Chapter V

HOW PORCUPINE KILLER LEARNED STILL
MORE ABOUT THE WONDERFUL FIRE

During the night snow began to fall. In the morning the sky was still gray with it; and all day it continued to weave its gray curtains in the windless air. So little Flying Plover stayed indoors most of the day, cutting and gouging at the block of wood which he hopefully believed would soon resemble a caribou, and watching old Squat-by-the-fire at her medicine-work. The old woman did not talk much while she was mixing and attending to the pots, of steeping herbs; but by mid-afternoon she was ready to go on with the telling of her story. Her voice sounded quite natural again, and the little boy wondered that the skin had grown on it so quickly. But he said nothing about his wonderment, for he did not want to divert her from the story.

"When Porcupine Killer felt the burn of the fire on his hand he was frightened at first," said the old woman, "but he soon recovered from his fright, and began to study the blazing sticks and red coals very attentively. He held out his hand, feeling the pleasant warmth. He advanced it closer and closer to the flames, noticing that the warmth increased and still increased the nearer he went, until at last it hurt. Then he touched a red coal with his finger--and that made him hop. He sucked his finger, and thought very hard. 'It stings when you touch it,' he said, 'but if you do not touch it, it gives you warmth, like the sun in summer. If I take a stick in my hand, at the end where this wonder-creature is not eating, and thrust it against my enemy, then, without hurting me, it will sting my enemy.'

"'Yes,' said the squaw. 'But look, it has eaten nearly all the wood, and is falling smaller and smaller, like a snowdrift in May,' she added.

"Porcupine Killer thought of a dry, dead spruce tree that lay near the mouth of his cave, flat along the ground where a great wind had thrown it a year before. But he was afraid to go out, unprotected, to break branches from this tree and drag them back to the cave. It was not yet night, and the giant beasts would be waiting for him. He saw one long stick in the fire that was burning for only half its length and, heeding a voice within him that told him to trust in the new gift of the gods, he took up the stick by the unscorched end, crawled through the mouth of the cave, and ran to the fallen tree. As he ran--'twas only the distance of a dozen strides--he waved the long stick around his head. It was twined 'round with red and yellow flames, and smoke and sparks flew upward from it. He saw two great wolves spring out of the forest on his left, glare at him with glowing eyes and gaping jaws, turn and flee back into the forest. He saw a fox (as big as a wolf of to-day) slink out of his path. Then he knew that this new and wonderful thing was as surely a terror to the beasts as it was a joy to him. They did not even wait for its sting. They fled, like hunted hares, at the sight of it! And he knew that this terror of it must have been born in the wolves and foxes even as the joy in it, and love of it, had been born in him. He leaned the burning stick against the trunk of the fallen tree and quickly tore off an armful of the dry branches. Leaving the flaming stick behind him, he ran back to the cave and quickly replenished the fire. Again he returned to the tree and loaded his arms. Three times he made the short journey, swiftly, but without much fear of the beasts. He knew that many fierce animals were watching him; but his faith in their terror of the burning stick was great. When he crawled from the cave to get the fourth load of wood, a wonderful sight met his eyes. The flames from the stick had leapt into the dry branches of the tree and cloaked them in red and yellow. Swiftly it leapt from branch to branch until, in a twinkling, the tree was blazing along its whole length, from roots to crown. It made a loud crackling noise and a roaring like the voices of wind and water. Smoke and sparks flew upward in clouds.

"For a few minutes Porcupine Killer stood just outside the mouth of his cave and gazed at the wonderful sight with awe. The first thin darkness was creeping over the world, and in the gloom the flames and sparks and smoke made a terrible picture for eyes that had never seen such a thing before. But the little chill of fear quickly left his heart as soon as he began to reason with his brain. This creature--one moment so small, and suddenly so great--was his friend and the friend of all mankind. It was a wonderful gift that had been given to him in a beautiful dream. So he ran forward and stood as close to the fire as he could. The heat of it was very great--and the roaring of the flames and the crackling of the dry wood was loud in his ears. He knew that many eyes must now be staring at the great sight in fear and astonishment and wonder--eyes of his fierce enemies and eyes of his hunted, starving people. Many caves were in the same rocky hillside as his own. With his back to the noise and the leaping flames, he stood tall and brave against the terrible red light and waved his arms high above his head.

"'Come to me, my people!' he cried, with all the strength of his voice. 'Come to me, and this magic thing will protect you from your enemies.'

"Broken Arrow was the first to find courage to leave his cave and draw near to the fire. He was closely followed by Winter Morning, the chief. Porcupine Killer told them in a few words of his dream and how he had made the fire in his cave; of its comforting warmth; of its sting; and how the animals feared the sight of it. Soon a dozen men and boys stood near the blazing tree.

"'Now is the time to hunt for food,' said Porcupine Killer. 'Do not go beyond the edge of the red light.'

"They found the body of a huge caribou, freshly killed by the wolves and but half eaten. They cut the flesh from it with their stone knives and axes, and carried it to their caves. Porcupine Killer worked with the others and carried two great lumps of meat to his cave; but he kept his eye on the burning tree. He soon noticed that it was quickly lessening in size and heat. All the branches were gone and the great trunk alone glowed on the rocky ground. Flames and sparks still shot up from it in places, and here and there it had crumbled to masses of red coals. Dark night had fallen by now, and the light from the fire was drawing in, narrower and narrower, every minute. By the failing glow of it, Porcupine-Killer gathered a great many pieces of wood-roots and fallen branches and stumps, and heaped them close beside the mouth of his cave. He told Broken Arrow (who was a clever young warrior) and old Winter Morning, the chief, how fire could be kept inside one's cave and fed with sticks; and he lighted two long branches at the glowing coals and gave one into the hands of each. Many of the other men, seeing this and hearing Porcupine Killer's words, lit sticks for themselves and ran back to their caves, waving them in the air.

"It was quite dark, and the great beasts were roaring and howling and barking on all sides, when the first man who had ever made fire in this part of the world returned to his cave.

"He found the fire burning very low,--just a bed of coals,--for the woman was afraid to feed it with sticks. He soon had it blazing brightly; and then, sitting very close to it, he began to cut one of the big lumps of caribou meat into small pieces, so that he and his wife might eat after their long hunger. One of the pieces fell close to the red coals at the edge of the fire. He did not notice it, but soon he began to sniff and look about on every side.

"'What is that queer smell?' he asked. 'It is a smell that increases my hunger. What new thing have you in the cave?'

"The squaw told him that there was nothing new in the cave except the fire and the caribou meat. But she, too, noticed the smell and began to sniff and sniff. Her husband (who had not the baby to hold) was so attracted by the strange smell that he laid aside the flint knife and the big lump of meat and went sniffing around the cave, as a hungry dog sniffs around the outside of a store-house. But he was soon back at the fire again, where the smell was much stronger than anywhere else; and then he happened to see the small piece of meat that had fallen close to the red coals. Its color had changed. It was red no longer, but brown as a ripe nut; and from it floated up the smell that made him feel even more hungry than he had felt before. He touched it with his finger. It was very hot, so of course he stuck his finger in his mouth. Hah, but it tasted good! He had never really liked the taste of flesh before, but had always eaten it quickly, in big mouthfuls, simply to fill his stomach; but this piece, that had been turned from red to brown by the fire, had a taste to it that made him think of eating with joy. With a small stick he drew it away from the hot coals, and soon the sting of the fire went out of it and he could hold it in his hands without feeling any pain. He cut it in two with his flint knife and gave one half to his wife. And they were the first people to eat roasted caribou meat that I ever heard of! They liked it so well that they cut many more slices and placed them close to the red coals of the fire; and the good, hunger-making smell floated out of the cave and set all sorts of animals to sniffing and howling. They liked the strange smell, too (though they never learned to like it as well as the smell of raw meat); but they were afraid to go near the cave in the rocky hill-side from which the smell came, for out of that same cave shone the red glare of that terrible thing which had eaten up the dead spruce tree. They saw the same red glare at the mouths of other caves and what was left of the spruce tree still glowing angrily in the dark; so they crouched in a great circle and howled and roared."

Old Squat-by-the-fire stopped her talk suddenly, and began cutting tobacco for her pipe. Little Flying Plover sat very still, gazing into the fire. He could see all sorts of queer things under the dancing flames, deep among the red coals--lodges, and hunters running beside dog-sledges, and warriors fighting mighty battles.

"Why were the animals afraid of the fire?" he asked.

"It was their nature to fear it," replied his grandmother.

"Why didn't it frighten the men, too?" asked the boy.

Squat-by-the-fire wrinkled her forehead and puffed hard at her pipe, but did not answer. Flying Plover waited for a minute, and then asked, "Are animals afraid of fire now?"

His grandmother nodded her head.

"But dogs are not afraid of it. Dogs like to lie by the fire, all day and all night," said the boy.

"Dogs were not always fond of fire. When they were wild--before they had been tamed by man--they did not like it at all," replied the old woman.

She puffed very fiercely at her pipe. "But you must not ask me any more questions now," she said. "I must boil the medicine for Red Cloud's baby again. It is a very great medicine and has to be boiled five times, in all, and let cool after each boiling. So you must not disturb me, little son of a chief. Carve at your caribou again, if the snow is still falling, and I will tell you another story to-night, if you are a good boy."