The red feathers

Red Willow was slim as a girl, and so her weight was but an inconsiderable matter to the arms of the chief. Also, the red feathers seemed to increase the strength of his body as well as give him the power of flight. The magician, with the moccasins of the wind on his feet, ran ahead along the still tides of the air. The chief followed close, bearing his sleeping wife in his arms. Far behind the village lay wrapped in slumber, dreaming of cod-fishing, most likely.

The night was mild, and the flight not far as birds and magicians fly. They alit in the pine forest; and Wise-as-a-she-wolf immediately touched the chief’s eyes with his fingers. Then, to the bewildered vision of Run-all-day, a great mass of builded walls loomed from the blackness of the forest, and from it flowed a light that was as sunrise and red evening and moonshine, all in one.

“Hold her gently,” whispered the magician, “and follow me close. We shall awake her within, where no sudden fear, nor tremor of strangeness shall touch her.”

They walked forward, for a few paces, and a great door swung open in front of them. The chief stepped across the shining threshold, on the heels of his master, without a twinge of distrust or fear; and once inside, he uttered a cry of wonder and delight. At that glad sound, Red Willow awoke, slipped her feet to the floor and gazed about her with joy in her face. The Pictures of Life marched and glowed on the walls; the smokeless lamps burned softly, here and there; and above spread the mimic sky, with silver stars a-twinkle.

But ’twas not alone the beauty of the place that gladdened the hearts of Run-all-day and Red Willow. Joy and peace were in the air, as well as wonder and delight. Here could be no dread of sickness or sharp foreboding of death; here no thought of hunger, or weariness, or heart-ache; here could lurk no anger; here could arise no unfriendliness or despair.

“I could sit before these pictures for an hundred years,” said the chief. “Surely, though I behold drawings of men and things that I have seen, they are more true and wonderful than life. Or are they so bright and clear that they pierce the dimness of my eyes and spirit? Here are the warriors fighting; and though I have seen battles, and spears thrown in anger, never have I seen clearly enough to so behold the good in one man’s face and the evil in another’s. And surely the honest warriors are about to win a victory. My heart leaps to help them; my hand is ready for the neck of that great fellow with the evil face. Oh, chief, you have wrought marvellously! Never before have I seen so clearly the difference between the good and the wicked among mankind.”

“True, true,” cried Red Willow. “And see, here are a pair of lovers, beside a little river. How beautiful a thing it is—this love—and how bright it shines in their eyes. And here is an old man mending a snow-shoe, and even that is beautiful.”

The magician smiled. “If the old man’s face were not a good face, if his eyes were sly and his expression cruel, there would be no beauty in the picture. So these pictures are like the life of the world; but in the battles I have turned most of the evil faces aside. For the picture is clearer than the real battle, for it is compassed in a glance of the eye. A fight in an honest cause is a noble and courageous thing; but to picture it one must pass over much of the lust and pain, or the sight of it would chill the heart of the bravest warrior.”

The good magician gave them food to eat and a bright liquor to drink, and the tastes of these were pleasant and strange to their tongues. Then he told Red Willow of what he had dimly seen of the future and of his wishes concerning her baby, even as he had told these things, a few hours before, to the chief.

“He will be happy, I know, in this beautiful place,” she said; “but how can I live without him, great chief?”

He talked long with the father and mother, gently and kindly, explaining the great reward that would be theirs, for giving the infant into his care for a few seasons. They knew he would be safe and happy; and that virtue and wisdom would be taught to him, and knowledge of magic that would make him strong to save his people from destruction.

The three returned to the village before dawn. They carried with them some of the wonderful liquor from the magic house, that Red Willow might feed it to the baby, to ascertain whether or no it would agree with him. Wise-as-a-she-wolf had smiled at this precaution, but kindly; and he had made no objection. He remained in the village for seven days, always gentle and helpful and friendly. He worked no deeds of magic and, in outward seeming, was but a modest young man of small stature; and yet he won the hearts of the whole village, even of old Blowing Fog, and the unfaltering trust of Red Willow. And the littlest warrior thrived on the magic drink.

On the seventh night, when all was quiet in the village and the great fire was banked deep with its ashes, the three again set out for the lodge in the pine forest; and this time, Wise-as-a-she-wolf carried the littlest warrior in his arms. The baby slept soundly in that firm and gentle embrace, soaring over hill and river and barren, forest and lake as secure as if he lay on the couch of skins in his father’s lodge. Again the chief ran hard on the magician’s heels, with Red Willow in his arms. The house of delight was reached without mishap, and again the wooden door swung open and let them in. The smokeless lamps still burned; hunters and lovers and warriors still marched and shone on the walls and in the wide roof the stars continued to glint like splinters of ice. And again the joy of the place lifted the hearts of the parents and gave them courage.

Wise-as-a-she-wolf placed the baby in its mother’s arms, gazed down on it with infinite tenderness in his eyes, and softly took it back to his own embrace.

“If I should awake him from his sleep, at this unaccustomed time?” he asked, looking at the mother with a boyish smile.

“He would cry lustily,” replied Red Willow. “Oh, chief, it would take me many minutes to quiet him.”

“Nay, of what profit is the wisdom I have learned in all my long life, if I cannot shield one little baby from the grief of the night-time?” replied the other.

“Magic and wisdom! Ah, the littlest warrior has not yet learned their power, chief,” said Run-all-day. “He would surely lift his voice in protest if the very gods awakened him at this hour.”

“Nay,” replied the magician, “I think you are wrong. The night-cry of an infant is a cry of dread for the dark hours and the vague fears of danger that lurk about the black places of the world. He feels, when only half-awake, the insecurity of his little life, and cries out for the protection of his parents.” He touched the child’s face with his finger, shook him gently, and at last disturbed the sweet slumber. And the baby opened its round eyes, stared up at the face above it, and laughed.

“Behold,” cried the magician. “Am I not a nurse to be trusted?”

Still carrying the baby, he led the way to the far end of the lodge. Here was a small apartment, dimly lit and hung about with curtains of leather dyed in many soft and beautiful colours. He laid the child gently in a little bed of soft stuffs that were of neither fur nor dressed hide. It stood beside a couch on which was spread the white wolf-skin, that had once belonged to Bright Robe. The three bent above it, listening to the soft breathing of the littlest warrior.

“He sleeps safe,” said Wise-as-a-she-wolf. “He has no fear of the night-time, now.”