IT was in the winter, in the Moon of Difficulty (January). We had eaten
our venison roast for supper, and the embers were burning brightly.
Our teepee was especially cheerful. Uncheedah sat near the entrance, my
uncle and his wife upon the opposite side, while I with my pets occupied
the remaining space.
Wabeda, the dog, lay near the fire in a half doze, watching out of the
corners of his eyes the tame raccoon, which snuggled back against
the walls of the teepee, his shrewd brain, doubtless, concocting some
mischief for the hours of darkness. I had already recited a legend of
our people. All agreed that I had done well. Having been generously
praised, I was eager to earn some more compliments by learning a new
one, so I begged my uncle to tell me a story. Musingly he replied:
“I can give you a Sioux-Cree tradition,” and immediately began:
“Many winters ago, there were six teepees standing on the southern slope
of Moose mountain in the Moon of Wild Cherries (September). The men to
whom these teepees belonged had been attacked by the Sioux while hunting
buffalo, and nearly all killed. Two or three who managed to get home
to tell their sad story were mortally wounded, and died soon afterward.
There was only one old man and several small boys left to hunt and
provide for this unfortunate little band of women and children.
“They lived upon teepsinna (wild turnips) and berries for many days.
They were almost famished for meat. The old man was too feeble to hunt
successfully. One day in this desolate camp a young Cree maiden--for
such they were--declared that she could no longer sit still and see her
people suffer. She took down her dead father’s second bow and quiver
full of arrows, and begged her old grandmother to accompany her to Lake
Wanagiska, where she knew that moose had oftentimes been found. I forgot
to tell you that her name was Manitoshaw.
“This Manitoshaw and her old grandmother, Nawakewee, took each a pony
and went far up into the woods on the side of the mountain. They pitched
their wigwam just out of sight of the lake, and hobbled their ponies.
Then the old woman said to Manitoshaw:
“‘Go, my granddaughter, to the outlet of the Wanagiska, and see if there
are any moose tracks there. When I was a young woman, I came here with
your father’s father, and we pitched our tent near this spot. In the
night there came three different moose. Bring me leaves of the birch and
cedar twigs; I will make medicine for moose,’ she added.
“Manitoshaw obediently disappeared in the woods. It was a grove of
birch and willow, with two good springs. Down below was a marshy place.
Nawakewee had bidden the maiden look for nibbled birch and willow twigs,
for the moose loves to eat them, and to have her arrow ready upon the
bow-string. ‘I have seen this very place many a time,’ added my uncle,
and this simple remark gave to the story an air of reality.
“The Cree maiden went first to the spring, and there found fresh tracks
of the animal she sought. She gathered some cedar berries and chewed
them, and rubbed some of them on her garments so that the moose might
not scent her. The sun was already set, and she felt she must return to
Nawakewee.
“Just then Hinhankaga, the hooting owl, gave his doleful night call. The
girl stopped and listened attentively.
“‘I thought it was a lover’s call,’ she whispered to herself. A singular
challenge pealed across the lake. She recognized the alarm call of the
loon, and fancied that the bird might have caught a glimpse of her game.
“Soon she was within a few paces of the temporary lodge of pine boughs
and ferns which the grandmother had constructed. The old woman met her
on the trail.
“‘Ah, my child, you have returned none too soon. I feared you had
ventured too far away; for the Sioux often come to this place to hunt.
You must not expose yourself carelessly on the shore.’
“As the two women lay down to sleep they could hear the ponies munch
the rich grass in an open spot near by. Through the smoke hole of the
pine-bough wigwam Manitoshaw gazed up into the starry sky, and dreamed
of what she would do on the morrow when she should surprise the wily
moose. Her grandmother was already sleeping so noisily that it was
enough to scare away the game. At last the maiden, too, lost herself in
sleep.
“Old Nawakewee awoke early. First of all she made a fire and burned
cedar and birch so that the moose might not detect the human smell. Then
she quickly prepared a meal of wild turnips and berries, and awoke the
maiden, who was surprised to see that the sun was already up. She ran
down to the spring and hastily splashed handsful of the cold water in
her face; then she looked for a moment in its mirror-like surface.
There was the reflection of two moose by the open shore and beyond them
Manitoshaw seemed to see a young man standing. In another moment all
three had disappeared.
“‘What is the matter with my eyes? I am not fully awake yet, and I
imagine things. Ugh, it is all in my eyes,’ the maiden repeated to
herself. She hastened back to Nawakewee. The vision was so unexpected
and so startling that she could not believe in its truth, and she said
nothing to the old woman.
“Breakfast eaten, Manitoshaw threw off her robe and appeared in her
scantily cut gown of buckskin with long fringes, and moccasins and
leggings trimmed with quills of the porcupine. Her father’s bow and
quiver were thrown over one shoulder, and the knife dangled from her
belt in its handsome sheath. She ran breathlessly along the shore toward
the outlet.
“Way off near the island Medoza the loon swam with his mate,
occasionally uttering a cry of joy. Here and there the playful Hogan,
the trout, sprang gracefully out of the water, in a shower of falling
dew. As the maiden hastened along she scared up Wadawasee, the
kingfisher, who screamed loudly.
“‘Stop, Wadawasee, stop--you will frighten my game!’
“At last she had reached the outlet. She saw at once that the moose
had been there during the night. They had torn up the ground and broken
birch and willow twigs in a most disorderly way.”
“Ah!” I exclaimed, “I wish I had been with Manitoshaw then!”
“Hush, my boy; never interrupt a storyteller.”
I took a stick and began to level off the ashes in front of me, and to
draw a map of the lake, the outlet, the moose and Manitoshaw. Away off
to one side was the solitary wigwam, Nawakewee and the ponies.
“Manitoshaw’s heart was beating so loud that she could not hear
anything,” resumed my uncle. “She took some leaves of the wintergreen
and chewed them to calm herself. She did not forget to throw in passing
a pinch of pulverized tobacco and paint into the spring for Manitou, the
spirit.
“Among the twinkling leaves of the birch her eye was caught by a moving
form, and then another. She stood motionless, grasping her heavy bow.
The moose, not suspecting any danger, walked leisurely toward the
spring. One was a large female moose; the other a yearling.
“As they passed Manitoshaw, moving so naturally and looking so harmless,
she almost forgot to let fly an arrow. The mother moose seemed to
look in her direction, but did not see her. They had fairly passed her
hiding-place when she stepped forth and sent a swift arrow into the side
of the larger moose. Both dashed into the thick woods, but it was too
late. The Cree maiden had already loosened her second arrow. Both fell
dead before reaching the shore.”
“Uncle, she must have had a splendid aim, for in the woods the many
little twigs make an arrow bound off to one side,” I interrupted in
great excitement.
“Yes, but you must remember she was very near the moose.”
“It seems to me, then, uncle, that they must have scented her, for
you have told me that they possess the keenest nose of any animal,” I
persisted.
“Doubtless the wind was blowing the other way. But, nephew, you must let
me finish my story.
“Overjoyed by her success, the maiden hastened back to Nawakawee, but she
was gone! The ponies were gone, too, and the wigwam of branches had been
demolished. While Manitoshaw stood there, frightened and undecided what
to do, a soft voice came from behind a neighboring thicket:
“‘Manitoshaw! Manitoshaw! I am here!’
“She at once recognized, the voice and found it to be Nawakeewee, who
told a strange story. That morning a canoe had crossed the Wanagiska
carrying two men. They were Sioux. The old grandmother had seen them
coming, and to deceive them she at once pulled down her temporary
wigwam, and drove the ponies off toward home. Then she hid herself in
the bushes near by, for she knew that Manitoshaw must return there.
“‘Come, my granddaughter, we must hasten home by another way,’ cried the
old woman.
“But the maiden said, ‘No, let us go first to my two moose that I killed
this morning and take some meat with us.’
“‘No, no, my child; the Sioux are cruel. They have killed many of
our people. If we stay here they will find us. I fear, I fear them,
Manitoshaw!’
“At last the brave maid convinced her grandmother, and the more easily
as she too was hungry for meat. They went to where the big game lay
among the bushes, and began to dress the moose.”
“I think, if I were they, I would hide all day. I would wait until the
Sioux had gone; then I would go back to my moose,” I interrupted for the
third time.
“I will finish the story first; then you may tell us what you would do,”
said my uncle reprovingly.
“The two Sioux were father and son. They too had come to the lake for
moose; but as the game usually retreated to the island, Chatansapa had
landed his son Kangiska to hunt them on the shore while he returned in
his canoe to intercept their flight. The young man sped along the sandy
beach and soon discovered their tracks. He followed them up and found
blood on the trail. This astonished him. Cautiously he followed on until
he found them both lying dead. He examined them and found that in each
moose there was a single Cree arrow. Wishing to surprise the hunter if
possible, Kangiska lay hidden in the bushes.
“After a little while the two women returned to the spot. They passed
him as close as the moose had passed the maiden in the morning. He saw
at once that the maiden had arrows in her quiver like those that had
slain the big moose. He lay still.
“Kangiska looked upon the beautiful Cree maiden and loved her. Finally
he forgot himself and made a slight motion. Manitoshaw’s quick eye
caught the little stir among the bushes, but she immediately looked the
other way and Kangiska believed that she had not seen anything, At last
her eyes met his, and something told both that all was well. Then the
maiden smiled, and the young man could not remain still any longer.
He arose suddenly and the old woman nearly fainted from fright. But
Manitoshaw said:
“‘Fear not, grandmother; we are two and he is only one.’
“While the two women continued to cut up the meat, Kangiska made a fire
by rubbing cedar chips together, and they all ate of the moose meat.
Then the old woman finished her work, while the young people sat down
upon a log in the shade, and told each other all their minds.
“Kangiska declared by signs that he would go home with Manitoshaw to the
Cree camp, for he loved her. They went home, and the young man hunted
for the unfortunate Cree band during the rest of his life.
“His father waited a long time on the island and afterward searched the
shore, but never saw him again. He supposed that those footprints he saw
were made by Crees who had killed his son.”
“Is that story true, uncle?” I asked eagerly.
“‘Yes, the facts are well known. There are some Sioux mixed bloods among
the Crees to this day who are descendants of Kangiska.”