[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "It was not safe for a warrior to so much as show his
nose outside of his hiding-place" (_See page_ 45)]
[Illustration: Title page]
_Flying Plover_
HIS STORIES, TOLD HIM BY SQUAT-BY-THE-FIRE
BY
G. E. THEODORE ROBERTS
_Author of
"The Red Feathers," "Hemming, the Adventurer," "Captain Love," etc._
ILLUSTRATED & DECORATED BY
CHARLES LIVINGSTON BULL
_L. C. Page & Company_
BOSTON * MDCCCCIX
_Copyright_, 1909,
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First impression, June, 1909
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
CONTENTS
I. The Mountaineer People
II. The Bear, The Moose, and the Walrus
III. Adventures of King Bear Continued
IV. How Fire came to the Mountaineers
V. How Porcupine Killer learned still more about the Wonderful Fire
VI. Why Old King Walrus went away from the Mountaineers' Country
VII. Another Story of Gluskap and his People
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"It was not safe for a warrior to so much as show his nose outside of
his hiding-place" (See page 45) .... Frontispiece
"He left his hiding-place and chased the bear"
"'Here come a few of them now,' said the crow"
"He waved the long stick around his head"
"Away they ran, howling and roaring"
"Suddenly the great bear appeared, galloping heavily"
FLYING PLOVER
I
THE MOUNTAINEER PEOPLE
Both of Flying Plover's parents had died when he was a little baby,
and ever since--for six long years--he had lived with his
grandmother. The old woman's name was Squat-by-the-fire. She was
the wisest person in the tribe, in spite of the fact that an old man
who lived in another village said that he knew twice as much as
anybody else in the whole world. She was deep in medicine and
history and story-telling. She could paint fine pictures on bark and
cured skins, and was skilful in the carving of wonderful little
figures in wood and bone and walrus ivory. She knew so much, and
looked so wise, and had such bright eyes, that many of the tribesmen
believed that she was a magician.
The tribe that Flying Plover and his grandmother belonged to lived
far north, in that bleak and unexplored country called Labrador.
They spent the summer months near the coast, where they fished in the
great bays for cod and seals, and in the rivers for salmon and trout.
They traded with the few white settlers and missionaries, and with
the Eskimo people. At the approach of winter they traveled inland,
with the great herds of caribou, into the sheltered valleys of the
mountains. As the winter is a much longer season than the summer, in
that country, these people spent the greater part of every year in
the mountain forests--and so they are called the Mountaineer Indians,
or the Mountaineers. But this book is not about the tribe, but is
full of the stories that old Squat-by-the-fire told to little Flying
Plover, in the long winter evenings.
_You_ can not sit by the old woman's fire, and smell the herbs she
was always steeping, and play with the little figures which she
carved so cleverly, as Flying Plover could; yet I hope you will like
her stories, for all that.
II
THE BEAR, THE MOOSE, AND THE WALRUS
The other children of the village were afraid of Flying Plover's
grandmother, because of her bent back, and wrinkled face, and bright
dark eyes. Though she had never so much as said a harsh word to any
one of them, and though her medicines had saved the lives of many of
them, yet they would never follow Flying Plover into the big lodge
where she sat all day by the fire, steeping her fragrant herbs and
thinking of all manner of wonderful things. They said that she could
turn a little boy, or a little girl, into any kind of animal or bird
in the world, without any more trouble than snapping her fingers.
That was nonsense; but some of the men and women believed it, too.
Magicians were not very rare things in that region (at least to
people who believed in them) and you were just as likely as not to
think that you saw one every time you went out for a walk. But
Squat-by-the-fire was not a magician, and could not have turned a
little boy, or a little girl, into a bird or a four-legged animal if
she had snapped her fingers for fifty years. She was just an old,
good, and very clever woman; and though she loved little children and
was glad to be able to make medicines for them, she really was not
sorry that they did not all run in and out of her lodge, with the
freedom of her grandson. Flying Plover had learned her ways and
wishes and never disturbed the pots by the fire or the big jars in
the corner; but she knew that the other children, once they felt at
home, would knock things about at a terrible rate. And she was far
too old and busy to begin to teach deportment to all the children of
the village. But Flying Plover never caused her any trouble, and was
not in the least afraid of her.
One evening, when the raw-hide door of the lodge was fastened tight,
and the fire burned cheerily and smokily on the earthen floor, and
the wind moaned outside, the old medicine woman asked, "What games
did you play to-day, little son of Swift Runner?"
"We played at battles," replied Flying Plover; "and they put me on
the Eskimo side, and so I was taken prisoner, and fastened to a tree.
I did not see much fun in that; so I made up another game, something
like deer-hunting, and we played that until it got dark. But I like
battles best, except when I am an Eskimo. Do the Eskimos always get
beaten in the real battles?"
"Our people have not been at war with the fat blubber-eaters for a
long, long time," replied the old woman. "We used to battle with
them every summer; but it was a foolish thing to do, and brought a
great deal of sorrow and suffering to both peoples. When my father
was a young man, our warriors used to chase the Eskimo warriors as
the timber wolves chase the young caribou. But the missionaries have
taught us that killing and robbing are terrible sins--and I think
people should have known that before. So now, when we want sealskins
and fish, we do not fight and rob, but we trade instead. That is
better, for it does not call for the shedding of blood, the burning
of lodges, and torture and starvation, as of old. Now the
blubber-eaters are a weak people; but hundreds and hundreds of
seasons ago they were a great nation. But that was far beyond the
reach of my father's memory. They were a mighty people though, once
upon a time; and then our nation was nothing more than a few weak
villages. We were afraid of the blubber-eaters then, and never went
down from the mountains. The Eskimo warriors chased our warriors
then, when they saw them, even as the timber wolves chase the young
caribou. So it is with men and tribes and nations, little son of a
chief. I have seen something of it, even with my own eyes. The
Eskimo people were the great people; and next the Mountaineers were
mighty in battle; and now both the fat men of the ice and the hunters
of the mountains know that the white missionaries and the white
traders are their masters."
"That is very strange," remarked Flying Plover. "The white men do
not look like great warriors, and they are very few in number."
"It is the mind," said old Squat-by-the-fire, touching her wrinkled
forehead with a gnarled finger. "'T is the light inside the skull
that gives the mastery; though to listen to the story tellers, one
would believe that all the power lies in the biggest club and the
straightest arrow. The minds of the white men are full of knowledge,
and caution, and courage. That is why they are now the great people."
"They feed their brains with fine sweet puddings. I think that is
why they are able to talk to our people so big and make the little
Eskimo boys go to school," said Flying Plover.
The old woman laughed; but it was not at her grandson's remark. She
was thinking of the oldest story she had ever heard.
"There was a time, more than ten thousand summers ago, I should
think, when men were such weak, dull-witted creatures that they had
no mastery over anything but the smallest animals and birds," she
said. "Oh, yes, that was a very long time ago, ages and ages before
the white man had ever been heard of. The animals were the masters,
in those days, and it is a wonder that the poor, frightened creatures
that ran on two legs, and hid in caves and holes, kept alive at all.
Then, the wolves were as big as black bears, and the bears stood as
high as caribou, and the foxes were as big as timber wolves. When a
hunter saw a fox, in those days, he was glad to climb a tree; and he
was lucky if a caribou did not come along and knock the tree over
with its head. Or may be an eagle would catch sight of the man, and
swoop down and pick him out of the tree with its claws, as if he
weighed no more than a little brook trout."
"I am glad I did not live in those days," said Flying Plover. "If
all the beasts were too big to kill, and there were no white men to
buy blankets from, what did people do for clothes to wear?"
"There were the hares," replied the old woman. "They were six times
as large as they are now, but not much more dangerous unless they
were cornered. And sometimes the bravest hunters managed to kill a
beaver or a musquash. Even the mice were well worth hunting in those
days, and one fat mouse made a very good dinner for a small family.
Oh, it was a queer world, you may be sure!"
Old Squat-by-the-fire ceased her talk for a little while and opened a
leathern bag at her belt. From it she drew a wooden pipe, a knife,
and a plug of dark-brown trade tobacco. Soon the pipe was filled and
lit, and the blue smoke curling about her head.
"Did they have any tobacco in those days?" asked Flying Plover.
"No--nor fire to light it with," replied his grandmother.
The little boy was greatly astonished at that, and could not think
how people warmed themselves in winter, or cooked their dinner. He
was just opening his mouth to ask about a dozen questions, when the
old medicine-woman, noticing it, hurried on with her talk.
[Illustration: "He left his hiding-place and chased the bear"]
"The king of the frozen north was a great walrus. His tusks were as
long as a canoe paddle and his head as big as this lodge. He lived
in a house built of icebergs, and was not afraid of anything in the
world. This country had two kings. One was a white bear, as big as
a trading schooner, and the other was a bull moose as tall as the
highest spruce tree in the forest. When the moose was without his
horns he went far away to the westward and hid himself in a deep
valley--and then the white bear was king of all this country. But
every year, as soon as the moose felt that his horns were full-grown
again, he left his hiding-place and chased the bear hundreds of miles
out of his kingdom. So they went on, year after year, until, at
last, King Walrus heard about it. Being a walrus he did not like
white bears. The dislike was born in him, for, of course, he had
never had any trouble with bears himself.
"'I have no doubt that the moose is the rightful ruler of that
country,' he said. 'I'll just make a journey into that region and
set the matter right.'
"Of course what he really meant was that he would take the country
for himself. He was growing ambitious. He felt that such a mighty
chief should rule the whole world. So one fine day in winter, just
after King Bear had sent King Moose trotting westward to his hidden
valley to grow a new pair of horns, up waddled King Walrus. The bear
was five times as large as white bears are now; but old King Walrus
was ten times the size of the walruses of to-day. King Bear saw at a
glance that he was not big enough to fight with his unexpected
visitor. Knowing that all walruses are the enemies of all bears, he
did not have to think very hard to find a reason for the northern
king's visit. His eyes grew red as the fire with the anger that
burned in his brain; but what he said was, 'I am highly honored and
unspeakably delighted at seeing you in my poor country.'
"'Hump,' grunted King Walrus,--for his manners were no better than
the manners of any other walrus, and, into the bargain, he was quite
short of breath from his overland journey in from the coast. King
Bear saw that his only chance of keeping things pleasant was in being
polite. He would give his visitor some valuable gifts, too.
"'This is an unexpected pleasure,' he continued. 'I was never so
honored before in all my life. I am deeply moved by your
condescension.'
"By this time King Walrus had recovered enough breath to talk with.
'You will be moved still farther before very long,' he said. Then he
laughed roaringly, for he had a very coarse sense of humor and
enjoyed nobody's jokes but his own. The bear was bright enough, you
may be sure, and usually approved of jokes, but he did not laugh that
time. He became so angry that he forgot all his caution.
"'What are you bellowing about, old blubber-sides?' he snarled.
"'Hey! What was that you called me?' roared King Walrus, changing
his tune very quickly.
"'You may bellow as loud as you choose,' replied the bear, 'but you
can't frighten me with noise.'
"He was so angry that he was utterly reckless. White bears have very
hot tempers, as you know.
"'I called you old blubber-sides,' he continued. 'I'll call you
worse names than that, if you don't go away from my country. You
smell like rotten fish! Go away! Go away!'
"King Walrus was far too angry to reply to these insults in words.
His great sides shook with anger as the sea shakes with storm. Like
a mountain lurching from its place, he floundered after King Bear at
the top of his speed, bellowing all the while like summer thunder.
The earth groaned and trembled--and King Bear ran like a frightened
hare. He ran all day and all night; and not until then did the
bellowing of old King Walrus fall to silence behind him. Then he sat
down and growled and groaned and snarled, so enraged was he at
finding himself an outcast from his own country. At last he became
quieter and began to use his wits.
"'Old blubber-sides is too big for me,' he said--'and I think the
Moose will find the same trouble, when he gets back. But here is a
country that does not look as if anyone governed it. I'll be king of
this country.'
"It was a very dreary looking land in which the big white bear now
found himself. He had never seen it before; and he had run so fast
and so blindly that he really did not know by what course he had come
or in what part of the world he was. He went to the top of a hill
and looked all around him. Nowhere was there any sign of woods or
water or sea-ice. On every side, and right away to the edge of the
sky, lay rounded, treeless hills and wide, dreary barrens all covered
with snow. The sight made the bear feel dreadfully grumpy, for
nowhere could be seen any movement of life--any promise of dinner.
And he was so hungry, after his long run, that his stomach felt as if
it contained a lump of ice."
III
ADVENTURES OF KING BEAR CONTINUED
Old Squat-by-the-fire ceased her talking and, with tender care,
knocked the ashes out of her pipe into the palm of her left hand.
She gazed narrowly at the ashes, before blowing them into the fire.
"That was good tobacco," she said. "Every little bit of it turned
into smoke. Indian tobacco was not so good; but just to think that
there once was a time when people didn't have any fire, even to light
their pipes and warm their bones at. That must have been much worse
than not having any tobacco."
"Or to cook their dinners at," said little Flying Plover. The old
woman nodded. Her bright eyes were on the fire, and she was deep in
meditation. Flying Plover watched her in silence for fully two
minutes. Then he said, "I think King Bear was in King Walrus's
country."
"You are wrong. But it is time for you to go to bed," said
Squat-by-the-fire.
"I am not sleepy. Please tell me some more about King Bear," begged
the little boy.
"Well," said the old woman, "he stood on the top of the hill and
growled and roared, just as loud as he could, to see if anything
would hear him and come to find out his trouble. Presently a crow
appeared out of the gray sky, and alighted on the snow.
"'You are making a horrible noise,' said the crow. 'What's the
matter with you?'
"'I am hungry,' replied the bear. 'Who is king of this country?'
"'We have no king. This country is ruled by the people,' said the
bird.
"'Oh!' remarked King Bear, and scratched his ear. He had never in
all his life heard of a country without a chief or a king. 'It looks
like a poor sort of place. Where are the people?'
"'Here come a few of them now,' said the crow, turning his head over
his shoulder. Sure enough, there were six wolves and two black bears
approaching the hill at a fast run.
[Illustration: "'Here come a few of them now,' said the crow"]
"'They don't seem to be at all afraid of me,' said King Bear,
gruffly. 'And yet I am big enough to kill them all with one of my
paws.'
"'You are very big,' admitted the crow. 'You are the biggest bear I
ever saw--and you seem to be colored wrong, too. But that is neither
here nor there. We do not think much of size in this country.'
"'Oh, don't you?' snarled King Bear. 'Well, perhaps you'll change
your views before very long. And what do you mean by saying I am
colored wrong?'
"'Black and brown are the correct colors for bears,' said the crow.
'Dirty white looks both foolish and untidy.'
"Just then the six wolves and the two black bears reached the bottom
of the hill. There they halted, and one of the wolves cried out,
'What are you doing here, big stranger?'
"'I am sitting on the top of a hill, admiring your beautiful
country,' replied the white bear, in a snarly voice.
"'What do you want?' asked the wolf.
"'Something to eat,' said the white bear.
"'Where did you come from?' asked the wolf.
"'You miserable creature, I came from my own country where I am
king,' roared the bear. 'And I want you to know that I did not come
here to answer your questions! Bring me something to eat--a fat
caribou, or a couple of seals--or I'll try my teeth on you!'
"'Your talk is as big as your body; but neither big words nor big
bodies are much thought of in this country,' replied the wolf.
"King Bear was astonished at the wolf's daring in speaking to him so
impudently. He had never been spoken to in that way before by any
common animal or bird. Of course King Moose, his rival, had said
rude things to him every year; but that was to be expected and was
between kings. But it made his blood bubble in his brain to hear
such words from that ordinary wolf, and to see the other common
creatures, and the crow grinning at the talk. He was so angry that
he almost forgot the hungry-pain in his stomach.
"'I am a great king,' he roared, and got to his feet, ready to
destroy the six wolves and the two black bears with one sweep of his
mighty right paw. But he did not do it! He saw something running on
the snow, so fast that he could not make out what it was--and
suddenly it stopped close under his great nose and he saw that it was
a slim young man. He was so astonished that he squatted back on his
haunches.
"'I have been listening to you,' said the young man, 'and I do not
like your talk. Also, I do not like your looks. You are too big and
too bold to be a safe companion for my people.'
"King Bear could do nothing but stare.
"'I am Gluskap,' continued the young man, 'and all the men and
animals in this land, for seven times as far as you can see in every
direction, are in my care.'
"'I never heard of you,' said the big white bear.
"The young man smiled at that. Then he pointed his finger at the
stranger and gazed at him very hard with his bright eyes.
"'I feel queer. My head spins 'round and 'round,' said the bear. He
began to sway from side to side. He stood on his four strong legs;
but still he swayed and swayed, and his mouth hung open and he
breathed very hard.
"'What--are--you--doing--to--me?' he gasped.
"'I am reducing you,' replied the young man.
"King Bear did not know what that meant--and he felt so queer that he
did not care. All the white world seemed to go whirling around him.
At last he fell over, flat on his side. And as soon as that had
happened he felt quite well again and jumped to his feet. Well, he
blinked his red eyes and he glared and glared, for it looked to him
as if the man, the crow, the wolves, and the black bears had all
grown much larger. But that was not what had happened at all. The
change was in himself and not in the others. Gluskap, with his
magic, had made him smaller and smaller until he was just exactly the
size of white bears now and smaller than common black bears were in
those days.
"'Now that you are a small bear and not at all dangerous to the peace
of this country, you may come with me and have something to eat,'
said Gluskap. 'And if you behave yourself I think my people will be
kind to you and let you live in this country. Come, it is dinner
time.'
"He turned toward the south and walked slowly away. Then the white
bear followed him, wondering to find himself so mild and obedient.
The other animals followed, too, and the crow flew on ahead. One of
the wolves walked beside the white bear.
"'The crow told me that this country was without a king,' said the
bear. 'But that man is your king, surely!'
"'Oh, now, he is one of the gods,' said the wolf. 'He feeds us, and
keeps our enemies from harming us. Is that what kings do for their
people?'
"'I never heard of a king doing things like that,' replied the white
bear. 'But what does he feed you with?' he asked, for again he felt
the hungry-pain in his stomach--and though he was so much smaller
now, the pain felt just as big as when he was his old size.
"'Just whatever you want,' said the wolf. 'His lodge is behind the
next hill, so you will soon know as much about it as I know. All the
men and animals and birds are there by now, I think, waiting for
their food. Don't you hear them talking?' Oh, yes the white bear
heard them talking. It sounded just like the running of sea waves up
and back along a pebbly shore. And now the scents of that hidden
multitude reached his keen nose. He smelt every kind of living
creature he had ever smelled before in all his life, except fish and
seals. He knew that men were there, beyond the hill, and moose,
caribou, bears, wolves, foxes, otters, wild-cats, mink, porcupine,
red deer, woodchucks, hares, mice, beaver, muskrats, badgers, and all
kinds of birds.
"'Hah, that smells good,' he said, and sniffed very hard. 'That
certainly smells like a fine dinner. I'll be puzzled to know what to
eat first. A fat beaver would not be bad to start with, as there
does not seem to be any kind of fresh fish.'
"'You are all wrong. You will not be allowed to eat any of those
animals. They are waiting for their dinners just as hungrily as you
are; and what would they think, do you suppose, if Gluskap allowed
you to kill them and eat them?'
"'Then what on earth are we going to eat?' asked the white bear.
"'You'll soon find that out for yourself,' replied the wolf.
"Gluskap led the way straight up the side of the steep hill. There,
on the other side, stood a great lodge of poles and bark, surrounded
by several hundred men, thousands of animals, and great flocks of
birds settling down and flying up and lighting again. The white bear
gazed at the scene in astonishment. There stood wolves and caribou
side by side, and hares and wild-cats lay together on the snow.
"'Why don't they fight?' he asked. 'Why don't the bears and wolves
eat the silly little men and the fat hares and beavers?'
"'No need of it,' said the wolf. 'It is easier to eat Gluskap's
food.'
"Now they halted at the edge of the crowd. They saw Gluskap walk
into his great lodge. Soon he came out with a basket in one hand.
He walked among the men and animals, scattering on every side
something that looked like sand. The moment those little grains
touched the ground, each one became a piece of food. A grain that
dropped in front of a beaver became a juicy fragment of pond-lily
root. The grains that fell before the caribou turned into bundles of
caribou-moss. The grains that fell near the bears and wolves and men
became meat and fish of many kinds. Well, it was the most wonderful
thing that the white bear had ever dreamed of; and when he suddenly
found a big, fresh salmon and a lump of beaver flesh under his very
nose, he was too happy to do anything but eat and eat."
Old Squat-by-the-fire ceased her story-telling, leaned back against a
heap of robes and blankets, and closed her eyes.
"Did Gluskap make all the food out of sand?" asked Flying Plover.
"Yes. Now you must go to bed, little son of a chief."
"Did King Bear stay with Gluskap?"
"Yes. Go to bed now, Flying Plover."
"Didn't he ever go back to his own country?"
"Perhaps he did. I don't know. Go to bed."
"What happened to old King Walrus?"
"I won't tell you to-night. Go to bed!"
"Did King Moose come home and fight him?"
"Go to bed! Go to bed! Go--to--bed!"
So, at last, while the fire still burned brightly, little Flying
Plover went to bed under a soft robe of furs--and with most of his
clothes on too. But his grandmother sat up for an hour or two
longer, and smoked another pipeful of tobacco.
IV
HOW FIRE CAME TO THE MOUNTAINEERS
Flying Plover was awake bright and early next morning, and went right
out in the cold and snow to get wood for his grandmother's fire. The
men of the village always kept the old medicine-woman's wood pile
well supplied--so the little boy had no chopping to do, but just
carried armfuls of dry sticks into the lodge. Though it was nearly
breakfast time, the sun was not yet up; but a narrow yellow band
edged the horizon in one place, and in the faint twilight several
people besides Flying Plover were moving about out of doors. Some
were getting wood, and some were carrying water from the hole in the
frozen brook. Big Hunter, the chief of the village, was feeding
frozen fish to his sledge-dogs; for he and his sons were going to
make an early start in search of caribou. The air was very still and
cold, and the tall trees which stood all around and among the lodges
snapped in the frost. Little Flying Plover was too cold to even
shout out to his friends. This was the part of the day which he did
not like--the short time before the fire was lighted and breakfast
was cooked. So he worked very fast, running backward and forward
between the lodge and the wood pile. His task was soon done; and
soon the fire burned cheerily in the middle of the lodge, the smoke
streamed up to the peak of the roof and out into the frosty air, and
the old medicine-woman put the tea-kettle and the frying-pan on the
coals.
After breakfast, Squat-by-the-fire gave her little grandson a lesson
in moccasin-sewing; and after the lesson she kept him at work at
making a pair of moccasins while she steeped medicines. For a little
while in the afternoon he worked at carving a caribou from a block of
wood; but it was hard work, and he cut his finger; and after a whole
hour of scooping and cutting, the thing still looked more like a
block than a caribou. He almost cried. In fact, two tears rolled
out of his eyes and half-way down his fat cheeks before he remembered
that warriors do not weep and hastily wiped them away with the back
of his hand. His grandmother did not let him know that she had seen
the tears; but she tied a piece of rag around his cut finger and told
him to go out and play with the other little boys.
That night, old Squat-by-the-fire told Flying Plover some more about
King Walrus, and about a man called Porcupine Killer.
"When King Moose returned to this country," she said, "with his fine
horns all ready for knocking King Bear about, and found old King
Walrus here instead, he was not at all pleased with the change. One
look at the big walrus told him that he had met his master, horns or
no horns. But he was full of courage and felt that right was on his
side--so with a snort of rage he tried to roll King Walrus from the
hill on which he lay, sleeping soundly. But he might as well have
tried to roll the hill from under King Walrus. There was a short and
terrible fight--and then poor King Moose limped away and lay down in
a distant forest to think the matter over. He hid in the forest for
many days and asked every animal and bird that came within speaking
distance where King Bear had gone to. But not one of them could tell
him that. All they knew was that he had been chased out of the
country by the old blubber-mountain from the north. The moose was
very sorry that no one could tell him where his rival had gone to.
He thought that he and King Bear together could drive King Walrus
back to his own country. But as there seemed to be no chance of
finding the bear, he continued to live quietly in the distant forest.
For exercise, he knocked the great pine trees over with his horns.
None of the other animals were big enough for him to fight with--and
King Walrus was too big.
"The walrus did not stay in this country very long; but while he was
here, men suffered even more than they had suffered before. The
reason for this was that a great many fierce animals from the north
had followed their king into this country. The whole land was full
of bears and wolves and giant foxes; and people--mountaineer
people--died of hunger in their caves because the men were afraid to
go out and hunt. It was not safe for a warrior to so much as show
his nose outside of his hiding-place. If things had gone on in that
way for another moon, I think the whole tribe of mankind in this
country would have starved or been killed--and if that had happened
you and I would not be sitting here to-night."
"Where would we be sitting?" asked Flying Plover.
"We would not be sitting anywhere. We would never have been born,"
replied the old woman.
"Why not?" asked the little boy.
But Squat-by-the-fire knew that if she answered any more of his
questions he would keep her busy all night. So she hastened on with
her story.
"There was a young man named Porcupine Killer," she continued. "He
had once killed a porcupine with only a flint knife for a weapon--and
porcupines in those days were larger than bears are now. That is how
he got his name. But the porcupine had been eaten years ago, and now
he was not able to go out and kill even a mouse. You need not laugh
at that, for mice were then as big as beavers are now--and just as
good eating, too. He knew that if he went ten yards from the narrow
mouth of his cave some great animal would leap upon him. He had a
wife and little baby; and all the three had eaten for two days was
part of a fish that a hawk had accidentally dropped in front of the
cave as it flew over, chased by an eagle. He could not think of
anything to do. When night fell he would creep out and feel about
for some bones. With so many great animals killing and feeding on
all sides there would surely be plenty of fresh bones lying around.
He had seen a pack of great wolves chasing a giant caribou along the
valley below his cave early that morning. If he could find the bones
of that caribou he would be lucky. The marrow in one of those bones
would supply them with many meals. But as he had to wait until night
to begin his hunt and had nothing to do in the meantime, he lay down
on a bed of dry leaves and fell asleep.
"A wonderful dream came to Porcupine Killer while he lay asleep in
his dark cave, with his belt drawn tight around his stomach because
of the hungry-pain. Some good spirit must have come and whispered
that dream into his brain, for in it there was hardly one thing like
anything he had ever seen; and yet it was all just as if he looked
down at something that was really happening. He saw a place of flat,
white sand (at first he thought it was snow, for there is no sand so
white in this country) with the sea at one edge of it, green as
leaves in Spring and blue as the sky, and strange-looking trees and
bushes along the other side. On the sand, mid-way between the trees
and the edge of the beautiful sea, stood a man. Porcupine Killer had
never before seen such a queer-looking man. His skin, all over his
face and body, was as dark as the roof of this lodge where the smoke
has painted it. He was naked as a trout. At his feet lay a bunch of
dry grass and a heap of little sticks. In his hands he held
something that looked like a very short bow with a doubled, twisted
cord made of some kind of vine, and a piece of dry, flat wood. He
sat down on the sand, crossed his legs, crumbled a little of the dry
grass between his hands and placed the powder close beside him, on
the sand. Then, holding the flat piece of wood firm between his
knees with his left hand, he placed the cord of the bow in a notch
across it and began to draw it swiftly back and forth, back and
forth, quick as lightning. The spirit of Porcupine Killer (for it
did not seem to him that his body was in the dream at all) bent close
above the queer-looking black man, eager to find out what he was
trying to do. The stranger worked and worked, his hand flying back
and forth so fast that it could scarcely be seen. The sweat stood
out on his black skin. Soon a faint, blue mist crept up from the
notch in the slab of dry wood--or was it from the flying cord of
twisted vine? It floated up and melted in the sunlight; then it
floated up again; and again it melted to nothing. Porcupine Killer
could make no sense out of it; but he liked the look of the dry, blue
mist. The worker now clutched the wood tight between his knees,
keeping his right hand still speeding with the bow, and with the
fingers of his left hand took up a pinch of the grass-powder and
sprinkled it where the cord of vine flew along the notch. Now the
blue mist arose in a little cloud, and climbed high above the
worker's head before it melted. It had a smell--a smell that seemed
very good to the spirit of Porcupine Killer. His nose had never met
with anything like it before, and yet it awoke a strange craving
within him, and seemed to speak of comfort and safety.
"Still the strange man went on with his strange work, driving the bow
back and forth with his right hand and sprinkling a little of the
powder of dry grass with his left. Suddenly the mist puffed white
and thick, and in a moment faded to something so faint that it had no
color at all, and yet seemed to waver upward and melt away, even as
the mist had floated and melted--and, in the same instant, a living
thing, yellow and bright and no bigger than a baby's finger, moved on
the flat piece of wood.
"It was like a bright, strange bird. It was like a beautiful flower
that bursts suddenly into bloom and life from a husk of bray seed.
It was like magic!--like the eye of a god!--like the secret of life!
At least so it seemed to Porcupine Killer. Nothing before, except
the feelings of love and courage, had ever awakened so much joy in
him.
"'What is it? Give it to me,' he cried; but his spirit had no voice,
and the man on the sand did not so much as turn his head. He was
still busy with the magic thing that had so suddenly come to his
hand. Now he ceased the movement of the bow and let it fall on the
sand, where it lay unheeded, with a faint mist arising from the cord
of twisted vine. He fed the yellow, living thing with leaves of the
dry grass, and it grew and leapt under his hand. Suddenly he turned
to the little bunch of dry grass at his elbow--and, quick as thought,
every fiber of it had blossomed to red and yellow. Now, from the
heap of twigs and sticks, he fed that wonderful, leaping thing that
had flashed into life but a few moments before, no larger than a
baby's finger, and that now covered a space on the sand as wide and
long as a snow-shoe track."
"What was it?" asked little Flying Plover, in an awed whisper.
"It was fire--fire like that," replied the old medicine-woman,
pointing at the glowing coals and leaping flames within the circle of
stones in the center of the floor. For a moment the child looked
puzzled, and glanced at his grandmother to see if she were laughing
at him. Then he nodded his head.
"Yes, the fire is alive," he said; "but why did the queer, black man
rub the bow across the flat piece of wood?"
"There were no matches in those days such as the traders sell now,"
replied the old woman. "And fire could not be struck out of the
flint as it was when I was young, because there was no steel with
which to strike the flint. All these things that I am telling you
happened a very long time ago, little son of a chief."
Again Flying Plover nodded his head.
"And then what did the queer man on the sand do when his fire was
burning so well?" he asked.
"I do not know what he did," replied Squat-by-the-fire, "for just
when the sticks were crackling and the flames leaping high as the
flames of our own fire, the spirit of Porcupine Killer flew back to
his body and poor Porcupine Killer opened his eyes and found himself
lying on the bed of leaves in his dark, narrow cave. And the
hungry-pain gnawed him again, and he heard his wife crying beside him
as she rocked the little baby in her arms. But there was a lightness
in his heart that had not been there when he fell asleep, and his
dream was as clear as a picture in his mind. He got up quickly from
his bed of leaves and dry moss, and crawled to the back of the cave
where some of his bows and spears were stored, along with several
pieces of seasoned wood for the making of arrows. Without telling
the woman a word of his wonderful dream, he broke one of his bows in
two pieces. But the string of caribou sinew was not what he wanted.
He felt about in the dark, and soon found some strands of tough
hemlock root which he had once used for snares. Finding three
strands of a length, he plated them together into one thick, tough
cord--and with this he strung a piece of the broken bow.
"'What are you doing?' asked his wife.
"'Perhaps you shall soon see. Have patience,' he replied. The poor
woman thought that hunger and despair had weakened his mind. But she
stopped her weeping and drew near to him, the better to see what he
was about. Having fixed a short bow to suit him, he broke across his
knee many of the sticks and slabs of seasoned wood, from which he had
intended to make such fine arrows. Across the flat side of one of
these pieces he scraped a shallow groove with his stone knife. When
that was done, he collected ten handfuls of dry moss and grass from
his bed. Some of this he powdered between his hands, as he had seen
the strange, naked man do in his dream. Then, when all was ready, he
sat on the cold floor of the cave and began to draw the cord of the
bow swiftly back and forth across the flat piece of wood, just as the
black man had done. He worked and worked--and at last his nose
caught the smell of the blue mist, though he could not see the mist
because of the darkness of the cave. But he saw beautiful, bright
sparks darting along the groove in the wood. By that time, his right
arm ached as if it had been twisted and beaten with a club; but he
kept the bow flying, and began to sprinkle the powdered grass with
his left hand. Then (as he had seen in his dream) the small creature
of magic life--the bright, yellow thing that ate the powdered grass
and sprang upward for more--flashed into being on the slab of wood
between his knees. The squaw uttered a low cry of wonder; but
Porcupine Killer said not a word. He fed dry moss and grass to the
wonderful thing--and it grew, and flashed with a redder color. Then,
doing what he had seen the naked, black man do, he slipped it from
the wood to the heap of dry stuff at his side. The bright tongues
leapt upward, throwing a beautiful light into every corner of the
cave. The mist, which seemed to be its breath, streamed along the
top of the cave and floated out through a hole in the rocky roof.
The man heaped fragments of seasoned wood upon it, one by one. Then
he felt the heat on his face and hands, and all through the chilly
cave, like summer.
"'Come close,' he said to the woman. 'It is warm as the sun when the
willows have their leaves and the yellow butterflies swarm on the
sand by the river.'
"'What is it? What is this strange thing that you have made with
your hands?' whispered the woman.
"'Nay, I did not make it. It is the gift of some kind god, bestowed
on me while I dreamed,' replied Porcupine Killer. 'Come close, and
feel the comfort of it Do not fear it, for I am sure it is good. If
it is not good, then why does the sight of it awaken joy in my heart?'
"The woman drew near, with her baby in her arms; and now, for the
first time in her life, she felt the warmth of fire.
"'It is like the sun in the spring time,' she said. 'It melts the
chill of the frost out of my bones, and gladdens my eyes.'
"But Porcupine Killer did not answer, for he was busy feeding the new
fire with all the wood he could find in the cave; and, of course, the
fire grew and grew, and sent showers of sparks flying along the roof.
"'It grows too fast,' cried the woman. 'You feed it with too much
dry wood. It may eat up the stone walls of the cave, if it grows any
larger.'
"Just then, a spark dropped on the bed of grass and moss and leaves
and, in a moment, a little flame began leaping here and there. But
Porcupine Killer, who had a bright mind, saw the danger. He snatched
up the burning stuff in his hands and threw it upon the big fire.
The little flame touched his fingers. He cried out, with pain and
surprise.
"'What is the matter?' asked the woman.
"'The magic thing stung me,' replied Porcupine Killer."
The old medicine woman ceased her talk and lit the tobacco in her
pipe with a brand from the fire. Flying Plover waited politely until
he saw, by the clouds of tobacco smoke, that the pipe was well
alight. Then, as his grandmother seemed to have forgotten to go on
with the story, he said, "I wonder if that was truly the way fire
first came to our tribe?"
Squat-by-the-fire glanced at him quickly, but never said a word. She
knew that the little boy was trying to get her to go on with the
story--and that was what she had not the slightest intention of
doing. If she went on telling him stories as long as he would
listen, neither of them would ever get any sleep, and her brain would
become quite dry and brittle from too much inventing.
"I think Porcupine Killer must have been sorry that he did not have
anything to cook at his fine, new fire," remarked the little boy.
The old woman was just going to tell him that people did not know
anything about cooking in those days--but she didn't. Flying Plover
was clever; but so was she. Instead of saying the words that so
nearly slipped from her tongue, she gave a raspy little cough. Then,
in a faint whisper, she said, "My throat is so sore from talking so
much, that I fear all the skin is worn off the inside of it."
That seemed a very strange and interesting thing to Flying Plover.
"Oh, let me see it," he cried. "How long will it take to grow on
again?"
His grandmother almost lost her temper at that. Anyway, she soon had
him snug in bed; and it was not long before he was sound asleep.
V
HOW PORCUPINE KILLER LEARNED STILL
MORE ABOUT THE WONDERFUL FIRE
During the night snow began to fall. In the morning the sky was
still gray with it; and all day it continued to weave its gray
curtains in the windless air. So little Flying Plover stayed indoors
most of the day, cutting and gouging at the block of wood which he
hopefully believed would soon resemble a caribou, and watching old
Squat-by-the-fire at her medicine-work. The old woman did not talk
much while she was mixing and attending to the pots, of steeping
herbs; but by mid-afternoon she was ready to go on with the telling
of her story. Her voice sounded quite natural again, and the little
boy wondered that the skin had grown on it so quickly. But he said
nothing about his wonderment, for he did not want to divert her from
the story.
"When Porcupine Killer felt the burn of the fire on his hand he was
frightened at first," said the old woman, "but he soon recovered from
his fright, and began to study the blazing sticks and red coals very
attentively. He held out his hand, feeling the pleasant warmth. He
advanced it closer and closer to the flames, noticing that the warmth
increased and still increased the nearer he went, until at last it
hurt. Then he touched a red coal with his finger--and that made him
hop. He sucked his finger, and thought very hard. 'It stings when
you touch it,' he said, 'but if you do not touch it, it gives you
warmth, like the sun in summer. If I take a stick in my hand, at the
end where this wonder-creature is not eating, and thrust it against
my enemy, then, without hurting me, it will sting my enemy.'
"'Yes,' said the squaw. 'But look, it has eaten nearly all the wood,
and is falling smaller and smaller, like a snowdrift in May,' she
added.
"Porcupine Killer thought of a dry, dead spruce tree that lay near
the mouth of his cave, flat along the ground where a great wind had
thrown it a year before. But he was afraid to go out, unprotected,
to break branches from this tree and drag them back to the cave. It
was not yet night, and the giant beasts would be waiting for him. He
saw one long stick in the fire that was burning for only half its
length and, heeding a voice within him that told him to trust in the
new gift of the gods, he took up the stick by the unscorched end,
crawled through the mouth of the cave, and ran to the fallen tree.
As he ran--'twas only the distance of a dozen strides--he waved the
long stick around his head. It was twined 'round with red and yellow
flames, and smoke and sparks flew upward from it. He saw two great
wolves spring out of the forest on his left, glare at him with
glowing eyes and gaping jaws, turn and flee back into the forest. He
saw a fox (as big as a wolf of to-day) slink out of his path. Then
he knew that this new and wonderful thing was as surely a terror to
the beasts as it was a joy to him. They did not even wait for its
sting. They fled, like hunted hares, at the sight of it! And he
knew that this terror of it must have been born in the wolves and
foxes even as the joy in it, and love of it, had been born in him.
He leaned the burning stick against the trunk of the fallen tree and
quickly tore off an armful of the dry branches. Leaving the flaming
stick behind him, he ran back to the cave and quickly replenished the
fire. Again he returned to the tree and loaded his arms. Three
times he made the short journey, swiftly, but without much fear of
the beasts. He knew that many fierce animals were watching him; but
his faith in their terror of the burning stick was great. When he
crawled from the cave to get the fourth load of wood, a wonderful
sight met his eyes. The flames from the stick had leapt into the dry
branches of the tree and cloaked them in red and yellow. Swiftly it
leapt from branch to branch until, in a twinkling, the tree was
blazing along its whole length, from roots to crown. It made a loud
crackling noise and a roaring like the voices of wind and water.
Smoke and sparks flew upward in clouds.
[Illustration: "He waved the long stick around his head"]
"For a few minutes Porcupine Killer stood just outside the mouth of
his cave and gazed at the wonderful sight with awe. The first thin
darkness was creeping over the world, and in the gloom the flames and
sparks and smoke made a terrible picture for eyes that had never seen
such a thing before. But the little chill of fear quickly left his
heart as soon as he began to reason with his brain. This
creature--one moment so small, and suddenly so great--was his friend
and the friend of all mankind. It was a wonderful gift that had been
given to him in a beautiful dream. So he ran forward and stood as
close to the fire as he could. The heat of it was very great--and
the roaring of the flames and the crackling of the dry wood was loud
in his ears. He knew that many eyes must now be staring at the great
sight in fear and astonishment and wonder--eyes of his fierce enemies
and eyes of his hunted, starving people. Many caves were in the same
rocky hillside as his own. With his back to the noise and the
leaping flames, he stood tall and brave against the terrible red
light and waved his arms high above his head.
"'Come to me, my people!' he cried, with all the strength of his
voice. 'Come to me, and this magic thing will protect you from your
enemies.'
"Broken Arrow was the first to find courage to leave his cave and
draw near to the fire. He was closely followed by Winter Morning,
the chief. Porcupine Killer told them in a few words of his dream
and how he had made the fire in his cave; of its comforting warmth;
of its sting; and how the animals feared the sight of it. Soon a
dozen men and boys stood near the blazing tree.
"'Now is the time to hunt for food,' said Porcupine Killer. 'Do not
go beyond the edge of the red light.'