The red feathers

The seasons passed, with melting snow, waning summers and scattering seeds. Many moons were born, each to grow and dwindle, and leave behind it in the blackness the germ of another moon. The herds of caribou moved southward and northward again, hunted by men and wolves, yet ever multiplying. The tribes grew; warriors did deeds of valour; death and pride and love moved among the lodges. Children were born; old people and strong hunters and little children set their feet on the Longest Trail. The north loosed its fields of ice in spring-time, freighted with cold and fogs and millions of seals; and so it had been since the beginning of things.

Run-all-day’s village grew like the herds, and like the forests in the sheltered valleys, until it became a great clan. Run-all-day had lost nothing of his authority with the loss of the magic feathers, for his people loved him. He was the head-chief of the clan, and under him were four lesser chiefs, among whom was Jumping Wolf, the young warrior from the south. And Jumping Wolf had a lodge of his own, and Singing Bird was his wife.

Wise-as-a-she-wolf kept close to his magic house, for it seemed that his whole heart was with the littlest warrior. He named the child Featherfoot, for the magic feathers were to be his, and his alone, as soon as they were won back from Crack Bone, the giant. But the magician seemed to be in no haste to make that long journey again. There would be plenty of time for it later; and now he had so many things to teach the child. Little Featherfoot learned readily, for he grew, both in brain and body, at twice the rate of an ordinary child. And so, when he was in his sixth summer, he was as large as a boy of twelve summers, and knew magic that was beyond the understanding of any save the great magicians. He could make fire in a moment, even as Wise-as-a-she-wolf had done to burn the lodge of Crack Bone. His bow would send an arrow the distance of six flights of an ordinary arrow, and no weapon, unless it were tipped with magic, could break or pierce his shield of thin leather. He could take upon himself the semblance of a wolf, a caribou, or a bear, and at such times his speed was as the speed of the former animals and his strength as that of the latter. Also, he could make light objects heavy, and heavy objects as light as birch bark.

While Bright Robe hid in desolate places, harmless but expectant, and the good magician sat in his lodge, and Run-all-day’s people prospered and grew, men were blowing on red coals in almost every camp and village in the island. And the coals they blew upon were the memories of old battles, and they were red with the fires of old hatreds. The fires leaped up and touched their flames to the hearts of the warriors. The tribes had been too long at peace with one another. In the south, and the east, and the west, they made their war-arrows; and the lonely hunters and fishers of the north heard of it and returned to their villages, with the lust of fighting in their hearts. And Run-all-day felt the stirring of the trouble in the air, and armed his men, and sent swift and cunning messengers to spy upon the other clans.

“I was once a peaceful hunter and fisher,” said he, to Red Willow, “but now I am the chief of a people. If the men of other villages come against me, then must I do battle with them, to the best of my ability. It is stupid to fight without cause; but it is better to fight, and give back blows for every one received, than to crouch in one’s lodge and die like a frightened hare.”

Being but a man, after all, he prayed in his heart that his master, the good magician, would not pacify the tribes until he had proved his little army. There was fighting blood in him; and a flame of that red coal that had lain ash-hidden for so long a time, had got into his honest heart.

Wise-as-a-she-wolf told Featherfoot the story of the red feathers; and about two months before the time that Bright Robe would return to his old form and power, he set out for the land of the giants, armed with magic weapons, to bring Crack Bone to terms. But Crack Bone was dead and Stone Hand ruled in his place. When the magician asked word of the feathers, the true story of the fight and of their sudden disappearance was told to him, first by Stone Hand and afterward by several others of the giants. Wise-as-a-she-wolf was disturbed at the news, and blamed himself for not having taken the feathers from Crack Bone long ago. Also, he knew nothing of the whereabouts of Bright Robe, and this, too, disturbed the peace of his mind. He set to work immediately to find the red feathers. He hunted far and wide, questioning the people of many tribes. He went north, to the farthest village, and southward to the great wooded countries, where are thousands of red-skinned people, and fields of corn, and trees bearing fruits. But nowhere did he hear any word of the red feathers. For the space of two moons he sought the lost treasures; but at last he turned homeward, and ran upon the air, with all the speed of the moccasins of the wind, for a day and a night and a day. When he came to the western coast of his own country, he saw below him, lying black and lifeless, the ruins of a village. Then he knew that the tribes were at war again; and again he blamed himself for having neglected his duties toward his people. He descended to the ground and saw the bodies of men, with wounds upon them, and broken weapons.

Bright Robe, in the meantime, was tasting the joy of his old ways again. The moment he had returned to his old shape, he had increased his man-strength an hundred times and splintered the pine-tree. Then he had placed the feathers in his moccasins and crossed the Narrow Sea. Again he was the master of his magic; and though he had lost the silver robe that had turned him invisible at will, the newly acquired feathers more than made up for the loss. But he had learned discretion during his five summers spent in the shape of an owl, and so was content to go quietly among the islanders for a little while, making no demonstrations of his power. He even concealed his identity and avoided the lodges of people who knew him. He made himself agreeable by many fires, talked modestly, and listened attentively to the words of old men and warriors. And so he learned that his enemy, Wise-as-a-she-wolf, had been very quiet of late, and that all the clans were uneasy with war-lust. He knew that the power of Wise-as-a-she-wolf would suffer if the people fought, for those who suffered would feel that he had withdrawn his protection from them, and those who conquered would know that they had done so without any help from him. Therefore he was anxious to see the islanders battling among themselves, and after considering the matter, and investigating the relative strengths of the larger clans and their leaders, he disclosed himself to the chief of the people of a great district in the south. This chief was a veritable king, with four villages and hundreds of miles of hunting country under his rule. His name was Cold Wind, and his heart was harder than the ice-fields of the north. So to him Bright Robe made himself known, and offered to give him assistance in the battle and at the council fire.

Cold Wind dared not refuse Bright Robe’s offer; but he was not pleased at having a greater person than himself on the scene. The warriors were called together, armed for battle, and the campaign was begun with the destruction of that village in which lived the old woman called Hot Tongue, and those great warriors, Yellow Fox, Seven Knives, Strong Hunter, and Mighty Hand. Bright Robe had no pleasant memories of that village; so the people were slain, and the lodges robbed of their treasures of fur and food and then burned to the ground. The victorious fighting-parties travelled westward then and destroyed many little villages. But the clans rose on every side to stem the course of Cold Wind’s people; so Bright Robe retired from the scene of action, knowing that the mischief was well begun.

Bright Robe did not want to attract Wise-as-a-she-wolf’s attention again, for he knew that he was neither strong nor cunning enough to withstand that great magician. So he left Cold Wind and the warriors, and crossed the island, to continue quietly in his evil ways. And at every village and every camp he questioned the people concerning his enemy’s whereabouts and affairs. The people had heard nothing of the great magician for several seasons, so Bright Robe learned nothing by his questionings. He began to believe and hope that Wise-as-a-she-wolf had left the country.

Wise-as-a-she-wolf returned to his lodge and told Featherfoot of his journey, and of its fruitlessness. Of this matter, and of the signs of warfare which he had beheld in the west, he spoke at length. The child was eager to go in search of the feathers, but of that the magician would not hear.

“May I help my people in the fighting?” he asked. “With my magic, I am already stronger than any warrior, and with my shield I can turn aside the heaviest and swiftest arrow. I have no fear, master, and yet I know the value of caution. With the knowledge that you have taught me, even now I would be a help to my people.”

“Nay,” cried the good magician, sorely troubled. “Nay, you are still but a child at heart, for all your size and strength. Your hand would stay in the stroke, for very pity, even when your life was at risk. Keep the protection of this lodge, and I am your friend. Your people shall be under my special protection until such time as I can show the clans the foolishness of this strife among themselves.”

It was for love of this child that Wise-as-a-she-wolf had postponed the contest with the giant, and by that had lost the magic feathers; and now, for the father-love in his heart, he wanted to keep the child in the safety of the lodge, where the very powers that he had given him were of no use to mankind.