when they heard these Indians coming. The squirrels darted into hollow
trees, and birds flew in alarm at their footsteps. The deer and rabbit
ran from the trail.
At last the Great Spirit became very angry with this tribe. Always he
had taught the Indians never to kill an animal, unless for food and
protection; never to fell a tree, unless for fuel or shelter; never to
dig up shrubs or plants, unless for some good use.
"All life," the Great Spirit had said, "is sacred and beautiful. It must
not be wasted."
And never before had he known the Indians to waste the beautiful living
things about them. The Great Spirit was very sad.
The ice formed very thick on the lake that winter.
One night, there came a great storm of wind and rain. The ice broke
loose from the shores, and the wind blew it down the lake. At the foot
of the lake, a mass of ice was piled high over the shore, where lived
these wasteful Indians.
Like a giant roof, the ice spread over the little Indian village lying
there asleep, but the Indians did not know. They slept on, unaware of
their danger, for a deep, heavy sleep had come upon them.
Just as the sun rose, the ice roof gave way and fell upon the sleeping
Indians, crushing them in their wigwams.
The waste they had brought upon their brothers of the wood had brought
punishment upon them. The Great Spirit had destroyed these wicked
Indians, that the good Indians might keep his world beautiful.
Ever after, as long as the Indians occupied the country, before the
White man came, no trees were felled, and no animals or birds were
killed, unless for some wise and useful purpose.
WHY THE CHIPMUNK HAS BLACK STRIPES
At one time, the animals had tribes and chiefs, like men. It was when
the porcupine was chief, that a council was called.
A great fire was lighted, for it was night. When all the animals were
seated around the fire, the porcupine spoke.
[Illustration]
"Friends," he said, "we have met here to settle a great question: 'Shall
we have night all the time, or day?'" At this, all the animals began to
talk at once. There was great confusion. The night animals kept
shouting, "Night, night! Always night!" Others of the animals cried,
"Day, day! Always day!" Still others called for "Day and night!"
There was so much noise that it could not be decided what was best.
At last the animals grew tired of calling. One by one the voices grew
fainter, and the shouting ceased. Of the night animals, the voice of the
bear alone was heard. He had a big voice and still kept calling, "Night,
night! Always night!"
The animals who wanted day all the time, and those who wanted day and
night, also became quiet,--all except the chipmunk. He chattered on, "We
will have light--and then night. We will have light--and then night.
Chee, chee, chee!"
Then the bear, too, became tired. He was fat and lazy, and so sleepy! He
thought he would take a short nap.
But all night long the wide-awake little chipmunk kept up his song. Not
for a moment did he stop to rest. Out of the dark came his voice, sure
and cheery, "We will have light--and then night. We will have
light--and then night! Chee, chee, chee!"
And before the animals knew it, the sun began to rise.
At the first rays of light, the bear sat up, blinked, and rubbed his
eyes. He saw that while he had slept, light had indeed come. He knew
that he and the night animals had been beaten in the council, and that
the chipmunk and the animals who wanted day and night had won.
The bear was very angry. He struck at the chipmunk with his paw. But he
was clumsy, and the chipmunk was spry!
The chipmunk laughed and sprang into a hole of a hollow tree near by.
But those black stripes on the chipmunk's back show where the paw of the
black bear touched him as he slipped into the tree.
Ever since this council, and the little chipmunk called so long and loud
for "light and night," we have had day and night.
HOW TWO INDIAN BOYS SETTLED A QUARREL
[Illustration]
Flying Squirrel and Lightning Bow were two little Indian boys. They
lived by Singing River, and they played from sunrise to sunset. They
were as happy as the day was long.
In the summer, they fished and swam in Singing River, and they shot
their arrows into chipmunk and woodpecker holes. Sometimes they played
"Dodging Arrows," a game their mother had taught them when they were
very young.
In the winter, they jumped into fleecy snowdrifts and rolled until their
little bronze bodies took on a red-raspberry tint. Then they would send
their snow-snakes skimming over the hard crust of snow.
Snow-snakes were small rods of wood, polished smooth with resin, oil, or
wax. They could be thrown long distances. Long Moose--Lightning Bow and
Flying Squirrel's father--could throw a snow-snake a mile and a half,
over the crust of the snow. But the snow-snakes he used were eight feet
long and tipped with lead.
It was the Moon of Berries. Six times had Flying Squirrel and Lightning
Bow seen the Berry Moon hang her horn in the night sky. And not once in
all their lives had they quarreled.
One morning, Flying Squirrel and Lightning Bow planned a foot race.
Seven times they were to run. Three times, Flying Squirrel had made the
goal first. Three times, Lightning Bow had outrun him. The seventh race
was claimed by each. No one saw them run, so no one could decide the
game. And they fell to quarreling.
[Illustration]
Louder and louder their voices were raised. More and more angry they
grew.
White Fawn, their mother, was baking corn bread on the coals of the
wigwam fire. The angry voices reached her ears. She stepped to the door.
"For shame!" she called. "Go and set up your sticks."
[Illustration]
Then she showed Lightning Bow and Flying Squirrel how to set up three
sticks so they would stand for many days.
"Now go into the wood, set up your sticks, and leave your quarrel
there," she said. "When the Berry Moon has passed, you shall return and
see if the sticks are still standing.
"If they lean toward the rising sun, Lightning Bow was right. If they
lean toward the setting sun, Flying Squirrel won. If they have fallen
down, neither was right and neither won."
Lightning Bow and Flying Squirrel went into the wood and set up their
sticks. Then they began to throw balls with willow wands, and soon they
were happy again.
* * * * *
The sun had risen and set many times. The Berry Moon had passed. It was
the Thunder Moon, when White Fawn said to Lightning Bow and Flying
Squirrel, "Today you may go into the wood and see if your sticks are
still standing."
Hand in hand, the two little Indian boys ran into the wood. They found
only a heap of rotting sticks.
Flying Squirrel and Lightning Bow stood and looked at the sticks. They
thought and thought.
"What did we set up the sticks for?" each asked of the other.
And for the life of them they could not remember what they had quarreled
about, and why they had set up the sticks!
HOW MICE OVERCAME THE WARRIORS
Once a tribe of the Iroquois became very warlike and cruel. They liked
to follow the warpath rather than the hunting trails.
These warriors thought only of the war dance. They forgot to give thanks
for the sweet waters of the maple, and for the planting season. Neither
did they remember to praise the Great Spirit, in song and dance, for the
juicy strawberries, and the waving green corn, as once they had done.
To fight was the one desire of their lives, the one thought that filled
their minds. They boasted that none were so fierce and bloodthirsty as
they.
"Our arrows fall like leaves of the pine," they said, "and always are
they red with blood. Our war shirts have many scalp locks on them."
One day, a dispute arose with a neighboring tribe of their nation. The
Peace Wigwam was not far away, but these warriors would not take their
quarrel to it, as was the custom. The fighting Indians would have none
of the Peace Wigwam.
[Illustration]
"Let the women and papooses sit in the sun at the door of the Peace
Wigwam," they said scornfully. "Chiefs are for the warpath."
A fierce cry was raised, and the war dance was begun. The chiefs painted
their bodies, donned their war shirts, sharpened their tomahawks, tipped
their arrows, and tightened their bowstrings.
[Illustration]
But by the time they had made ready, the sun had set, and the blanket of
darkness had fallen upon them. A council was quickly called. It was
decided that they would not start to war until moonrise. So the warriors
lay down to sleep.
As they slept, another council was called. This was not a council of
men, but of mice.
From long and short trails they came, hundreds and hundreds of mice, for
all had heard the warriors boast of their strength.
"Now," said the mice, "we will show these boasters how weak are men,
and how strong are little mice."
When all the mice were gathered about the council tree, the leader spoke
thus: "My brothers, listen! The Great Spirit did not give men strength,
that they should fight and kill one another. The Great Spirit did not
make men powerful, that they should strike down and kill the weaker
animals. Let us show these fierce warriors that it is the weak who are
strong, and the strong who are weak. Let every mouse destroy at least
one weapon before the moon shall rise."
At this, all the mice set to work. Snap, snap, snap, went the bowstrings
on all sides. Then the sharp little teeth began on the feathers that
winged the poisoned arrows. Soon the feathers lay in bits about the
ground.
Next, the deerskin cords that bound the sling shots were cut in two, and
before the moon had risen, every weapon had been made useless; every
Indian had been disarmed,--and the mice had scampered away.
The warriors awoke. Again the war cry was raised. They sprang to their
feet and seized their weapons, but found them useless. Their bows had no
strings; their arrows, no wings; their slings, no cords.
The warriors who boasted that they were the strongest and fiercest on
the earth, had been made powerless by mice.
[Illustration]
WHY CROWS ARE POOR
After the Great Spirit had made the Red Children and had given them this
beautiful land in which to live, he sent them a great gift,--the gift of
the corn.
_Ga gaah_, the Crow, claims it was he who brought this gift. He says he
was called to the wigwam of the Great Spirit in the sky. A grain of corn
was placed in his ear, and he was told to carry it to earth, to the Red
Children.
Therefore, as _Ga gaah_ brought the gift, he claims he has a right to
pull what corn he needs. _Ga gaah_ says he does not "steal" corn. He
simply takes what belongs to him, his rightful share.
And surely _Ga gaah_ is not greedy! He never takes more corn than he
wants for himself. He never hides or stores it away. He takes just what
he wishes to eat at the time, and no more, for crows never think of
to-morrow.
In summer, they are happy in the cornfields, guarding the roots from
insect enemies, and pulling the tender blades whenever they are hungry.
[Illustration]
But when winter comes, the crows are sad. Many councils are held.
Sometimes a council tree will be black with crows. All are so poor and
so hungry, that they get together to try to plan a better way to live.
There is much noise and confusion at a crow council, for all the crows
talk at once. All are saying, "No bird is so poor as the crow; he is
always hungry. Next summer, let us plant and raise a big crop of corn,
and gather and save it for the winter. Next winter, crows will not be
hungry; they will have food.
"We will no longer take from the fields of the Red Children just enough
corn for a meal to-day. We will raise our own corn, and lay by a store
for the winter."
And having agreed that this is a wise plan, the council ends.
A few days later, another council will be called. At this, the crows
will plan how and where to plant the corn. Some will be appointed to
select a field, others to find seed, and still others to plant and tend
the corn.
But, alas! When spring comes, and skies are blue, and the sun shines
warm, the crows forget the hunger of the winter, and the councils in the
tree. They remember only that the skies are blue, and the sun shines
warm, and now there is plenty of corn.
Happy and content, they walk up and down the fields of the Red Children.
"We have all we want to-day," they say, "Why should we think of
to-morrow, or next winter? We had a good meal this morning, and we are
sure of one to-night. Is not this enough for a crow? What more can he
ask?"
And the next winter comes, and finds the crows as poor and as hungry as
they were the last. Again they are holding noisy councils in the council
tree. Again they are laying plans for the great crop of corn that they
will raise next summer!
[Illustration]
WHY THE INDIAN LOVES HIS DOG
The dog is the Indian's best friend. He is the comrade by day and the
protector by night. As long as the Indian's dog has strength, he will
fight for his friend.
The Indian says this is how the dog came to take his part.
An Indian and his dogs went into the woods to hunt. It was in the days
when dogs and men could talk together, and each understood the language
of the other.
When they reached the woods, the dogs began to talk with the Indian.
They told him many wonderful things about the woods, which he did not
know. They taught him many tricks of the chase: how to scent and track
the game, and where to look for trails.
[Illustration]
The man listened to what the dogs said, and he did as they told him.
Soon the sledge which the dogs had drawn to the woods was piled high
with deer and other game.
Never had the Indian's arrows brought him so much game. Never had he met
with such success in hunting. He was so pleased that he said to the
dogs, "Always shall I talk with you, give ear to what you say, and be
one of you."
"Ah, but listen!" said the dogs. "If you wish to be one of us, you must
live under the law of dogs, not men. Animals have laws different from
those of men. When two dogs meet for the first time, they try their
strength to see which is the better dog.
"Men do not fight when strangers meet, they shake hands. As we fight
strange dogs, so you, too, must fight strange men, to see which is the
best man,--if you are to live under the law of dogs."
The man said he would think it over, and at sunrise give his answer.
Indians always sleep before deciding a question.
Next morning, the man said he would live under the law of animals, and
fight strange men.
The following day, the man made ready to leave the woods. From the
basswood, he made a strong harness for the dogs, so that they could draw
the load of game back to the camp for him.
[Illustration]
When the sun was high, the man and the dogs started with the sledge
load of game. They had not gone far before they saw two strange Indians
coming.
"Now," said the dogs to the man, "remember you are living under the
dog's law. You must fight these strange men."
The man attacked first one Indian and then the other. At last both
turned on him, and when they left him, he was nearly dead. At this, the
dogs took a hand. They leaped upon the Indians and drove them from the
woods. Then they came back to where their friend lay on the ground, and
began to talk with him and lick his face.
The man could not speak for some time, but when his voice came to him,
he said to the dogs, "No longer do I wish to live under the law of
animals. No more shall I fight strangers. From this time, I shall shake
hands with strangers, and bid them welcome. From this time, I shall be a
man and live under the law of men."
"Then," said the dogs sadly, "we shall no longer be able to talk with
you, and tell you the things that we know. But we will always stand by
you. We will be your friends and will fight for you, when you need us as
you did to-day."
This is why the Indian and his dog are now unable to speak each other's
language. This is also why an Indian's dog will fight to the death for
his friend.
Not only is the dog a true friend to the Indian in this world, but in
the next as well. It seems that the soul of an Indian on its journey to
the Happy Hunting Ground must cross a deep, swift-running stream. On
either side of this dark river, there stand two dogs who hold in their
teeth a great log upon which the souls pass.
The soul of the Indian who has been kind to his dog crosses the log
easily, for the dogs stand guard. As the soul of such an Indian reaches
the river, they say, "This Indian was kind to his dog. He gave him of
his own food, and the dog always had a warm place by his fire. We will
help this Indian to cross."
Then the dogs grip the log firmly in their teeth, and hold it steady
while the soul of the kind Indian passes over.
But if the soul of an Indian who has been unkind to his dog comes to the
river, the dogs say, "This man was cruel to his dog. He gave his dog no
place by the fire, he beat him, he let him go hungry. This man shall not
cross."
Then the dogs grip the log lightly in their teeth, and when the soul of
the unkind Indian is half way across, they turn it quickly to one side,
and the soul is thrown into the deep, dark river.
Many an Indian has been kind to his dog, that he might make sure of a
safe crossing on that log.
GREEDY FAWN AND THE PORRIDGE
[Illustration]
In the days when there was no one living in this country but the
Indians, there were no houses; there were only Indian wigwams. There
were no roads and no streets, but Indian trails.
At that time there grew a wonderful chestnut, which the Indians used in
their cooking. A very small bit of this chestnut grated into a kettle
would make a potful of porridge.
[Illustration]
In a certain wigwam lived Deerheart and Sky Elk, and their little son
Greedy Fawn. The mother was called Deerheart because she was so loving,
and gentle, and kind. The father was named Sky Elk because he was so
strong and fleet of foot. Greedy Fawn, too, came rightly by his name.
You will soon know why.
One day, Deerheart and Sky Elk went on a long trail. As they left the
wigwam, they said to Greedy Fawn, "Do not touch the chestnut, do not
build a fire, while we are away."
Greedy Fawn promised. He watched his father and mother disappear down
the western trail. Then he went back to the wigwam.
"Now," thought he, "I will have all the porridge I want."
So he ran and gathered some sticks. He built a fire with the sticks.
Then he hung the kettle over the fire, and put some water in it. Then he
found the chestnut. He grated a little of the chestnut into the kettle,
and began to stir. Then he grated some more, and some more, and some
more.
Faster and faster Greedy Fawn stirred the boiling porridge, for it began
to swell and fill the kettle.
Larger and larger, it grew, and it grew, and it grew.
Greedy Fawn was so frightened he did not know what to do.
"Oh, will it never stop swelling?" he thought. Harder and harder he
stirred to keep the porridge from boiling over. Beads of perspiration
ran down his little bronze face, yet still he stirred. He dared not
stop.
Then he remembered that sometimes his mother would rap the kettle with
the porridge stick, if it became too full.
Rap, rap, rap, went the porridge stick on the edge of the kettle.
Instantly the _kettle_ began to swell. Larger, and larger, and larger it
grew. Greedy Fawn was so frightened he did not know what to do.
Now Greedy Fawn could not reach across the kettle, to stir the porridge
with his stick, so he began to run around it. And around, and around,
and around the kettle he ran, stirring, and stirring, and stirring.
At last the kettle was so large that it nearly filled the wigwam. There
was just space enough left for Greedy Fawn to run around it. And around,
and around, and around the kettle he ran, stirring, and stirring, and
stirring.
Oh, how his little arms ached! And, oh, how tired his small legs were!
But still he ran. He dared not stop.
Here was porridge enough to last a small boy a lifetime, and he could
not stop to taste one mouthful!
[Illustration]
At last Greedy Fawn could run no longer. He stumbled and fell by the
side of the kettle. He was too weak to rise. The stick fell from his
hand, and the porridge boiled on. Higher, and higher, and higher it
rose, until it ran over and down the sides of the kettle. Closer, and
closer the boiling porridge crept to the little Indian boy, and soon
Greedy Fawn and his stick were nearly buried in porridge.
For once Greedy Fawn had all the porridge he wanted. And never again
would he have wanted anything, had not Deerheart and Sky Elk heard his
cries, and come running like deer up the trail to save him.
[Illustration]
WHY HOUNDS OUTRUN OTHER ANIMALS
A hound was chasing a hare through the woods.
Some wolves and panthers were chasing a bull that had been feeding in
the valley near the woods. For some time they had been trying to run him
down, but they did not seem to gain on him.
[Illustration]
When the wolves and panthers saw that they were not gaining on the bull,
they halted to take counsel. They decided that it would take a whole day
of hard running to get the bull, and a hound was near! Why not go for
the hound?
All agreed. They set off for the hound.
Now the bull had heard the wolves and panthers take council, and he,
too, set off for the woods.
As he neared the wood, the bull called to the hound and warned him that
a pack of wolves and panthers was after him. Just then they came into
sight. The hound dared not meet them alone, and he knew not which way to
turn.
Then the bull called, "Come, jump on my back. I can outrun them."
The hound ran and leaped on the back of the bull, and away they went.
The bull and the hound talked as they ran. The bull said he thought the
wolves would soon grow tired, fall back, and give up the chase. But he
was wrong. They were too angry at being outwitted.
"You think to take our game from us," they howled at the bull. "But we
will eat hound meat to-night."
The bull saw it was a run for life. All day he ran. For a time it was
easy to outrun the wolves and panthers, but at last they began to press
hard upon him.
As the sun dropped out of the sky, the bull felt his knees begin to
weaken. The weight of the hound was telling on him. A moment later, he
stumbled and fell.
In an instant, the pack was upon them. But with one leap, the hound
cleared the pack and was off down the trail.
The weaker wolves and panthers leaped upon the bull. The stronger went
on.
But now the best of them were no match for the hound. He was fresh and
strong, for he had been riding all day. They were tired and worn from
the long chase, and soon they gave it up.
Because the hound is able to save his strength for the end of the chase,
he can now outrun not only wolves and panthers, but all the other
animals.
WHY INDIANS NEVER SHOOT PIGEONS
An Indian hunter went into the forest in search of game.
The forest was so large that it would have taken three days to journey
through it. All day he followed the track of the deer, but his arrows
brought him no food.
At night, he came to a dark, swift-running stream. He was tired and
hungry.
"Here," said he, "I will lie down and rest until sunrise."
He began to search for a bed of pine needles, for the Indian loves the
pine tree. It is his friend by day and by night. By day it is his forest
guide. At night it gives him a soft, sweet-smelling bed on which to
sleep, and it shields him from the storm.
The hunter ran along the stream. It was very dark. He felt no soft pine
needles under his moccasined feet, only the knotted roots of trees.
Suddenly the great roots of an oak tree reached out and caught him. He
could not free his foot from the oak's grasp.
The sun rose and set. The great tree still held the hunter fast. He was
weak from pain and hunger.
It was now two days since he had tasted food. Four notches had been cut
in his stick, for the Indian measures time in this way. Each sunrise and
sunset, when he is on the trail, is marked by a notch on a small stick
which he carries.
Three times did the sun again rise and set, yet the tree did not let go
its hold. There were now ten notches on the stick, and the hunter was so
weak that he could scarcely cut the last one.
As the sun rose on the fifth day, a bird flew into the tree. He saw the
hunter lying on the ground, and came close and spoke to him.
The hunter understood, for in those days men and birds could talk
together.
The bird asked the man what he could do for him, and the hunter
whispered, "You are strong. You can fly a long trail. Go and tell the
chief of my people."
The bird flew swiftly away with the message. He did not wait until the
sun was high. He did not stop to eat one berry or one worm. He did not
fly high, nor fly low to talk with other birds. He went straight to the
people the hunter had told him of.