Ganondai´yeo lived with his aged grandparents in the depths of a great wood. The old people were always sad but Ganondai´yeo was never able to discover the cause and inquiry would only bring the injunction, “Never go west!” The boy obeyed and played happily in the forest to the north and the south and the east but shunned the dark woods to the west.

At length Ganondai´yeo began to reason upon the matter:

“Never go west,” he said to himself. “Now why may not I go west? Is not west as good as east? Surely I am denied my rights and shall no longer submit. I am going to find out why the west is to be avoided.”

Thus determined, he crept cautiously through the vine-bound underbrush and with caution advanced in a westerly direction. He kept on for some time and then, to his surprise, found himself on the borders of a large body of swift water. He looked across the broad expanse with admiration and wonder. Was this the sight his grandparents wished to deny him? “Oh the shameful rule that forbade him this!” he thought. While he was gazing at the scene and meditating upon it, he heard a sound behind him. A pleasant voice was saying:

“Hai‘, Hai‘! Is it not a beautiful stream and wonderful too? Did you never see it before? Come, jump into my canoe and let us visit some of the inlets and islands that are found hereabouts. We will return in a short time and you will have seen sights worth talking about.”

Ganondai´yeo was charmed with the words of the stranger, and following him, stepped into the canoe that lay on the sandy beach of a cove. The stranger gave the canoe a shove with his paddle and sent it shooting out from the shore. With swift even strokes he carried it far out from the land.

“We shall visit a beautiful island,” said the stranger.

A short distance ahead Ganondai´yeo saw a small island in the center of which was a dense clump of trees. It lay near a very large island. Such a charming spot was it that he wondered if its inhabitants were men or ghosts.

Soon the canoe grated upon the sandy beach and, both jumping out, the stranger drew up the canoe.

“Now,” said he, “look around and see what a fine place this is. Oh you will like it,—you will like it; I do!”

Ganondai´yeo walked up the shore toward a tall plant that bore flowers, (a mullen stalk). He stood viewing it for a few moments and then turning to follow his guide found that he had disappeared. He ran to the water to find the canoe but to his dismay found that it, too, had gone. Glancing up and over the lake he saw far in the distance the canoe and the stranger, and then he realized his situation.

Heavy hearted he dragged himself halfway around the island and then walking inland for a few rods sat down dejectedly on a fallen tree. Tears filled his eyes and he moaned bitterly, “I am a miserable creature.”

While he thus sat lamenting his fate he heard a loud whisper, “Kechuta, kechuta!”

Starting up he looked around to discover the source of the sound but failing, sank back to his seat with a groan of pure misery.

Presently he heard the same sound, “Kechuta!”

It seemed to issue from the ground at his very feet. This time he was thoroughly frightened, and again he looked about to discover, perchance, who the speaker was, but as before he failed and flinging himself upon the log began to weep violently.

“Kechuta!” came the sound again and looking down at the ground at the end of the log he noticed a white glistening spot. Poking away the sod he saw first the hollow eye socket of a skull and then jaws full of white teeth.

“Kechuta!” said the skull and then Ganondai´yeo knew that the thing wished to smoke. “Dig into the sod by that knot on the log and you will find my bag and pipe,” so spoke the man-reduced-to-bones.

Marveling, the boy obeyed and soon pulled out a decayed pipe bag and a tobacco pouch. He packed the pipe bowl full of tobacco. Then picking up a hard round stick, the size of an arrow shaft he twisted it in his bow string, placed a pitted stone on one end and put the other end on the log. Pushing his bow backward and forward he twirled the stick with great rapidity. Soon a tiny spark ignited the wood dust and caught in a blaze on the shredded cedar bark. It was a laborious task but Ganondai´yeo at length had the pipe in smoking order. Leaning over he pried apart the jaws of Tcis´gä, as he had named the skeleton, and pushed the pipe stem between its teeth. Tcis´gä smoked with great diligence and exclaimed, “Agwas´wio‘, oh how good, how I enjoy it. I’ve not had a smoke in a great while. Oh I am glad you came to me! Now let me tell you a story, but first fill up this pipe again. There. Now, boy, this is an enchanted island. You are trapped, the same as I was and the same as many more have been. There is a man who lives here, there is a man who visits here and there is a man who hires men here. He who lives here is S‘agowenot´‘a, a great sorcerer, he who visits here is Oñgwe Iās, an evil ogre. Both eat men. They ate me, they ate many others; they will eat you unless you listen closely. Before sunrise tomorrow, run to the beach where you landed and bury yourself in the sand only leaving one eye and an ear uncovered. Look and listen. No one has ever escaped; but you may if you obey me, and moreover you overcome the island’s evil spell.”

The boy solemnly promised obedience and after a restless night ran to the beach and buried himself in the sand. Soon he heard the sound of singing on the water. The song grew louder and Ganondai´yeo knew that the singer was nearing the beach. He heard the sound of the canoe as it shot up against the sand and knew that the singer had landed. He listened closely to the song and then hummed it softly to himself. The sound of footsteps neared and turning his eye he saw a man whose grim visage pronounced him a man of terrible passion. Ganondai´yeo looked as well as he could from his hole in the sand and knew that was Oñgwe Iās. At the feet of the ogre was a pack of dogs who followed him up the incline.

As Oñgwe Iās stepped upon the island Sagowanota sang his magical song from his den in the grove.

When Oñgwe Iās reached the top of the incline he roared, “Well, where is my meal?”

“He cannot be found,” came the answer. “Put your eyes in the bushes,—send the dogs after him,” roared Oñgwe Iās.

The search was fruitless and grumbling in rage the man returned to his canoe, threw in his dogs and jumping in, swept his paddle through the water and sped back to mainland.

Ganondai´yeo jumped from his place of concealment and rushed to the log where Tcis´gä lay. Breathlessly he told what he had seen and heard and told how thankful he was that he had escaped being eaten.

“Smoke, tobacco, I wish to smoke,” whispered Tcĭs´gä, dustily. So taking an ember from the fire he had started Ganondai´yeo lit the pipe and shoved it between the teeth of the skull. When it had finished smoking it said, “I am glad that you have succeeded so well. It is an omen of good fortune. Now listen. Make seven dolls from dry rotten wood and make a small bow and arrow for each, then, place each doll in the top of a tree. Conceal yourself in the sand again and see what will happen.

Ganondai´yeo did as directed and the next day when Oñgwe Iās landed he grumbled loudly and vowed he would find the boy for he was very hungry. He strode up the beach and his dogs with noses close to the ground followed the track of Ganondai´yeo as it circled the isle. Suddenly one dog with a yelp fell pierced with an arrow. Oñgwe Iās yelled in rage and his rage increased as one after another fell dead. Snatching up the body of each he threw it upon his shoulder and going back flung it into his canoe, and then paddled back across the lake.

Leaping from the sand Ganondai´yeo ran back to Tcis´gä and related his observations.

After Tcis´gä had been satisfied with tobacco he said to Ganondai´yeo:

“Now I will tell you more. Oñgwe Iās, always fearing death, leaves his heart in his lodge. It hangs suspended over a pot of water; likewise the hearts of the dogs. When he returns he will place the dogs’ hearts back within their chests and as they beat the dogs will revive. He will then remove them and return to the island on the morrow to renew his search for you. Now listen closely. Bury yourself in the sand as before and as Oñgwe Iās approaches the shore sing the Sagowenota song. Oñgwe Iās will then rush up the shore, the dolls will shoot again and while Oñgwe Iās is obscured in the bushes jump into his canoe, go directly across the water and when you touch the shore you will find a path that leads to a lodge. Enter the lodge and destroy the hearts you find there. Then you may return to me.”

The next morning Ganondai´yeo covered himself with sand and when he heard the song of Oñgwe Iās floating over the water he shouted back:

Oñgwe Iās stopped short in his song and listened. Then he shouted back:

“Ho-yo-ho! So you have him. So, I’ll be there!”

From a mound in the center of the island came a voice. In pleading tones it cried:

“No, no! I did not call you. Do not come. Oh do not!”

“Oh no,” came the mocking reply. “You cannot cheat me. You have found him and wish to eat him alone.”

Landing, Oñgwe Iās ran toward the mound. Ganondai´yeo jumped into the boat and with his swiftest, strongest stroke sent it gliding out over the lake. At length he reached the land. Leaping to the shore he ran up a path and burst through the curtain into a lodge. A young girl was refining bear oil by boiling it in a kettle. Without stopping to greet her Ganondai´yeo cried:

“Give me his heart!”

“No, no, do not touch it. It is his, it is his!” remonstrated the girl in terror.

There was the sound of foot steps outside. Oñgwe Iās had followed in some mysterious manner and was now at the door. Springing toward the back of the lodge, Ganondai´yeo grasped a large beating heart. Oñgwe Iās was pushing aside the curtain and now snarled in terrible rage as he saw the boy who should have been his victim holding his heart. With marvelous swiftness Ganondai´yeo flung the heart into the pot of boiling fat. The ogre tottered. His dogs began to yelp up the trail and as Ganondai´yeo glanced through the door between the curtain and the swaying body of Oñgwe Iās, and saw their dripping bodies, red eyes and froth laden fangs as they leaped toward their master, Oñgwe Iās trembled, and fell. Ganondai´yeo swept the seven dogs’ hearts into the scalding liquid only a moment before the ogre crashed his head into the fire, breaking the pot of oil and spilling out the hearts. Oñgwe Iās was dead and seven dogs lay before the door.

The girl who during this terrible scene had cringed in one corner now rushed toward Ganondai´yeo with a glad cry.

“Oh my brother!” she cried. “You have rescued me. I am your sister who was captured. Oñgwe Iās kept me as his slave. Oh my brother, you have saved our family!”

Ganondai´yeo hardly knew what to make of these words but looking down at the girl saw in her his lost sister, lost years ago. He rejoiced with her and then running back to the shore paddled swiftly to the Isle of Fears. Going up to the log he appeased his friend Tcĭs´gä with tobacco and told his story.

“Now,” said Tcĭs´gä, “you have done well. You can be of great service to me if you will obey a few more instructions; for instance, shoot that fat bear over there and place her pelt over this little mound where I am. Scold that stump and make it move away so that you may cover the mound entirely. Then smoke!”

Ganondai´yeo was startled as he looked up and beheld an enormously fat bear asleep not ten steps from him. Fixing an arrow he shot and killed the beast and removed its hide. Walking up to the stump he shouted:

“What is the matter with you? Get out of my way or I will smash you. Go on now and with the help of a kick the stump jumped backward into a clump of bushes. Placing the skin over the mound Ganondai´yeo built a little fire and began to throw on tobacco to make the smoke fragrant.

The sun was hot and the oil fairly dripped from the skin into the ground.

Ganondai´yeo became impatient. “What is the trouble with you, Tcĭs´gä?” he called. “Move lively. You are lazy. Hurry or I will leave. I cannot wait all day. Hurry or I will kick over this stump upon you.”

There was a slight movement beneath the bear’s skin.

“Hurry now,” continued the boy, “or I will pull off the skin,” and stooping down he gave it a fling. As he did so from the ground arose a company of men. All were quarreling. “You have my legs—my fingers—you have my hands—you have my feet—my ribs—my neck—where is my backbone—three ribs missing—oh someone has my whole body—didn’t have time—made us hurry—too quick—short notice!” came the mingled cries from the strange swarm.

Before Ganondai´yeo was as queer a company of men as the sun has ever seen. Some had one long leg and one short one, some were hump-backed, some small-bodied and large-limbed, some had head on backward, some had no necks, some double the wonted length, and soon each man was a sight to behold. All were angry, and fighting, disappeared into the forest, all but one. It was Tcĭs´gä. He stepped forward and took Ganondai´yeo by the hand and said,

“I am your brother, let us go home.”

Hastening to the shore the two seated themselves in the canoe and paddled back to the lodge on the opposite shore. A meal awaited them and after eating it the boys built a great fire and burned the evil lodge.

That night the three slept in the open. The next morning the brothers and their sister tramped through the forest and found the old people mourning over the loss of Ganondai´yeo.

The old folk were exuberant with joy when they found that not only was Ganondai´yeo well and alive but also their other grandchildren.

The boys built a large lodge and made the days of the old people easy with soft beds, much meat and pleasant company.

Then the grandparents said, “We are old and wise but we know now that which we did not before: It is evil to forbid a boy of resource to do or go without a reason.”

So here it ends, this ga-gah, this ancient story.

Twelve brothers had planned a war expedition and singing their songs had started a war dance. Scarcely had they begun when a messenger came running towards them and related that Hadi´ĭŭsgōwa´, the greatest warrior of the nation, was dying and wished the twelve brothers to officiate at his funeral. In respect to the man who far and wide had the name of being the most terrible and successful warrior in all the world the twelve brothers postponed their dance and hurried to minister to the dying warrior. He desired them to dress him, not in the customary funeral robes but in the full regalia of battle with his knife at his side and his tomahawk in his hand. His face he wished painted black on one side and red on the other, in token that he was the fiercest warrior in all the earth.

So when he died the twelve brothers prepared his body just as was directed and doubled him up in his shallow grave. When the funeral rites were over the brothers renewed their dance and on the next morning started off on their war expedition to the south.

Now in those days the Iroquois had trails that led from their villages to all parts of the world. At the distance of a day’s journey on every trail was built a trail lodge, where travelers might find shelter, and so on for many days’ journeys were built trail lodges. At the end of the first day’s journey the twelve brothers came to the trail house and halted to prepare their evening meal. One of the men shot a deer and was dressing it when the oldest brother, the chief of the party, ordered the youngest to run to the spring after water. Grasping a bark bowl he obeyed and ran down the path to the spring and was bending over the water to dip, when he saw reflected in the ruddy sun-painted water the form of a warrior whose face was painted on one side red and on the other black. He gazed at the vision terrified by its import and then dropping his bowl rushed up the path and stammered out his frightful discovery. He had seen Hadiiusgowa, the warrior whom they had buried but the morning of that day. The chief looked at his young brother in amazement and then, dropping the deer ham that he was preparing, burst out into a loud derisive laugh. “If you are afraid of visions of dead men,” he laughed, “how can I depend on you when live ones appear?” But the boy would not be laughed out of believing the evidence of his own eyes and so the second brother was sent to the spring. When he reached the pool he looked across the river and to his indescribable horror saw the dead warrior standing on the opposite bank, his face wrinkled into a fiendish grin. Back to the lodge he sped trembling from cheek to feet. A chorus of laughter greeted his story and the chief angrily declared that his younger brothers were endeavoring to frighten the party by their impossible tales. Then the third brother was sent and soon returned and with stiffened lips said that he had seen the figure of Hadiiusgowa standing in the middle of the stream. The fourth brother saw him standing on the rocks close to the shore, and the fifth saw him on the pebbly edge, and the sixth on the river’s bank, the seventh half way to the spring, the eighth at the spring, the ninth advancing toward the trail, the tenth on the trail, the eleventh half way to the trail lodge, and then the chief, who had now ceased to scoff, when he looked up saw Hadiiusgowa in the clearing before the lodge. Hastily he commanded that all should enter the lodge, the youngest first and the rest according to their ages. When all had done so he fastened the door and lay down across the doorway. All except the two youngest suddenly became overcome with a stupor and fell into a deep sleep. The two youngest lay awake and listened to the efforts of the ghostly warrior to effect an entrance. Suddenly the door burst inward and with a yell the tchisga (ghost) swooped down upon the chief and scalping him brandished the scalp aloft and screeching, “Gowe! Gowe! Hadiiusgowa!” Jumping into the air he yelled a death cry and sped from sight, his cry growing fainter and fainter as he went. Returning shortly afterwards he scalped the next brother, returning at an interval to scalp one after another of the party. When the third oldest brother had been scalped and the tchisga had disappeared, his death cry echoing fainter and fainter as he sped further and further, the second youngest brother was overcome with a lethargy and fell into a deep sleep from which he never awoke, for the tchisga returned and killed him, as he had the ten others. The youngest then began to despair saying to himself, “I cannot escape even by running nor can I hide for Hadiiusgowa has power to discover me wherever I go, but even a tchisga may be deceived.” So saying he placed some bloody deer meat on his head and pulled his bear skin cap tightly over his brow. Wrapping his blanket around his ears so as to leave no part of his body exposed he waited the coming of Hadiiusgowa. His skin at least was protected from the death touch of the tchisga and perhaps he would escape. Soon the wraith came screaming into the lodge crying, “I have slain eleven and now the twelfth shall go!” Grabbing a bunch of black hair that protruded from a robe of deer skin he haggled off a circular piece and with a demonic shriek flew into the air crying “Gowe! Gowe! Hadiiusgowa!”

The boy finding himself unhurt jumped to his feet with the exclamation, “I will follow the tchisga and outwit him yet!” So he ran out into the darkness.

The ghost soon discovered his error and the boy could hear his cries of rage in the distance. He approached rapidly screaming, “You cannot escape me, you cannot hide from me!” Each yell stole the strength from the muscles of the frightened boy who soon sank in dispair to the ground. The tchisga was coming and there seemed no escape. Feebly lifting his head the boy saw a hollow elm log and in a dazed way remembered that he had heard of hollow logs. Mustering all his strength he crawled in the log and none too soon for just as he had stowed himself within the protecting log the ghost struck it with the cry, “Now I have you!”

It is strange, but a ghost never can enter the space within a hollow log. Thus the tchisga cut a sharp stick which he thrust in the hole at one end hoping to spear the boy. But his victim was not an easy one for he caught the thrusts deftly and turned them aside. Finally realizing that he could not harm the boy in this manner he yelled, “I know where you sit and will kill you yet!” Then he commenced to chop a hole into the log where he judged his victim to be but when it had been made the boy had moved further in and escaped the thrusts of the spear. Another hole was made but all the prodding that the tchisga made had no effect upon the elusive boy. A third trial had no better result and finally the tchisga screamed, “The next hole will bring me success,—I cannot fail!” Then he fell to whacking the log until the raining blows sounded like the beating of a death drum. The hole was completed and the dispairing boy found that there were so many openings that he could not hope to escape. The tchisga prepared to grasp his victim and was on the point of uttering a yell of triumph when a little bird on a branch above began to twitter and the yell of victory turned to a groan of dispair. “Fortunate for you,” he cried, “but woe to me!” Then he faded into the glow of the morning when ghosts cease their black works.

The boy was highly elated at his good fortune but lost no time in dancing over the matter. Instead he jumped to his feet and ran with all his speed to the village crying as he went, “Gowe, gowe!” His shrill cry awoke the villagers who hastened to the long house to listen to the distress news that someone was bringing. Dashing into the council the boy related his story and when he had finished the village sachem arose and said, “If this boy’s tale is true we are all threatened with the ghostly warrior. Now we know why arrows never killed him,—he was a wizard. We must kill him before he kills us. We must burn his body. First then let four swift runners go to the first day trail house and see if conditions are as reported and in the meantime we will prepare to kill the ghost.” The warriors hurried to obey instructions and after the runners had departed a company built a little cabin from large logs over the grave of the wizard and others gathered piles of logs for fuel. It was toward sunset when the runners returned and reported that things were just as the youngest brother had told. The grave was then dug into and a foot below the surface a sharpened pole was discovered and to it were fastened eleven scalps still bleeding and a small circle of bear skin. Below this was found the body of the witch-warrior steaming with sweat, his face and hands slimy with blood and his weapon still dripping red. The boy’s words were confirmed. A warrior lifted the terrible form from the bark upon which it rested and brought it into the cabin. The head sachem then addressed it. “You were a great warrior in life,” he said, “and we know that we never appreciated you. We now wish to make a great ceremony and have made a lodge for you where all may see you. So stay here and let us honor you.” So saying the chief backed out of the cabin and fastened the door. Heavy logs were piled over the structure and then a fire ignited that soon enveloped the whole mass. The flames soon ate their way into the burial lodge and filled it with a mass of burning coals. Logs were piled on higher and higher in order that they might press down the witch and give him no chance to escape. Suddenly a voice from the blazing coals sounded forth. With one long drawn wild scream it said, “I will kill you all, I am escaping despite you.” But a log falling pinned down the wizard who fell into his grave pit now white with heat. His head burst and when the steam was cleared away a screech owl was seen flying up from it. The warriors made a frantic effort to kill it but the intense heat prevented them and so it soared away into the night screaming defiance at its pursuers.

In this manner was the wizard-warrior killed but his spirit still hovers over the land and wherever the screech owl lingers there is the evil spirit brooding mischief.

GENERAL NOTES.—In this legend we have several interesting ethnological allusions. We are told of “trail houses,” which were erected at intervals along the trails throughout the Iroquois country, and in which food and other necessities were left by travelers who had used the shelter. Inquiry brought out the fact that these public hospices were common in the old days and were frequently built in response to dreams. We are also given a glimpse of the burial rites of warriors, and told that the corpse was properly painted and then doubled up in its grave. We are again given an account of the magical qualities of a hollow log, which a ghost cannot enter. Here, also, we are told that a wizard’s head when burned bursts and sends forth screech-owls,—birds of ill omen to the red man as to us of today.

De‘o´niot was Oñgwe Iās, a man-eater. He had developed his man-flesh appetite early in his childhood because his mother had associated with witches. He lived in a hidden place far away from other human habitations. The only human creature who came near him and was not eaten was his nephew who lived on the other side of the partition that divided his long bark house. The cannibal was fond of his nephew and did not wish to come into close contact with him, lest his appetite for flesh become too strong a temptation and leave him without a companion. Thus it was he divided his house and satisfied himself with the sound of the youth’s voice, for each hunted their game separately and rarely saw each other.

One day as the nephew was sitting on his doorstep, he saw a beautiful woman approaching. She advanced and sat down by his side.

“I would like to marry you,” she said after a moment’s pause.

“I would like to marry you also,” was the answer, and then he added, “but you would not be my wife long because my uncle would eat you.”

“Oh then you had better watch that he does not eat you. If he does not I am satisfied he will not take me,” replied the woman.

“Well, if you are determined after what I have told you, I cannot say further but take you.” Leading her into the lodge he continued, “My uncle will call from his room for someone to bring him my bow or axe with which to slay some animal. Do not answer him but keep very silent and do not venture from the lodge to satisfy his wants. Obey my instructions for I am going on a hunting journey.”

Empty handed and hungry De‘o´niot returned from his hunting excursion. Going into his apartment he flung himself upon the floor to rest, then starting up, he called, “Hurry, bring me my hatchet, Oh quick, I need it immediately to kill this beast!”

Forgetting all that her husband had told her the bride picked up a hatchet and a bow and ran around the lodge to the opposite door.

When the nephew returned he found his wife missing. The only trace of her was her skirt that lay on the floor.

“Ho!” he exclaimed, “De‘o´niot has feasted on my woman and thrown her skirt to me as a reminder.” Then calling to his uncle he asked, “Oh uncle, how did you discover my woman?”

“Because I knew that it was not your breathing but a breath much faster that I heard over the partition,” was the reply.

The next day another woman came with a proposal of marriage. At first refusing her, and then accepting her on the condition that she would quietly remain in his room and heed not the entreaties of De‘o´niot, he married her, but when he returned from his hunting, she, like the first, had formed the repast of his uncle, who as before flung her dress over the partition. In like manner another wife came and was eaten.

Finally a married woman came weeping through the woods and begged De‘o´niot to protect her.

“Protect you!” the man-eater roared, “O ho! I would be more apt to eat you. That is my business,—eating people!”

“Oh protect me!” pleaded the woman, “for my husband is a ferocious giant and is now pursuing me!”

“So truly if that is the case you had better go into my nephew’s room where I cannot reach you and stay there while I watch for that man of yours.”

Presently in the distance De‘o´niot saw a giant striding through the underbrush.

“Ho, ho!” he exclaimed to himself, “That woman is the first one I ever saw and liked, so I am truly glad to do her a service in destroying her man-giant.”

With a whoop the giant pounced upon De‘o´niot. “Where is my wife?” he bellowed.

De‘o´niot did not answer but grasped the giant’s throat and after a frightful struggle twisted his neck.

“I am greatly obliged to you,” he called to the woman. “Such an amount of flesh will keep me from hunger for many days.”

When the nephew returned he found the new wife awaiting him and after some questioning he accepted her.

“That is right!” called the uncle over the partition, “don’t worry, she is a good woman. I will not eat her.”

“Wife,” he said, “I believe that we must depart from these regions for I fear that my uncle will become so hungry that he will forget his love for us.”

Soon afterward the uncle from his chamber shouted:

“Oh my children, do not leave. You fear my appetite but I promise you that I will never harm you.”

The nephew (however), would not believe these promises, but thought his uncle only shaming. In order to discuss the matter further he awoke his wife in the middle of the night and in whispers talked with her, how best to escape.

“Boy, you are going away tomorrow!” exclaimed a voice from over the partition.

“No, no, uncle,” answered the nephew. “Go to sleep and do not dream such things.”

“Ah, you cannot deceive De‘o´niot,” replied the uncle. “I know you are going away tomorrow and when you go, go west, for you have relatives there. If ever danger threatens call my name and I will be on hand to save you. Distance does not stop my promise. Call me anywhere and I will come.”

At dawn the next day the couple drank from the spring that filled a basin on one side of the room and ran out of the other. Then, packing up a bundle of food, they turned their backs on the morning and journeyed to the west.

At nightfall they saw in the distance a stream of water that reflected the light of the moon in a most peculiar way, and coming up to it they found that its strange gleam resulted from its frozen surface. The creek did not appear wide and the couple decided that it could be jumped easily. Running back a short distance each dashed forward and attempted to leap across, but great was their surprise and chagrin when they landed on the ice in the middle of the stream, and greater was their dismay when they began to slide forward. The creek ran down a steep incline and with great rapidity the two slipped downward over its surface into the uncertain light. In a moment, however, they saw that they were headed directly for a great lodge into which the stream flowed. In desperation they clutched at the ice and endeavored to hold back but vain was their effort, and in a few moments they had plunged into the lodge and into the midst of a dozen howling warriors armed with war clubs.

Surrounding them, the warriors began to brandish their clubs. Death seemed certain. The couple trembled and believed that death has surely come. Suddenly the wife started boldly up and shouted:

“De‘o´niot, hagesa!” she cried.

The warriors fell back with cries of dismay at the sound of the magical name.

In the distance came a signal call, then came a song. It was the battle song of De‘o´niot. The warriors huddled in the corners of the lodge quaking with fear. The words of the song became distinct as De‘o´niot drew nearer.

The couple looked out and saw the man-eater sliding down the incline holding in his arms a kettle, a bowl and a spoon.

“I will stay here with my meat,” he shouted as he burst into the lodge. “You had better go on to the village. Your parents and people are there. Now leave me here and go on.”

The two gladly hurried from the house and toward morning came to a village when both found friends and relatives.

After the nephew and his wife had lived in their new home for a year, one by one the children of the settlement began mysteriously to disappear.

“My uncle surely must be in this vicinity,” reflected the nephew, “I will go on a hunt for him.”

So the nephew started out and after a time of journeying saw De‘o´niot leaning over the bank of a creek groaning in agony.

“Oh uncle!” exclaimed the nephew, “what troubles you?”

“Oh nephew,” came the groaning reply, “I have eaten many children and am very sick. My belly is hurt with pain as if by claws clutching inside.”

“Cheer up uncle, I can cure you. Only obey my instructions.”

The nephew made a soup of fish bones and skins and fed it to his uncle. He continued this treatment for three days, until De‘o´niot had disgorged. By this time he was ravenous and begged for food and new clothing, for his old rags were very foul. The nephew bade him strip and plunge in the water and bathe himself. Then, after giving him some new clothing he fed him on a little corn pudding, gradually increasing the allowance at each meal and each time moving the camp nearer the village.

“You must now learn to cook, uncle,” said the nephew, “then you will forget your unnatural appetite. God made men above all creatures, uncle, and gave them great skill. Men are not made to devour one another, or for beasts to devour, but beasts are food for men. So now, promise never to touch the meat of mankind again.”

“Aye, never more will I eat of human flesh or the raw flesh of any creature but only fruits and roots and cooked meat!”

So the nephew brought him into the village and introduced him as his uncle from afar. And the uncle grew so fond of this nephew’s wife’s cooking that he married a woman to have a cook for himself.

There was a lodge in the forest where very few people ever came, and there dwelt a young man and his sister. The youth was unlike other persons for one half of his head had hair of a reddish cast, while the other side was black.

He used to leave his sister in the lodge and go away on long hunting trips. On one occasion the young woman, his sister, saw, so she thought, her brother coming down the path to the lodge. “I thought you just went away to hunt,” said the sister. “Oh, I thought I would come back,” said he.

Then he sat down on the bed with the sister and embraced her and acted as a lover. The sister reproached him and said that she was very angry. But again he endeavored to fondle her in a familiar way, but again was repulsed. This time he went away.

The next day the brother returned and found his sister very angry. She would scarcely speak to him, though hitherto she had talked a great deal.

“My sister,” said he. “I am at loss to know why you treat me thus. It is not your custom.”

“Oh you ought to know that you have abused me,” said the girl.

“I never abused you. What are you talking about?” he said.

“Oh you know that you embraced me in an improper way yesterday,” said the sister.

“I was not here yesterday,” asserted the youth. “I believe that my friend who resembles me in every respect has been here.”

“You have given a poor excuse,” replied his sister. “I hope your actions will not continue.”

Soon the brother went away again, stating that he would be absent three days. In a short time the sister saw, as she thought, a figure looking like her brother skulking in the underbrush. His shirt and leggings were the same as her brother’s and his hair was the same. So then she knew that her brother had returned for mischief. Soon he entered the lodge and embraced her, and this time in anger she tore his cheeks with her nails and sent him away.

In three days the brother returned with a deer, but his sister would not speak to him. Said he, “My sister, I perceive that you are angry at me. Has my friend been here?”

It was some time before the sister replied, and then she wept, saying, “My brother, you have abused me and I scratched your face. I perceive that it is still torn by my finger nails.”

“Oh, my face,” laughed the brother. “My face was torn by thorns as I hunted deer. If you scratched my friend that is the reason I am scratched. Whatever happens to either one of us happens to the other.” But the sister would not believe this.

Again the brother went on a hunting trip, and again the familiar figure returned. This time the sister tore his hunting shirt from the throat down to the waist line. Moreover she threw a ladle of hot bear grease on the shirt. This caused his quick departure.

Returning in due time the brother brought in his game and threw it down. Again the sister was angry and finally accused him. Pointing to his grease-smeared torn shirt she said that this was evidence enough.

“Oh my sister,” explained the brother. “I tore my shirt on a broken limb as I climbed a tree after a raccoon. In making soup from bear meat I spilled it on my shirt.” Still the sister refused to believe him.

“Oh my sister,” said the brother, in distressed tones. “I am greatly saddened to think you will not believe me. My friend looks exactly as I do, and whatever happens to him happens to me. I shall now be compelled to find my friend and bring him to you and when I do I shall be compelled to kill him before you for his evil designs upon you. If you would believe me nothing evil would befall us, but I now think I myself shall die.”

The sister said nothing for she would not believe her brother.

The brother now began to pile up dried meat and to repair the lodge. He then went out into the forest without his bow and arrows, and in a short time returned with another man exactly resembling him, and whose clothing was spotted and torn in a similar way. Leading him to the lodge fire he began to scold him in an angry manner. “You have betrayed me and abused my sister,” he said. “Now is the time for you to die.” Taking out an arrow from a quiver he cast it into the heart of his double and killed him. The sister saw her assailant fall to the floor, and then looked up as she heard her brother give a war cry and fall as dead with blood streaming from a wound in his chest over his heart.

After lying as dead for a time the youth’s inherent magic began to bring about a restoration of life. Soon he sat up and looked at his sister. Then he spoke.

“Oh my sister,” he said. “The mother of my friend will shortly come for him, believing him married to you. We must dispose of my friend’s body and when the woman comes we must act as if we were husband and wife.”

The youth now removed the stones of the fireplace and dug a deep hole beneath. In this he buried the body of his slain friend, smoothed the earth and restored the ring of stones. He now rekindled the fire, and all trace of the murder was wiped away.

After a while footsteps were heard and the door was flung back. A witch woman looked into the lodge, and seeing someone that resembled her son standing closely to a young woman, the witch said, “I now perceive that I have a daughter-in-law.”

Thereupon the fire began to flicker and a voice came clearly from it, saying, “My friend has killed me, my friend has killed me.”

“Wu‘!” exclaimed the witch mother, “What words is your fire speaking?”

“Oh, my mother, pay no attention to the fire,” said the youth. “The fire thus speaks because I scrape the blood from my arrows into it.” So saying he scraped an arrow into the fire and it spoke as before, “My friend has killed me.”

The witch was disturbed and requested her pretended son to return to his maternal lodge bringing his wife with him. The youth now told his sister that the simulation of married life must be above suspicion, and then together all three went to the lodge of the witch.

As they sat down the pet owl of the lodge began to hoot. “The stranger has taken to wife his younger sister.” The old woman looked up and asked what the meaning of this omen might be, whereupon the youth answered, “It is because you have not fed the owl. I now give it meat.” The owl was then satisfied and continued to speak its accustomed notes.

That night the youth slept with his sister. As he entered the sleeping apartment the owl screamed as before, “It is not this one; this one takes to wife his younger sister.”

The youth called out, “Give no heed to this owl, he is hungry,” and he flung it more meat. Nevertheless the witch woman was suspicious and resolved to watch the couple.

During the night she spied through the curtain covering the bed, but the boy and his sister were simulating sleep, though arranged in an affectionate attitude. The old witch then placed her hand in the bed and under the covers, touching the couple, and she was then satisfied that the two were married.

Early in the morning the youth whispered to his sister that they must make their escape or the witch would discover the truth and kill them. Together the two went out of the lodge and the youth taking out his medicine pouch thrust his hand into it and took out a small dog which he tapped with a red rod. The dog grew in size with every tap until it was large enough to carry a human being. Placing his sister on the dog, the youth said, “Go forward and let nothing turn you aside. The dog will carry you to the lodge where is our refuge.”

The dog ran forward but after a long tedious journey the sister dismounted to rest, and seeing a pretty bird fluttering just before her, began to chase it. It finally flew out of sight and when she returned to find the dog it had disappeared. She then remembered her brother’s warning and stumbled forward hoping to find relief.

Meanwhile the brother ran on to the refuge but when he reached the lodge he found that his sister had not come. Some one was coming, however, for he heard footsteps. He looked and saw the witch approaching. “Where is she?” cried the witch, “Where is my daughter-in-law?” The youth was perplexed, but answered, “She is coming, you must have passed them.”

“I cannot rest,” said the witch, “for your pet owls continually say, ‘It is another and she is his sister.’”

The youth now perceived that he must escape the witch and so he asked her where she was going. “To your lodge,” she called as she sped onward over the trail.

The youth hurried forward over a shorter trail and reached the lodge before the witch. “Where is my daughter-in-law?” yelled the old woman as she entered the lodge.

“She has returned to the other lodge,” answered the youth.

“It is another one,” sang the fireplace, and then added, “My friend has killed me and taken his younger sister to wife.”

“I must meet my wife,” said the youth as he hurried away. He knew that he must now make his escape.

The witch was now thoroughly suspicious and dug into the fireplace. Soon she discovered her son and saw that indeed he had been killed. Burying him in another place she ran to her own lodge and took her witch charms, invoking them to give her power. To make herself mighty she drank the oil of hickory nuts. To test her power she smote a hickory tree but her blows only loosened all the bark. Drinking more oil she struck the tree again, reducing it to splinters. Now feeling confident she transformed herself into a Niă’´gwahē and started in pursuit of the youth, crying, “You cannot escape me.”

When the youth found himself closely pressed he threw out a handful of pigeon feathers ordering them to become a monster flock of pigeons and to make the ground beneath them impassable. Immediately pigeons flew thickly in the air and covered the ground with an impassable slime in which the witch wallowed until exhausted, when she swooned. When she recovered the youth was far away and only a few pigeon feathers could be seen on the ground.

Again she caught sight of him and cried out as is the custom for the Niă’´gwahĕ beast, “You cannot escape me.” This time the youth cast a white stone in the path and commanded that it become an impassable cliff that stretched from ocean to ocean. Against this the witch batted her head until she swooned. Awakening she saw only a small quartz pebble and in anger arose again in pursuit, crying as she caught up to him, “You cannot escape me.”

The youth was now sorely pressed but in running along the trail he saw an old man. “I am your uncle,” said the old man. “Run onward to your mother’s lodge, and meanwhile I will protect you.” The youth ran on and the old uncle caused a vast field of sharpened posts to spring up, making a terrible barrier to the onrushing Niă’´gwahĕ.

The youth passed another old man who called out to him, “I am your uncle. Run onward to your mother’s lodge, and meanwhile I will protect you.” This was reassuring, for just then the witch came into view and cried, “You cannot escape me.” Then the witch monster ran directly into a net-like entanglement and with wild rage floundered about until it had freed itself.

Meanwhile the youth was speeding forward. Soon he saw a handsome lodge before him and into this he ran. There he found his sister and the dog, an older woman, a younger woman and another youth.

“Protect me,” cried the pursued youth looking at the inmates of the lodge. “Niă’´gwahē pursues me.”

“I am your mother, my son,” said the oldest woman. “I will save you from trouble.”

Taking up a pot of boiling bear’s oil she waited until the witch beast had thrust its head into the lodge when she threw the oil full in the creature’s face. It gave a great snort and fell down dead.

The mother came up to the youth, saying, “Here is your older brother and older sister. Your younger sister and your dog came here and found me. We are all now safe and are reunited, so now all is well and I am thankful.”