Chapter II: Part 2

AN immense bird preyed upon the red men in all parts of the country. Their homes were at no time safe from its ravages. Often it would carry away children playing beside the wigwams, or, like a bolt of lightning, dart from the sky and strike a woman or man bleeding and dying to the earth. Whole fields of corn had been destroyed in a single night by its ravages, and its coming was so swift and terrible that the Indians hardly dared stir from the shelter of their houses. A strong party of Cayugas and Onondagas finally determined upon its death, no matter at what cost to themselves. A young warrior offered himself for the sacrifice. He was provided with a quantity of raw-hide thongs, and repaired to one of the open spaces, where it was believed the dreaded monster would discover and descend upon him. The young brave was to bind one of the thongs upon the bird's feet or upon some portion of its body, if possible, before he killed him, and then his companions, rushing from their place of concealment, would try to slay the enemy that had been snared with such difficulty. The preparations were elaborately made, and the young brave went forth on his dangerous mission. I Three days he sat, chanting his death-song and awaiting the coming of his terrible fate. On the morning of the fourth day the sky was suddenly darkened and the watchers saw that the great bird was slowly circling above the heroic young Cayuga. He ceased his chanting, and, standing upright, shouted defiance to the almost certain death that awaited him.

With a scream that turned the hearts of the waiting Indians cold with terror, the bird dropped upon its victim like a panther on his prey. A short and terrible struggle took place and then the concealed warriors rushed forth to finish the work of their brave young companion, who had succeeded in throwing one of the thongs over the great mosquito's neck. They brought willing and ready hands to the battle, and the arrows poured upon the struggling mass like a storm of hail. After a long encounter the bird was killed, and the young Cayuga smiled in triumph as his last glance rested upon the dead body of the monster.

Runners were at once dispatched to the villages to inform the Indians of the victory, and soon vast numbers of them came to look upon their long-dreaded enemy that had been slain at such cost. Its body was larger than that of the largest bear they had ever seen, and the breadth of its outstretched wings was as great as the height of three men. Its talons were as long as arrows, and its monstrous beak was lined with sharp teeth. There was much rejoicing over the great mosquito's death, and for several days feasting and dancing were held in honor of the bravery of those who had rid the country of such a terrible scourge. Soon, however, swarms of the poisonous little flies that have been the pests of all nations since that time, infested the woods, and the Indians discovered that they came from the body of the dead bird. Too late they realized that the body of the great mosquito should have been burned when it was first slain, for fire is ever the destroyer of evil spirits.

THE STORY OF ONIATA

A MAIDEN more beautiful than had ever before been seen came into the house of a great chief and grew to womanhood by his fireside. All the tribes within a distance of many long journeys paid her homage, for, though her eyes were as dark as the depths of the pool in the rocks, her skin was as fair as that of the palefaces who came thousands of years afterwards, and her hair was borrowed from the rays of the sun.

The great chief was honored above all his people on account of his beautiful daughter, for she could work charms that drove away the evil spirits of sickness, and when her father went to battle or followed the chase he was ever successful, for he carried with him the maiden's smiles to daze and blind his enemies, or to aid in his search for the hidden trail. Her songs were so full of music that when she sang the wild birds were silent in the branches of the trees, and listened that they might catch the tones of her voice. When she laughed the waters in the mountain streams sought the deep pools and for very shame stopped their noisy clamor. Her feet were so small and delicate that only the skins of fawns were used to make her moccasins. The snow that lay over the earth in winter was no whiter than her skin, and her cheeks were like the first coming of the sun on the mornings when the corn is ripe. Never before had the Indians seen one so beautiful, and the wise men whispered that she had been sent by the Great Spirit from the Happy Hunting-Grounds to teach the Indians what beauties awaited them when they had journeyed to their long home.

Over all the land spread the story of this wondrous maiden, like the tidings of a bountiful harvest or the boastings of a successful chase. From the villages far away came the young chiefs and warriors, and when they had looked upon this lily of the forest and heard the music of her voice they no longer had hearts for the hunt, but spent their days in trying to win approving glances from the dark eyes of Oniata, the daughter of Tiogaughwa. They brought for her the most gorgeous and elaborate head-dresses of wampum, in which were woven the quills and feathers of the birds their cunning had been able to ensnare. They performed the most wonderful feats of agility and endurance, often vying with each other until even their rugged natures could not withstand the terrible self-imposed ordeals, and some sank exhausted or dying, while the more fortunate ones shouted cries of triumph and victory, loudly boasting of their own powers and strength.

Tiogaughwa, the father of Oniata, was filled with pride at the attention shown his daughter. His lodge was rich with presents of rare furs and strings of wampum that had been laid at her feet; the medicine of the wisest chiefs was freely placed at his disposal; he could have allied his tribe with the most powerful--for the greatest chiefs and the most renowned warriors sought to wed the beautiful Oniata.

But there came a change to these happy days of the old chief, Tiogaughwa. One day the chiefs and warriors were surprised to see the council-place filled with the women and maidens from all the country around. They deserted their lodges, left the fires to the care of the old men and children, and, without heeding the dark looks of their husbands, sons or brothers, took the places usually occupied by the wise men of the nation. When all were assembled, the wives of five of the principal chiefs were sent to ask Tiogaughwa and the chiefs and wise men to come to the council-fires.

When the chiefs and wise men were seated a silence fell on the assemblage. At last it was broken by the first faint notes of the mourning song of an Indian maiden for a lover who had been slain in battle. Others joined the chant and the weird chorus was caught up by the hundreds of women assembled, and filled the forests with notes of sorrow. The song ceased, but its last note had scarcely died away before another took its place. The Indian wives commenced chanting the sorrowful story it was the custom of a deserted wife to sing in her lonely lodge when her husband had left her to join another more congenial to his fancy. When their complaint had ended, the women sat a long time with bowed heads. Finally the wife of one of the chiefs--a tall, lithe, beautiful young princess--stepped before the chiefs and sachems and said:

"We have come to the council-fires, oh! my brothers, that we might together tell the Great Spirit that the lovers of the Indian maidens are dead, and to ask him to meet them at the borders of the Happy Hunting-Grounds. We have come, too, oh! my brothers, to tell the Great Spirit that the bad spirits have caught the ears of our husbands and have told them tales that have led them from our lodges, and their wives and papooses are sick with hunger. No longer is the smile of the dark maiden sought by the young braves. She plaits her hair with flowers and wampum and sits in the forests to await the coming of her mate; but the young braves come no more to woo her, nor can they be found on the track of the bear or the panther. They loll with the dogs in the shadow of Oniata's wigwam and glare like the hard-wounded boar at the dark maidens who approach them. They are dead, and the hearts of the Indian maidens are full of sorrow.

"The wives cover their heads with wolf skins and tell the Great Spirit that their husbands have deserted them. Day after day they have kept the lodge fires burning, but the hunters come not to sit in the light and tell the stories of the chase. The feeble old men and boys have tried to follow the hunt that they might provide the women with food. The papooses have sickened and died, and the death-song has been raised many times. But the warriors come not. They have forgotten their homes, as they lie in their camps near the lodge of the white lily, where they are held in sleep by the smiles of the Oniata.

"Have the dark maidens lost their beauty, that their glances can never again bring life to the hearts of the young braves? Have the dark wives refused to do the bidding of their husbands that they should be deserted like sick and wounded dogs fallen in the chase?

"My brothers, Waunopeta, the wife of Torwauquanda, has spoken, and her sisters have told her to say that if they no longer please the hearts of the red men they ask to be sent on the long journey to the Happy Hunting-Grounds."

As Waunopeta ceased speaking and took her place among the crouching forms of the women, there was a movement on the outer edge of the circle, and in an instant Oniata stood in the centre of the council-place. There was an exclamation of interest as this vision of wonderful beauty burst upon them. Many had never seen her, and they were almost blinded by a loveliness that was previous to that time unknown to the race. She was clothed in the richest of skins, and her hair fell like a cloud of sun-kissed mist over her beautiful shoulders. Her cheeks burned with tints that betrayed her common ancestry with her dark sisters whom she had unwittingly troubled.

"Oniata is here!" she cried, as she looked around at the dark faces before her, with eyes like those of the hunted fawn. "Oniata is here to say that she has not asked for the smiles of the young braves. They came around her wigwam and drove away the dream-god with their cries and love-songs; but she covered her ears with the skins of the beaver and would not listen to them. When Oniata went forth to the forest they appeared before her like the thunder clouds, and she went back to her wigwam and could not look at her father, the sun. The warriors came to the lodge of the white lily and with shouts and cries told the Oniata that their wives and children should be the white lily's slaves if she would look out of her lodge upon them. But the Oniata called the women of her wigwam about her and they laughed in the faces of the warriors. Oniata loves her sisters, but they are angry at the white lily and ask that she be sent away to the long home where she shall be seen no more by the braves and warriors. She will go from the home of the red men and her dark sisters--far away beyond the mountains and the great lakes--and the braves will return to life for the dark maidens and seek them with love-songs in the forests, while the warriors will once more go to their wigwams where their wives and papooses await them. But her people will remember the Oniata, for she will kiss the flowers in the forests as she goes.

"My sisters, the Oniata, daughter of the sun and the great chief Tiogaughwa, has spoken."

She waved her hand, and the circle of listening men and women parted that she might walk through. The chief, Torwauquanda, started forward to follow her, but the dark princess, Waunopeta, stood in his pathway, and he knew by the looks of the menacing faces about him that the white lily would go alone.

Tiogaughwa rose as his daughter moved rapidly away, and said: "Oniata has spoken well. She will go in peace. The scalp-lock of the warrior that follows her will hang in Tiogaughwa's wigwam."

The old chief turned and folded his arms over his breast, watching with pathetic love the fast disappearing form of his daughter.

Out into the forest went the Oniata--the loved of the sunshine, the dream of the Indian--and the solemn council sat in silence as the beautiful vision faded forever from their view.

Far away from her people she wandered, never stopping to look back toward the home she had loved. The sun warmed her pathway for many days, and at night the sister of the sun smiled through the branches of the trees and lighted the forest so the Oniata would not miss her lodge-fire as she slept. When she rested beside the clear streams she caught to her bosom the blossoms that covered the banks and breathed into their faces the love she had borne for her dark sisters and her home. The fragrance of her love filled their hearts and from that time they have freely given their love to others, as Oniata bade them when she pressed them to her lips and kissed them in her loneliness. When the clouds came and the rain fell, Oniata was sheltered by the thick branches of the trees, and when the rain had ceased she pulled the branches down, and pressing her cheeks against them, thanked them for their kindness. The trees learned gentleness from the maiden, and their blossoms have ever since spread their grateful perfume on the air.

Many moons passed. The dark maidens were again wooed by the young braves, and the wives of the warriors were happy in the return of their husbands. The winter came and cast its white cloud over the land, and the frosts locked the rivers in prison houses of ice. But Oniata came not to the home of her people.

The great Tiogaughwa mourned his daughter in his lonely wigwam, and his heart sang her death-song as he sat before the fire-place, in which no fire was lighted, and bowed his head in mournful silence.

The warm winds came again, and the young men and maidens were once more filling the forests with their love-songs, while with laughter they chanted the praises of their mates. Tiogaughwa saw all this, but his heart was heavy and he had no words for the council-fire, no strength for the chase. He left his people and walked away in the path that had been taken by Oniata. Wherever he went the wild flowers raised their heads and told him they had been kissed by Oniata, and the great Tiogaughwa fell down beside them and caught the fragrance of her breath. When the dew and the rain were upon them he could see once more the beauty of her eyes, and the gentle songs of the soft winds through the trees that had sheltered Oniata and had felt the loving touch of her caresses, told the great Tiogaughwa that the light of his wigwam awaited his coming in the long home.

THE MIRROR IN THE WATER

WHEN the Great Spirit made the earth and put the water in the deep valleys to form lakes, and built the springs in the mountains to form streams and rivers, he did not give to the water the power to show within its surface his children's faces or to make the trees appear to grow with their branches pointing deep into the ground. For many thousands of summers the younger sister of the sun was never seen far down in the bosom of the lake at night, and many times young men grew old and died before the sun could see himself in the river, the warriors could put on their war-paint by the deep pool in the woods, or the maidens plait their braids with their smiling faces reflected from the laughing stream that flowed beside the wigwams.

The red men lived together peacefully and happily then beside a great river. One day the young hunters came home in haste from the chase and reported the coming of many strange people from beyond the river. They said the strange men carried bows twice the height of the tallest chief known in the peaceful tribes, or held in their hands branches of trees to which were attached sharpened stones of great size. The chiefs and wise men assembled, and scouts and runners were sent forth to see if the young hunters had not been deceived by the evil spirits of the woods. But the young hunters had not looked with double eyes, and the strange warriors were as many as the pebbles on the bank of the river. The hearts of the red men were filled with fear, for they knew not then how to fight against such numbers, and the sachems arose from the council-fire and went forth to the cave in the rocks where the Great Spirit talked with them. The Great Spirit told his children that he would care for them and protect them from the strange warriors, and he told the people to fear not, but to obey the three fathers and fire-keepers of the nation. When the night came the fathers told the men and women to build many fires on the shore of the river, and when the fires were built the red men were filled with fear to see burning, deep down in the water, a fire for each fire on the shore.

The strange warriors also saw these fires in the water, and they were frightened and dared not cross the river in the night to destroy them. But with the morning the strange warriors once more took courage and plunged into the river to swim to the shore where the children of the Great Spirit dwelt. Then the Great Spirit loosed the spirits of the storm and they rushed down the mountain and out upon the river, and when he called them back the strange warriors were not to be seen. Then the red men went forth in their canoes and the water of the river was clear and white. They looked down and saw first their own faces and above them the smiling face of the Great Spirit; and then, down deep in the water, they saw the bodies of the strange men who had come to destroy them.

The water never changed again, for the Great Spirit saw it gave his children pleasure, and he loved his children then.

THE BUZZARD'S COVERING

IN the beginning, the birds were created naked, but because of their ill-shaped bodies and long legs they were ashamed and remained in hiding. At that time their throats had not been so arranged that they could sing. A long time afterwards they learned their music from the falling rain and the whistling wind. But they could talk, and with loud voices they bewailed their fate. Finally, with one accord, they began to cry and shout as loud as they could, asking that they be provided with coverings. The Great Spirit thereupon sent them word that their dresses were all ready, but that he did not have time to come and see that they were properly fitted. If they were in need of their raiment they must either go or send to a particular place a long way off, where they would find the coverings.

A vote for a messenger was taken and the turkey buzzard was chosen because he was so strong and hardy. He started proudly on his mission, but the distance was so great that he became nearly famished before reaching his destination, and, contrary to his habits in those days, he was compelled to eat carrion to sustain life. At last he came to the appointed place and found the coverings ready. As a reward for making the journey, the buzzard had been given first choice of the garments. He at once selected the most beautiful of the lot, but upon trying it discovered that he could not fly well with so many long feathers to manage, and so he laid the dress aside and tried others. One he feared would soil too easily; another was not warm enough to satisfy his taste; a third was too light-colored and would render him too conspicuous; a fourth was composed of too many pieces and would require too much of his time to care for it. So he went from one to another, finding some fault with each, until there was but one suit left the plainest of all. As the buzzard had been expressly forbidden to try on any of the coverings more than once, he had but one choice left, and must either accept the plain, homely, coarse suit he has since worn or go naked.

Often when the birds hold councils in the woods they talk quite sharply to the buzzard for his uncleanly habits. He never fails to retort that his ancestor acquired them while doing a great service for others, and he closes the discussion by reminding them that they have no special reason to be vain, as he had choice of all the bird coverings and took the one that pleased him best.

ORIGIN OF THE VIOLET

THERE was a brave Indian many moons before the white man came to the land of his fathers who was the pride of all the men of the east. Though he was young, yet among his people his word was law and his counsels were listened to by the older chiefs with much attention. Three times had he done his people service they could never forget. Once, the great heron, that had preyed upon the children of the tribe for a long time, had fallen pierced to the heart by the arrow from his bow. He had gone alone and unarmed many days' journey without food to the mountain where dwelt the witches, and brought from the medicine caves the roots that cured his people of the plague. The third great service was when he had led a band of warriors against their enemies over the mountains and returned victorious. But on this journey the young warrior had seen a maiden whom he loved, and he wanted her for his wigwam. The maiden dwelt among the tribe that had felt the weight of the young chief's blow, and the warfare between them prevented his buying her with the quills of the wampum bird, as he could have done had she been one of his own people. And yet, the young chief thought, unless he could light his wigwam with the brightness of the maiden's eyes, his heart would no longer be brave and he could not lead his young men to battle. For many moons he was in hiding in the woods near the village of his foes, patiently watching for the maiden whose eyes had softened his heart. He sang the praises of his loved one so often to the birds as he crouched near their nests in the branches of the trees that they took up his song and bore it with them in their flight over I the plains and valleys. So often did the bear, the fox and the beaver hear the praise of the maiden murmured by the young chief in his sleep that they thought the forests had brought forth a new flower of more radiant beauty than any they had seen.

At last the young chief's vigils and waiting were rewarded, for one day the maiden wandered into the forest. With the calls of the song-birds and by singing her praises he lured her far from her home, and then he seized and bore her away toward the hunting-grounds and village of his people. The maiden had been watched by the jealous eyes of a young brave who was her suitor, but he was cowardly, and when he saw her borne swiftly away on the shoulders of the dreaded chief, he dared not follow, but ran swiftly back to the village to give the alarm. The braves placed him in the hands of the women because he was a coward, and started quickly in pursuit of the girl and her captor. All night they followed them over the rugged mountains and through the dark forests. In the morning they overtook them and were filled with rage when they saw that the maiden was a willing captive, for she had given her heart to the strong young chief, knowing that he was brave and loved her. To signify her willingness to go with him she had plaited the braids of her hair about his neck, as was the customary way among them to indicate a marriage. Enraged at their foe for his daring and at the girl for deserting her people, the pursuing warriors killed them both on the spot and left their bodies where they fell--the great braids of the maiden's hair encircling her lover's neck.

From this spot sprang the violets; and the winds and birds carried the seeds of the little flowers over all the world, into all countries where men dare and maidens love, so that the Indians of all ages might know that the Great Spirit would always raise a monument to true love and bravery.

THE TURTLE CLAN

THEN the Great Spirit created the turtles he gave them a vast lake in and about which they could reside, and where they would never be molested by either animals or people. But the turtles were not satisfied with the shape of the lake, and found fault with the hard, gravelly bottom and clear water. So they set to work to bring all the mud they could find on the plains surrounding it, and spread the loads of loose soil over the bottom of the lake where they were accustomed to lie. So many of them carried on the work that the lake was finally filled with the mud, and became so shallow that during one particularly hot summer it was entirely dry. Then the turtles held council and decided that the only way left to them was to set out to find a place where there was good water. One, a particularly wise and intelligent old fellow, urged his brethren to decide first upon some fixed course to follow and then by all means to remain together. Said he: "If we do this we will not only know exactly where we are going, but we can help each other. There are a great many of us, and if any foe attacks us we can together repel the attack, for with our stone backs and sharp jaws we are well equipped for battle. Let me tell you, my brothers, that the world is full of dangers, and unless we are banded together and stand by each other, we will be scattered and lose our standing as a nation."

To this wise counsel the turtles apparently agreed, but each one wanted the honor of presenting the plan that was to be followed, and each also wanted the distinction of being chosen to lead his fellows. The wise old turtle made every effort at conciliation and proposed several plans, any one of which if accepted would have made the turtles a great and powerful nation, but they could come to no agreement. At last the commotion became so great that the voice of the wise turtle was drowned in the clamor, and he was powerless to counsel his fellows any further. Finally each turtle started off by himself, bound to follow his own inclinations, as the turtles have done ever since. At this foolish course the wise turtle became very angry. "Fools!" he cried, "I am ashamed to be counted as one of the turtle race, and although in memory of the forefathers whom I honor, I will always bear on my breast the form of a turtle, henceforth I will not be a turtle."

With a tremendous effort he threw the shell from his back and leaped forth, a fully armed and painted warrior. The turtles were terribly frightened and made off as fast as they could. From that day they have been wanderers.

The wise turtle became the progenitor of the turtle clan. He taught his children to deliberate carefully upon all matters of importance; to give attention and careful consideration to the counsels of their elders; and to work in unity in whatever they undertook.

THE HEALING WATERS

NEKUMONTA, the strongest and bravest chief of the Mohawks, wandered alone in silence through the primeval forest. The giant pines looked down upon him with frowns; the moss, dark and sodden on the maples with rain, gave only a gloomy greeting; the low beeches brushed against his anxious face, and as he passed beneath them chilling showers fell from their icy branches. Across his path the snarling panther crept in sullen anger; the frightened rabbit sped away to its nest under the prostrate log; his brother the bear turned aside and looked with sadness upon the troubled face of Nekumonta as he hurried forward in the fast gathering darkness. In all the forest no kindly sight came to comfort the strong and brave chief of the Mohawks, whose footsteps were heavy with fatigue and whose heart was burdened with sorrow.

Through the cheerless, awful moons of snows and frosts the plague had raged in the village of the Mohawks. Many days and nights had the death-song been chanted for men, and women, and children. Few were untouched by the terrible sickness, and the medicine men of the tribe had long since seen the last of hoarded stores of herbs which they used to put to flight the bad spirits. The strong and brave Nekumonta and the light of his wigwam, Shanewis, had watched the fires of life go out many times. They knew that the Happy Hunting-Grounds rang with the shouts and laughter of their brothers and sisters; they sent them messages by the echoing spirits and told them to watch for their coming; but they were saddened because their brothers and sisters had gone on the long journey. The home of the Mohawks was full of pleasure when the hunters and the women, the young men, the maidens and the children worked together in the fields of growing corn, or gathered at night around the lodge-fire and listened to the legends told by the aged.

At last the soft winds came, and their mellow songs drove the cold and darkness from the valley. With their first notes came hope--hope that when the awful winter had gone to his home in the north the plague would also take its flight from the village.

Then Nekumonta's heart died, for Shanewis, the light of his wigwam, was stricken, and from her couch of furs smiled sadly as she whispered: "Shanewis must fight with the bad spirits. She would not leave Nekumonta, the strong and brave one of the Mohawks, but her brothers and sisters call to her from their long home."

For a moment Nekumonta stood erect, while upon his face came the shadows of despair. As the weary hunter loses control of his canoe and sees below him the rapids that in terrible fury play with their victim ere they hurl it over the precipice of death; or, as the warrior who with rising hopes has long withstood his foes, would see their reinforcements come when his arm has lost its power, so upon Nekumonta came the realization of the struggle yet to come. But his brave heart failed not, and bending over the shivering form of his loved Shanewis, he said:

"Shanewis shall live. Let her fight the bad spirits, and tell her brothers and sisters who call to her that she cannot go to her long home for many moons. Nekumonta has said it. He will find the healing vines of the Great Spirit, and Shanewis shall live."

The robe that covered the entrance of the lodge was pushed aside, and the chief of the Mohawks hurried away into the forest.

In many places the snows were not melted. The roots were locked in their beds by the frost, and the medicine herbs had not yet awakened from their sleep. Running through the open fields, looking anxiously among the rocks, crawling under the fallen trees, hurrying with despair over the barren hills, swimming the swollen streams and rivers, darting along the shores of the half-frozen lakes, penetrating the gloom of the forbidding forests, stopping neither for rest nor for food, Nekumonta searched, repeating again and again, until the woods and fields were burdened with the words: "Shanewis shall live! Nekumonta will find the healing vines of the Great Spirit, and Shanewis shall live!"

Three suns had passed since he left his lodge, and still his weary quest was in vain. Wherever he looked only dead leaves and withered vines were to be found. When darkness came and he could no longer see, the anxious searcher had, on his hands and knees, crept onward all the night, hoping that his keen scent would discover what his sight had failed to disclose during the day. At the decline of the third sun, stumbling forward in the gathering darkness, Nekumonta fell exhausted to the earth and the Great Spirit touched his eyes with sleep.

Then the dream-god came and Nekumonta saw Shanewis lying sleepless on her couch of furs and heard her calling his name gently and with tenderness. He saw that the plague ran through her veins like the fires that swept the forest when the rustling leaves lay thick upon the ground. Then he saw her creep to the door of the lodge and push aside the robe that shut out the cold winds. Long and earnestly she looked into the darkness, calling him to hasten to her side. He reached forward to clasp her in his arms, and the vision faded. Now he was in his canoe, which the taunting spirits of the plague were pushing down the river, and they laughed and shouted in derision as he tried to catch the medicine plants that grew in great abundance along the shores. Again, he was with his loved Shanewis in the cornfields, filling the great baskets with roasting ears to be taken to the fires where danced and sang the red men in honor of the ripening harvest. Then the voices of the singers changed into low and murmuring sounds, which finally grew more distinct until Nekumonta heard the words:

"Strong and brave chief of the Mohawks, we are the healing waters of the Great Spirit. Take us from our prison and thy loved Shanewis shall live."

Starting from his slumbers like an arrow from the bow, Nekumonta cast off the dream-god and stood in the first light of the smiling face of the Great Spirit as he came from his wigwam to open the new day. Swiftly his glance darted from side to side, searching in vain every tree and bush, every rock and stone for evidence of the presence of some one who could have uttered the words that had come so distinctly that they must be more than the echo of a dream. The practiced eye and ear of the hunter could discover nothing unusual in the forest, though every faculty was awake, every nerve strung to its greatest tension. With sadness and loss of hope his attitude relaxed, and with heavy footsteps he turned toward the hills.

And yet he could not go away. Something sent him back to the little opening in the forest, and when he reached the spot where he had fallen in the darkness the night before he bent suddenly and placed his ear to the ground.

What caused Nekumonta to leap to his feet with a cry of triumph that rang over the hills like the shout of many warriors? What changed in an instant the hopeless, dejected being who bent to the earth, to a creature alert, with his hardened sinews standing out upon his body in eagerness to expend its stifled strength? Faintly, yet distinctly, he had again heard the murmuring voices:

"Strong and brave chief of the Mohawks, here are the healing waters of the Great Spirit. Take us from our prison and thy loved Shanewis shall live."

With a bound like that of the panther Nekumonta sprang to the hillside, and from the trunk of a hardy ash that had been felled by the lightning's bolt he tore the toughened branches, bearing them in triumph to the valley. Back he ran like the wind and from the yielding soil dug armfuls of sharp-edged stones, which he bore with hurrying steps to the place where a promise had been opened to him greater than the one of the Happy Hunting-Grounds. Not a moment did he pause, but the cry of "Shanewis! Shanewis! Shanewis!" was almost constantly on his lips.

The smiling face of the Great Spirit rose higher in the path it followed for the day, and looked down over the hill tops at the toiling Nekumonta. Forcing the toughened limbs of the ash tree deep into the ground he wrested from their beds the huge bowlders that impeded his progress and formed the prison of the healing waters. With the sharp-edged stones he cut the hard earth, and with torn and bleeding hands he hurled the rough soil from the excavation. Like a very god incarnate the dauntless spirit toiled--never resting, never tiring, never stopping except at long intervals, when he bent his ear to the earth. Each time he heard the voices, swelling louder and louder, and repeating over and over again the promise that lent him an energy that could have torn the earth asunder had it refused to yield its life-giving treasure for the light of his wigwam.

When the smiling face of the Great Spirit had reached the middle of its trail and turned once more to the door of his great lodge, the tireless Nekumonta leaped to the edge of the excavation with renewed shouts of joy and triumph, and the woods resounded with the laughter and songs proclaiming that the imprisoning barrier had been broken open. The sparkling, healing waters heard the welcome voices in the woods, and rising from their dark prison filled all the place the toiler had torn open in the earth, and then ran merrily down the valley in the sunlight.

Nekumonta bathed his bruised hands and burning face in the grateful waters and then hurried away in the forest. On and on he ran, with a step so light that the dead leaves scarcely felt its touch, and with a strength that laughed the wind to scorn. His path was straight through the forest to the clay banks where his people came in the moon of the falling leaves and made the vessels in which they cooked their corn and venison. Here his energy was born anew, and with a skill that was marvelous in its dexterity he fashioned a jar to contain the healing waters. From its hiding place he brought the fire stone, and the store of branches collected by the old men and children at the last moon of falling leaves furnished him a supply of fuel. When the smiling face of the Great Spirit entered the door of his wigwam in the west Nekumonta took from the dying embers the perfected result of his handiwork.

* * * * *

The warm winds, laden with hope and comfort, stole gently through the forest and sang with gladness of the death of winter. Life came once more to the swaying branches of the trees, and the first notes of the robins and blue birds thrilled the listening air with a sweetness for which it had long hungered. The second day of spring had dawned on the home of the Mohawks the village where the gaunt figure of the awful plague had reveled in a dance of death throughout the weary moons of winter.

Suddenly a triumphant shout filled the air. The hearts of weary watchers stood still with suspense, fearing that the evil witches had once more returned to taunt them of their helplessness. The plague-stricken woke from their fitful sleep and called piteously to the Manito. Once more the shout arose--louder, clearer, more triumphant--a pealing cry of victory from the strong and brave Nekumonta.

Bearing aloft in his arms the vessel containing the healing waters, Nekumonta burst from the deeper gray of the forest like a flood of sunshine and ran with steps as light as the warm winds themselves to the darkened lodge of his loved Shanewis. With the soft mosses he had caught from the banks of the streams he soothed her fevered form, and with draughts of the grateful healing waters she was lured to returning health.

Thus the loved Shanewis came back from the very borderland of the Happy Hunting-Grounds to her home with the Mohawks.

THE SACRIFICE OF ALIQUIPISO

TROUBLE came to a village of the Oneidas. From the north a band of red men who had listened to the bad spirits came upon the peaceful village, and, with murder and plunder in their hearts, spread destruction around them like the wild chase of the forest fires. The homes of the Oneidas were deserted and made desolate, and the women and children were hurried away to the rocks and hills for refuge and were guarded by the warriors. For many days and nights the attacking party vainly tried to find the trail of the people they had driven from their homes. The Great Spirit had passed his hands over the forest and the trail of the Oneidas was not discovered by the savage Mingoes.

But the Oneidas were almost without food, and over the tops of the trees and along the face of the almost inaccessible cliff came hunger and death to their hiding place. The warriors and sachems sat long at the council, but their eyes were heavy and they could find no path that would lead them from their trouble. To try to escape from their refuge would expose them to capture and slavery at the hands of their foes. To remain where they were meant starvation and death.

Then the little maiden, Aliquipiso, came to the warriors and sachems and told how the good spirits had come to her sleeping under the trees, and had shown her where from the side of the high bluff on which her people were hiding huge rocks could be rolled into the valley below in such a manner as to strike down the very trees there. The good spirits also told her to lead the foes of the Oneidas to the spot and bade her go upon the mission that she might deliver her people from their danger. The warriors and sachems listened to the unfolding of the plan with wonder, and when Aliquipiso had finished, the chief brought forth rich strings of white wampum and put them about her neck, saying that she was the princess of all the nation and beloved of the Great Spirit. When the night came the little maiden left her people quietly and without faltering, and disappeared in the darkness.

In the morning watchful scouts of the Mingoes found a little girl wandering as if lost in the forest. They hurried away with her to the dismantled village where she had been so happy with her fellows and at once commenced to torture her, hoping to extort the secret of the hiding place of her people. With a fortitude that won the admiration of her captors, Aliquipiso resisted the torture for a long time, but finally told the cruel tormentors that when the darkness came she would lead them to the hiding place of the Oneidas.

Night came again, and the exultant Mingoes started on the trail they believed would lead them to the camp of the Oneidas. Aliquipiso led the way, but she was in the grasp of strong warriors who were ready with poised weapons to take her life at the first evidence of a betrayal. Through many paths and windings, slowly and craftily, crept the Mingoes until they were near the overhanging precipice of granite. Then Aliquipiso signaled to the warriors to come close around her, as though she were about to roll back the huge mountain wall and disclose to them those whom they pursued. When they had crowded to her side she suddenly lifted her voice in a piercing cry of warning--a signal of death. She knew that above them the sleepless sentries of the starving Oneidas were holding great bowlders poised upon the brink of the precipice.

Her captors had scarcely time to strike her lifeless to the ground before the rocks rushed with terrible force down the side of the mountain, catching and crushing the entrapped warriors like worms under the foot of a mighty giant.

Aliquipiso, brave maiden of the Oneidas, was mourned by her people many suns. The Great Spirit changed her hair into woodbine, which the red men called "running hairs," and sent it over the earth as a protector to old trees. From her body sprang the honeysuckle, which was known to the Indians as "the blood of brave women."

WHY THE ANIMALS DO NOT TALK

IT was long ago, so long that the books of the white men cannot tell the time, that all the animals in the forest could talk with the red men. There was a time when the animals came to the great council-fires and lent to the Indians the knowledge they possessed of the woods and streams. The wise beaver taught the Indian women and children where to snare the pike and salmon, and how to build houses that would keep out the rain and frosts. The bear and the wolf led the braves out on the plains and through the forests and imparted to them their skill in following the trail. The dog, by patient example, gave to the red men the tact and power to watch for many suns without weariness. From the raccoon the red men learned to mount the trunks of the largest trees. The horse consorted with the Indians on the plains and showed them the secret of swift running. The panther taught them how to conceal themselves in the thicket, on the branches of an overhanging tree or behind the ledge of rocks, and to rush forth upon their enemies like the sudden burst of the whirlwind.

Thus from every beast of the forest the red men took lessons in the craft of the woods and plains, and when they had finished all the other lessons, the fox led them far away into the forest and taught them the cunning necessary to make use of each. In this way they lived while the summer and the winter came many times, and they were happy.

But there came a time when the animals saw that the red man was their master. He had the wisdom of the beaver, the keen scent of the bear and the wolf, the patience and fidelity of the dog, the agility of the raccoon, the speed and endurance of the horse, the spring of the panther and the cunning of the fox.

Often the beaver would be surprised to find that the Indian boys and women had not been content with fishing in the places he had pointed out to them, but had wandered away to streams which he had hoped to keep for himself. Furthermore, they were looking with envious eyes upon his warm coat of fur, and he feared that they might want it for a covering. Their houses were built with even more skill than his own, and as they had learned to fashion boats out of the trees he had felled for them and had made for their use paddles shaped like his tail, they could dart across the lake or along the river faster than he could ever hope to. And the beaver was saddened because he had taught the Indians wisdom.

The bear and the wolf, wandering in the woods, often saw the Indians following the trail far into the forest. At the same time the Indians so cunningly disguised their own trail that the wolf howled with anger when he tried to follow the red men, and the bear grew surly and retired to his den in the rocks. With the keen scent the bear had trained, the Indians sought out the trees where the bees stored their honey, and thus he was robbed of much of the food he loved best. The wolf heard a young brave promise a maiden that if she would live in his wigwam she should rest on a couch made of wolf skins and be covered with the warm fur of the bear. So the wolf and the bear took their little ones into dark caves and kept away from the homes of the red men.

The dog, too, found that he no longer held first honors for faithfulness at the watch. But he was not angered at the knowledge that his brother could rival him, but lay with him many nights on guard in the wilderness, vying with him in vigilance. When their long vigils were ended the dog and the Indian would play together and make merry with each other over the result of their friendly contest.

The panther was jealous and raged through the forests with fury. Sometimes, to his surprise and wrath, when he had taken every precaution to conceal himself from his brother, the red man, the branches of the young trees would part as silently as if swayed by the breath of summer, and between them would appear his red brother, laughing at him for hiding himself so ill.

When the raccoon reached the highest point to which he dared climb, the Indian boys would follow him with shouts of laughter, and go still further toward the ends of the swaying and bending branches, hanging from them in such a dangerous and reckless manner that it made the old raccoon's head turn dizzy, and he went away to the hills by himself.

The Indians learned their lessons so thoroughly of the horse and practiced them with so much patience that finally that animal found he could no longer play when they had races on the plains. But he enjoyed the contests with his red brothers, and when they returned to the village he would follow and the Indian maidens would mount his back and ride proudly to the council-fire.

The fox was greatly chagrined to find that his cunning and tricks were matched on the part of his red brothers with others equally shrewd. No matter how carefully he concealed his trail--though he walked in the beds of the streams or circled the mountains till he had almost lost his own pathway--the Indians would track him through all his windings. When he tried to lead them astray by subtle tales they laughed at his deceptions and put him to shame before his friends and neighbors.

So it came to pass that the Indians possessed the knowledge of all the animals. They could follow the trail with the scent of the bear or the wolf; build more wisely than the beaver; climb more daringly than the raccoon; watch more faithfully than the dog; crouch more closely and spring more surely than the panther; race the plains as swiftly as the horse, and outwit the cunning of the fox.

Then the animals held a council, but the fire was not lighted in its accustomed place and the red men were in heavy slumbers while their brothers of the forest talked.

The jealous wolf opened the discussion and declared that when he had carefully looked on all sides of the existing state of affairs he saw but one course for the animals to pursue. They ought to rush in upon the villages and kill all the Indians and their women and papooses.

The bear was more noble, and said that he thought this proposition was unfair. He declared, however, that the animals could not stand still any longer and look without fear upon the dangers which confronted them. It was their duty to challenge the Indians to an open war.