster rolled his great yellow eyes for several minutes. Then he said, "Shoot a hole in the wall of the dam with one of your arrows. Your people may have as much water as will flow through the arrow hole."
Very swiftly the runner sped an arrow. Itpierced the wall and a slender stream of water trickled through the opening.
"Begone!" croaked the monster when he saw the water flowing. "Begone! Begone!"
Feeling encouraged at the hope that enough water would flow to supply the needs of his people the runner hastened back to the village. When he told what had happened there was great rejoicing, especially when the Indians saw a slender stream of water flowing into the brook's dry bed. But, alas! The water did not continue to flow. In a few weeks the people were again suffering from thirst. A council of all the men in the village was held and earnestly they implored the Great Spirit to help them.
After much deliberation it was decided that the bravest man among them should go to the Frog Chief, and challenge him to do battle for the mountain water. "Let us hope that our warrior will stay this monster whose selfishness is bringing destruction to us," said one of the leaders.
Many of the young men offered to go, each declaring his willingness to do battle, even atthe greatest risk, with the monster chief. While several braves were clamoring for this great privilege of fighting for the good of the village, there appeared in the doorway of the council lodge a warrior who was marvelous to see. His flashing eyes were encircled with green rings; his cheeks were as red as blood. Great clam shells hung from his ears, and tall eagle plumes nodded on his head. It was Glooscap, the spirit who brought great blessings to the Indians and who sometimes took human shape in order to help them.
The silence of the council was broken by this mighty warrior who said, "I will undertake to do battle with the monster who has stopped the flow of water to your brook. He shall account to me for this wicked deed."
Then swiftly he departed and followed the mountain trail to the upper village.
In a short time he reached the place and sat down near the group of wigwams to rest. The people saw him, but they offered him neither food nor drink.
"Fetch me water to quench my thirst," said Glooscap to a small boy who came near.
After a long while the lad returned with a drinking vessel half filled with muddy water. Glooscap took the cup, emptied the contents on the grass and said, "I want clean water from the mountain brook."
"I cannot give it to you," said the lad. "Our chief drinks all the clean water."
"Then lead me to your chief," said Glooscap. "He shall give me pure water."
Quaking with fear, the Indian boy led Glooscap to the pond where the monster chief lay sunning himself.
"What do you want?" croaked the yellow-eyed creature.
"I've come to you for a drink of pure water," said Glooscap.
"Go somewhere else! Go somewhere else!" said the monster hoarsely.
The mighty Glooscap now rushed forward with his spear, thrust it through the chief's great body, and lo! a stream of water rushed forth with such force that it broke the dam and flowed down the mountain in a clear, sparkling torrent. The monster chief hadswallowed all the pure water of the mountain streams.
Then Glooscap rose to a giant's height, caught the monster in his powerful hand and squeezed him with all his might. When he loosened his grasp there in his hand was a great bullfrog with crumpled back, yellow, bulging eyes, wide mouth, and broad, skinny feet. Glooscap flung the creature back into the pond and ever since that day croaking bull-frogs may be found in muddy streams.