Chapter II: Part 2

"You must endure hunger and thirst, cold and heat, danger and pain, if you would become a great warrior," said his father. "And you must find your way alone through the forest for miles and miles, listening every moment for the footsteps of an enemy or the approach of a wild beast."

A fire had been made in front of the lodge. The ducks were buried, feathers and all, in the hot ashes. White Cloud brought wild berries and water from the spring. As soon as the birds were roasted the feathers and skins were pulled off and the hungry boy enjoyed his meal.

But White Cloud watched her chance to carry part of her own food to the duck. How she hated to leave him when the dark came on! But she fastened the shelter securely, hoping that no lurking fox or weasel would force his way inside.

The next morning White Cloud was up before her brother. She hid in the tiny lodge, to protect her pet until Swift Elk had left for the day.

The duck soon became so tame that it followed her wherever she went. The difficulty in taming the wild creature, and the constant danger of losing it, led the child to be as kind and patient with her pet as an Indian mother is with her papoose.

One day Good Bird was roasting deer meat. She had made a hot fire in front of the lodge. Sticks sharpened at both ends were driven in the ground close to the bed of coals. The sticks were bent toward the fire, and each one held a large piece of raw meat.

When the meat was tender, Good Bird called her little daughter. "My father is old," she said. "He can no longer hunt. Take some of this roast meat to him."

White Cloud took the dish and went to her grandfather's lodge, the duck waddling behind her. After the old man had eaten, White Cloud said, "Grandfather, do you know any stories about ducks?"

"Point to the north, my grandchild, and tell me who live in the land of ice and snow."

"North Wind and Old Winter," answered the child.

"And what do they do, little one?"

"They send the game far from my father's arrows. They freeze our food and try to starve us. North Wind gives the war whoop as he flies in the forest.

"Then Old Winter comes like the Indians on the war trail. We cannot see him, and we cannot hear him. He does not break a twig, and his footsteps make no sound. He crowds into our lodge, and tries to steal our fire and freeze us. I wish he would never come again!"

"We must be brave, my grandchild. We must make ready with food and firewood to fight his power. I will tell you of a brave little duck that even North Wind could not conquer."

A BRAVE DUCK

Far to the north lived Wild Duck. His lodge was by the frozen lake. Winter was beginning, and he had but four logs of wood for his fire.

"Four logs will do," he said. "Each log will burn for many sleeps, and then spring will be on the way."

Wild Duck was as brave as a warrior. On the coldest days he went to the lake to fish. He found the rushes that grew high above the water. With his strong bill he pulled up the frozen plant stems. Then he dived through the holes he had made in the ice and caught the fish swimming beneath.

In this way he found plenty of food. Every day he went home to his lodge dragging strings of fish. North Wind blew his fiercest blasts, but no wind was cold enough to keep Wild Duck in his wigwam.

"This is a strange duck!" said North Wind. "He seems as happy as if it were the moon of strawberries. He is hard to conquer, but I will freeze him."

So the wind blew colder and colder, and great drifts of snow were piled up about the wigwam. But still the fire burned brightly. The duck went daily to the lake, and daily he brought home fish.

"Soon I will visit him," said North Wind. "Then he shall feel my power."

That very night North Wind went to the door of the wigwam. He lifted the curtain and looked in.

Wild Duck had cooked his fish and was lying before the bright fire. He was singing a song to his enemy.

"You may blow as hard as you can, North Wind," he sang. "I dare you to freeze me. You may pile the snow to the top of my lodge. I shall climb the drifts and go fishing just the same."

"How dare a little duck sing like this about me?" blustered North Wind. "I will enter. I will blow my cold breath upon him, and he will freeze."

North Wind pushed his way through the door and sat down on the opposite side of the lodge. Cold blasts filled the hut.

Was Wild Duck afraid? He got up and poked the fire, singing his song louder and louder. Not once did he look at his guest.

"Does he not know that I am here?" thought North Wind.

The little duck stirred the great log until it crackled and snapped.

"I cannot stand this heat," said North Wind to himself. "I am melting. I must go out." The water was dripping from his hair, and tears ran down his cheeks. He crept out of the wigwam and left Wild Duck to his songs.

"What a wonderful duck!" he said. "I cannot freeze him, I cannot even stop his singing. The spirit of the fire is helping him, and I will let him alone."

And to this day you can see the wild duck fishing where the rushes grow. He is warm in his coat of thick feathers, and North Wind can never freeze the brave little duck.

SUMMER SPORTS

Swift Elk and his companions were cutting great chunks of clay from the bank near the stream. Soon a crowd of boys, each armed with a large piece of clay and a long green switch, ran shouting to the near-by forest.

Here they divided into two bands for a sham battle, and all hid behind trees. Balls of clay were pressed on the ends of the slender sticks and thrown, as you would throw green apples.

Swift Elk ran out from behind the tree where he had been hiding. Quickly he threw mud balls at every boy that he saw peeping at him.

Other boys rushed from their sheltering tree trunks to dare the opposing forces. A shower of mud balls filled the air. There were shouts and war whoops, advances and retreats.

Dogs, barking and jumping, rushed into battle with their masters.

When the clay was all used, the boys ran to the bank for more. For half a day the fight went on, many prisoners being taken on both sides.

Here and there were young braves who had been hit in the face and badly hurt. One was suffering great pain with a swollen eye.

Do you think he left the game and ran home? Do you think he cried or told tales? A boy would rather stand pain than be laughed at by his companions. "Tears are for girls and women," they had all heard their fathers say. "A warrior must not notice pain."

At last, heated and mud-stained, they ran to the lake and jumped in. You would have thought they all needed a bath, could you have seen them.

Splashing and swimming, diving and yelling, they continued their battle by wrestling in the water. The day wore on. One by one, tired with action, they left the lake. Some lay on the grass, and others made images of animals with soft clay.

Two or three boys, very hungry, shot some birds, made a fire, and roasted their game. It mattered not to them that their food was far from clean.

Before they went home at night, Swift Elk's band dared the other side to a ball game, to be played the next morning.

"Let us ask Black Wolf to watch our game," said Swift Elk. All agreed. The old warrior could not go on the long hunt or the warpath, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to help the boys and young men in their games of strength or skill.

THE BALL GAME

Early in the morning the boys met on the level piece of ground that had been selected for the game. At each end of the field two upright poles, a little distance apart, were erected for goal sticks.

In the great ball games played by the men, each side is allowed but one goal stick, which must be hit by the ball. As this is very difficult, Black Wolf helped the boys set up two very long sticks, between which the winner's ball was to be thrown.

Each player always carries a ball stick bent at one end into a small hoop or ring. Strips of rawhide are passed through holes in the hoop, making a netted pocket in which the ball may rest half hidden.

The one simple rule that each player follows at all times is: "Keep the ball away from your own goal." Only by sending the ball off the field between the two goal sticks of the opposite side can victory be won.

Swift Elk and Antelope were chosen captains because they were good runners. All the best players stood in the middle of the field. The younger boys were grouped about the goal sticks with orders to send the ball back into the field.

At a signal from Black Wolf, Antelope tossed the ball into the air. It was caught by a player on his own side, who started to run in the opposite direction from his own goal sticks.

The ball was knocked out of his hand and thrown the other way. Back and forth it went until Antelope caught it in his ball stick. He started at full speed toward the goal on Swift Elk's side.

In a moment he was caught and the ball again turned. Running, screaming, throwing, pushing, striking each other's arms with ball sticks, the boys rushed together.

At last Antelope's side gained the advantage. Nearer and nearer the ball came to Swift Elk's goal sticks. One strong throw, and the game would be won. Antelope's players danced and yelled with joy.

Suddenly a younger boy, one of the poor players who was made to stand on guard, caught the ball and sent it whizzing toward Swift Elk.

The other side, sure of success, was taken by surprise. Before Antelope could turn, Swift Elk had the start and was speeding toward the opposite goal.

"Never was there a finer race," Black Wolf thought. All the boys had crowded together at one end of the line to see the victory, leaving an open field for the two fleetest runners.

You would have liked to see the two Indian lads with painted bodies running like the wind. They were followed by a crowd of boys shouting, howling, rushing, pushing, and trying in vain to overtake them.

But not even Antelope could regain the advantage he lost in starting. Swift Elk swung his stick and sent the ball spinning between the two poles of the goal. He had won the game for his side.

After the victors had shouted themselves hoarse, they lay down on the ground near Black Wolf and asked for a story.

"I will tell you," said the old man, "of the most wonderful ball game the world ever saw. It happened long ago when the animals ruled the land and there were no people on the earth."

THE ANIMALS AND THE BIRDS PLAY BALL

Once the animals dared the birds to play a game of ball with them. The birds chose the eagle for their captain, and the animals chose the bear.

They all talked at the same time, trying to make their plans. When should they play? Where should they play? "Leave that to the eagle and the bear," said the deer. And all agreed.

At the appointed time the animals met on a smooth, grassy plain and the birds in a tree top near by.

Captain Bear was so large and heavy that he could pull down anyone who came in his way. All along the trail to the ball ground he tossed up great logs to show his strength; and he bragged of what he would do to the birds when the game began.

The turtle, at that time, was very much larger than he is now. His shell was so hard that the heaviest blows could not hurt him.

He, too, was a great brag. Again and again he rose on his hind feet and dropped heavily to the ground. "Look at me," he said. "See how I will crush any bird that tries to take the ball from me." The swift deer, the mountain goat, and the rabbit were at their best speed. Indeed, the animals had a fine team.

The eagle gathered his forces together. There was the hawk, strong and swift, and the wild geese that can fly without resting. The black martin was there and the crow, with a host of other birds. The blue jay was chosen to scream in the ears of the animal players, and the humming bird to fly in their eyes.

The birds looked at the great animals on the field below, and were afraid. Just then two little things hardly larger than field mice climbed the tree where sat the bird captain.

They begged to join the game.

"You have four feet; why do you not go to the animals, where you belong?" asked the eagle.

"We did," said the little things, "but they drove us off because we are so small."

"Let them play, let them play," called out the birds in pity.

But how could they join the birds when they had no wings? The eagle and the hawk consulted, and it was decided to make wings for the little fellows. What could they find for wings?

At last someone remembered the drum they used in their dances. The head was made of ground-hog skin. So they took the drumhead, cut two wings, and made the bat.

Then they threw the ball to him. The bat dodged and circled about, keeping the ball always in the air; and the birds soon saw that he would be one of their best men.

The other little animal came for wings, but there was no more leather. What could be done? Two birds thought they might enable him to fly by stretching his skin. Thus was the flying squirrel made.

To try him, the bird captain threw up the ball. The flying squirrel sprang off the limb after it, caught it in his teeth, and carried it to another tree below.

All were now ready. The signal was given and the game began. At the first toss the flying squirrel caught the ball and carried it up a tree. He threw it to the birds, who kept it in the air for some time, until it dropped.

The bear rushed to get it, but the martin darted after it and threw it to the bat. By dodging and doubling, the bat kept it out of the way of the swift deer. And now the game was close. The great deer could not turn as quickly as the bat, and so he lost the game. The little bat threw the ball between the posts and won the victory for the birds.

And the bear and the turtle, who had done the most bragging, did not have a chance even to touch the ball.

For saving the ball when it dropped, the martin was given a gourd to build his nest in. And he still has it, for you can often see a gourd on a post near the Indian lodges.

GATHERING WILD RICE

"Have you seen the beautiful new canoe father has just finished?" asked White Cloud.

"Seen it! I helped make it," answered Swift Elk. "I cut nearly all the birch bark."

"Your father has it ready for the wild-rice harvest," said Good Bird. "To-day I go to tie the stalks. You are to help me, White Cloud."

Nothing could have pleased the little girl better. All summer she had hoped for this great pleasure. From a low hill near her home she had watched the growth of the rice.

When the June berries were ripe, the first shoots came up near the shore of the lake. In a few weeks the rice beds looked like beautiful green islands in the water.

And when the yellow-green blossoms opened, she coaxed her father to take her in his canoe to the rice plants. She picked the flowers, shaded with reddish purple, and she saw the spreading mass of blossoms, their straw-colored anthers moving with every breeze.

Swift Elk was very proud of the new canoe. He had made the paddles, and had cut the forked sticks that would be needed to force the boat through the shallow water.

"When the rice is ripe, I'll go with you and manage the boat," he said to his mother. "When you come home to-night, White Cloud, bring some green rice to parch for supper."

"I'll have some all ready for you," promised his sister. "You shoot a deer to-day, and to-night we'll have a feast. We'll ask grandfather, and perhaps he'll tell us a story."

Soon Good Bird was paddling rapidly toward the rice beds. It was a beautiful morning, and White Cloud was as happy as any little girl could ever be.

For many weeks she had helped her mother prepare the string for tying the rice stalks. It was cut from the inner bark of the basswood tree. The narrow bands were wound in a ball so large that the child could hardly reach around it.

"Why do you tie the wild rice stalks, Mother?" she asked.

"So that our little brothers, the birds, can not eat all our grain," answered Good Bird. "All the bunches we have tied are our own, and will be more easily harvested. No friendly Indian ever touches the heads of rice bound together by another."

With a curved stick Good Bird pulled a mass of stalks within her reach and bound the heads firmly together with the narrow strips of bark. For hours she worked, forcing her way through the thick mass of water plants and tying the stalks on both sides of the canoe.

"May I come here again with you when the wild rice is ripe?" asked White Cloud.

"It will take two strong women to gather the harvest, my child; but the canoe is very long and I think you can help."

"How is it done, Mother?" asked the child.

"Swift Elk will sit at one end of the canoe and paddle. Nokomis will bend the stalks over the boat and untie the long pieces of bark, and I shall beat the heads with a stick. The grain will fall until the boat holds as much as it is safe to carry."

"Are we going to take home any to-day?" asked White Cloud.

"Oh, yes; when the rice is not quite ripe it is just right for parching. As soon as my rows are all tied, you shall help me gather the greenish kernels."

Good Bird worked until she had used all her string. The long rows of heads, neatly tied, looked very fine.

New plants were found, and the stalks beaten with a stick. The rice fell into the canoe, and White Cloud found it was good to eat even without cooking. By sunset the bottom of the canoe was covered with grain, and they started home across the quiet lake.

"May we have maple sugar with our rice to-night, Mother?"

"There is very little left, my daughter. I think we would better save it for winter."

"When are we going to the sugar trees to make more?"

"After the winter is nearly over and the first crow comes to tell us that the sap is flowing. Then we will move to our sugar lodge and stay for a whole moon."

"May I take care of a kettle and boil sugar next time we go to the lodge?" asked White Cloud, "By that time I can count eight winters."

"You may if you will cut birch bark and make your own sap dishes. You will need a great many."

"Why can't we eat the sugar we have, Mother? What is the use of saving it?"

"There may be little food on the cold, snowy days that are coming. We shall need the sugar more then than we do now. Have you forgotten the story of the ant and the katydid?"

"Tell it again. Tell it now before we get home, Mother."

"I think there is time, as it is a short story," said Good Bird. And White Cloud listened to the tale of the lazy katydid and the hard-working ant while the canoe moved slowly across the quiet lake.

THE ANT AND THE KATYDID

The oldest ant was building an underground home. Through the long summer days she worked, carrying out a grain of sand at a time. Then she filled her storehouse with food for the winter.

Her work was finished just as the frost came to mow down the growing plants. All summer the katydid called from the trees, and the locust danced and buzzed in the sunshine.

When winter came, the oldest ant was warm and comfortable and she had enough food for her daily needs.

But the locust and the katydid were cold and hungry. "Why should we freeze?" chirped the katydid. "The ant has a warm house." "And why should we be hungry?" said the locust. "The ant has plenty of food." So together they went to the home of the oldest ant.

"Let us in, let us in, kind ant," they cried. "We are cold and hungry."

"What did you do through the warm weather?" asked the oldest ant.

"We played in the sunshine. We chirped and buzzed and sang."

"Did you build no lodge? Could you not store food for the time of frost and storm?"

"We had no need to work when the summer was here with its warmth and beauty. We danced away the happy hours."

"Go dance away the winter, then," said the oldest ant. "I worked hard through all the long summer days, and I had no time to dance or sing."

The locust and the katydid turned away shivering. "It is not fair," they said, "that the ant has plenty and we have nothing. She should be forced to let us in."

HOW WILD RICE WAS DISCOVERED

When Good Bird and White Cloud reached home, they found great rejoicing. Swift Elk had shot his first deer, and the meat was already roasting by an outdoor fire.

The hunters had found game in abundance that day, and many feasts were already called in the village.

Swift Elk had chosen to invite only his grandparents, and they were already listening to his story of the hunt.

White Cloud made haste to parch the rice, and soon a very hungry family was enjoying the fresh and abundant food.

After the supper the children asked their grandfather to tell them stories about wild rice.

The old man remembered more than one fierce battle for the possession of the rice fields. Many years had passed since the peace pipe was last smoked, and the children had lived without being in constant fear of war.

"My grandchildren," he said, "I will tell you how rice came to be used in the earliest times. There are many stories about Manabush, and you have heard how he wrestled with Mondamin and obtained the gift of corn.

"In his early youth Manabush lived with his grandmother, who taught him his duty to his people.

"One day she said to him: 'My grandson, you are old enough to prove yourself a man. Before you can become a great warrior you must show that you are able to endure many hardships without complaint.

"'Set forth on a long journey alone and without food. Travel through unknown forests, enduring hunger and thirst. Sleep on the cold ground, and pray for a vision that shall be your guide through life.'

"Manabush took his bow and arrows and went out into the forest. He fasted many days until he became weak and faint from hunger.

"In his wanderings he drew near the shore of a lake. Great beds of wild rice filled half its waters, but Manabush did not know that the seeds were good to eat.

"As he walked along within reach of the growing plants, he heard a soft voice say, 'Sometimes they eat us.'

"'Who is speaking?' he asked. All the bushes that grew so thickly in the water seemed full of whispers. He looked about and saw birds of many kinds feeding on the tall grass-like plants.

"So he picked some of the grain and ate it. 'Oh, but you are good! What do they call you?' he asked.

"Again the rustling whispers in the tall grass seemed to say, 'Wild rice. They call us wild rice!'

"Manabush waded out into the water and beat the grain from the heads. So his fast was broken by the new food given in answer to his prayers in the forest.

"And since that time, my children, the wild rice feeds thousands of our people every year. It grows without planting in the lakes and rivers of our forest land.

"Another story tells us that Manabush returned one day from a long hunt without game. The fire in front of his lodge was still burning, and a duck was sitting on the kettle eating boiled rice.

"Manabush tasted the new food and found it good. He followed the bird to a lake not far away where wild rice had grown and ripened. Afterwards boiled rice became a common food among his tribe."

MOVING THE DOLLS' CAMP

White Cloud ran out of her wigwam home. Her work was done, and a happy time of play was before her.

She hurried through the tall grass toward a near-by lodge, calling: "Flying Squirrel, come and play with me."

The skin curtain hanging over the lodge door was raised and a little head appeared. But there was no squirrel to be seen, only an Indian girl with the blackest of hair and eyes.

Her playmates had given her the name of Flying Squirrel because she was always climbing trees and jumping from one branch to another.

"Bring your dolls," said White Cloud. "We'll build lodges for them. Come as soon as you can, for my baby is trying to get away."

"Your baby! What do you mean? Where did you find a baby?"

White Cloud was rejoicing in a family of young puppies--new playthings for her. She had bound one of them to a board, and had tied the board cradle to her back, as a squaw carries a papoose.

"Be still! Be still, bad baby!" she cried to her squirming pet. But the little dog would not be still. He howled louder and louder, and struggled so hard that he broke away from his cords and bands.

"Bad baby! Bad baby!" said White Cloud. "Next time I'll tie you tighter!"

Flying Squirrel brought out an armful of dolls, and the children went to the bushes to cut long straight sticks. They soon found enough poles for their dolls' wigwams. Each child set up her sticks in a circle, bringing them together at the top.

"Now we'll hunt birch bark," said Flying Squirrel. "My father has made me a new knife."

Soon the small lodges were covered with long strips of bark and the floors sprinkled with cedar twigs.

"I wish we had skin covers for our dolls' wigwams," said White Cloud.

Flying Squirrel looked at the even strips of bark that were well placed around her frame of slender poles. "Lots of people have bark covers," she replied. "My father has seen whole villages of bark-covered lodges."

"When the peace pipe was smoked over west, my father was there," said White Cloud. "Now we can get big skins in trade, and sometime we'll have ponies. Have you ever seen a pony, Flying Squirrel?"

"No; but my father saw white men when he went north in the moon of snow to trade furs. He says the tribes west will come and fight us again for our rice beds. Let's play a war is coming and move our camp. Where are your dolls, White Cloud?"

"I couldn't bring them, for I had my puppy baby. You have dolls enough for both of us."

Flying Squirrel gave her playmate two of the queerest-looking dolls you ever saw. They were rolls of deerskin with faces painted in black on the ends.

The children tied the smaller dolls in board cradles, hung them to the lodge poles, and sang lullabies.

Good Bird had packed a basket of food for her little daughter. Dried meat, berries, parched rice, and corn made a fine feast. All were invited, even the puppy, and the largest dolls were honored guests.

"I wish I had my new beaded bag to show you," said White Cloud. "I shall put my doll's best clothes in it and hang it over her bed. Are you learning to sew, Flying Squirrel?"

"I don't like to sew. I would rather climb trees. It's time to move now. Let's get ready. We will go to the stream that flows into the lake." And Flying Squirrel began to whistle for her dogs.

"My big dog is home with the rest of her puppies. May I have one of yours?" asked White Cloud. "Last moon my father visited a friendly camp. There were thirty lodges and more dogs than he could count. I wish he had brought me another big one."

White Cloud did not say "thirty," for she knew no word for so large a number. She raised her ten fingers three times, just as she had seen her father do.

Flying Squirrel called her dogs, and they came running to her. She had begun to train them to draw loads, and they stood quite still while the girls harnessed them for moving. The bark covers of the two lodges were taken off and carefully rolled. Then the lodge poles were corded in two long straight bundles. Flying Squirrel crossed the small ends and fastened them above the dog's back. The large ends dragged on the ground.

Back of the dog the sticks were held in place by two cross pieces of wood carefully tied a little way apart. Between the cross pieces was a strong netting that hung down like a shallow bag. The dolls and rolls of bark were laid in one of the nets. What should the other dog carry?

"I know," exclaimed White Cloud. "My puppy shall have a ride." He was caught and firmly tied. The net was a comfortable bed, and he made no objection.

Soon the camp was packed, and the children started. The dogs trotted along quietly, and everything went well for a time. As they came near the little stream where they wished to set their camp, a rabbit ran across the trail. Away went the dogs.

The rabbit leaped over the narrow stream. One of the dogs plunged after him, and out went the dolls and bark into the water.

The other dog shook himself free from his harness. The lodge poles he was dragging turned upside down, holding the howling puppy in the mud.

"Oh, my puppy will drown!" cried White Cloud as she dashed down the muddy banks in rescue.

"My dolls! My best dolls are spoiled!" mourned Flying Squirrel.

Soon the dogs were called back, everything found, the dolls bathed and laid out to dry. Then the lodges were set up, and the children rested in the sun.

As they looked about, White Cloud saw a feather lying on the grass. It was painted, as if it had fallen from a warrior's bonnet.

"You had better take that feather to your father now," said Flying Squirrel. "Perhaps there is going to be a war, and a spy has passed this way. I am afraid. I shall pack all my things and go home with my dogs.

"Here, put this leaf around it and run to your mother. She will know what to do."

Away ran White Cloud, holding a sprawling puppy in her arms and trying to protect the feather, which she had concealed in a large leaf.

FINDING A WAR FEATHER

"Look, Mother; look at the big feather I have found. It is not like the ones in my father's war bonnet."

Good Bird took the feather and examined it carefully.

"Where did you find it, White Cloud?" she asked.

"Near the little stream that runs into the lake. Flying Squirrel and I have moved our dolls' lodges this morning."

"You must take the feather to your father at once. It may be that some enemy is planning war and getting ready to surprise our camp.

"Then you must move your dolls and their lodge near by where I can see you play. You may be in danger.

"Your father is spearing fish in the lake. Now run to him. Let no one see the feather, and do not turn aside to talk to any one like the little hare that did not mind its mother."

"When will you tell me the story of the hare?" asked White Cloud.

"Do not talk about stories now. Run along. You must not wait a minute. I will watch you all the way. Your father, I think, will come back with you."

White Cloud soon found her father. He left his fishing and returned with his little daughter.

A council of the tribe was called, for the strange feather had been dropped by no friendly Indian.

Then the medicine drum was beaten to call the people together. They were told of the danger, and there was a great stir in the village. Everything was made ready for sudden moving in case of attack. All the trained dogs were called and tied in the wigwams of their owners.

A guard of young Indians was placed on watch for the night. Fleet Deer came late to his lodge, and after eating he joined the warriors.

As nothing more could be done, Good Bird comforted her frightened little daughter by stories. Swift Elk pretended to be very brave. He did not run out of the wigwam as usual, but lay on the ground and listened to his mother.

"Now, my daughter," she said, "I'll tell you the story you asked for this morning."

THE LYNX AND THE HARE

Once a little hare asked her mother if she might play on the big rock near the lodge.

"Yes, little one, but you must not leave the rock. And be sure that you do not speak to any stranger who passes by," replied her mother.

Now the rock was low near the lodge, but very high on the other side, where it overlooked a stream.

A hungry lynx saw the little hare jumping on the high rock. "I must have that hare for my dinner," he said. So he spoke in a kind voice. "Wabose, Wabose. Come here, my little white one."

The hare went to the edge of the rock and looked down.

"Come here, pretty Wabose. I want to talk with you," said the lynx in a coaxing voice.

"Oh, no," said the hare. "I am afraid of you. My mother told me not to talk to strangers."

"You are very pretty, and you are a good, obedient child. But I am not a stranger. I am a relative of yours. Go down the rock and come to the stream where I can see you better. I want to send some word to your lodge. Come down and see me, you pretty little hare."

The hare was pleased to be praised and called pretty. When she heard that the lynx was a relative, she forgot to obey her mother.

She jumped down from the rock where she stood and trotted to the stream. There the lynx pounced upon her and tore her to pieces.

"Don't you know any war stories?" asked Swift Elk.

"Yes; I heard one in the moon of snow that you will like," answered his mother.

HOW THE ANIMALS SAVED THE TRIBE

Once there was an Indian village in great danger. The trail of the enemy had been found on every side of the camp.

The women were making ready for flight. They had harnessed their dogs to the dragging poles. The rawhide netting between the braces that held the poles in place was packed with household goods.

An attack was expected in the early morning. Guards were stationed to call the men to battle, and to tell the women which way to flee with their children.

The warriors all were ready. Their chief went out alone under the stars, and prayed that he might be able to save his people from death.

Suddenly a deer with branching horns stood before him. "I have come to tell you that your prayers are heard," he said.

"We, the animals, invite you to our council. We shall give you the power to save your tribe."

They traveled on together until they came to a cave under a rocky bluff near the river. Here the warrior chief was welcomed and given the seat of honor.

Every animal of field and forest, and every bird of the air, had gathered in the immense cavern. There was silence for a moment. Then a great eagle flapped his wings. He stood on a jutting rock in sight of all.

"Your acts of kindness, oh, warrior, are known to us," said the eagle. "You have hunted only for food, as the animals hunt. Your arrows have not been shot to take life without a reason. No bird nor beast has been left by you to suffer and die.

"Therefore, I, the eagle, king of birds, give you of my courage. You shall fear no warlike band, however many. Alone you shall conquer the enemy."

"And I," said the bear, "give you of my gift of healing. You shall be able to cure yourself, and also your fellow warriors, of any wounds you may receive in battle."

"My fleetness is yours," said the deer. "You shall outstrip all others and run like the wind."

The wolf stretched himself and walked noiselessly into the circle. "When you creep into the enemy's camp," he said, "no eye shall be able to see you. Thus may you rout your enemies, and no one shall know who is striking the blows."

"I am small," said the field mouse; "I leave no tracks on the grass, and send no sound into the air. I give you my power, that none may follow your trail nor hear your footfall."

"No one can give a better gift than I," said the owl. "You shall see in the dark as I do. The night shall be to you like the day."

"You have fed me," said the dog. "You have taken me into your lodge and let me lie by the warm fire. I give you in return my power of smell that you may follow the trail of your enemy."

Suddenly there was no cave in sight, no animals in council. Where he had been praying under the open sky, the warrior chief stood alone. Was it all a dream?

From the grass came a faint strange smell. He followed it fast as the fleetest deer. In what seemed but a moment he was in sight of the sleeping foe.

He entered their camp as silently as the field mouse. Like the eagle he had no fear. He struck out with his weapons. In great surprise the painted Indians awoke and jumped to their feet.

Wounded men fell under blows that could not be seen nor heard. Their chief lay still upon the ground.

"There is magic here," they cried. "We cannot fight against magic." And they aroused their band and fled, leaving everything behind them.

Then the victor sped with the fleetness of the deer to his own tribe. The men, waiting for the battle signal, followed him to the deserted camp. They returned laden with weapons, the finest of bows and arrows, spears, war bonnets, stores of food, and other spoils of war.

Joy spread among the people. In the village of wigwams feasting took the place of fear.

"I wish I had been that warrior," said Swift Elk.

"You may have a chance to be just as brave to-morrow," answered his mother. "I depend on you to take your father's place here if he goes into battle."

The children could keep awake no longer, but Good Bird did not close her eyes. The dawn came on, the sun rose, and there was no attack.

For many days and nights the young braves took their turn in watching. There were no further signs of an enemy, and no one ever found out how the strange feather came to be dropped near the camp.

WINTER EVENINGS

The wind roared in the trees, and the snow was falling. But Fleet Deer's lodge was warm and comfortable. Good Bird, his wife, knew how to make a lodge, and how to keep it from being smoky.

She had sewed heavy skins together for the outside cover of the wigwam. Inside, the lower walls were of tanned doeskin, nearly white. The cold air passing between the lining and the cover ventilated the room and carried the smoke out of the smoke hole.

In the middle of the circular floor was a stone-lined fire pit, now filled with glowing coals that gave light to the room.

Warm skins with the fur uppermost covered the three long platforms that were used for seats in the daytime and for beds at night.

Good Bird took great pride in her home. She kept the floor swept with a cedar broom and everything in its place.

When not busy in preparing food, she made clothing and moccasins. She stained porcupine quills for trimmings, and made necklaces of shells. The teeth of wild animals were used for ornaments.

On this cold winter evening Good Bird was dressed in a handsome garment trimmed with fringe and colored quills. Her moccasins and leggings were also ornamented.

She had braided her hair neatly, and drawn a line of fresh red paint along the parting. Her forehead and cheeks were also touched with red.

"Are you going to a dance, Mother?" asked White Cloud.

Good Bird said nothing, but smiled as she thought of the guest who was expected and the pleasant surprise in store for her children.

The evening meal was over. Nokomis had opened her stores of maple sugar and corn in honor of Swift Elk, who had won the game of tops that day.

Whipping his winter top over level snow and high drifts alike, he had outdistanced his companions by fifty paces.

White Cloud sat by the fire drying her moccasins. She had been out sliding with her playmates until the sun left the sky. You would have thought their sleds very funny, for they were made of the curved rib bones of a large deer.

Swift Elk was studying the strange signs and markings on the lining of the wigwam. He was never tired of hearing the pictures explained, for they showed in order the chief events in his father's life.

Here was the grizzly bear that Fleet Deer had killed single-handed. For this deed of bravery he was entitled to wear an eagle's feather.

Here was the deer that was killed in time of famine, after a long and dangerous hunt.

Other pictures showed Indians in the war dance, on the war trail, surprising the foe, returning with the honors of battle, holding a council, and smoking the peace pipe.

Fleet Deer was master of the Indian art of picture writing, and he had, that very day, added new paintings to the record. His children had never heard of any other way to read or write, and they had never seen a book.

The flap of skin covering the lodge entrance was raised and a man entered.

"The story-teller! The story-teller!" shouted the children with delight. He was given the seat of honor and the best food that Good Bird could provide.

When the guest was warm and his meal over, favorite stories were asked for.

"We ought to hear again of the great gift of corn to our people," said Good Bird.

"New stories, I want new stories. Will you tell us some new stories?" asked White Cloud.

"War stories, I want, and stories of boys," said Swift Elk.

Then Fleet Deer, the father, spoke: "I wish my son to know the tale of the White Canoe and how a great warrior honored his parents."

Nokomis had no request. She was a fine story-teller herself and interested in hearing everything that might be related.

Then, to the joy of his hearers, the story-teller began.

First he delighted the children by telling of the ground hog that saved his own life by teaching a new dance.

The next tale was about the first animals and how they came to live in the forests and on the plains.

After the story-teller had explained how sickness came into the world, Fleet Deer wanted to be a medicine man and find all the plants that cure disease.

And so they all listened to one tale after another until the midnight stars shone overhead and the embers grew white where the burning logs had sparkled.

Now you may read for yourselves the stories that were told in an Indian lodge on a winter evening.

THE GROUND-HOG DANCE

Seven wolves once caught a ground hog. "Now we'll kill you and have something good to eat," they said.

But the ground hog replied: "When we find good food we must rejoice over it, as people do in the green-corn dance. I know you mean to kill me, and I can't help myself, but if you want to dance I'll sing for you.

"I will teach you a new dance. I'll lean up against seven trees in turn, and you will dance away, then come back toward me. At the last turn you may kill me."

The wolves were very hungry, but they wanted to learn the new dance. So they told the ground hog to go ahead. The ground hog leaned up against the first tree and began the song.

All the wolves danced away from the trees. When the signal was given they danced back in line.

"That's fine!" said the ground hog, as he went to the second tree and began the second song. The wolves danced away, then turned at the signal and danced back again.

"That's very fine," said the ground hog; and he went to another tree and started the third song.

The wolves danced their best, and were praised by the ground hog. At each song he took another tree, and each tree was a little nearer to his hole under a stump.

At the seventh song he said, "Now this is the last dance. When I give the signal you will all turn and come after me. The one who catches me may have me."

So the ground hog began the last song, and kept it up until the wolves were many steps away. Just as the signal was given he made a jump for his hole.

The wolves turned and were after him. But the ground hog reached his hole and dived in. He was scarcely inside when the foremost wolf caught him by the tail and pulled so hard that it broke off.

And the ground hog's tail has been short ever since.

THE LUCKY HUNTER

Soon after the world was made, a hunter lived with his wife and only son near a high mountain. No matter when the man went into the woods he was sure to come back with plenty of meat. And so he went by the name of the Lucky Hunter.

The little boy used to play every day by a river not far from the house. One morning the old people thought they heard laughing and talking in the bushes as if two children were playing together.

When the boy came home at night he was asked who had been with him all day.

"A wild boy comes out of the water," answered the son. "He says he is my elder brother."

The father and mother wished very much to see their son's companion, but the wild boy always ran into the river when he heard them coming.

"This must not go on," said the father.

That night the Lucky Hunter said to his son: "To-morrow when the wild boy comes to play, ask him to wrestle with you. When you have your arms around him, you must hold him and call us."

In this way the wild boy was caught and kept in the house until he was tamed. He was full of mischief, and he led the smaller boy into all kinds of trouble.

One day the wild boy said to his brother: "I wonder where our father gets all his game. Let's follow him and find out."

A few days afterward the Lucky Hunter took a bow and some feathers in his hand and went toward a swamp. After waiting a short time, the boys followed.

The old man cut reeds, fitted the feathers to them, and made arrows.

"What are those things for, I wonder?" said the wild boy.

When the Lucky Hunter had finished his arrows, he went on over the low hills and up the mountain.

Keeping out of sight, the boys watched him. When he was halfway to the top he stopped and lifted a large rock in the side of the mountain.

At once a deer ran out. The Lucky Hunter killed it with his first arrow. Then he carefully replaced the heavy stone and pulled a strong vine over it to conceal the cracks.

"Oho," said the boys. "He keeps the deer shut up inside of the mountain. When he wants meat he lets one out and kills it with the arrows he made in the swamp."

They hurried to reach home before their father, who had the heavy deer to carry.

A few days later the boys went to the swamp, made arrows, and started up the mountain. When they came to the hole, they lifted the rock and a deer came running out.

Before they could shoot him another came, and another. The boys could not stop them, and they could not shoot them.

Other animals made a rush for the entrance. There were elk, antelope, raccoons, wolves, foxes, panthers, and many others. They scattered in all directions and disappeared in the wilderness.

Then a great flock of birds came flying out of the hole. There were turkeys, geese, ducks, quail, eagles, robins, hawks, and owls.

They darkened the air like a cloud and made such a noise with their wings that the Lucky Hunter heard them.

"My bad boys have got into trouble," he cried. "I must go and see what they are doing."

So he went up the mountain and found the two boys standing by the opening. Not an animal nor a bird was to be seen.

Their father was very angry. Without a word he went into the cave and kicked off the covers of four jars. Out swarmed wasps, hornets, gnats, flies, mosquitoes, and all manner of stinging and biting insects and bugs.

The boys screamed with pain. They rolled over and over on the ground, trying to brush off their tormentors.

Their father looked on until he thought they had been punished enough. Then he spoke.

"See what you have done, you rascals. Always before you have had enough to eat without working for it. Whenever you were hungry, all I had to do was to come up here and take home anything your mother wanted to cook.

"After this when you want a deer to eat, you will have to hunt all over the woods for it, and then may not find one.

"Now you may go and take care of yourselves."

HOW SICKNESS CAME

In the old days when the beasts, birds, fishes, insects, and plants could talk, they lived in peace and friendship with the children of men.

But, as time went on, the people increased in number, and they crowded the animals out of their homes.

This was bad enough, but, to make it worse, man invented bows and arrows, spears, knives, and hooks, and began to kill the animals.

They were killed for clothing, and they were killed for food, and still they were patient. But when man began to kill them for sport, they determined to unite for common safety.

The bears first met in council with their chief. After each in turn had complained of the cruel treatment of man, they all declared war against him.

Some of the bears proposed to make weapons and use them. But the chief said: "It is better to trust to the teeth and claws which Nature has given us."