They listened attentively to what he said, and seeing nothing unreasonable in his request, they obeyed him, and Owasso soon found himself sailing swiftly homeward through the air.
Meanwhile the old magician had fallen asleep and allowed his canoe to come to a standstill. Owasso, in his flight over the lake, saw him lying on his back in the boat taking a nap, which was quite natural, as the day was very soft and balmy.
As Owasso, with his convoy of birds, passed over, he let fall a capful of gulls' eggs directly in the face of the old magician. They broke and so besmeared Misho-sha's eyes that he could barely see. He jumped up and exclaimed:
"It is always so with these thoughtless birds. They never consider where they drop their eggs."
Owasso flew on and reached the lodge in safety, where, excusing himself for the liberty, he killed two or three of the gulls, as he wished their feathers to ornament his son's head.
When the magician arrived, soon after, his grandson came out to meet him, tossing his head about as the feathers danced and struggled with the wind.
"Where did you get these," asked the Manito, "and who brought them?"
"My father brought them," the boy replied.
The old magician was quite distressed in his mind that he had not destroyed his son-in-law. He entered his lodge in silence and set his wits busily at work again to contrive some more successful plan to gain his purpose.
He could not help saying to himself:
"What manner of boy is this who is ever escaping from my power? But his guardian spirit shall not save him. I will entrap him to-morrow. Ha, ha, ha!"
He was painfully aware that he had tried two of his charms without effect, and that he had only two more left. But he now professed to be more friendly with his son-in-law than ever, and the very next day he said to Owasso:
"Come, my son, you must go with me to procure some young eagles. We will tame them and have them for pets about the lodge. I have discovered an island where they are in great abundance."
They started on the trip, and after traversing an immense waste of water, at last reached the island. Mishosha led Owasso inland until they came to the foot of a tall pine-tree, upon which the nests were to be found.
"Now, my son," said Mishosha, "climb up this tree and bring down the birds. I think you will get some fine ones up there."
Owasso obeyed. When he had with great difficulty got near the nest, Mishosha cried out, addressing himself to the tree, and without much regard for the wishes of Owasso:
"Now stretch yourself up and he very tall."
The tree, at this bidding, rose up so far that Owasso would have imperiled his neck by any attempt to get to the ground.
"Listen, ye eagles!" continued Mishosha. "You have long expected a gift from me. I now present you this boy, who has had the presumption to climb up to your nests in order to molest your young. Stretch forth your claws and seize him."
So saying, the old magician turned his back upon Owasso, and going off in the canoe, left his son-in-law to shift for himself.
But the birds did not seem to be so badly minded as the old magician had supposed; for a very old bald eagle, quite corpulent and large of limb, alighted on a branch just opposite, opened conversation with Owasso by asking what had brought him there.
Owasso replied that he had not mounted the tree of himself, or out of any disposition to harm the birds, but that his father-in-law, the old magician who had just left them, had sent him up; that he was constantly sending him on mischievous errands. In a word, the young man was enlarging at great length upon the character of the wicked Manito, when he was interrupted by being darted upon by a hungry-eyed bird, with long claws.
Owasso, not in the least disconcerted, boldly seized this fierce eagle by the neck and dashed it against the rocks, crying out:
"Thus will I deal with all who come near me."
The old eagle, who appeared to be the head of the tribe, was so pleased with this show of spirit that he immediately appointed two tall birds, uncommonly strong in the wings, to transport Owasso to his lodge. They were to take turns in conducting him through the air.
Owasso expressed many obligations to the old eagle for his kindness, and they forthwith set out. It was a high point from which they started, for the pine-tree had shot far, far up toward the clouds, and they could even descry from it the enchanted island where the old magician lived, though it was miles and miles away. For this point they steered their flight; and in a short time they landed Owasso at the door of the lodge.
With many compliments for their despatch, Owasso dismissed the birds and stood ready to greet his wicked father-in-law who arrived a few minutes after. And now when Mishosha espied his son-in-law standing there unharmed he became very black in the face and raged horribly. But dissembling his feelings and still professing great friendship he pondered deeply as to how he might use his one remaining charm to the best advantage.
While he was still considering this, Owasso and his wife, sitting on the banks of the lake one evening, heard a song, as if sung by some one at a great distance. The sound continued for some time and then died away in perfect stillness.
"Oh, it is the voice of Sheem," cried Owasso. "It is the voice of my brother! If I could only see him!" And he hung down his head in deep anguish.
His wife witnessed his distress, and to comfort him she proposed that they should attempt to make their escape and carry him succor on the morrow.
When the morning came, and the sun shone warmly into the lodge, the wife of Owasso offered to comb her father's hair, with the hope that it would soothe him to sleep. It had that effect; and they no sooner saw him in deep slumber than they seized the magic canoe, Owasso uttered the charmed words, "Chemaun Poll!" and they glided away upon the water without need of oar or sail.
They had nearly reached the land on the opposite side of the lake, and could distinctly hear the voice of the younger brother singing his lament as before, when the old magician wakened. Missing his daughter and her husband, he suspected deception of some kind; he looked for his magic boat and found it gone. He spoke the magic words, which were more powerful from him than from any other person in the world, and the canoe immediately returned; to the sore disappointment of Owasso and his wife.
When they came back to the shore, Mishosha stood upon the beach and drew up his canoe. He did not utter a word. The son-in-law and daughter entered the lodge in silence.
The time, walking along in its broad open path, brought the autumn months to a close, and the winter had set in. Soon after the first fall of snow, Owasso said:
"Father, I wish to try my skill in hunting. It is said there is plenty of game not far off, and it can now be easily tracked. Let us go."
The magician consented; they set out, and arriving at a good ground for their sport, spent the day in hunting. Night coming on, they built themselves a lodge of pine-branches to sleep in. Although it was bitterly cold, the young man took off his leggings and moccasins and hung them up to dry. The old magician did the same, carefully hanging his own in a separate place, and they lay down to sleep.
Owasso, from a glance he had given, suspected that the magician had a mind to play him a trick; and to be beforehand with him, he watched an opportunity to get up and change the moccasins and leggings, putting his own in the place of Mishosha's, and depending on the darkness of the lodge to help him through.
Near daylight, the old magician bestirred himself, as if to rekindle the fire; but he slyly reached down a pair of moccasins and leggings with a stick, and thinking they were no other than those of Owasso's, he dropped them into the flames. Then he cast himself down and affected to be lost in a heavy sleep. The leather leggings and moccasins soon drew up and were burned.
Instantly jumping up and rubbing his eyes, Misho-sha cried out:
"Son-in-law, your moccasins are burning; I know it by the smell."
Owasso rose up, deliberate and unconcerned.
"No, my friend," said he, "here are mine," at the same time taking them down and drawing them on. "It is your moccasins that are burning."
Mishosha dropped his head upon his breast. All his tricks were played out—there was not so much as half a one left to help him ont of the sorry plight he was in.
"I believe, my grandfather," added Owasso, "that this is the moon in which fire attracts, and I fear you must have set your foot and leg garments too near the fire, and they have been drawn in. It is bad that you have none, but let us go forth to the hunt."
The old magician was compelled to follow him, and they pushed out into a great storm of snow and hail and wind, which had come on over night; and neither the wind, the hail, nor the snow had the slightest respect for the bare limbs of the old magician, for there was not the least virtue of magic in those parts of old Mishosha's body. After a while they quite stiffened under him, his body became hard, and his hair bristled in the cold wind; so that he looked more like a tough old sycamore tree than a highly gifted magician. But Owasso, remembering, had no compassion and turned away, leaving the wicked old fellow alone to ponder upon his past life.
Owasso himself reached home in safety, proof against all kinds of weather, and the magic canoe became the exclusive property of the young man and his wife.
Now to go back to the sister who had been left alone with Sheem during all these years. She knew enough of the arts of the forest to provide their daily food and labored with good-will to supply the lodge. She watched her little brother and tended his wants, with all of a good sister's care. But at last she began to be weary of solitude and of her charge. No one came to be a witness of her constancy, or to let fall a single word in her mother-tongue. She could not converse with the birds and beasts about her, and felt, to the bottom of her heart, that she was alone. In these thoughts she forgot her younger brother, and almost wished him dead; for it was he alone that kept her from seeking the companionship of others.
So one day she collected all the provisions she had been able to reserve from their daily use and brought a supply of wood to the door. Then she said to her little brother:
"My brother, you must not stray from the lodge. I am going to seek our elder brother. I shall be back soon."
She then set the lodge in perfect order and, taking her bundle, set off in search of habitations. These she soon found, and in the enjoyment of the pleasures and pastimes of her new acquaintances, she began to think less and less of her little brother, Sheem. At last she accepted a proposal of marriage, and from that time she utterly forgot the abandoned boy.
As for poor little Sheem, he was soon brought to the pinching turn of his fate. As soon as he had eaten all of the food left in the lodge, he was obliged to pick berries and live off such roots as could be dug with his slender hands. As he wandered about in search of the wherewithal to stay his hunger, he often looked up to heaven and saw the gray clouds going up and down. And then he looked about upon the wide earth, but he never saw his sister or brother returning from their long delay.
At last, even the roots and berries gave out. They were blighted by the frost or hidden out of reach by the snow, for midwinter had come on, and poor little Sheem was obliged to leave the lodge and wander away in search of food.
Sometimes he had to pass the night in the clefts of old trees or in caverns, and to break his fast with the refuse meals of the savage wolves.
These at last became his only resource, and he grew to be so little fearful of these animals that he would sit by them while they devoured their meat, and patiently await his share.
After a while, the wolves took to little Sheem very kindly, and seeming to understand his outcast condition, they would always leave something for him to eat. By and by they began to talk with him, and to inquire into his history. When he told them that he had been forsaken by his brother and his sister, the wolves turned about to each other, lifted up their eyes to heaven, and wondered among themselves, with raised paws, that such a thing should have been.
In this way Sheem lived on till the spring, and as soon as the lake was free from ice, he followed his new friends to the shore.
It happened on the same day that his elder brother, Owasso, was fishing in his magic canoe, a considerable distance out upon the lake. Suddenly he thought he heard the cries of a child upon the shore. He wondered how any human creature could exist on so bleak and barren a coast.
He listened again with all attention, and he heard the cry distinctly repeated; and this time it was the well-known cry of his younger brother that reached his ear. He knew too well the secret of his song, as he heard him chaunting mournfully:
"My brother! My brother! Since you left me going in the canoe, a-hee-ee, I am half changed into a wolf, E-wee. I am half changed into a wolf, E-wee." Owasso made for the shore, and as he approached the lament was repeated. The sounds were very distinct, and the voice of wailing was very sorrowful for Owasso to listen to; and it touched him the more that it died away at the close into a long-drawn howl, like that of the wolf.
In the sand, as he drew closer to the land, he saw the tracks as of an animal fleeing away; and beside these the prints of human hands. But what were the pity and astonishment that smote Owasso to the heart when he espied his poor little brother—poor little forsaken Sheem—half boy and half wolf, flying along the shore!
Owasso immediately leaped upon the ground and strove to catch him in his arms, saying soothingly, "My brother! my brother! Come to me."
But the poor wolf-boy avoided his grasp, crying, as he fled, "Neesia, neesia. Since you left me going in the canoe, a-he-ee, I am half changed into a wolf, E-wee. I am half changed into a wolf, E-wee!" And he howled between these words of lament.
The elder brother, sore at heart and feeling all of his brotherly affection strongly returning, cried out with renewed anguish, "My brother! my brother! my brother!"
But the nearer he approached to poor Sheem, and the faster Sheem fled, the more rapidly the change from boy to wolf went on; the boy-wolf by turns singing and howling, and calling out the name, first of his brother, next of his sister, till the change was complete. Then he leaped upon a bank, and looking back, cast upon Owasso a glance of deep reproach and grief.
"I am a wolf!" he cried and disappeared in the woods.
THERE was a man called Odshedoph, or the Child of Strong Desires, who had a wife and one son. He had withdrawn his family from the village, where they had spent the winter, to the neighborhood of a distant forest, where game abounded. This wood was a day's travel from his winter home, and under its ample shadows the wife fixed the lodge, while the husband went out to hunt. Early in the evening he returned with a deer, and being weary and athirst, he asked his son, whom he called Strong Desire, to go to the river for some water. The son replied that it was dark and he was afraid. His father still urged him, saying that his mother as well as himself was tired, and the distance to the water very short. But no persuasion could overcome the young man's reluctance. He refused to go.
"Ah, my son," said the father at last, "I am ashamed of you. If you are even afraid to go to the river, you will never kill the Red Head."
The stripling was deeply vexed by this observation; it seemed to touch him to the very quick. He mused in silence. He refused to eat and made no reply when spoken to. He sat by the lodge-door all the night through, looking up at the stars and sighing like one sorely distressed.
The next day he asked his mother to dress the skin of the deer and to make it into moccasins for him, while he busied himself in preparing a bow and arrows.
As soon as these were in readiness, he left the lodge one morning at sunrise, without saying a word to his father or mother. As he passed along, he fired one of his arrows into the air, and it fell westward. He took that course, and coming to the spot where the arrow had fallen, was rejoiced to find it piercing the heart of a deer. He refreshed himself with a meal of the venison, and the next morning fired another arrow. Following its course, after traveling all day he found that he had transfixed another deer. In this manner he fired four arrows, and every evening discovered that he had killed a deer.
By a strange oversight he left the arrows sticking in the carcasses and passed on without withdrawing them. Having in this way no arrow for the fifth day, he was in great distress at night for the want of food.
At last he threw himself upon the earth in despair, concluding that he might as well perish there as go farther. But he had not lain long before he heard a hollow rumbling noise in the ground beneath him, like that of an earthquake moving slowly along.
He sprang up and discovered at a distance the figure of a human being, walking with a stick. He looked attentively and saw that the figure was walking over the prairie on a wide beaten path that ran from a dusky lodge to the waters of a black and turbid lake.
To his surprise this lodge, which had not been in view when he cast himself upon the ground, was now near at hand. He approached a little nearer, concealing himself, and in a moment discovered that the figure was no other than that of the terrible witch, the Little Old Woman Who Makes War. Her path to the lake was perfectly smooth and solid, and the noise Strong Desire had heard was caused by the striking of her walking staff upon the ground. The top of this staff was decorated with a string of the toes and bills of every kind of bird, and at every stroke of the stick these fluttered and sang their various notes in concert:
The witch entered her lodge and laid off her mantle, which was entirely composed of the scalps of women. Before folding it, she shook it several times, and at every shake the scalps uttered loud shouts of laughter, in which the old hag joined. The boy, who now had arrived at the door, was greatly alarmed, but he uttered no cry.
After laying by the cloak, the witch came directly to him. Looking at him steadily, she informed him that she had known him from the time he had left his father's lodge, and had watched his movements. She told him not to fear or despair, for she would be his protector and friend. Then she invited him into her lodge and gave him a supper. During the repast she questioned him as to his motives for visiting her. He related his story and stated the manner in which he had been disgraced and the difficulties he labored under.
"Now tell me truly," said the Little Old Woman Who Makes War, "you were afraid to go to the water in the dark."
"I was," Strong Desire answered promptly.
As he replied, the hag waved her staff. The birds set up a clamorous cry, and the mantle shook violently as all the scalps burst into a hideous shout of laughter.
"And are you afraid now?" she asked again.
"I am," again answered Strong Desire without hesitation.
"But you are not afraid to speak the truth," rejoined the little old woman. "You will be a brave man yet, and to show you that I trust you I will help you kill the Red Head."
Now Hah-Nudo-Tah, or the Red Head, was a most powerful sorcerer. Living upon an island in the center of his realm of water, he was the terror of all the country about. It was the ambition of every Indian youth to be the one finally to overcome him, so Strong Desire was greatly cheered by this assurance of the little old woman's friendship.
"Do to me as you will," he said, "I will try not to be unworthy of your confidence."
"So be it," answered the little old woman, and began at once to exercise her power upon him. His hair being very short, she took a great leaden comb, and after she had drawn it through his locks several times, they became of a handsome length like those of a beautiful young woman. She then proceeded to dress him as a maiden, furnishing him with the necessary garments and tinting his face with colors of the most charming dye. She gave him, too, a bowl of shining metal. She directed him to put in his girdle a blade of scented sword-grass and to proceed the next morning to the banks of the lake, which was no other than that over which the Red Head reigned. She then informed him that there would be many Indians upon the island, who, as soon as they saw him use the shining bowl to drink with, would come thinking him a woman, to offer marriage. These offers he was to refuse, and to say that he was a maiden who had come a great distance to be the wife of the Red Head, and that if the chief could not seek her she would marry no one.
"Then," continued the little old woman, "as soon as Red Head hears of this he will come for you in his own canoe, in which you must embark. On reaching the shore," she added, "you must consent to be his wife; and in the evening you are to induce him to take a walk out of the village. When you have reached a lonesome spot, use the first opportunity to cut off his head with the blade of grass."
The little old woman also gave Strong Desire advice about how he was to conduct himself to sustain his assumed character of a woman. But by this time his fear was so great that he could hardly consent to engage in an adventure attended with so much danger; only the recollection of his father's looks and reproaches for his want of courage decided him.
Early in the morning he left the lodge of the Little Old Woman Who Makes War, and it was clouded in a heavy brackish fog, so thick and heavy to breathe that he with difficulty made his way forth. When he turned to look hack, the lodge was gone.
Then Strong Desire took the hard beaten path to the banks of the lake and made for the water at a point directly opposite the Red Head's lodge.
He had not been long there, sauntering along the beach, when he displayed the glittering bowl by dipping water from the lake. Very soon a number of canoes came off from the island. The men admired his dress and were charmed with his beauty and almost with one voice they all made proposals of marriage. These Strong Desire promptly declined, in the manner of which the little old woman had warned him.
When this was reported to Red Head, he ordered his royal bark to be launched by his chosen men of the oar, and crossed over to see this wonderful girl. As they approached the shore, Strong Desire saw that the ribs of the sorcerer's canoe were formed of living rattlesnakes, whose heads pointed outward to guard him from his enemies. Being invited, he had no sooner stepped into the canoe, than they began to hiss and rattle furiously, which put him in a great fright.
However this rather added to than detracted from the supposed maiden's charms, and Red Head thought nothing of it, but spoke to the snakes, upon which they became pacified and quiet. Shortly afterward the boat reached the landing upon the island. The marriage took place immediately; and the bride made presents of various rich gifts which had been furnished her by the old witch who inhabited the cloudy lodge.
As they were sitting in the lodge, surrounded by the friends and relatives, the mother of the Red Head regarded the face of her new daughter-in-law for a long time with fixed attention. From this scrutiny she was convinced that this singular and hasty marriage boded no good to her son. She drew him aside, and disclosed to him her suspicions.
"This can be no maiden," said she. "She has the figure and manners of a woman, but the countenance, and more especially the eyes, are beyond a doubt those of a man."
The mother spoke truly, but Red Head rejected her suspicions and rebuked her severely for entertaining, such notions of her own daughter-in-law. She still urged her doubts, which so vexed the husband that he broke his pipe-stem in her face and called her an owl.
This act astonished the company, who sought an explanation; and it was no sooner given than the mock bride, rising with an air of offended dignity, informed the Red Head that after receiving so gross an affront from his relatives she could not think of remaining with him as his wife, but should forthwith return to her own friends.
With a toss of the head, like that of an angry woman, Strong Desire left the lodge and walked away until he came to the beach of the island, near the spot where they had first landed. He was followed by Red Head, who entreated him to remain, urging every motive and making all sorts of magnificent promises—none of which seemed to make the least impression. Strong Desire was very hard-hearted. During these appeals they had seated themselves upon the ground, and Red Head, in great affliction, reclined his head upon his fancied wife's lap. Strong Desire now changed his manner, was very kind and soothing, and suggested in the most winning accent that if Red Head would sleep soundly for a while he might possibly dream himself out of all his troubles. Red Head, delighted at so happy a prospect, said that he would fall asleep immediately.
"You have killed a good many men in your time, Red Head," said Strong Desire, by way of suggesting agreeable thoughts to the sorcerer.
"Hundreds," answered Red Head, "and what is better, now that I am fairly settled in life by this happy marriage, I shall be able to give my whole attention to massacre."
"And you will kill hundreds more," interposed Strong Desire, in the most insinuating manner imaginable.
"Just so, my dear," Red Head replied, with a great leer, "thousands. There will be no end to my delicious murders. I love dearly to kill people. I would like to kill you if you were not my wife."
"There, there," said Strong Desire, with the coaxing air of a little coquette, "go to sleep; that's a good Red Head."
No other subject of conversation occurring to the chief, now that he had exhausted the delightful topic of wholesale murder, he straightway fell into a deep sleep.
The chance so anxiously sought for had come; and Strong Desire, with a smiling eye, drawing his blade of grass with lightning swiftness once across the neck of the Red Head, severed the huge and wicked head from the body.
In a moment, stripping off his woman's dress, underneath which he had all along worn his male attire, Strong Desire seized the bleeding trophy, plunged into the lake, and swam safely over to the main shore. He had scarcely reached it, when, looking back, he saw amid the darkness the torches of persons come out in search of the newly married couple. He listened until they had found the headless body, and he heard their piercing shrieks of rage and sorrow as he took his way to the lodge of his kind adviser.
The Little Old Woman Who Makes War was in an excellent humor, and she received Strong Desire with rejoicing. She admired his prudence and assured him his bravery should never be questioned again. Lifting up the head, which she gazed upon with vast delight, she said he need only have brought the scalp. Cutting off a lock of the hair for herself, she told him he might now return with the head, which would be evidence of an achievement that would cause his own people to respect him.
"On your way home," added the little old woman, "you will meet with but one difficulty. Maunkahkeesh, the Spirit of the Earth, requires an offering or sacrifice from all of her sons who perform extraordinary deeds. As you walk along in a prairie there will be an earthquake; the earth will open and divide the prairie in the middle. Take this partridge and throw it into the opening, and instantly spring over it."
With many thanks to the little old witch, who had so faithfully befriended him, Strong Desire took his leave. Doing as she said he safely passed the earthquake, and in due time arrived near his own village. Then he secretly hid his precious trophy.
On entering the village, he found that his parents had returned from the place of their spring encampment by the wood-side, and that they were in heavy sorrowing for their son, whom they supposed to be lost. One and another of the young men had presented himself to the disconsolate parents and said, "Look up, I am your son," but when they looked up, they beheld not the familiar face of Strong Desire.
Having been often deceived in this manner, when their own son in truth presented himself, they sat with their heads down and their eyes nearly blinded with weeping. It was some time before they could be prevailed upon to bestow a glance upon him. It was still longer before they could recognize him as Strong Desire, who had feared to draw water from the river at night. This youth's countenance was no longer that of a timid stripling; it was the face of a man who has seen and done great things, and who has the heart to do greater still.
When he recounted his adventures they believed him mad. The young men laughed at him—him, Strong Desire—who feared to walk to the river at night-time.
He left the lodge, and before their laughter had ceased, returned with his trophy. He held aloft the head of the Red Sorcerer, still leering, at prospect of a thousand future murders. It was easily recognized, and the young men who had scoffed at Strong Desire shrank into the corners out of sight. Strong Desire had conquered the terrible Red Head! All doubts of the truth of his adventures were dispelled.
He was greeted with joy and placed among the first warriors of the nation. He finally became a chief, and his family were ever after respected and esteemed.
A POOR man, called Iena, or the Wanderer, was in the habit of roaming about from place to place, forlorn, without relations, and almost helpless. He had often wished for a companion to share his solitude; but who would think of joining his fortunes with those of a poor wanderer, who had no shelter in the world but such as his leather hunting-shirt provided, and no other household than the packet in which his hunting-shirt was laid away?
One day Iena hung up his packet on the branch of a tree, and then set out in quest of game.
On returning to the spot in the evening, he was surprised to find a small but neat lodge built in the place where he had left his packet; and on looking in he beheld a beautiful maiden sitting on the further side of the lodge, with his packet lying beside her.
During the day Iena had so far prospered in his sport as to kill a deer, which he now cast down at the lodge-door.
The maiden did not pause to take the least notice of the hunter, or to give him a word of welcome, but ran out to see whether it was a large deer that he had brought. In her haste she stumbled and fell at the threshold.
Iena looked at her with astonishment, and thought to himself, "I supposed I was blessed, but I find my mistake. Night-Hawk," said he, speaking aloud, "I will leave my game with you that you may feast on it."
He then took up his packet and departed. After walking some time he came to another tree, on which he suspended his packet, as before, and the following morning went for the second time in search of game.
Success again attended him, and he returned, bringing with him a deer. He found that a lodge had sprung up as before, just where he had hung his packet. He looked in and saw a beautiful maiden sitting alone, with his packet by her side.
She arose and came out toward the deer which he had deposited at the door, and he immediately went into the lodge and sat by the fire, as he was weary with the day's hunt, which had carried him far away.
The woman did not return, and wondering at her delay, Iena at last arose, peeped through the door of the lodge and beheld her greedily eating all the fat of the deer. He exclaimed:
"I thought I was blessed, but I find I was mistaken." Then addressing the woman, "Poor Marten," said he, "feast on the game I have brought."
He again took up his packet and departed. Then finding a tree, he hung it upon a branch, and the next morning again wandered off in quest of game.
In the evening he returned, with his customary good luck, bringing in a fine deer, and again found that a lodge had taken the place of his packet. He gazed through an opening in the side of the lodge, and there was another beautiful woman sitting alone, with his packet by her side.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, "it is the same as it was yesterday and the day before that. I am Iena, the Wanderer, and it is not the will of the Great Spirit that he should have a lodge, a woman, or the fat of the deer that he kills."
So saying he entered the lodge, but the woman rose cheerfully, welcomed him home, and without delay or complaining brought in the deer, cut it up as it should be, and hung up the meat to dry. She then prepared a portion of it for the supper of the weary hunter, who was thinking to himself, "Now I am certainly blessed."
And so it went on. He continued his practise of hunting every day, and the woman, on his return, always welcomed him, readily took charge of the meat, and promptly prepared his evening meal; and he ever after lived a contented and happy man.
AS a punishment for having once upon a time used that foot against a venerable medicine man, Aggo Dah Gauda had one leg looped up to his thigh, so that he was obliged to get along by hopping. By dint of practise he had become very skilful in this exercise, and he could make leaps which seemed almost incredible.
Aggo had a beautiful daughter, and his chief care was to secure her from being carried off by the king of the buffalos, who was the ruler of all the herds of that kind, and had them entirely at his command to make them do as he willed.
Dah Gauda, too, was quite an important person in his own way, for he lived in great state, having a log house of his own and a court-yard which extended from the sill of his front-door as many hundred miles westward as he chose to measure it.
Although he might claim this extensive privilege of ground, he advised his daughter to keep within doors, and by no means to go far in the neighborhood. Otherwise she would be sure to be stolen away, as he was satisfied that the buffalo-king spent night and day lurking about, lying in wait to seize her.
One sunshiny morning, when there were just two or three promising clouds rolling moistly about the sky, Aggo prepared to go out a-fishing; but before he left the lodge he reminded her of her strange and industrious lover, whom she had never seen.
"My daughter," said he, "I am going out to fish, and as the day will be a pleasant one, you must recollect that we have an enemy near, who is constantly going about with two eyes that never close. Do not expose yourself out of the lodge."
With this excellent advice, Aggo hopped off in high spirits. But he had scarcely reached the fishing-ground, when he heard a voice singing at a distance:
Man with the leg tied up,
Man with the leg tied up,
Broken hip—hip—
Hipped.
Man with the leg tied up,
Man with the leg tied up,
Broken leg—leg—
Legged.
There was no one in sight, but Aggo heard the words quite plainly, and as he suspected the ditty to be the work of his enemies, the buffalos, he hopped home as fast as his one leg could carry him.
Meantime, the daughter had no sooner been left alone in the lodge than she thought to herself:
"It is hard to be thus forever kept in doors. But my father says it would be dangerous to venture abroad. I know what I will do. I will get on the top of the house, and there I can comb and dress my hair, and no one can harm me."
She accordingly ascended the roof and busied herself in untying and combing her beautiful hair; for it was truly beautiful, not only of a fine, glossy quality, but so very long that it hung over the eaves of the house and reached down to the ground, as she sat dressing it.
She was wholly occupied in this employment, without a thought of danger, when all of a sudden the king of the buffalos came dashing up with his herd of followers. Making sure of her by means of her drooping tresses, he placed her upon the back of one of his favorite buffalos, and away he cantered over the plains. Plunging into a river that bounded his land, he bore her safely to his lodge on the other side.
And now the buffalo-king, having secured the beautiful person of Aggo Dah Gauda's daughter, set to work to make her heart his own—a little ceremony which it would have been, perhaps, wiser for his majesty, the king of the buffalos, to have attended to before he carried her off, for he now worked to little purpose. Although he labored with great zeal to gain her affections, she sat pensive and disconsolate in the lodge among the other women. She scarcely ever spoke, nor did she take the least interest in the affairs of the king's household.
To the king himself she paid no heed, and although he breathed forth to her every soft and gentle word he could think of, she sat still and motionless, for all the world like one of the lowly bushes by the door of her father's lodge when the summer wind had died away.
The king enjoined it upon the others in the lodge as a special edict, on pain of instant death, to give to Aggo's daughter everything that she wanted, and to be careful not to displease her. They set before her the choicest food. They gave her the seat of honor in the lodge. The king himself went out hunting to obtain the most dainty meats, both of animals and wild fowl, to pleasure her palate; and he treated her every morning to a ride upon one of the royal buffalos, who was so gentle in his motions as not even to disturb a single one of the tresses of the beautiful hair of Aggo's daughter as she paced along.
And not content with these proofs of his attachment, the king would sometimes fast from all food, and having thus purified his spirit and cleared his voice, he would take his Indian flute, sit before the lodge, and give vent to his feelings in pensive echoes, something after this fashion:
My sweetheart,
My sweetheart,
Ah me!
When I think of you,
When I think of you,
Ah me!
What can I do, do, do?
How I love you,
How I love you,
Ah me!
Do not hate me,
Do not hate me,
Ah me!
Speak—e'en berate me.
When I think of you,
Ah me!
What can I do, do, do?
In the meantime, Aggo Dali Gauda reached home, and finding that his daughter had been stolen, was so thoroughly aroused that he would have forthwith torn every hair from his head in indignation, had he not been entirely bald. This relief being out of the question, Aggo hopped off half a mile in every direction as an easy and natural vent to his feelings. First he hopped east, then he hopped west, next he hopped north, and again he hopped south, all in search of his daughter; till the one leg was fairly tired out. Then he sat down in his lodge, and resting himself a little, reflected. After that he vowed that his single leg should never know rest again until he had found his beautiful daughter and brought her home. For this purpose he immediately set out.
Now that he proceeded more coolly, he could easily track the buffalo-king until he came to the banks of the river, where he saw that he had plunged in and swum over. There having been a frosty night or two since, the water was so covered with thin ice that Aggo could not venture upon it, even with one leg. So he encamped hard by till it became more solid, and then crossed over and pursued the trail.
As he went along he saw branches broken off and strewed behind, which guided him in his course; for these had been purposely cast along by the daughter. And the manner in which she had accomplished it was this. Her hair was all untied when she was caught up, and being very long it took hold of the branches as they darted along, and it was these twigs that she broke off as signs to her father.
When Aggo came to the king's lodge it was evening. Carefully approaching, he peeped through the sides, and saw his daughter sitting disconsolate. She immediately caught his eye, and knowing that it was her father come for her, she all at once appeared to relent in her heart. Asking for the royal dipper, she said to the king:
"I will go and get you a drink of water."
This token of submission delighted his majesty, and, high in hope, he waited with impatience for her return.
Some time passed and at last he went out; but nothing could be seen or heard of the captive daughter. Then calling together his followers, he sallied forth with them upon the plains. They had not gone far when they espied by the light of the moon, which was shining roundly just over the edge of the prairie, Aggo Dali Gauda, his daughter in his arms, making all speed with his one leg toward the west.
The buffalo, set on by their king, raised a great shout and scampered off in pursuit. They thought to overtake Aggo in less than no time; but although he had a single leg only, it was in such fine condition to go, that to every pace of theirs he hopped the length of a cedar-tree.
But the buffalo-king was well assured that he would be able to overtake Aggo, hop as briskly as he might. It would be a mortal shame, thought the king, to be outstripped by a man with one leg tied up; so, shouting and cheering and issuing orders on all sides, he set the swiftest of his herd upon the track, with strict commands to take Aggo dead or alive. And a curious sight it was to see.
At one time a buffalo would gain handsomely upon Aggo, and be just at the point of laying hold of him, when off Aggo would hop, a good furlong, in an oblique line, wide out of his reach; which bringing him nearly in contact with another of the herd, away he would go again, just as far off in another direction.
And in this way Aggo kept the whole company of the buffalos zigzagging across the plain, with the poor king at their head, running to and fro, shouting among them and hurrying them about in the wildest way. It was an extraordinary road that Aggo was taking toward home; and after a time it so puzzled and bewildered the buffalos that they were driven half out of their wits, and they roared and brandished their tails and foamed, as if they would put out of countenance and frighten out of sight the old man in the moon, who was looking on all the time, just above the edge of the prairie.
As for the king himself, he lost all patience at last at the absurd idea of chasing a man with one leg all night long, so calling his herd together, he fled in disgust toward the west, and never more appeared in all that part of the country.
Aggo, relieved of his pursuers, hopped off a hundred steps in one, till he reached the stream, crossed it in a twinkling of the eye, and bore his daughter in triumph to his lodge.
In the course of time Aggo's beautiful daughter married a very worthy young warrior, who was neither a buffalo-king nor so much as the owner of any more of the buffalos than a splendid skin robe which he wore, with great effect, thrown over his shoulders, on his wedding-day. On which occasion, Aggo Dah Gauda hopped about on his one leg livelier than ever.