They came, one by one, entered the low doorway, and were seated in a circle close to the inner wall of the wigwam, some on the low beds and some on mats.
Nokomis and Good Bird passed to each a wooden dish containing meat, dried berries, parched rice, and maple sugar.
There were many prayers and much smoking of the long pipe which was passed from host to guest. Then Fleet Deer led his son to the middle of the wigwam. The child's face and body were painted, and his long hair was braided and wound around his head.
"You have seen my son outrun his playmates," said the father. "You know that he has taken the honors of victory from a companion that is older and larger. One and another who watched the race have said that my son is like a young elk in his running.
"I was but a lad, my kinsmen, when your former chief, my father, gave me the name I bear. He has taken the long journey to the land of spirits. Will you agree that his grandson bear the name of Swift Elk?"
The warriors gravely bowed their heads in approval. Again the pipe was passed, and the smoke curled and rose in the lodge.
Swift Elk, the grandson of a great chief, had earned his name.
"Are you going away, Grandmother? Take me with you."
"I am on my way to the forest, White Cloud. It will be a long walk for you. We need dry moss and decayed wood for tinder. Some cold morning we shall wake and find no red coals in the ashes. Then we shall need some pieces of the driest of wood to kindle a new fire."
"Let me go, and I will help you look for dry wood. I know I am big enough to be a fire maker. Haven't I seen seven winters?"
So Nokomis and White Cloud started on the trail that led to the wild forest. There great trees had died and fallen, and the branches had been decaying for many moons—no one can tell how many.
"Is the fire always lost when we move our camp, Grandmother?"
"Not always. Some lodge keepers try to carry a few coals, and the one who succeeds is glad to share with others. But one person is often sent ahead to the new camp to make a central fire out of doors. You know it takes a long time to get a spark by rubbing two sticks together."
"How did the Indians get fire in the first place? And how did fire get into wood?" asked White Cloud.
"I will tell you, my child. I have heard all about it from the story-tellers.
"Once there was only one fire in all the world. It was kept in a sacred wigwam and guarded by an old blind man.
"All the Indians had heard about fire and wanted very much to get it. But no one knew where it was hidden.
"The old man had two daughters who gathered his wood. He used only the driest branches, so that no smoke could be seen, and no odor from the burning of green boughs be lifted to the wind.
"But one day a tiny, curling wreath of smoke rose above the lodge opening.
"Of course the birds saw it, and flew over the lodge poles until they discovered the secret. You may be sure that they chirped the news wherever they flew.
"A woodpecker went into a hole in a tree to carry his mate some food and told her where fire was kept. He was overheard by a squirrel running up the tree trunk.
"'Chip, chip! chatter, chatter! Hear the squirrels in the tree tops,' said a rabbit. 'What are they talking about?' By listening he soon found out.
"Then Bruin heard the rabbits, and the bear teased the wolf by letting him know that the birds had a great secret.
"A flock of sparrows settled in front of the wolf's den, and the wolf soon heard all he wanted to know. He, in turn, told a dog that sometimes ran with him at night.
"Of course the dog told the boy he loved best, and so the Indians found out where fire was hidden.
"'We must have fire,' they said. 'Who will get it for us?'
"At last Manabush said that he would try to get fire for his tribe.
"Manabush was a daring young Indian hunter. Like Hiawatha, he spent his life trying to help his people. He saw how fire was needed to warm the lodges in winter, and to cook the raw meat freshly killed in the hunt.
"So Manabush made a birch canoe and started across the great lake. When he reached land he pulled his light canoe out of the water and carried it on his back to a near-by thicket. Then he changed himself into a rabbit and hopped away into the long grass.
"Soon there came up a great storm. The old man guarded the sacred fire with the utmost care until the rain was over. Then he went to sleep near the glowing coals.
"His daughters came out of the lodge to look at the sky. As they bent down to enter the low door, they saw a little rabbit lying on the grass. His fur was wet, and he was trembling with cold.
"One of the daughters carried him in and laid him down where it was warm. The rabbit hopped nearer the fire.
"The old man started from his sleep. 'What do I hear?' he asked.
"'You have heard nothing, Father. We picked up a little wet rabbit and brought him in to dry.'
"The old man closed his eyes again. His daughters turned and went on with their work. Quickly the rabbit seized a burning stick and hopped away by leaps and bounds.
"Up jumped the old man. 'My fire, my sacred fire, is stolen!' he cried. His daughters ran out of the lodge to chase the thief.
"But the old blind man thought that someone was in the wigwam. So he snatched a long stick and pounded so hard on every side that he beat some of the fire into a log. This is the way that fire came to be in wood."
"What did the rabbit do, Grandmother?"
"He ran to the canoe, changed back to a man, put the fire in a magic bag, and paddled as fast as he could to his own camp.
"There he lighted a pile of wood for his grandmother, and then hurried away to the Thunderers. They have kept the sacred fire for the Indians since that day."
"Who are the Thunderers, Grandmother?" asked White Cloud.
"After we have had our dinner I will tell you the story. Now we will use some of our dry wood and make a fire."
"Can I learn to get the fire out of wood?" asked White Cloud.
"You will need to try again and again, for it is not an easy task. Watch me, my child, and see how it is done."
Nokomis soon had a pile of dry grass and twigs. Then she rubbed two pieces of wood together for a long time. At last a spark flew from the dry wood and the grass was lighted.
Meat and birds' eggs were soon roasted in the hot ashes. After the meal Nokomis and White Cloud started for home, each with a bundle of wood strapped to her back.
"Now I'm ready for the story you promised me," said White Cloud.
"Far in the east, above the sky, the great Thunderer lives with his two sons. They are the friends of the whole world. When you hear their voices be glad, for they are bringing the gift of rain.
"In the spring they come from their sky home with the showers that make the grass grow and the little plants peep out of the ground.
"They water the earth; and the corn comes up, the sap flows for our sugar, the trees open their leaves and blossoms, and the berries ripen.
"Without their help every growing plant would turn brown and fade away. The wild rice and the sugar trees would die. Animals would search in vain for food, and they would crawl into their dens and perish.
"There would be no game for the hunter to shoot. Then the terrible famine spirits would enter our lodges, and we would sicken and die.
"We should never fear the loud voices of the Thunderers, for they are always good and kind.
"They are the war chiefs of the world. When we see the rainbow, we catch a glimpse of the splendid robes they wear.
"In the middle of their great lodge burns the sacred fire, which they guard for all the people of the earth."
"I will never be afraid again when I hear them speaking," said White Cloud. "But I like to be in the lodge when they bring their rain storms. If they come to-day perhaps we can find a cave in the hills our trail crosses."
"It would not be safe for us to enter a cave in the forest," replied Nokomis. "The Little People might be in it, and they would be displeased."
"And now," said White Cloud, "I want to hear all about the Little People."
"Speak low, White Cloud. We are coming to the rocky hillside. We must listen, for we may hear them drumming."
"I wish we could! We would run and try to see them."
"It would be far better for us to turn and run the other way. The Little People do not like to be disturbed. If they should see us, they might cast a spell on us."
"What harm would that do us?" asked the child.
"We would forget where we are going and who we are. We might wander in the woods until we starved, for we could never find the trail home."
"How do the Little People look, and what do they do? Does anyone know?"
"They are handsome little men, smaller than the tiniest babies. By daylight they drum and dance, for they are very fond of music.
"If they are not disturbed, they are very kind and helpful, especially to those who are in trouble. They do not like to be seen, and will never work if a man or woman, or even a child, is in sight.
"Sometimes they come to the cornfield when it is very dark. If they are heard, no Indian goes out of the lodge. Often the field will be found well weeded in the morning and the earth loose about the growing plants.
"Once, in the moon of ripe corn, there was a woman alone with a sick child. She heard the Little People near her lodge, and she remembered to be very quiet. In the morning her corn was all picked for her.
"If a hunter finds an arrow near the cornfield, he must say very loud: 'Little People, will you let me have this arrow?' for it may have been shot from their bows.
"If he takes it without asking, he may be hit with stones as he is walking home."
"Tell me about the boy who was changed into a hunter spirit," said White Cloud.
"There was once a boy," began Nokomis, "who ran away from home. He grew smaller and smaller until he became like the spirits of the woods.
"But he is full of mischief. You can sometimes tell what he is doing, although he himself is never seen.
"Have you not noticed your dog jump up quickly from the place where he has been sleeping? The spirit of the runaway boy is whipping him with nettles.
"You will often see a flock of birds suddenly leave their food and fly away. The little hunter spirit has frightened them.
"When the tired hunter stops, far from his lodge, to roast his meat, the little mischief-maker blows out his fire and fans the smoke into his eyes.
"He catches the arrows which are aimed at the birds and hides them. He puts slippery clay in the path and laughs when the children fall. No one can tell all his tricks of mischief."
"Grandmother, look! Here is an arrow on the ground."
"Let it be. We will not annoy the spirits. Now we must hurry home, for the clouds darken and I can hear the loud voices of the Thunderers starting out from their sky home."
The boys were practicing with their bows and arrows. After a few trials, in which little skill was shown, Swift Elk threw down his bow. "I'm tired of shooting," he said. "Come on, boys, let's go to the lake for a swim."
Black Wolf, the oldest warrior of the tribe, was sitting on the ground near by, watching the sport.
"Do not give up," said the old man. "You are a big boy now. Only by skill in shooting can you become a brave warrior. Let no one know you are tired or weak. Remember the boy who was changed to the lone lightning of the North."
"Tell us the story," Swift Elk begged. "Then we will practice again and do our best."
The boys threw themselves on the ground near Black Wolf, and he began the story.
"There was once a little boy who had no one to care for him. His father had been killed in war, and his mother taken captive by the enemy.
"Minno, the lonely boy, lived in his uncle's wigwam, but he was not wanted there. He had hard work to do and very little to eat.
"He was too weak to join the rough games of his playmates, and he did not become skillful with his bow and arrows like the other boys of the tribe.
"At last he became so thin from hunger that the uncle feared his cruel treatment would become known.
"So he told his wife to feed the boy with bear's meat. 'Give him plenty of fat,' he ordered. 'Cram him with bear's fat.' It was now the uncle's plan to kill the boy by overfeeding.
"One day when Minno had been nearly choked with fat meat, he ran away. He wandered about in the woods, and when night came he was afraid of the wild beasts. So he climbed into a tall tree and fell asleep in the branches.
"In his dreams a person came to him from the upper sky and said: 'My poor little lad, I pity you. Follow me, and be sure to step in my tracks.'
"So the lad arose and followed his guide up, up, into the upper sky. There he was given twelve magic arrows and told to shoot the manitoes of the North.
"'They are the evil spirits of the air,' said his guide. 'You must go to war against them. I have given you magic arrows that will kill them if your aim is true.'
"The boy placed an arrow with great care, but failed to kill a manito. One, two, three, four, five, six arrows had left his bow, each leaving behind it a long streak of lightning. But not one had reached its mark.
"Carefully he aimed; seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. Alas! his skill was not equal to his task.
"Long he held the twelfth arrow. He looked around on every side. The evil spirits had wonderful power, and they could change their forms in a moment.
"The boy let his last arrow fly toward the heart of the chief of the manitoes. But the evil spirit saw it coming and changed himself into a rock.
"'How dare you try to kill me!' cried the angry manito. 'Now you shall suffer. You shall evermore be like the trail of your arrow.'
"And he changed the boy into the lone lightning which you so often see, my children, in the northern sky."
"I wish I could shoot as well as I can run," Swift Elk said. "It is easy to win in the races, but I can never beat in a shooting match."
"You can if you will practice more than the other boys. You remember how the crane beat the humming bird in a race."
"Tell us about it, tell us," begged all the boys. "Then we will shoot our arrows all day long until the sun hides his face."
The old man was silent for a time. Then he said, "I will tell you just one more story. And you shall keep your word and practice until the darkness creeps over the earth."
The crane dared the humming bird to a race. The humming bird was as swift as an arrow, but the crane flew slowly.
At the word they both started. The humming bird was far ahead and he stopped to roost on a limb; but the crane flew all night.
The humming bird woke in the morning, thinking it would be no trouble to win the race. He was very much surprised when he passed the crane spearing fish for his breakfast!
"How did the Slow One get ahead?" he thought. "I must start earlier in the morning." He flew swiftly until dusk, when he stopped to roost on a tree.
The crane flew all night. Before morning he was again ahead, and he had finished his breakfast when the Swift One passed him.
"This is indeed strange," thought the humming bird. "But I can fly a little faster, and it will be no trouble to win." So he stopped again, far ahead, to take his usual sleep.
The crane flew all night, as usual. He passed the sleeping humming bird at midnight and was well on his way before he was overtaken. The humming bird flew as long as he could see, and before midnight he was again ahead.
Each night the humming bird slept. Each night the crane flew. "Gaining a little; gaining a little!" he said to himself.
Later and later in the day did the Swift One pass the Slow One. Earlier and earlier in the night did the Slow One pass the Swift One.
On the last day of the race the crane was a night's travel ahead. He took his time at breakfast. The humming bird passed him at sundown and stopped to sleep.
The next morning the humming bird flew like the wind and reached the goal early in the day. But there stood the heavy crane waiting, for he had flown all night!
Swift Elk had sharpened his arrows and taken his strongest bow from the wooden peg over his bed.
"I have seen wild ducks flying by the lake," he said. "I am going to hide in the long grass and watch for them. If they come again, they shall feel my arrows. To-night we eat roast duck."
The boy ran toward the lake. His sister, White Cloud, watched him until he was out of sight. "Why can't girls go hunting?" she said. "I have seen seven winters. I shall follow his trail."
The child ran along, hiding behind trees and bushes, and stepping softly so that no broken twig could tell of her approach.
Indian children can see farther and hear far better than we can. Although the old-time Indian never went to school, yet he trained his children to listen to every sound in the forest, and to notice all signs of animal life.
When White Cloud was near the lake, she hid in a clump of bushes and watched. Just in sight was a little stream winding through the low meadow.
She saw Swift Elk run along its banks. She waited without moving—waited as only an Indian child knows how to wait.
At last, far off, she saw a speck in the sky, then another and another. The specks grew larger. She held her breath.
A flock of wild ducks flew across the lake. Near the shore they turned and flew over the low meadow where the boy hunter was hiding in the high grass.
Suddenly the swift arrows flew. One, two, three, four ducks were hit and fell to the ground. Swift Elk picked up three and swung them over his shoulder.
He looked a long time for the fourth duck. Then, seeing another flock approaching, he ran toward the lake shore.
Again he was fortunate in choosing the place of their approach. White Cloud saw more arrows fly, and more ducks fall. Swift Elk ran on out of sight.
Then the little girl crawled from her hiding-place and crept along the ground in search of the missing duck. Surely there was something stirring in the long grass ahead. Almost afraid to move, the child crept closer and closer, until she saw a duck with a broken wing hanging useless by its side.
In a moment she had caught it. She held the bird in her arms until its struggles ceased. Then she bound its wing to its body with long pieces of grass.
She crawled to the stream and dropped water in its bill. The duck swallowed the water but refused all food.
White Cloud watched every movement in the distance, not daring to stand lest Swift Elk return. So she worked her way, concealed by high grass, to the home trail.
How she ran until she reached the low wigwam built for her dolls! Here she made a soft bed for the wounded bird. She smoothed its feathers and talked to it. How happy she was when she was able to coax the duck to eat the food she offered!
Swift Elk came home at night with all the game he could carry. His mother praised his hunting, and his father was pleased because he had passed the entire day alone and without a mouthful of food.
"You must endure hunger and thirst, cold and heat, danger and pain, if you would become a great warrior," said his father. "And you must find your way alone through the forest for miles and miles, listening every moment for the footsteps of an enemy or the approach of a wild beast."
A fire had been made in front of the lodge. The ducks were buried, feathers and all, in the hot ashes. White Cloud brought wild berries and water from the spring. As soon as the birds were roasted the feathers and skins were pulled off and the hungry boy enjoyed his meal.
But White Cloud watched her chance to carry part of her own food to the duck. How she hated to leave him when the dark came on! But she fastened the shelter securely, hoping that no lurking fox or weasel would force his way inside.
The next morning White Cloud was up before her brother. She hid in the tiny lodge, to protect her pet until Swift Elk had left for the day.
The duck soon became so tame that it followed her wherever she went. The difficulty in taming the wild creature, and the constant danger of losing it, led the child to be as kind and patient with her pet as an Indian mother is with her papoose.
One day Good Bird was roasting deer meat. She had made a hot fire in front of the lodge. Sticks sharpened at both ends were driven in the ground close to the bed of coals. The sticks were bent toward the fire, and each one held a large piece of raw meat.
When the meat was tender, Good Bird called her little daughter. "My father is old," she said. "He can no longer hunt. Take some of this roast meat to him."
White Cloud took the dish and went to her grandfather's lodge, the duck waddling behind her. After the old man had eaten, White Cloud said, "Grandfather, do you know any stories about ducks?"
"Point to the north, my grandchild, and tell me who live in the land of ice and snow."
"North Wind and Old Winter," answered the child.
"And what do they do, little one?"
"They send the game far from my father's arrows. They freeze our food and try to starve us. North Wind gives the war whoop as he flies in the forest.
"Then Old Winter comes like the Indians on the war trail. We cannot see him, and we cannot hear him. He does not break a twig, and his footsteps make no sound. He crowds into our lodge, and tries to steal our fire and freeze us. I wish he would never come again!"
"We must be brave, my grandchild. We must make ready with food and firewood to fight his power. I will tell you of a brave little duck that even North Wind could not conquer."
Far to the north lived Wild Duck. His lodge was by the frozen lake. Winter was beginning, and he had but four logs of wood for his fire.
"Four logs will do," he said. "Each log will burn for many sleeps, and then spring will be on the way."
Wild Duck was as brave as a warrior. On the coldest days he went to the lake to fish. He found the rushes that grew high above the water. With his strong bill he pulled up the frozen plant stems. Then he dived through the holes he had made in the ice and caught the fish swimming beneath.
In this way he found plenty of food. Every day he went home to his lodge dragging strings of fish. North Wind blew his fiercest blasts, but no wind was cold enough to keep Wild Duck in his wigwam.
"This is a strange duck!" said North Wind. "He seems as happy as if it were the moon of strawberries. He is hard to conquer, but I will freeze him."
So the wind blew colder and colder, and great drifts of snow were piled up about the wigwam. But still the fire burned brightly. The duck went daily to the lake, and daily he brought home fish.
"Soon I will visit him," said North Wind. "Then he shall feel my power."
That very night North Wind went to the door of the wigwam. He lifted the curtain and looked in.
Wild Duck had cooked his fish and was lying before the bright fire. He was singing a song to his enemy.
"You may blow as hard as you can, North Wind," he sang. "I dare you to freeze me. You may pile the snow to the top of my lodge. I shall climb the drifts and go fishing just the same."
"How dare a little duck sing like this about me?" blustered North Wind. "I will enter. I will blow my cold breath upon him, and he will freeze."
North Wind pushed his way through the door and sat down on the opposite side of the lodge. Cold blasts filled the hut.
Was Wild Duck afraid? He got up and poked the fire, singing his song louder and louder. Not once did he look at his guest.
"Does he not know that I am here?" thought North Wind.
The little duck stirred the great log until it crackled and snapped.
"I cannot stand this heat," said North Wind to himself. "I am melting. I must go out." The water was dripping from his hair, and tears ran down his cheeks. He crept out of the wigwam and left Wild Duck to his songs.
"What a wonderful duck!" he said. "I cannot freeze him, I cannot even stop his singing. The spirit of the fire is helping him, and I will let him alone."
And to this day you can see the wild duck fishing where the rushes grow. He is warm in his coat of thick feathers, and North Wind can never freeze the brave little duck.
Swift Elk and his companions were cutting great chunks of clay from the bank near the stream. Soon a crowd of boys, each armed with a large piece of clay and a long green switch, ran shouting to the near-by forest.
Here they divided into two bands for a sham battle, and all hid behind trees. Balls of clay were pressed on the ends of the slender sticks and thrown, as you would throw green apples.
Swift Elk ran out from behind the tree where he had been hiding. Quickly he threw mud balls at every boy that he saw peeping at him.
Other boys rushed from their sheltering tree trunks to dare the opposing forces. A shower of mud balls filled the air. There were shouts and war whoops, advances and retreats.
Dogs, barking and jumping, rushed into battle with their masters.
When the clay was all used, the boys ran to the bank for more. For half a day the fight went on, many prisoners being taken on both sides.
Here and there were young braves who had been hit in the face and badly hurt. One was suffering great pain with a swollen eye.
Do you think he left the game and ran home? Do you think he cried or told tales? A boy would rather stand pain than be laughed at by his companions. "Tears are for girls and women," they had all heard their fathers say. "A warrior must not notice pain."
At last, heated and mud-stained, they ran to the lake and jumped in. You would have thought they all needed a bath, could you have seen them.
Splashing and swimming, diving and yelling, they continued their battle by wrestling in the water. The day wore on. One by one, tired with action, they left the lake. Some lay on the grass, and others made images of animals with soft clay.
Two or three boys, very hungry, shot some birds, made a fire, and roasted their game. It mattered not to them that their food was far from clean.
Before they went home at night, Swift Elk's band dared the other side to a ball game, to be played the next morning.
"Let us ask Black Wolf to watch our game," said Swift Elk. All agreed. The old warrior could not go on the long hunt or the warpath, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to help the boys and young men in their games of strength or skill.
Early in the morning the boys met on the level piece of ground that had been selected for the game. At each end of the field two upright poles, a little distance apart, were erected for goal sticks.
In the great ball games played by the men, each side is allowed but one goal stick, which must be hit by the ball. As this is very difficult, Black Wolf helped the boys set up two very long sticks, between which the winner's ball was to be thrown.
Each player always carries a ball stick bent at one end into a small hoop or ring. Strips of rawhide are passed through holes in the hoop, making a netted pocket in which the ball may rest half hidden.
The one simple rule that each player follows at all times is: "Keep the ball away from your own goal." Only by sending the ball off the field between the two goal sticks of the opposite side can victory be won.
Swift Elk and Antelope were chosen captains because they were good runners. All the best players stood in the middle of the field. The younger boys were grouped about the goal sticks with orders to send the ball back into the field.
At a signal from Black Wolf, Antelope tossed the ball into the air. It was caught by a player on his own side, who started to run in the opposite direction from his own goal sticks.
The ball was knocked out of his hand and thrown the other way. Back and forth it went until Antelope caught it in his ball stick. He started at full speed toward the goal on Swift Elk's side.
In a moment he was caught and the ball again turned. Running, screaming, throwing, pushing, striking each other's arms with ball sticks, the boys rushed together.
At last Antelope's side gained the advantage. Nearer and nearer the ball came to Swift Elk's goal sticks. One strong throw, and the game would be won. Antelope's players danced and yelled with joy.
Suddenly a younger boy, one of the poor players who was made to stand on guard, caught the ball and sent it whizzing toward Swift Elk.
The other side, sure of success, was taken by surprise. Before Antelope could turn, Swift Elk had the start and was speeding toward the opposite goal.
"Never was there a finer race," Black Wolf thought. All the boys had crowded together at one end of the line to see the victory, leaving an open field for the two fleetest runners.
You would have liked to see the two Indian lads with painted bodies running like the wind. They were followed by a crowd of boys shouting, howling, rushing, pushing, and trying in vain to overtake them.
But not even Antelope could regain the advantage he lost in starting. Swift Elk swung his stick and sent the ball spinning between the two poles of the goal. He had won the game for his side.
After the victors had shouted themselves hoarse, they lay down on the ground near Black Wolf and asked for a story.
"I will tell you," said the old man, "of the most wonderful ball game the world ever saw. It happened long ago when the animals ruled the land and there were no people on the earth."
Once the animals dared the birds to play a game of ball with them. The birds chose the eagle for their captain, and the animals chose the bear.
They all talked at the same time, trying to make their plans. When should they play? Where should they play? "Leave that to the eagle and the bear," said the deer. And all agreed.
At the appointed time the animals met on a smooth, grassy plain and the birds in a tree top near by.
Captain Bear was so large and heavy that he could pull down anyone who came in his way. All along the trail to the ball ground he tossed up great logs to show his strength; and he bragged of what he would do to the birds when the game began.
The turtle, at that time, was very much larger than he is now. His shell was so hard that the heaviest blows could not hurt him.
He, too, was a great brag. Again and again he rose on his hind feet and dropped heavily to the ground. "Look at me," he said. "See how I will crush any bird that tries to take the ball from me." The swift deer, the mountain goat, and the rabbit were at their best speed. Indeed, the animals had a fine team.
The eagle gathered his forces together. There was the hawk, strong and swift, and the wild geese that can fly without resting. The black martin was there and the crow, with a host of other birds. The blue jay was chosen to scream in the ears of the animal players, and the humming bird to fly in their eyes.
The birds looked at the great animals on the field below, and were afraid. Just then two little things hardly larger than field mice climbed the tree where sat the bird captain.
They begged to join the game.
"You have four feet; why do you not go to the animals, where you belong?" asked the eagle.
"We did," said the little things, "but they drove us off because we are so small."
"Let them play, let them play," called out the birds in pity.
But how could they join the birds when they had no wings? The eagle and the hawk consulted, and it was decided to make wings for the little fellows. What could they find for wings?
At last someone remembered the drum they used in their dances. The head was made of ground-hog skin. So they took the drumhead, cut two wings, and made the bat.
Then they threw the ball to him. The bat dodged and circled about, keeping the ball always in the air; and the birds soon saw that he would be one of their best men.
The other little animal came for wings, but there was no more leather. What could be done? Two birds thought they might enable him to fly by stretching his skin. Thus was the flying squirrel made.
To try him, the bird captain threw up the ball. The flying squirrel sprang off the limb after it, caught it in his teeth, and carried it to another tree below.
All were now ready. The signal was given and the game began. At the first toss the flying squirrel caught the ball and carried it up a tree. He threw it to the birds, who kept it in the air for some time, until it dropped.
The bear rushed to get it, but the martin darted after it and threw it to the bat. By dodging and doubling, the bat kept it out of the way of the swift deer. And now the game was close. The great deer could not turn as quickly as the bat, and so he lost the game. The little bat threw the ball between the posts and won the victory for the birds.
And the bear and the turtle, who had done the most bragging, did not have a chance even to touch the ball.
For saving the ball when it dropped, the martin was given a gourd to build his nest in. And he still has it, for you can often see a gourd on a post near the Indian lodges.
"Have you seen the beautiful new canoe father has just finished?" asked White Cloud.
"Seen it! I helped make it," answered Swift Elk. "I cut nearly all the birch bark."
"Your father has it ready for the wild-rice harvest," said Good Bird. "To-day I go to tie the stalks. You are to help me, White Cloud."
Nothing could have pleased the little girl better. All summer she had hoped for this great pleasure. From a low hill near her home she had watched the growth of the rice.
When the June berries were ripe, the first shoots came up near the shore of the lake. In a few weeks the rice beds looked like beautiful green islands in the water.
And when the yellow-green blossoms opened, she coaxed her father to take her in his canoe to the rice plants. She picked the flowers, shaded with reddish purple, and she saw the spreading mass of blossoms, their straw-colored anthers moving with every breeze.
Swift Elk was very proud of the new canoe. He had made the paddles, and had cut the forked sticks that would be needed to force the boat through the shallow water.
"When the rice is ripe, I'll go with you and manage the boat," he said to his mother. "When you come home to-night, White Cloud, bring some green rice to parch for supper."
"I'll have some all ready for you," promised his sister. "You shoot a deer to-day, and to-night we'll have a feast. We'll ask grandfather, and perhaps he'll tell us a story."
Soon Good Bird was paddling rapidly toward the rice beds. It was a beautiful morning, and White Cloud was as happy as any little girl could ever be.
For many weeks she had helped her mother prepare the string for tying the rice stalks. It was cut from the inner bark of the basswood tree. The narrow bands were wound in a ball so large that the child could hardly reach around it.
"Why do you tie the wild rice stalks, Mother?" she asked.
"So that our little brothers, the birds, can not eat all our grain," answered Good Bird. "All the bunches we have tied are our own, and will be more easily harvested. No friendly Indian ever touches the heads of rice bound together by another."
With a curved stick Good Bird pulled a mass of stalks within her reach and bound the heads firmly together with the narrow strips of bark. For hours she worked, forcing her way through the thick mass of water plants and tying the stalks on both sides of the canoe.
"May I come here again with you when the wild rice is ripe?" asked White Cloud.
"It will take two strong women to gather the harvest, my child; but the canoe is very long and I think you can help."