did they stay to eat, but set out directly it was light. At sunset
they made their way to the lake-side, the little orphan carrying the
baby. Here the hunter blackened his face and prayed earnestly that the
Great Manitou might send back his wife. While he prayed the orphan
amused the child by singing quaint little songs; but at last the baby
grew weary and hungry and began to cry.
{179}
Far in the lake his mother heard the sound, and skimmed over the water
in the shape of a great white gull. When she touched the shore she
became a woman again, and hugged the child to her heart's content. The
orphan boy besought her to return to them.
"Alas!" said she, "I have fallen into the hands of the Water Manitou,
and he has wound his silver tail about me, so that I never can escape."
As she spoke the little lad saw that her waist was encircled by a band
of gleaming silver, one end of which was in the water. At length she
declared that it was time for her to return to the home of the
water-god, and after having exacted a promise from the boy that he
would bring her baby there every day, she became a gull again and flew
away. The hunter was informed of all that had passed, and straightway
determined that he would be present on the following evening. All next
day he fasted and besought the good-will of Manitou, and when the night
began to fall he hid himself on the shore till his wife appeared.
Hastily emerging from his concealment, the hunter poised his spear and
struck the girdle with all his force. The silver band parted, and the
woman was free to return home with her husband.
[Illustration: "He poised his spear and struck the girdle"]
Overjoyed at her restoration, he led her gently to the lodge, where his
mother was sitting by the fire. At the sight of her daughter-in-law,
whom she thought she had drowned in the lake, she started up in such
fear and astonishment that she tripped, overbalanced, and fell into the
fire. Before they could pull her out the flames had risen to the
smoke-hole, and when the fire died down no woman was there, but a great
black bird, which rose slowly from the smoking embers, flew out of the
lodge, and was never seen again.
{180}
As for the others, they lived long and happily, undisturbed by the
jealousy and hatred of the malicious crone.
The Maize Spirit
The Chippeways tell a charming story concerning the origin of the zea
maize, which runs as follows:
A lad of fourteen or fifteen dwelt with his parents, brothers, and
sisters in a beautifully situated little lodge. The family, though
poor, were very happy and contented. The father was a hunter who was
not lacking in courage and skill, but there were times when he could
scarcely supply the wants of his family, and as none of his children
was old enough to help him things went hardly with them then. The lad
was of a cheerful and contented disposition, like his father, and his
great desire was to benefit his people. The time had come for him to
observe the initial fast prescribed for all Indian boys of his age, and
his mother made him a little fasting-lodge in a remote spot where he
might not suffer interruption during his ordeal.
Thither the boy repaired, meditating on the goodness of the Great
Spirit, who had made all things beautiful in the fields and forests for
the enjoyment of man. The desire to help his fellows was strong upon
him, and he prayed that some means to that end might be revealed to him
in a dream.
On the third day of his fast he was too weak to ramble through the
forest, and as he lay in a state between sleeping and waking there came
toward him a beautiful youth, richly dressed in green robes, and
wearing on his head wonderful green plumes.
"The Great Spirit has heard your prayers," said the youth, and his
voice was like the sound of the wind sighing through the grass.
"Hearken to me and you {181} shall have your desire fulfilled. Arise
and wrestle with me."
The Struggle
The lad obeyed. Though his limbs were weak his brain was clear and
active, and he felt he could not but obey the soft-voiced stranger.
After a long, silent struggle the latter said:
"That will do for to-day. To-morrow I shall come again."
The lad lay back exhausted, but on the morrow the green-clad stranger
reappeared, and the conflict was renewed. As the struggle went on the
youth felt himself grow stronger and more confident, and before leaving
him for the second time the supernatural visitor offered him some words
of praise and encouragement.
On the third day the youth, pale and feeble, was again summoned to the
contest. As he grasped his opponent the very contact seemed to give
him new strength, and he fought more and more bravely, till his lithe
companion was forced to cry out that he had had enough. Ere he took
his departure the visitor told the lad that the following day would put
an end to his trials.
"To-morrow," said he, "your father will bring you food, and that will
help you. In the evening I shall come and wrestle with you. I know
that you are destined to succeed and to obtain your heart's desire.
When you have thrown me, strip off my garments and plumes, bury me
where I fall, and keep the earth above me moist and clean. Once a
month let my remains be covered with fresh earth, and you shall see me
again, clothed in my green garments and plumes." So saying, he
vanished.
{182}
The Final Contest
Next day the lad's father brought him food; the youth, however, begged
that it might be set aside till evening. Once again the stranger
appeared. Though he had eaten nothing, the hero's strength, as before,
seemed to increase as he struggled, and at length he threw his
opponent. Then he stripped off his garments and plumes, and buried him
in the earth, not without sorrow in his heart for the slaying of such a
beautiful youth.
His task done, he returned to his parents, and soon recovered his full
strength. But he never forgot the grave of his friend. Not a weed was
allowed to grow on it, and finally he was rewarded by seeing the green
plumes rise above the earth and broaden out into graceful leaves. When
the autumn came he requested his father to accompany him to the place.
By this time the plant was at its full height, tall and beautiful, with
waving leaves and golden tassels. The elder man was filled with
surprise and admiration.
"It is my friend," murmured the youth, "the friend of my dreams."
"It is Mon-da-min," said his father, "the spirit's grain, the gift of
the Great Spirit."
And in this manner was maize given to the Indians.
The Seven Brothers
The Blackfeet have a curious legend in explanation of the constellation
known as the Plough or Great Bear. Once there dwelt together nine
children, seven boys and two girls. While the six older brothers were
away on the war-path the elder daughter, whose name was Bearskin-woman,
married a grizzly bear. Her father was so enraged that he collected
his friends and {183} ordered them to surround the grizzly's cave and
slay him. When the girl heard that her spouse had been killed she took
a piece of his skin and wore it as an amulet. Through the agency of
her husband's supernatural power, one dark night she was changed into a
grizzly bear, and rushed through the camp, killing and rending the
people, even her own father and mother, sparing only her youngest
brother and her sister, Okinai and Sinopa. She then took her former
shape, and returned to the lodge occupied by the two orphans, who were
greatly terrified when they heard her muttering to herself, planning
their deaths.
Sinopa had gone to the river one day, when she met her six brothers
returning from the war-path. She told them what had happened in their
absence. They reassured her, and bade her gather a large number of
prickly pears. These she was to strew in front of the lodge, leaving
only a small path uncovered by them. In the dead of night Okinai and
Sinopa crept out of the lodge, picking their way down the little path
that was free from the prickly pears, and meeting their six brothers,
who were awaiting them. The Bearskin-woman heard them leaving the
lodge, and rushed out into the open, only to tread on the prickly
pears. Roaring with pain and anger, she immediately assumed her bear
shape and rushed furiously at her brothers. But Okinai rose to the
occasion. He shot an arrow into the air, and so far as it flew the
brothers and sister found themselves just that distance in front of the
savage animal behind them.
The Chase
The beast gained on them, however; but Okinai waved a magic feather,
and thick underbrush rose in its path. Again Bearskin-woman made
headway. {184} Okinai caused a lake to spring up before her. Yet
again she neared the brothers and sister, and this time Okinai raised a
great tree, into which the refugees climbed. The Grizzly-woman,
however, succeeded in dragging four of the brothers from the tree, when
Okinai shot an arrow into the air. Immediately his little sister
sailed into the sky. Six times more he shot an arrow, and each time a
brother went up, Okinai himself following them as the last arrow soared
into the blue. Thus the orphans became stars; and one can see that
they took the same position in the sky as they had occupied in the
tree, for the small star at one side of the bunch is Sinopa, while the
four who huddle together at the bottom are those who had been dragged
from the branches by Bearskin-woman.
The Beaver Medicine Legend[2]
Two brothers dwelt together in the old time. The elder, who was named
Nopatsis, was married to a woman who was wholly evil, and who hated his
younger brother, Akaiyan. Daily the wife pestered her husband to be
rid of Akaiyan, but he would not agree to part with his only brother,
for they had been together through long years of privation--indeed,
since their parents had left them together as little helpless
orphans--and they were all in all to each other. So the wife of
Nopatsis had resort to a ruse well known to women whose hearts are
evil. One day when her husband returned from the chase he found her
lamenting with torn clothes and disordered appearance. She told him
that Akaiyan had treated her brutally. The lie entered into the heart
of Nopatsis and made it heavy, so that in time he conceived a hatred of
his innocent brother, and {185} debated with himself how he should rid
himself of Akaiyan.
[2] The first portion of this legend has its exact counterpart in
Egyptian story. See Wiedemann, _Popular Literature of Ancient Egypt_,
p. 45.
Summer arrived, and with it the moulting season when the wild
water-fowl shed their feathers, with which the Indians fledge their
arrows. Near Nopatsis's lodge there was a great lake, to which these
birds resorted in large numbers, and to this place the brothers went to
collect feathers with which to plume their darts. They built a raft to
enable them to reach an island in the middle of the lake, making it of
logs bound securely with buffalo-hide. Embarking, they sailed to the
little island, along the shores of which they walked, looking for
suitable feathers. They parted in the quest, and after some time
Akaiyan, who had wandered far along the strand, suddenly looked up to
see his brother on the raft sailing toward the mainland. He called
loudly to him to return, but Nopatsis replied that he deserved to
perish there because of the brutal manner in which he had treated his
sister-in-law. Akaiyan solemnly swore that he had not injured her in
any way, but Nopatsis only jeered at him, and rowed away. Soon he was
lost to sight, and Akaiyan sat down and wept bitterly. He prayed
earnestly to the nature spirits and to the sun and moon, after which he
felt greatly uplifted. Then he improvised a shelter of branches, and
made a bed of feathers of the most comfortable description. He lived
well on the ducks and geese which frequented the island, and made a
warm robe against the winter season from their skins. He was careful
also to preserve many of the tame birds for his winter food.
One day he encountered the lodge of a beaver, and while he looked at it
curiously he became aware of the presence of a little beaver.
"My father desires that you will enter his dwelling," said the animal.
So Akaiyan accepted the invitation {186} and entered the lodge, where
the Great Beaver, attended by his wife and family, received him. He
was, indeed, the chief of all the beavers, and white with the snows of
countless winters. Akaiyan told the Beaver how cruelly he had been
treated, and the wise animal condoled with him, and invited him to
spend the winter in his lodge, when he would learn many wonderful and
useful things. Akaiyan gratefully accepted the invitation, and when
the beavers closed up their lodge for the winter he remained with them.
They kept him warm by placing their thick, soft tails on his body, and
taught him the secret of the healing art, the use of tobacco, and
various ceremonial dances, songs, and prayers belonging to the great
mystery of 'medicine.'
The summer returned, and on parting the Beaver asked Akaiyan to choose
a gift. He chose the Beaver's youngest child, with whom he had
contracted a strong friendship; but the father prized his little one
greatly, and would not at first permit him to go. At length, however,
Great Beaver gave way to Akaiyan's entreaties and allowed him to take
Little Beaver with him, counselling him to construct a sacred Beaver
Bundle when he arrived at his native village.
In due time Nopatsis came to the island on his raft, and, making sure
that his brother was dead, began to search for his remains. But while
he searched, Akaiyan caught up Little Beaver in his arms and, embarking
on the raft, made for the mainland, espied by Nopatsis. When Akaiyan
arrived at his native village he told his story to the chief, gathered
a Beaver Bundle, and commenced to teach the people the mystery of
'medicine,' with its accompanying songs and dances. Then he invited
the chiefs of the animal tribes to contribute their knowledge to the
Beaver Medicine, which many of them did.
{187}
Having accomplished his task of instruction, which occupied him all the
winter, Akaiyan returned to the island with Little Beaver, who had been
of immense service to him in teaching the Indians the 'medicine' songs
and dances. He returned Little Beaver to his parents, and received in
exchange for him a sacred pipe, being also instructed in its
accompanying songs and ceremonial dances. On the island he found the
bones of his credulous and vengeful brother, who had met with the fate
he had purposed for the innocent Akaiyan. Every spring Akaiyan visited
the beavers, and as regularly he received something to add to the
Beaver Medicine Bundle, until it reached the great size it now has.
And he married and founded a race of medicine-men who have handed down
the traditions and ceremonials of the Beaver Medicine to the present
day.
The Sacred Bear-Spear
An interesting Blackfoot myth relates how that tribe obtained its
sacred Bear-spear. Many generations ago, even before the Blackfeet
used horses as beasts of burden, the tribe was undertaking its autumn
migration, when one evening before striking camp for the night it was
reported that a dog-sledge or cart belonging to the chief was missing.
To make matters worse, the chief's ermine robe and his wife's buckskin
dress, with her sacred elk-skin robe, had been packed in the little
cart. Strangely enough, no one could recollect having noticed the dog
during the march. Messengers were dispatched to the camping-site of
the night before, but to no avail. At last the chief's son, Sokumapi,
a boy about twelve years of age, begged to be allowed to search for the
missing dog, a proposal to which his father, after some demur,
consented. Sokumapi set out alone for the last camping-ground, which
was under {188} the shadows of the Rocky Mountains, and carefully
examined the site. Soon he found a single dog-sledge track leading
into a deep gulch, near the entrance to which he discovered a large
cave. A heap of freshly turned earth stood in front of the cave,
beside which was the missing cart. As he stood looking at it,
wondering what had become of the dog which had drawn it, an immense
grizzly-bear suddenly dashed out. So rapid was its attack that
Sokumapi had no chance either to defend himself or to take refuge in
flight. The bear, giving vent to the most terrific roars, dragged him
into the cave, hugging him with such force that he fainted. When he
regained consciousness it was to find the bear's great head within a
foot of his own, and he thought that he saw a kindly and almost human
expression in its big brown eyes. For a long time he lay still, until
at last, to his intense surprise, the Bear broke the silence by
addressing him in human speech.
"Have no fear," said the grizzly. "I am the Great Bear, and my power
is extensive. I know the circumstances of your search, and I have
drawn you to this cavern because I desired to assist you. Winter is
upon us, and you had better remain with me during the cold season, in
the course of which I will reveal to you the secret of my supernatural
power."
Bear Magic
It will be observed that the circumstances of this tale are almost
identical with those which relate to the manner in which the Beaver
Medicine was revealed to mankind. The hero of both stories remains
during the winter with the animal, the chief of its species, who in the
period of hibernation instructs him in certain potent mysteries.
{189}
The Bear, having reassured Sokumapi, showed him how to transform
various substances into food. His strange host slept during most of
the winter; but when the warm winds of spring returned and the snows
melted from the hills the grizzly became restless, and told Sokumapi
that it was time to leave the cave. Before they quitted it, however,
he taught the lad the secret of his supernatural power. Among other
things, he showed him how to make a Bear-spear. He instructed him to
take a long stick, to one end of which he must secure a sharp point, to
symbolize the bear's tusks. To the staff must be attached a bear's
nose and teeth, while the rest of the spear was to be covered with
bear's skin, painted the sacred colour, red. The Bear also told him to
decorate the handle with eagle's feathers and grizzly claws, and in
war-time to wear a grizzly claw in his hair, so that the strength of
the Great Bear might go with him in battle, and to imitate the noise a
grizzly makes when it charges. The Bear furthermore instructed him
what songs should be used in order to heal the sick, and how to paint
his face and body so that he would be invulnerable in battle, and,
lastly, told him of the sacred nature of the spear, which was only to
be employed in warfare and for curing disease. Thus if a person was
sick unto death, and a relative purchased the Bear-spear, its
supernatural power would restore the ailing man to health. Equipped
with this knowledge, Sokumapi returned to his people, who had long
mourned him as dead. After a feast had been given to celebrate his
home-coming he began to manufacture the Bear-spear as directed by his
friend.
How the Magic Worked
Shortly after his return the Crows made war upon the Blackfeet, and on
the meeting of the two tribes in {190} battle Sokumapi appeared in
front of his people carrying the Bear-spear on his back. His face and
body were painted as the Great Bear had instructed him, and he sang the
battle-songs that the grizzly had taught him. After these ceremonies
he impetuously charged the enemy, followed by all his braves in a solid
phalanx, and such was the efficacy of the Bear magic that the Crows
immediately took to flight. The victorious Blackfeet brought back
Sokumapi to their camp in triumph, to the accompaniment of the Bear
songs. He was made a war-chief, and ever afterward the spear which he
had used was regarded as the palladium of the Blackfoot Indians. In
the spring the Bear-spear is unrolled from its covering and produced
when the first thunder is heard, and when the Bear begins to quit his
winter quarters; but when the Bear returns to his den to hibernate the
spear is once more rolled up and put away. The greatest care is taken
to protect it against injury. It has a special guardian, and no woman
is permitted to touch it.
The Young Dog Dance
A dance resembling the Sun Dance was formerly known to the Pawnee
Indians, who called it the Young Dog Dance. It was, they said,
borrowed from the Crees, who produced the following myth to account for
it.
One day a young brave of the Cree tribe had gone out from his village
to catch eagles, in order to provide himself with feathers for a
war-bonnet, or to tie in his hair. Now the Crees caught eagles in this
fashion. On the top of a hill frequented by these birds they would dig
a pit and cover it over with a roof of poles, cunningly concealing the
structure with grass. A piece of meat was fastened to the poles, so
that the eagles {191} could not carry it off. Then the Indian, taking
off his clothes, would descend into the pit, and remain there for
hours, or days, as the case might be, until an eagle was attracted by
the bait, when he would put his hand between the poles, seize the bird
by the feet, and quickly dispatch it.
The young brave whose fortune it was to discover the Young Dog Dance
had prepared the trap in this wise, and was lying in the pit praying
that an eagle might come and bring his uncomfortable vigil to an end.
Suddenly he heard a sound of drumming, distant but quite distinct,
though he could not tell from what direction it proceeded. All night
the mysterious noise continued. Next night as he lay in the same
position he heard it again, and resolved to find out its origin, so he
clambered out of his pit and went off in the direction from which the
drum-beating seemed to proceed. At last, when dawn was near, he
reached the shores of a great lake. Here he stopped, for the sounds
quite evidently came from the lake. All that day he sat by the water
bemoaning his ill-luck and praying for better fortune. When night fell
the drumming began anew, and the young man saw countless animals and
birds swimming in the lake. Four days he remained on the lake-shore,
till at length, worn out by fatigue and hunger (for many days had
elapsed since he had eaten), he fell asleep.
The Lodge of Animals
When he awoke he found himself in a large lodge, surrounded by many
people, some of whom were dancing, while others sat round the walls.
All these people wore robes made from the skins of various animals or
birds. They were, in fact, the animals the young Indian had seen
swimming in the water, who {192} had changed themselves into human
shape. A chief at the back of the lodge stood up and addressed him
thus:
"My friend, we have heard your prayers, and our desire is to help you.
You see these people? They represent the animals. I am the Dog. The
Great Spirit is very fond of dogs. I have much power, and my power I
shall give to you, so that you may be like me, and my spirit will
always protect you. Take this dance home to your people, and it will
make them lucky in war." And he imparted the nature of the rite to the
Indian by action.
The Dog turned from the Cree brave and his eye swept the company.
The Gift
"Brothers," he said, "I have given him my power. Will you not pity him
and give him the power you have?"
For a time there was silence. No one seemed disposed to respond to the
chief's appeal. At last the Owl rose.
"I will help you," he said to the young man. "I have power to see in
the dark wherever I may go. When you go out at night I will be near
you, and you shall see as well as I do. Take these feathers and tie
them in your hair." And, giving him a bunch of feathers, the Owl sat
down.
There was a pause, and the next to rise was the Buffalo Bull, who gave
to the young Indian his strength and endurance and the power to trample
his enemies underfoot. As a token he gave him a shoulder-belt of
tanned buffalo-hide, bidding him wear it when he went on the war-path.
By and by the Porcupine stood up and addressed {193} the guest. Giving
him some of his quills with which to ornament the leather belt, he said:
"I also will help you. I can make my enemies as weak as women, so that
they fly before me. When you fight your foes shall flee and you shall
overcome them."
Another long silence ensued, and when at last the Eagle rose every one
listened to hear what he had to say.
"I also," he said majestically, "will be with you wherever you go, and
will give you my prowess in war, so that you may kill your foes as I
do." As he spoke he handed to the brave some eagle feathers to tie in
his hair.
The Whooping Crane followed, and gave him a bone from its wing for a
war-whistle to frighten his enemies away.
The Deer and the Bear came next, the one giving him swiftness, with a
rattle as token, and the other hardiness, and a strip of fur for his
belt.
After he had received these gifts from the animals the brave lay down
and fell asleep again. When he awoke he found himself on the shores of
the lake once more.
Returning home, he taught the Crees the Young Dog Dance, which was to
make them skilful in war, and showed them the articles he had received.
So the young men formed a Society of Young Dogs, which practised the
dance and obtained the benefits.
The Medicine Wolf
A quaint story of a 'medicine' wolf is told among the Blackfoot
Indians. On one occasion when the Blackfeet were moving camp they were
attacked by a number of Crow Indians who had been lying in wait for
them. The Blackfeet were travelling slowly in a {194} long, straggling
line, with the old men and the women and children in the middle, and a
band of warriors in front and in the rear. The Crows, as has been
said, made an ambush for their enemies, and rushed out on the middle
portion of the line. Before either party of the Blackfoot warriors
could reach the scene of the struggle many of the women and children
had perished, and others were taken captive by the attacking force.
Among the prisoners was a young woman called Sits-by-the-door. Many
weary miles lay between them and the Crow camp on the Yellowstone
River, but at length the tired captives, mounted with their captors on
jaded horses, arrived at their destination. The warrior who had taken
Sits-by-the-door prisoner now presented her to a friend of his, who in
turn gave her into the keeping of his wife, who was somewhat older than
her charge. The young Blackfoot woman was cruelly treated by the Crow
into whose possession she had passed. Every night he tied her feet
together so that she might not escape, and also tied a rope round her
waist, the other end of which he fastened to his wife. The Crow woman,
however, was not unmoved by the wretchedness of her prisoner. While
her husband was out she managed to converse with her and to show her
that she pitied her misfortunes. One day she informed Sits-by-the-door
that she had overheard her husband and his companions plotting to kill
her, but she added that when darkness fell she would help her to
escape. When night came the Crow woman waited until the deep breathing
of her husband told her that he was sound asleep; then, rising
cautiously, she loosened the ropes that bound her captive, and, giving
her a pair of moccasins, a flint, and a small sack of pemmican, bade
her make haste and escape from the fate that would surely befall her
{195} if she remained where she was. The trembling woman obeyed, and
travelled at a good pace all night. At dawn she hid in the dense
undergrowth, hoping to escape observation should her captors pursue
her. They, meanwhile, had discovered her absence, and were searching
high and low, but no tracks were visible, and at last, wearied with
their unprofitable search, they gave up the chase and returned to their
homes.
The Friendly Wolf
When the woman had journeyed on for four nights she stopped concealing
herself in the daytime and travelled straight on. She was not yet out
of danger, however, for her supply of pemmican was soon exhausted, and
she found herself face to face with the miseries of starvation. Her
moccasins, besides, were worn to holes and her feet were cut and
bleeding, while, to add to her misfortunes, a huge wolf dogged her
every movement. In vain she tried to run away; her strength was
exhausted and she sank to the ground. Nearer and nearer came the great
wolf, and at last he lay down at her feet. Whenever the woman walked
on her way the wolf followed, and when she lay down to rest he lay down
also.
At length she begged her strange companion to help her, for she knew
that unless she obtained food very soon she must die. The animal
trotted away, and returned shortly with a buffalo calf which it had
killed, and laid it at the woman's feet. With the aid of the
flint--one of the gifts with which the Crow woman had sped her unhappy
guest--she built a fire and cooked some of the buffalo meat. Thus
refreshed, she proceeded on her way. Again and again the wolf provided
food in a similar manner, until at length they reached the Blackfoot
camp. The woman led the animal {196} into her lodge, and related to
her friends all that had befallen her in the Crow camp, and the manner
of her escape. She also told them how the wolf had befriended her, and
begged them to treat it kindly. But soon afterward she fell ill, and
the poor wolf was driven out of the village by the Indian dogs. Every
evening he would come to the top of a hill overlooking the camp and
watch the lodge where Sits-by-the-door dwelt. Though he was still fed
by her friends, after a time he disappeared and was seen no more.[3]
[3] The reader cannot fail to discern the striking resemblance between
this episode and that of Una and the lion in Spenser's _Faerie Queene_.
The Story of Scar-face
Scar-face was brave but poor. His parents had died while he was yet a
boy, and he had no near relations. But his heart was high, and he was
a mighty hunter. The old men said that Scar-face had a future before
him, but the young braves twitted him because of a mark across his
face, left by the rending claw of a great grizzly which he had slain in
close fight.
The chief of his tribe possessed a beautiful daughter, whom all the
young men desired in marriage. Scar-face also had fallen in love with
her, but he felt ashamed to declare his passion because of his poverty.
The maiden had already repulsed half the braves of his tribe. Why, he
argued, should she accept him, poor and disfigured as he was?
One day he passed her as she sat outside her lodge. He cast a
penetrating glance at her--a glance which was observed by one of her
unsuccessful suitors, who sneeringly remarked:
"Scar-face would marry our chiefs daughter! She does not desire a man
without a blemish. Ha, Scar-face, now is your chance!"
{197}
Scar-face turned upon the jeerer, and in his quiet yet dignified manner
remarked that it was his intention to ask the chief's daughter to be
his wife. His announcement met with ridicule, but he took no notice of
it and sought the girl.
He found her by the river, pulling rushes to make baskets.
Approaching, he respectfully addressed her.
"I am poor," he said, "but my heart is rich in love for you. I have no
wealth of furs or pemmican. I live by my bow and spear. I love you.
Will you dwell with me in my lodge and be my wife?"
The Sun-God's Decree
The girl regarded him with bright, shy eyes peering up through lashes
as the morning sun peers through the branches.
"My husband would not be poor," she faltered, "for my father, the
chief, is wealthy and has abundance in his lodge. But it has been laid
upon me by the Sun-god that I may not marry."
"These are heavy words," said Scar-face sadly. "May they not be
recalled?"
"On one condition only," replied the girl. "Seek the Sun-god and ask
him to release me from my promise. If he consents to do so, request
him to remove the scar from your face as a sign that I may know that he
gives me to you."
Scar-face was sad at heart, for he could not believe that the Sun-god,
having chosen such a beautiful maiden for himself, would renounce her.
But he gave the chief's daughter his promise that he would seek out the
god in his own bright country and ask him to grant his request.
For many moons Scar-face sought the home of the Sun-god. He traversed
wide plains and dense forests, {198} crossed rivers and lofty
mountains, yet never a trace of the golden gates of the dwelling of the
God of Light could he see.
Many inquiries did he make from the wild denizens of the forest--the
wolf, the bear, the badger. But none was aware of the way to the home
of the Sun-god. He asked the birds, but though they flew far they were
likewise in ignorance of the road thither. At last he met a wolverine
who told him that he had been there himself, and promised to set him on
the way. For a long and weary season they marched onward, until at
length they came to a great water, too broad and too deep to cross.
As Scar-face sat despondent on the bank bemoaning his case two
beautiful swans advanced from the water, and, requesting him to sit on
their backs, bore him across in safety. Landing him on the other side,
they showed him which way to take and left him. He had not walked far
when he saw a bow and arrows lying before him. But Scar-face was
punctilious and would not pick them up because they did not belong to
him. Not long afterward he encountered a beautiful youth of handsome
form and smiling aspect.
"I have lost a bow and arrows," he said to Scar-face. "Have you seen
them?"
Scar-face told him that he had seen them a little way back, and the
handsome youth praised him for his honesty in not appropriating them.
He further asked him where he was bound for.
"I am seeking the Sun in his home," replied the Indian, "and I believe
that I am not far from my destination."
"You are right," replied the youth. "I am the son of the Sun,
Apisirahts, the Morning Star, and I will lead you to the presence of my
august father."
{199}
They walked onward for a little space, and then Apisirahts pointed out
a great lodge, glorious with golden light and decorated with an art
more curious than any that Scar-face had ever beheld. At the entrance
stood a beautiful woman, the mother of Morning Star, Kokomikis, the
Moon-goddess, who welcomed the footsore Indian kindly and joyously.
The Chase of the Savage Birds
Then the great Sun-god appeared, wondrous in his strength and beauty as
the mighty planet over which he ruled. He too greeted Scar-face
kindly, and requested him to be his guest and to hunt with his son.
Scar-face and the youth gladly set out for the chase. But on departing
the Sun-god warned them not to venture near the Great Water, as there
dwelt savage birds which might slay Morning Star.
Scar-face tarried with the Sun, his wife and child, fearful of asking
his boon too speedily, and desiring to make as sure as possible of its
being granted.
One day he and Morning Star hunted as usual, and the youth stole away,
for he wished to slay the savage birds of which his father had spoken.
But Scar-face followed, rescued the lad in imminent peril, and killed
the monsters. The Sun was grateful to him for having saved his son
from a terrible death, and asked him for what reason he had sought his
lodge. Scar-face acquainted him with the circumstances of his love for
the chief's daughter and of his quest. At once the Sun-god granted his
desire.
"Return to the woman you love so much," he said, "return and make her
yours. And as a sign that it is my will that she should be your wife,
I make you whole."
With a motion of his bright hand the deity removed {200} the unsightly
scar. On quitting the Sun-country the god, his wife and son presented
Scar-face with many good gifts, and showed him a short route by which
to return to Earth-land once more.
Scar-face soon reached his home. When he sought his chief's daughter
she did not know him at first, so rich was the gleaming attire he had
obtained in the Sun-country. But when she at last recognized him she
fell upon his breast with a glad cry. That same day she was made his
wife. The happy pair raised a 'medicine' lodge to the Sun-god, and
henceforth Scar-face was called Smooth-face.
The Legend of Poïa
A variant of this beautiful story is as follows:
One summer morning a beautiful girl called Feather-woman, who had been
sleeping outside her lodge among the long prairie grass, awoke just as
the Morning Star was rising above the horizon. She gazed intently at
it, and so beautiful did it seem that she fell deeply in love with it.
She awakened her sister, who was lying beside her, and declared to her
that she would marry nobody but the Morning Star. The people of her
tribe ridiculed her because of what they considered her absurd
preference; so she avoided them as much as possible, and wandered
alone, eating her heart out in secret for love of the Morning Star, who
seemed to her unapproachable.
One day she went alone to the river for water, and as she returned she
beheld a young man standing before her. At first she took him for one
of the young men of the tribe, and would have avoided him, but he said:
"I am the Morning Star. I beheld you gazing upward at me, and knew
that you loved me. I returned {201} your love, and have descended to
ask you to go with me to my dwelling in the sky."
Feather-woman trembled violently, for she knew that he who spoke to her
was a god, and replied hesitatingly that she must bid farewell to her
father and mother. But this Morning Star would not permit. He took a
rich yellow plume from his hair and directed her to hold this in one
hand, while she held a juniper branch in the other. Then he commanded
her to close her eyes, and when she opened them again she was in the
Sky-country, standing before a great and shining lodge. Morning Star
told her that this was the home of his parents, the Sun and Moon, and
requested her to enter. It was daytime, so that the Sun was away on
his diurnal round, but the Moon was at home. She welcomed
Feather-woman as the wife of her son, as did the Sun himself when he
returned. The Moon clothed her in a soft robe of buckskin, trimmed
with elks' teeth. Feather-woman was very happy, and dwelt contentedly
in the lodge or Morning Star. They had a little son, whom they called
Star-boy. The Moon gave Feather-woman a root-digger, and told her that
she could dig up all kinds of roots, but warned her on no account to
dig up the large turnip which grew near the home of the Spider Man,
telling her that it would bring unhappiness to all of them if she did
so.
The Great Turnip
Feather-woman often saw the large turnip, but always avoided touching
it. One day, however, her curiosity got the better of her, and she was
tempted to see what might be underneath it. She laid her little son on
the ground and dug until her root-digger stuck fast. Two large cranes
came flying overhead. {202} She begged these to help her. They did
so, and sang a magic song which enabled them to uproot the turnip.
Now, although she was unaware of it, this very turnip filled up the
hole through which Morning Star had brought her into the Sky-country.
Gazing downward, she saw the camp of the Blackfeet where she had lived.
The smoke was ascending from the lodges, she could hear the song of the
women as they went about their work. The sight made her homesick and
lonely, and as she went back to her lodge she cried softly to herself.
When she arrived Morning Star gazed earnestly at her, and said with a
sorrowful expression of countenance: "You have dug up the sacred
turnip."
[Illustration: "Gazing downward, she saw the camp of the Blackfeet"]
The Moon and Sun were also troubled, and asked her the meaning of her
sadness, and when she had told them they said that as she had disobeyed
their injunction she must return to earth. Morning Star took her to
the Spider Man, who let her down to earth by a web, and the people
beheld her coming to earth like a falling star.
The Return to Earth
She was welcomed by her parents, and returned with her child, whom she
had brought with her from the Sky-country, to the home of her youth.
But happiness never came back to her. She mourned ceaselessly for her
husband, and one morning, climbing to the summit of a high mound, she
watched the beautiful Morning Star rise above the horizon, just as on
the day when she had first loved him. Stretching out her arms to the
eastern sky, she besought him passionately to take her back. At length
he spoke to her.
"It is because of your own sin," he said, "that you are for ever shut
out from the Sky-country. Your {203} disobedience has brought sorrow
upon yourself and upon all your people."
Her pleadings were in vain, and in despair she returned to her lodge,
where her unhappy life soon came to a close. Her little son, Star-boy,
was now an orphan, and the death of his grandparents deprived him of
all his earthly kindred. He was a shy, retiring, timid boy, living in
the deepest poverty, notwithstanding his exalted station as grandchild
of the Sun. But the most noticeable thing about him was a scar which
disfigured his face, because of which he was given the name of Poïa
(Scar-face) by the wits of the tribe. As he grew older the scar became
more pronounced, and ridicule and abuse were heaped upon him. When he
became a man he fell in love with a maiden of surpassing beauty, the
daughter of a great chief of his tribe. She, however, laughed him to
scorn, and told him that she would marry him when he removed the scar
from his face. Poïa, greatly saddened by her unkindness, consulted an
old medicine-woman, to see whether the scar might not be removed. She
could only tell him that the mark had been placed on his face by the
Sun, and that the Sun alone could remove it. This was melancholy news
for Poïa. How could he reach the abode of the Sun? Nevertheless,
encouraged by the old woman, he resolved to make the attempt.
Gratefully accepting her parting gift of pemmican and moccasins, he set
off on a journey that was to last for many days.
The Big Water
After climbing mountains and traversing forests and wandering over
trackless prairies he arrived at the Big Water (that is to say, the
Pacific Ocean), on the shores of which he sat down, praying and fasting
for three {204} days. On the third day, when the Sun was sinking
behind the rim of the ocean, he saw a bright pathway leading straight
to the abode of the Sun. He resolved to follow the shining trail,
though he knew not what might lie before him in the great Sky-country.
He arrived quite safely, however, at the wonderful lodge of the Sun.
All night he hid himself outside the lodge, and in the morning the Sun,
who was about to begin his daily journey, saw a ragged wayfarer lying
by his door. He did not know that the intruder was his grandson, but,
seeing that he had come from the Earth-country, he determined to kill
him, and said so to his wife, the Moon. But she begged that the
stranger's life should be spared, and Morning Star, who at that moment
issued from the lodge, also gave Poïa his protection. Poïa lived very
happily in the lodge of the Sun, and having on one occasion killed
seven birds who were about to destroy Morning Star, he earned the
gratitude of his grandparents. At the request of Morning Star the Sun
removed the scar on Poïa's face, and bade him return with a message to
the Blackfeet. If they would honour him once a year in a Sun Dance he
would consent to heal their sick. The secrets of the Sun Dance were
taught to Poïa, two raven's feathers were placed in his hair, and he
was given a robe of elk-skin. The latter, he was told, must only be
worn by a virtuous woman, who should then dance the Sun Dance, so that
the sick might be restored to health. From his father Poïa received an
enchanted flute and a magic song, which would win the heart of the maid
he loved.
Poïa came to earth by the Milky Way, or, as the Indians call it, the
Wolf-trail, and communicated to the Blackfeet all that he had learned
in the Sky-country. When they were thoroughly conversant with the Sun
{205} Dance he returned to the Sky-country, the home of his father,
accompanied by his beautiful bride. Here they dwelt together happily,
and Pola and the Morning Star travelled together through the sky.
A Blackfoot Day-and-Night Myth
Many stories are told by the Blackfoot Indians of their creator, Nápi,
and these chiefly relate to the manner in which he made the world and
its inhabitants.
One myth connected with this deity tells how a poor Indian who had a
wife and two children lived in the greatest indigence on roots and
berries. This man had a dream in which he heard a voice command him to
procure a large spider-web, which he was to hang on the trail of the
animals where they passed through the forest, by which means he would
obtain plenty of food. This he did, and on returning to the place in
which he had hung the web he found deer and rabbits entangled in its
magical meshes. These he killed for food, for which he was now never
at a loss.
Returning with his game on his shoulders one morning, he discovered his
wife perfuming herself with sweet pine, which she burned over the fire.
He suspected that she was thus making herself attractive for the
benefit of some one else, but, preserving silence, he told her that on
the following day he would set his spider-web at a greater distance, as
the game in the neighbouring forest was beginning to know the trap too
well. Accordingly he went farther afield, and caught a deer, which he
cut up, carrying part of its meat back with him to his lodge. He told
his wife where the remainder of the carcass was to be found, and asked
her to go and fetch it.
His wife, however, was not without her own suspicions, and, concluding
that she was being watched by {206} her husband, she halted at the top
of the nearest hill and looked back to see if he was following her.
But he was sitting where she had left him, so she proceeded on her way.
When she was quite out of sight the Indian himself climbed the hill,
and, seeing that she was not in the vicinity, returned to the camp. He
inquired of his children where their mother went to gather firewood,
and they pointed to a large patch of dead timber. Proceeding to the
clump of leafless trees, the man instituted a thorough search, and
after a while discovered a den of rattlesnakes. Now it was one of
these reptiles with which his wife was in love, so the Indian in his
wrath gathered fragments of dry wood and set the whole plantation in a
blaze. Then he returned to his lodge and told his children what he had
done, at the same time warning them that their mother would be very
wrathful, and would probably attempt to kill them all. He further said
that he would wait for her return, but that they had better run away,
and that he would provide them with three things which they would find
of use. He then handed to the children a stick, a stone, and a bunch
of moss, which they were to throw behind them should their mother
pursue them. The children at once ran away, and their father hung the
spider-web over the door of the lodge. Meanwhile the woman had seen
the blaze made by the dry timber-patch from a considerable distance,
and in great anger turned and ran back to the lodge. Attempting to
enter it, she was at once entangled in the meshes of the spider-web.
The Pursuing Head
She struggled violently, however, and succeeded in getting her head
through the opening, whereupon her husband severed it from her
shoulders with his stone {207} axe. He then ran out of the lodge and
down the valley, hotly pursued by the woman's body, while her head
rolled along the ground in chase of the children. The latter soon
descried the grisly object rolling along in their tracks at a great
speed, and one of them quickly threw the stick behind him as he had
been told to do. Instantly a dense forest sprang up in their rear,
which for a space retarded their horrible pursuer. The children made
considerable headway, but once more the severed head made its
appearance, gnashing its teeth in a frenzy of rage and rolling its eyes
horribly, while it shrieked out threats which caused the children's
blood to turn to water.
[Illustration: The Pursuing Head]
Then another of the boys threw the stone which he had been given behind
him, and instantly a great mountain sprang up which occupied the land
from sea to sea, so that the progress of the head was quite barred. It
could perceive no means of overcoming this immense barrier, until it
encountered two rams feeding, which it asked to make a way for it
through the mountain, telling them that if they would do so it would
marry the chief of the sheep. The rams made a valiant effort to meet
this request, and again and again fiercely rushed at the mountain, till
their horns were split and broken and they could butt no longer. The
head, growing impatient, called upon a colony of ants which dwelt in
the neighbourhood to tunnel a passage through the obstacle, and
offered, if they were successful, to marry the chief ant as a
recompense for their labours. The insects at once took up the task,
and toiled incessantly until they had made a tunnel through which the
head could roll.
The Fate of the Head
The children were still running, but felt that the head had not
abandoned pursuit. At last, after a long {208} interval, they observed
it rolling after them, evidently as fresh as ever. The child who had
the bunch of moss now wet it and wrung out the water over their trail,
and immediately an immense strait separated them from the land where
they had been but a moment before. The head, unable to stop, fell into
this great water and was drowned.
The children, seeing that their danger was past, made a raft and sailed
back to the land from which they had come. Arrived there, they
journeyed eastward through many countries, peopled by many different
tribes of Indians, in order to reach their own territory. When they
arrived there they found it occupied by tribes unknown to them, so they
resolved to separate, one going north and the other south. One of them
was shrewd and clever, and the other simple and ingenious. The shrewd
boy is he who made the white people and instructed them in their arts.
The other, the simple boy, made the Blackfeet, but, being very stupid,
was unable to teach them anything. He it was who was called Nápi. As
for the mother's body, it continued to chase her husband, and is still
following him, for she is the Moon and he is the Sun. If she succeeds
in catching him she will slay him, and night will reign for evermore,
but as long as he is able to evade her day and night will continue to
follow one another.
Nápi and the Buffalo-Stealer
There was once a great famine among the Blackfeet. For months no
buffaloes were killed, and the weaker members of the tribe dropped off
one by one, while even the strong braves and hunters began to sink
under the privation. The chief in despair prayed that the creator,
Nápi, would send them food. Nápi, {209} meanwhile, was far away in the
south, painting the plumage of the birds in gorgeous tints.
Nevertheless he heard the voice of the chief over all the distance, and
hastened northward.
"Who has summoned me?" he demanded.
"It was I," said the chief humbly. "My people are starving, and unless
relief comes soon I fear we must all perish."
"You shall have food," answered Nápi. "I will provide game for you."
Taking with him the chief's son, Nápi travelled toward the west. As
they went the youth prayed earnestly to the Sun, the Moon, and the
Morning Star, but his companion rebuked his impatience and bade him
hold his peace. They crossed the Sweet Grass Hills, which Nápi had
made from huge handfuls of herbage, and where he loved to rest. Still
there was no sign of game. At length they reached a little lodge by
the side of a river, and Nápi called a halt.
"There dwells the cause of your misfortunes," said he. "He who lives
in that lodge is the Buffalo-stealer. He it is who has taken all the
herds from the prairies, so that there is none left."
To further his design, Nápi took the shape of a dog, and turned the
youth into a stick. Not long afterward the little son of
Buffalo-stealer was passing that way, and immediately desired to take
the little dog home with him.
"Very well," said his mother; "take that stick and drive it to the
lodge."
But the boy's father frowned angrily.
"I do not like the look of the beast," he said. "Send it away."
The boy refused to part with the dog, and his mother wanted the stick
to gather roots with, so the father was {210} obliged to give way.
Still he did not show any good-will to the dog. The following day he
went out of the lodge, and in a short time returned with a buffalo,
which he skinned and prepared for cooking. His wife, who was in the
woods gathering berries, came home toward evening, and at her husband's
bidding cooked part of the buffalo-meat. The little boy incurred his
father's anger again by giving a piece of meat to the dog.
"Have I not told you," cried Buffalo-stealer irately, "that he is an
evil thing? Do not touch him."
That night when all was silent Nápi and the chief's son resumed their
human form and supped off the buffalo-meat.
"It is Buffalo-stealer who keeps the herds from coming near the
Blackfoot camp," said Nápi. "Wait till morning and see."
The Herds of Buffalo-Stealer
In the morning they were once more dog and stick. When the woman and
her child awoke they set off for the woods again, the former taking the
stick to dig for roots, the latter calling for his little dog to
accompany him. Alas! when they reached the spot they had fixed upon
for root-gathering operations both dog and stick had vanished! And
this was the reason for their disappearance. As the dog was trotting
through the wood he had observed an opening like the mouth of a cavern,
all but concealed by the thick undergrowth, and in the aperture he
perceived a buffalo. His short, sharp barking attracted the attention
of the stick, which promptly wriggled snake-wise after him. Within the
cavern were great herds of deer and buffalo, enough to provide the
Blackfeet with food for years and years. Nápi ran among them, barking,
and they were driven out to the prairie.
{211}
When Buffalo-stealer returned and discovered his loss his wrath knew no
bounds. He questioned his wife and son, but they denied all knowledge
of the affair.
"Then," said he, "it is that wretched little dog of yours. Where is he
now?"
But the child could not tell him.
"We lost him in the woods," said he.
"I shall kill him," shouted the man, "and I shall break the stick as
well!"
Nápi overheard the threat, and clung to the long hair of an old
buffalo; He advised the stick to conceal itself in the buffalo's hair
also, and so the twain escaped unnoticed from the cave, much as did
Ulysses from the Cyclops' cavern. Once again they took the form of
men, and drove a herd of buffalo to the Blackfoot camp, while
Buffalo-stealer and his family sought them in vain.
The people met them with delighted acclamations, and the famine was at
an end. Yet there were still some difficulties in the way, for when
they tried to get the herd into the enclosure a large grey bird so
frightened the animals with its dismal note that they refused to enter.
This occurred so often that Nápi suspected that the grey bird was no
other than Buffalo-stealer. Changing himself into an otter, he lay by
the side of a river and pretended to be dead. The greedy bird saw what
he thought to be a dead otter, and pounced upon it, whereupon Nápi
seized him by the leg and bore him off to the camp. By way of
punishment he was tied over the smoke-hole of the wigwam, where his
grey feathers soon became black and his life a burden to him.
"Spare me!" he cried. "Let me return to my wife and child. They will
surely starve."
{212}
His piteous appeals moved the heart of Nápi, and he let him go, but not
without an admonition.
"Go," said he, "and hunt for food, that you may support your wife and
child. But do not take more than you need, or you shall die."
The bird did as he was bidden. But to this day the feathers of the
raven are black, and not grey.
The Story of Kutoyis
There once lived on the banks of the Missouri an old couple who had one
daughter, their only child. When she grew to be a woman she had a
suitor who was cruel and overbearing, but as she loved him her parents
offered no opposition to their marriage. Indeed, they gave the bride
the best part of their possessions for a dowry, so that she and her
husband were rich, while her father and mother lived in a poor lodge
and had very little to eat. The wicked son-in-law took advantage of
their kindness in every way. He forced the old man to accompany him on
his hunting expeditions, and then refused to share the game with him.
Sometimes one would kill a buffalo and sometimes the other, but always
it was the younger man who got the best of the meat and who made
himself robes and moccasins from the hide.
Thus the aged couple were nearly perishing from cold and hunger. Only
when her husband was out hunting would the daughter venture to carry a
morsel of meat to her parents.
On one occasion the younger man called in his overbearing way to his
father-in-law, bidding him help in a buffalo-hunt. The old man,
reduced by want almost to a skeleton, was too much afraid of the tyrant
to venture to disobey him, so he accompanied him in the chase. Ere
long they encountered a fine buffalo, {213} whereupon both drew their
bows and fired. But it was the arrow of the elder man which pierced
the animal and brought it to the ground. The old man set himself to
skin the buffalo, for his son-in-law never shared in these tasks, but
left them to his companion. While he was thus engaged the latter
observed a drop of blood on one of his arrows which had fallen to the
ground.
Thinking that even a drop of blood was better than nothing, he replaced
the arrow in its quiver and set off home. As it happened, no more of
the buffalo than that fell to his share, the rest being appropriated by
his son-in-law.
On his return the old man called to his wife to heap fuel on the fire
and put on the kettle. She, thinking he had brought home some
buffalo-meat, hastened to do his bidding. She waited curiously till
the water in the kettle had boiled; then to her surprise she saw him
place in it an arrow with a drop of blood on it.
How Kutoyis was Born
"Why do you do that?" she asked.
"Something will come of it," he replied. "My spirit tells me so."
They waited in silence.
Then a strange sound was heard in their lonely little lodge--the crying
of a child. Half fearfully, half curiously, the old couple lifted the
lid of the kettle, and there within was a little baby boy.
"He shall bring us good luck," said the old Indian.
They called the child Kutoyis--that is, 'Drop of Blood'--and wrapped
him up as is customary with Indian babies.
"Let us tell our son-in-law," said the old man, "that it is a little
girl, and he will let it live. If we say it is a boy he will surely
kill it."
{214}
Kutoyis became a great favourite in the little lodge to which he had
come. He was always laughing, and his merriment won the hearts of the
old people. One day, while they thought him much too young to speak,
they were astonished to hear his voice.
"Lash me up and hang me from the lodge pole," said he, "and I shall
become a man."
When they had recovered from their astonishment they lashed him to the
lodge pole. In a moment he had burst the lashings and grown before
their eyes into a tall, strong man. Looking round the lodge, which
seemed scarcely large enough to hold him, Kutoyis perceived that there
was no food about.
"Give me some arrows," said he, "and I will bring you food."
"We have no arrows," replied the old man, "only four arrow-heads."
Kutoyis fetched some wood, from which he cut a fine bow, and shafts to
fit the flint arrow-heads. He begged the old Indian to lead him to a
good hunting-ground, and when he had done so they quickly killed a
magnificent buffalo.
Meanwhile the old Indian had told Kutoyis how badly his son-in-law had
treated him, and as they were skinning the buffalo who should pass by
but the subject of their conversation. Kutoyis hid behind the dead
animal to see what would happen, and a moment later the angry voice of
the son-in-law was heard.
Getting no reply, the cowardly hunter fitted an arrow to his bow and
shot it at his father-in-law. Enraged at the cruel act, Kutoyis rose
from his hiding-place behind the dead buffalo and fired all his arrows
at the young man, whom he slew. He afterward gave food in plenty to
the old man and his wife, and bade them return to their home. They
were delighted to find {215} themselves once more free from
persecution, but their daughter wept so much that finally Kutoyis asked
her whether she would have another husband or whether she wished to
follow her first spouse to the Land of Shadows, as she must do if she
persisted in lamenting him.
The lady chose the former alternative as the lesser evil, and Kutoyis
found her an excellent husband, with whom she lived happily for a long
time.
Kutoyis on his Travels
At length Kutoyis tired of his monotonous life, and desired to see more
of the world. So his host directed him to a distant village, where he
was welcomed by two old women. They set before their handsome guest
the best fare at their disposal, which was buffalo-meat of a rather
unattractive appearance.
"Is there no good meat?" queried Kutoyis.
The old women explained that one of the lodges was occupied by a fierce
bear, who seized upon all the good meat and left only the dry, poor
sort for his neighbours. Without hesitation Kutoyis went out and
killed a buffalo calf, which he presented to the women, desiring them
to place the best parts of the meat in a prominent position outside the
lodge, where the big bear could not fail to see it.
This they did, and sure enough one of the bear-cubs shortly passed by
and seized the meat. Kutoyis, who had been lying in wait, rushed out
and hit the animal as hard as he could. The cub carried his tale of
woe to his father, and the big bear, growling threats of vengeance,
gathered his whole family round him and rushed to the lodge of the old
women, intending to kill the bold hunter.
However, Kutoyis was more than a match for all of {216} them, and very
soon the bears were slain. Still he was unsatisfied, and longed for
further adventures.
"Tell me," said he, "where shall I find another village?"
The Wrestling Woman
"There is a village by the Big River," said the old women, "but you
must not go there, for a wicked woman dwells in it who wrestles with
and slays all who approach."
No sooner did Kutoyis hear this than he determined to seek the village,
for his mission was to destroy evil beings who were a danger to his
fellow-men. So in spite of the dissuasions of the old women he
departed.
As he had been warned, the woman came out of her lodge on the approach
of the stranger and invited him to wrestle with her.
"I cannot," said he, pretending to be frightened.
The woman mocked and jeered at him, while he made various excuses, but
all the time he was observing how the land lay. When he drew nearer he
saw that she had covered the ground with sharp flints, over which she
had strewn grass. At last he said: "Very well, I will wrestle with
you."
It was no wonder that she had killed many braves, for she was very
strong. But Kutoyis was still stronger. With all her skill she could
not throw him, and at last she grew tired, and was herself thrown on
the sharp flints, on which she bled to death. The people rejoiced
greatly when they heard of her death, and Kutoyis was universally
acclaimed as a hero.
Kutoyis did many other high deeds before he departed to the Shadowland,
and when he went he left sorrow in many lodges.
{217}