The Sioux or Dakota Indians
The Sioux or Dakota Indians dwell north of the Arkansas River on the
right bank of the Mississippi, stretching over to Lake Michigan and up
the valley of the Missouri. One of their principal tribes is the Iowa.
The Adventures of Ictinike
Many tales are told by the Iowa Indians regarding Ictinike, the son of
the sun-god, who had offended his father, and was consequently expelled
from the celestial regions. He possesses a very bad reputation among
the Indians for deceit and trickery. They say that he taught them all
the evil things they know, and they seem to regard him as a Father of
Lies. The Omahas state that he gave them their war-customs, and for
one reason or another they appear to look upon him as a species of
war-god. A series of myths recount his adventures with several
inhabitants of the wild. The first of these is as follows.
One day Ictinike encountered the Rabbit, and hailed him in a friendly
manner, calling him 'grandchild,' and requesting him to do him a
service. The Rabbit expressed his willingness to assist the god to the
best of his ability, and inquired what he wished him to do.
"Oh, grandchild," said the crafty one, pointing upward to where a bird
circled in the blue vault above them, "take your bow and arrow and
bring down yonder bird."
The Rabbit fitted an arrow to his bow, and the shaft transfixed the
bird, which fell like a stone and lodged in the branches of a great
tree.
{267}
"Now, grandchild," said Ictinike, "go into the tree and fetch me the
game."
This, however, the Rabbit at first refused to do, but at length he took
off his clothes and climbed into the tree, where he stuck fast among
the tortuous branches.
Ictinike, seeing that he could not make his way down, donned the
unfortunate Rabbit's garments, and, highly amused at the animal's
predicament, betook himself to the nearest village. There he
encountered a chief who had two beautiful daughters, the elder of whom
he married. The younger daughter, regarding this as an affront to her
personal attractions, wandered off into the forest in a fit of the
sulks. As she paced angrily up and down she heard some one calling to
her from above, and, looking upward, she beheld the unfortunate Rabbit,
whose fur was adhering to the natural gum which exuded from the bark of
the tree. The girl cut down the tree and lit a fire near it, which
melted the gum and freed the Rabbit. The Rabbit and the chief's
daughter compared notes, and discovered that the being who had tricked
the one and affronted the other was the same. Together they proceeded
to the chief's lodge, where the girl was laughed at because of the
strange companion she had brought back with her. Suddenly an eagle
appeared in the air above them. Ictinike shot at and missed it, but
the Rabbit loosed an arrow with great force and brought it to earth.
Each morning a feather of the bird became another eagle, and each
morning Ictinike shot at and missed this newly created bird, which the
Rabbit invariably succeeded in killing. This went on until Ictinike
had quite worn out the Rabbit's clothing and was wearing a very old
piece of tent skin; but the Rabbit returned to him the garments he had
been forced to don when Ictinike had stolen his. Then {268} the Rabbit
commanded the Indians to beat the drums, and each time they were beaten
Ictinike jumped so high that every bone in his body was shaken. At
length, after a more than usually loud series of beats, he leapt to
such a height that when he came down it was found that the fall had
broken his neck. The Rabbit was avenged.
[Illustration: "He jumped so high that every bone in his body was
shaken"]
Ictinike and the Buzzard
One day Ictinike, footsore and weary, encountered a buzzard, which he
asked to oblige him by carrying him on its back part of the way. The
crafty bird immediately consented, and, seating Ictinike between its
wings, flew off with him.
They had not gone far when they passed above a hollow tree, and
Ictinike began to shift uneasily in his seat as he observed the buzzard
hovering over it. He requested the bird to fly onward, but for answer
it cast him headlong into the tree-trunk, where he found himself a
prisoner. For a long time he lay there in want and wretchedness, until
at last a large hunting-party struck camp at the spot. Ictinike
chanced to be wearing some racoon skins, and he thrust the tails of
these through the cracks in the tree. Three women who were standing
near imagined that a number of racoons had become imprisoned in the
hollow trunk, and they made a large hole in it for the purpose of
capturing them. Ictinike at once emerged, whereupon the women fled.
Ictinike lay on the ground pretending to be dead, and as he was covered
with the racoon-skins the birds of prey, the eagle, the rook, and the
magpie, came to devour him. While they pecked at him the buzzard made
his appearance for the purpose of joining in the feast, but Ictinike,
rising quickly, tore the feathers from its scalp. That is why the
buzzard has no feathers on its head.
{269}
Ictinike and the Creators
In course of time Ictinike married and dwelt in a lodge of his own.
One day he intimated to his wife that it was his intention to visit her
grandfather the Beaver. On arriving at the Beaver's lodge he found
that his grandfather-in-law and his family had been without food for a
long time, and were slowly dying of starvation. Ashamed at having no
food to place before their guest, one of the young beavers offered
himself up to provide a meal for Ictinike, and was duly cooked and
served to the visitor. Before Ictinike partook of the dish, however,
he was earnestly requested by the Beaver not to break any of the bones
of his son, but unwittingly he split one of the toe-bones. Having
finished his repast, he lay down to rest, and the Beaver gathered the
bones and put them in a skin. This he plunged into the river that
flowed beside his lodge, and in a moment the young beaver emerged from
the water alive.
"How do you feel, my son?" asked the Beaver.
"Alas! father," replied the young beaver, "one of my toes is broken."
From that time every beaver has had one toe--that next to the little
one--which looks as if it had been split by biting.
Ictinike shortly after took his leave of the Beavers, and pretended to
forget his tobacco-pouch, which he left behind. The Beaver told one of
his young ones to run after him with the pouch, but, being aware of
Ictinike's treacherous character, he advised his offspring to throw it
to the god when at some distance away. The young beaver accordingly
took the pouch and hurried after Ictinike, and, obeying his father's
instruction, was about to throw it to him from a {270} considerable
distance when Ictinike called to him: "Come closer, come closer."
The young beaver obeyed, and as Ictinike took the pouch from him he
said: "Tell your father that he must visit me."
When the young beaver arrived home he acquainted his father with what
had passed, and the Beaver showed signs of great annoyance.
"I knew he would say that," he growled, "and that is why I did not want
you to go near him."
But the Beaver could not refuse the invitation, and in due course
returned the visit. Ictinike, wishing to pay him a compliment, was
about to kill one of his own children wherewith to regale the Beaver,
and was slapping it to make it cry in order that he might work himself
into a passion sufficiently murderous to enable him to take its life,
when the Beaver spoke to him sharply and told him that such a sacrifice
was unnecessary. Going down to the stream hard by, the Beaver found a
young beaver by the water, which was brought up to the lodge, killed
and cooked, and duly eaten.
On another occasion Ictinike announced to his wife his intention of
calling upon her grandfather the Musk-rat. At the Musk-rat's lodge he
met with the same tale of starvation as at the home of the Beaver, but
the Musk-rat told his wife to fetch some water, put it in the kettle,
and hang the kettle over the fire. When the water was boiling the
Musk-rat upset the kettle, which was found to be full of wild rice,
upon which Ictinike feasted. As before, he left his tobacco-pouch with
his host, and the Musk-rat sent one of his children after him with the
article. An invitation for the Musk-rat to visit him resulted, and the
call was duly paid. Ictinike, wishing to display his magical {271}
powers, requested his wife to hang a kettle of water over the fire,
but, to his chagrin, when the water was boiled and the kettle upset
instead of wild rice only water poured out. Thereupon the Musk-rat had
the kettle refilled, and produced an abundance of rice, much to
Ictinike's annoyance.
Ictinike then called upon his wife's grandfather the Kingfisher, who,
to provide him with food, dived into the river and brought up fish.
Ictinike extended a similar invitation to him, and the visit was duly
paid. Desiring to be even with his late host, the god dived into the
river in search of fish. He soon found himself in difficulties,
however, and if it had not been for the Kingfisher he would most
assuredly have been drowned.
Lastly, Ictinike went to visit his wife's grandfather the Flying
Squirrel. The Squirrel climbed to the top of his lodge and brought
down a quantity of excellent black walnuts, which Ictinike ate. When
he departed from the Squirrel's house he purposely left one of his
gloves, which a small squirrel brought after him, and he sent an
invitation by this messenger for the Squirrel to visit him in turn.
Wishing to show his cleverness, Ictinike scrambled to the top of his
lodge, but instead of finding any black walnuts there he fell and
severely injured himself. Thus his presumption was punished for the
fourth time.
The four beings alluded to in this story as the Beaver, Musk-rat,
Kingfisher, and Flying Squirrel are four of the creative gods of the
Sioux, whom Ictinike evidently could not equal so far as reproductive
magic was concerned.
The Story of Wabaskaha
An interesting story is that of Wabaskaha, an Omaha brave, the facts
related in which occurred about a {272} century ago. A party of
Pawnees on the war-path raided the horses belonging to some Omahas
dwelling beside Omaha Creek. Most of the animals were the property of
Wabaskaha, who immediately followed on their trail. A few Omahas who
had tried to rescue the horses had also been carried off, and on the
arrival of the Pawnee party at the Republican River several of the
Pawnees proposed to put their prisoners to death. Others, however,
refused to participate in such an act, and strenuously opposed the
suggestion. A wife of one of the Pawnee chiefs fed the captives, after
which her husband gave them permission to depart.
After this incident quite a feeling of friendship sprang up between the
two peoples, and the Pawnees were continually inviting the Omahas to
feasts and other entertainments, but they refused to return the horses
they had stolen. They told Wabaskaha that if he came for his horses in
the fall they would exchange them then for a certain amount of
gunpowder, and that was the best arrangement he could come to with
them. On his way homeward Wabaskaha mourned loudly for the horses,
which constituted nearly the whole of his worldly possessions, and
called upon Wakanda, his god, to assist and avenge him. In glowing
language he recounted the circumstances of his loss to the people of
his tribe, and so strong was their sense of the injustice done him that
next day a general meeting was held in the village to consider his
case. A pipe was filled, and Wabaskaha asked the men of his tribe to
place it to their lips if they decided to take vengeance on the
Pawnees. All did so, but the premeditated raid was postponed until the
early autumn.
After a summer of hunting the braves sought the war-path. They had
hardly started when a number of {273} Dakotas arrived at their village,
bringing some tobacco. The Dakotas announced their intention of
joining the Omaha war-party, the trail of which they took up
accordingly. In a few days the Omahas arrived at the Pawnee village,
which they attacked at daylight. After a vigorous defence the Pawnees
were almost exterminated, and all their horses captured. The Dakotas
who had elected to assist the Omaha war-party were, however, slain to a
man. Such was the vengeance of Wabaskaha.
This story is interesting as an account of a veritable Indian raid,
taken from the lips of Joseph La Flèche, a Dakota Indian.
The Men-Serpents
Twenty warriors who had been on the war-path were returning homeward
worn-out and hungry, and as they went they scattered in search of game
to sustain them on their way.
Suddenly one of the braves, placing his ear to the ground, declared
that he could hear a herd of buffaloes approaching.
The band was greatly cheered by this news, and the plans made by the
chief to intercept the animals were quickly carried into effect.
[Illustration: The War-chief kills the Monster Rattlesnake]
Nearer and nearer came the supposed herd. The chief lay very still,
ready to shoot when it came within range. Suddenly he saw, to his
horror, that what approached them was a huge snake with a rattle as
large as a man's head. Though almost paralysed with surprise and
terror, he managed to shoot the monster and kill it. He called up his
men, who were not a little afraid of the gigantic creature, even though
it was dead, and for a long time they debated what they should do with
the carcass. At length hunger {274} conquered their scruples and made
them decide to cook and eat it. To their surprise, they found the meat
as savoury as that of a buffalo, which it much resembled. All partook
of the fare, with the exception of one boy, who persisted in refusing
it, though they pressed him to eat.
When the warriors had finished their meal they lay down beside the
camp-fire and fell asleep. Later in the night the chief awoke and was
horrified to find that his companions had turned to snakes, and that he
himself was already half snake, half man. Hastily he gathered his
transformed warriors, and they saw that the boy who had not eaten of
the reptile had retained his own form. The lad, fearing that the
serpents might attack him, began to weep, but the snake-warriors
treated him very kindly, giving him their charms and all they possessed.
At their request he put them into a large robe and carried them to the
summit of a high hill, where he set them down under the trees.
"You must return to our lodges," they told him, "and in the summer we
will visit our kindred. See that our wives and children come out to
greet us."
The boy carried the news to his village, and there was much weeping and
lamentation when the friends of the warriors heard of their fate. But
in the summer the snakes came and sat in a group outside the village,
and all the people crowded round them, loudly venting their grief. The
horses which had belonged to the snakes were brought out to them, as
well as their moccasins, leggings, whips, and saddles.
"Do not be afraid of them," said the boy to the assembled people. "Do
not flee from them, lest something happen to you also." So they let
the snakes creep over them, and no harm befell. {275} In the winter
the snakes vanished altogether, and with them their horses and other
possessions, and the people never saw them more.
The Three Tests
There dwelt in a certain village a woman of remarkable grace and
attractiveness. The fame of her beauty drew suitors from far and near,
eager to display their prowess and win the love of this imperious
creature--for, besides being beautiful, she was extremely hard to
please, and set such tests for her lovers as none had ever been able to
satisfy.
A certain young man who lived at a considerable distance had heard of
her great charms, and made up his mind to woo and win her. The
difficulty of the task did not daunt him, and, full of hope, he set out
on his mission.
As he travelled he came to a very high hill, and on the summit he saw a
man rising and sitting down at short intervals. When the prospective
suitor drew nearer he observed that the man was fastening large stones
to his ankles. The youth approached him, saying: "Why do you tie these
great stones to your ankles?"
"Oh," replied the other, "I wish to chase buffaloes, and yet whenever I
do so I go beyond them, so I am tying stones to my ankles that I may
not run so fast."
"My friend," said the suitor, "you can run some other time. In the
meantime I am without a companion: come with me."
The Swift One agreed, and they walked on their way together. Ere they
had gone very far they saw two large lakes. By the side of one of them
sat a man, who frequently bowed his head to the water and drank.
Surprised that his thirst was not quenched, they said to him: "Why do
you sit there drinking of the lake?"
{276}
"I can never get enough water. When I have finished this lake I shall
start on the other."
"My friend," said the suitor, "do not trouble to drink it just now.
Come and join us."
The Thirsty One complied, and the three comrades journeyed on. When
they had gone a little farther they noticed a man walking along with
his face lifted to the sky. Curious to know why he acted thus, they
addressed him.
"Why do you walk with your eyes turned skyward?" said they.
"I have shot an arrow," he said, "and I am waiting for it to reappear."
"Never mind your arrow," said the suitor. "Come with us."
"I will come," said the Skilful Archer.
As the four companions journeyed through a forest they beheld a strange
sight. A man was lying with his ear to the ground, and if he lifted
his head for a moment he bowed it again, listening intently. The four
approached him, saying: "Friend, for what do you listen so earnestly?"
"I am listening," said he, "to the plants growing. This forest is full
of plants, and I am listening to their breathing."
"You can listen when the occasion arises," they told him. "Come and
join us."
He agreed, and so they travelled to the village where dwelt the
beautiful maiden.
When they had reached their destination they were quickly surrounded by
the villagers, who displayed no small curiosity as to who their
visitors were and what object they had in coming so far. When they
heard that one of the strangers desired to marry the village beauty
they shook their heads over him. Did he not {277} know the
difficulties in the way? Finding that he would not be turned from his
purpose, they led him to a huge rock which overshadowed the village,
and described the first test he would be required to meet.
"If you wish to win the maiden," they said, "you must first of all push
away that great stone. It is keeping the sunlight from us."
"Alas!" said the youth, "it is impossible."
"Not so," said his companion of the swift foot; "nothing could be more
easy."
[Illustration: "He leaned his shoulder against the rock"]
Saying this, he leaned his shoulder against the rock, and with a mighty
crash it fell from its place. From the breaking up of it came the
rocks and stones that are scattered over all the world.
The second test was of a different nature. The people brought the
strangers a large quantity of food and water, and bade them eat and
drink. Being very hungry, they succeeded in disposing of the food, but
the suitor sorrowfully regarded the great kettles of water.
"Alas!" said he, "who can drink up that?"
"I can," said the Thirsty One, and in a twinkling he had drunk it all.
The people were amazed at the prowess of the visitors. However, they
said, "There is still another test," and they brought out a woman who
was a very swift runner, so swift that no one had ever outstripped her
in a race.
The Race
"You must run a race with this woman," said they. "If you win you
shall have the hand of the maiden you have come to seek."
Naturally the suitor chose the Swift One for this test. When the
runners were started the people hailed them as {278} fairly matched,
for they raced together till they were out of sight.
When they reached the turning-point the woman said: "Come, let us rest
for a little."
The man agreed, but no sooner had he sat down than he fell asleep. The
woman seized her opportunity. Making sure that her rival was sleeping
soundly, she set off for the village, running as hard as she could.
Meanwhile the four comrades were anxiously awaiting the return of the
competitors, and great was their disappointment when the woman came in
sight, while there was yet no sign of their champion.
The man who could hear the plants growing bent his ear to the ground.
"He is asleep," said he; "I can hear him snoring."
The Skilful Archer came forward, and as he bit the point off an arrow
he said: "I will soon wake him."
He shot an arrow from the bowstring with such a wonderful aim that it
wounded the sleeper's nose, and roused him from his slumbers. The
runner started to his feet and looked round for the woman. She was
gone. Knowing that he had been tricked, the Swift One put all his
energy into an effort to overtake her. She was within a few yards of
the winning-post when he passed her. It was a narrow margin, but
nevertheless the Swift One had gained the race for his comrade.
The youth was then married to the damsel, whom he found to be all that
her admirers had claimed, and more.
The Snake-Ogre
One day a young brave, feeling at variance with the world in general,
and wishing to rid himself of the mood, left the lodges of his people
and journeyed into {279} the forest. By and by he came to an open
space, in the centre of which was a high hill. Thinking he would climb
to the top and reconnoitre, he directed his footsteps thither, and as
he went he observed a man coming in the opposite direction and making
for the same spot. The two met on the summit, and stood for a few
moments silently regarding each other. The stranger was the first to
speak, gravely inviting the young brave to accompany him to his lodge
and sup with him. The other accepted the invitation, and they
proceeded in the direction the stranger indicated.
On approaching the lodge the youth saw with some surprise that there
was a large heap of bones in front of the door. Within sat a very old
woman tending a pot. When the young man learned that the feast was to
be a cannibal one, however, he declined to partake of it. The woman
thereupon boiled some corn for him, and while doing so told him that
his host was nothing more nor less than a snake-man, a sort of ogre who
killed and ate human beings. Because the brave was young and very
handsome the old woman took pity on him, bemoaning the fate that would
surely befall him unless he could escape from the wiles of the
snake-man.
"Listen," said she: "I will tell you what to do. Here are some
moccasins. When the morning comes put them on your feet, take one
step, and you will find yourself on that headland you see in the
distance. Give this paper to the man you will meet there, and he will
direct you further. But remember that however far you may go, in the
evening the Snake will overtake you. When you have finished with the
moccasins take them off, place them on the ground facing this way, and
they will return."
"Is that all?" said the youth.
{280}
"No," she replied. "Before you go you must kill me and put a robe over
my bones."
The Magic Moccasins
The young brave forthwith proceeded to carry these instructions into
effect. First of all he killed the old woman, and disposed of her
remains in accordance with her bidding. In the morning he put on the
magic moccasins which she had provided for him, and with one great step
he reached the distant headland. Here he met an old man, who received
the paper from him, and then, giving him another pair of moccasins,
directed him to a far-off point where he was to deliver another piece
of paper to a man who would await him there. Turning the first
moccasins homeward, the young brave put the second pair to use, and
took another gigantic step. Arrived at the second stage of his journey
from the Snake's lodge, he found it a repetition of the first. He was
directed to another distant spot, and from that to yet another. But
when he delivered his message for the fourth time he was treated
somewhat differently.
[Illustration: "With one great step he reached the distant headland"]
"Down there in the hollow," said the recipient of the paper, "there is
a stream. Go toward it, and walk straight on, but do not look at the
water."
The youth did as he was bidden, and shortly found himself on the
opposite bank of the stream.
He journeyed up the creek, and as evening fell he came upon a place
where the river widened to a lake. Skirting its shores, he suddenly
found himself face to face with the Snake. Only then did he remember
the words of the old woman, who had warned him that in the evening the
Snake would overtake him. So he turned himself into a little fish with
red fins, lazily moving in the lake.
{281}
The Snake's Quest
The Snake, high on the bank, saw the little creature, and cried:
"Little Fish! have you seen the person I am looking for? If a bird had
flown over the lake you must have seen it, the water is so still, and
surely you have seen the man I am seeking?"
"Not so," replied the Little Fish, "I have seen no one. But if he
passes this way I will tell you."
So the Snake continued down-stream, and as he went there was a little
grey toad right in his path.
"Little Toad," said he, "have you seen him for whom I am seeking? Even
if only a shadow were here you must have seen it."
"Yes," said the Little Toad, "I have seen him, but I cannot tell you
which way he has gone."
The Snake doubled and came back on his trail. Seeing a very large fish
in shallow water, he said: "Have you seen the man I am looking for?"
"That is he with whom you have just been talking," said the Fish, and
the Snake turned homeward. Meeting a musk-rat he stopped.
"Have you seen the person I am looking for?" he said. Then, having his
suspicions aroused, he added craftily: "I think that you are he."
But the Musk-rat began a bitter complaint.
"Just now," said he, "the person you seek passed over my lodge and
broke it."
So the Snake passed on, and encountered a red-breasted turtle.
He repeated his query, and the Turtle told him that the object of his
search was to be met with farther on.
"But beware," he added, "for if you do not recognize him he will kill
you."
{282}
Following the stream, the Snake came upon a large green frog floating
in shallow water.
"I have been seeking a person since morning," he said. "I think that
you are he."
The Frog allayed his suspicions, saying: "You will meet him farther
down the stream."
The Snake next found a large turtle floating among the green scum on a
lake. Getting on the Turtle's back, he said: "You must be the person I
seek," and his head rose higher and higher as he prepared to strike.
"I am not," replied the Turtle. "The next person you meet will be he.
But beware, for if you do not recognize him he will kill you."
When he had gone a little farther down the Snake attempted to cross the
stream. In the middle was an eddy. Crafty as he was, the Snake failed
to recognize his enemy, and the eddy drew him down into the water and
drowned him. So the youth succeeded in slaying the Snake who had
sought throughout the day to kill him.
The Story of the Salmon
A certain chief who had a very beautiful daughter was unwilling to part
with her, but knowing that the time must come when she would marry he
arranged a contest for her suitors, in which the feat was to break a
pair of elk's antlers hung in the centre of the lodge.
"Whoever shall break these antlers," the old chief declared, "shall
have the hand of my daughter."
The quadrupeds came first--the Snail, Squirrel, Otter, Beaver, Wolf,
Bear, and Panther; but all their strength and skill would not suffice
to break the antlers. Next came the Birds, but their efforts also
{283} were unavailing. The only creature left who had not attempted
the feat was a feeble thing covered with sores, whom the mischievous
Blue Jay derisively summoned to perform the task. After repeated
taunts from the tricky bird, the creature rose, shook itself, and
became whole and clean and very good to look upon, and the assembled
company saw that it was the Salmon. He grasped the elk's antlers and
easily broke them in five pieces. Then, claiming his prize, the
chief's daughter, he led her away.
Before they had gone very far the people said: "Let us go and take the
chief's daughter back," and they set off in pursuit of the pair along
the sea-shore.
When Salmon saw what was happening he created a bay between himself and
his pursuers. The people at length reached the point of the bay on
which Salmon stood, but he made another bay, and when they looked they
could see him on the far-off point of that one. So the chase went on,
till Salmon grew tired of exercising his magic powers.
Coyote and Badger, who were in advance of the others, decided to shoot
at Salmon. The arrow hit him in the neck and killed him instantly.
When the rest of the band came up they gave the chief's daughter to the
Wolves, and she became the wife of one of them.
In due time the people returned to their village, and the Crow, who was
Salmon's aunt, learnt of his death. She hastened away to the spot
where he had been killed, to seek for his remains, but all she could
find was one salmon's egg, which she hid in a hole in the river-bank.
Next day she found that the egg was much larger, on the third day it
was a small trout, and so it grew till it became a full-grown salmon,
and at length a handsome youth.
{284}
Salmon's Magic Bath
Leading young Salmon to a mountain pool, his grand-aunt said: "Bathe
there, that you may see spirits."
One day Salmon said: "I am tired of seeing spirits. Let me go away."
The old Crow thereupon told him of his father's death at the hands of
Badger and Coyote.
"They have taken your father's bow," she said.
The Salmon shot an arrow toward the forest, and the forest went on
fire. He shot an arrow toward the prairie, and it also caught fire.
"Truly," muttered the old Crow, "you have seen spirits."
Having made up his mind to get his father's bow, Salmon journeyed to
the lodge where Coyote and Badger dwelt. He found the door shut, and
the creatures with their faces blackened, pretending to lament the
death of old Salmon. However, he was not deceived by their tricks, but
boldly entered and demanded his father's bow. Four times they gave him
other bows, which broke when he drew them. The fifth time it was
really his father's bow he received. Taking Coyote and Badger outside,
he knocked them together and killed them.
The Wolf Lodge
As he travelled across the prairie he stumbled on the habitation of the
Wolves, and on entering the lodge he encountered his father's wife, who
bade him hide before the monsters returned. By means of strategy he
got the better of them, shot them all, and sailed away in a little boat
with the woman. Here he fell into a deep sleep, and slept so long that
at last his companion {285} ventured to wake him. Very angry at being
roused, he turned her into a pigeon and cast her out of the boat, while
he himself, as a salmon, swam to the shore. Near the edge of the water
was a lodge, where dwelt five beautiful sisters. Salmon sat on the
shore at a little distance, and took the form of an aged man covered
with sores. When the eldest sister came down to speak to him he bade
her carry him on her back to the lodge, but so loathsome a creature was
he that she beat a hasty retreat. The second sister did likewise, and
the third, and the fourth. But the youngest sister proceeded to carry
him to the lodge, where he became again a young and handsome brave. He
married all the sisters, but the youngest was his head-wife and his
favourite.
The Drowned Child
On the banks of a river there dwelt a worthy couple with their only
son, a little child whom they loved dearly. One day the boy wandered
away from the lodge and fell into the water, and no one was near enough
to rescue him. Great was the distress of the parents when the news
reached them, and all his kindred were loud in their lamentations, for
the child had been a favourite with everybody. The father especially
showed signs of the deepest grief, and refused to enter his lodge till
he should recover the boy. All night he lay outside on the bare
ground, his cheek pillowed on his hand. Suddenly he heard a faint
sound, far under the earth. He listened intently: it was the crying of
his lost child! Hastily he gathered all his relatives round him, told
them what he had heard, and besought them piteously to dig into the
earth and bring back his son. This task they hesitated to undertake,
but they willingly collected {286} horses and goods in abundance, to be
given to any one who would venture.
Two men came forward who claimed to possess supernatural powers, and to
them was entrusted the work of finding the child. The grateful father
gave them a pipe filled with tobacco, and promised them all his
possessions if their mission should succeed. The two gifted men
painted their bodies, one making himself quite black, the other yellow.
Going to the neighbouring river, they plunged into its depths, and so
arrived at the abode of the Water-god. This being and his wife, having
no children of their own, had adopted the Indian's little son who was
supposed to have been drowned, and the two men, seeing him alive and
well, were pleased to think that their task was as good as accomplished.
[Illustration: "They arrived at the abode of the Water-god"]
"The father has sent for his son," they said. "He has commanded us to
bring him back. We dare not return without him."
"You are too late," responded the Water-god. "Had you come before he
had eaten of my food he might safely have returned with you. But he
wished to eat, and he has eaten, and now, alas! he would die if he
were taken out of the water."[1]
[1] See p. 129, "The Soul's Journey."
Sorrowfully the men rose to the surface and carried the tidings to the
father.
"Alas!" they said, "he has eaten in the palace of the Water-god. He
will die if we bring him home."
Nevertheless the father persisted in his desire to see the child.
"I must see him," he said, and the two men prepared for a second
journey, saying: "If you get him back, the Water-god will require a
white dog in payment."
The Indian promised to supply the dog. The two {287} men painted
themselves again, the one black, the other yellow. Once more they
dived through the limpid water to the palace of the god.
"The father must have his child," they said. "This time we dare not
return without him."
So the deity gave up the little boy, who was placed in his father's
arms, dead. At the sight the grief of his kindred burst out afresh.
However, they did not omit to cast a white dog into the river, nor to
pay the men lavishly, as they had promised.
Later the parents lost a daughter in the same manner, but as she had
eaten nothing of the food offered her under the water she was brought
back alive, on payment by her relatives of a tribute to the Water-god
of four white-haired dogs.
The Snake-Wife
A certain chief advised his son to travel. Idling, he pointed out, was
not the way to qualify for chieftainship.
"When I was your age," said he, "I did not sit still. There was hard
work to be done. And now look at me: I have become a great chief."
"I will go hunting, father," said the youth. So his father furnished
him with good clothing, and had a horse saddled for him.
The young man went off on his expedition, and by and by fell in with
some elk. Shooting at the largest beast, he wounded it but slightly,
and as it dashed away he spurred his horse after it. In this manner
they covered a considerable distance, till at length the hunter, worn
out with thirst and fatigue, reined in his steed and dismounted. He
wandered about in search of water till he was well-nigh spent, but
after a time he came upon a spring, and immediately improvised a song
of thanksgiving to the deity, {288} Wakanda, who had permitted him to
find it. His rejoicing was somewhat premature, however, for when he
approached the spring a snake started up from it. The youth was badly
scared, and retreated to a safe distance without drinking. It seemed
as though he must die of thirst after all. Venturing to look back
after a time, he saw that the snake had disappeared, and very
cautiously he returned. Again the snake darted from the water, and the
thirsty hunter was forced to flee. A third return to the spring had no
happier results, but when his thirst drove him to a fourth attempt the
youth found, instead of a snake, a very beautiful woman. She offered
him a drink in a small cup, which she replenished as often as he
emptied it. So struck was he by her grace and beauty that he promptly
fell in love with her. When it was time for him to return home she
gave him a ring, saying: "When you sit down to eat, place this ring on
a seat and say, 'Come, let us eat,' and I will come to you."
Having bidden her farewell, the young man turned his steps homeward,
and when he was once more among his kindred he asked that food might be
placed before him. "Make haste," said he, "for I am very hungry."
Quickly they obeyed him, and set down a variety of dishes. When he was
alone the youth drew the ring from his finger and laid it on a seat.
"Come," he said, "let us eat."
Immediately the Snake-woman appeared and joined him at his meal. When
she had eaten she vanished as mysteriously as she had come, and the
disconsolate husband (for the youth had married her) went out of the
lodge to seek her. Thinking she might be among the women of the
village, he said to his father: "Let the women dance before me."
{289}
An old man was deputed to gather the women together, but not one of
them so much as resembled the Snake-woman.
Again the youth sat down to eat, and repeated the formula which his
wife had described to him. She ate with him as before, and vanished
when the meal was over.
"Father," said the young man, "let the very young women dance before
me."
But the Snake-woman was not found among them either.
Another fleeting visit from his wife induced the chief's son to make
yet another attempt to find her in the community.
"Let the young girls dance," he said. Still the mysterious Snake-woman
was not found.
One day a girl overheard voices in the youth's lodge, and, peering in,
saw a beautiful woman sharing his meal. She told the news to the
chief, and it soon became known that the chief's son was married to a
beautiful stranger.
The youth, however, wished to marry a woman of his own tribe; but the
maiden's father, having heard that the young man was already married,
told his daughter that she was only being made fun of.
So the girl had nothing more to do with her wooer, who turned for
consolation to his ring. He caused food to be brought, and placed the
ring on a seat.
The Ring Unavailing
"Come," he said, "let us eat."
There was no response; the Snake-woman would not appear.
The youth was greatly disappointed, and made up his mind to go in
search of his wife.
{290}
"I am going a-hunting," said he, and again his father gave him good
clothes and saddled a horse for him.
When he reached the spot where the Snake-woman had first met him, he
found her trail leading up to the spring, and beyond it on the other
side. Still following the trail, he saw before him a very dilapidated
lodge, at the door of which sat an old man in rags. The youth felt
very sorry for the tattered old fellow, and gave him his fine clothes,
in exchange for which he received the other's rags.
"You think you are doing me a good turn," said the old man, "but it is
I who am going to do you one. The woman you seek has gone over the
Great Water. When you get to the other shore talk with the people you
shall meet there, and if they do not obey you send them away."
In addition to the tattered garments, the old man gave him a hat, a
sword, and a lame old horse.
At the edge of the Great Water the youth prepared to cross, while his
companion seated himself on the shore, closed his eyes, and recited a
spell. In a moment the young man found himself on the opposite shore.
Here he found a lodge inhabited by two aged Thunder-men, who were
apparently given to eating human beings. The young stranger made the
discovery that his hat rendered him invisible, and he was able to move
unseen among the creatures. Taking off his hat for a moment, he took
the pipe from the lips of a Thunder-man and pressed it against the
latter's hand.
"Oh," cried the Thunder-man, "I am burnt!"
But the youth had clapped on his hat and disappeared.
"It is not well," said the Thunder-man gravely. "A stranger has been
here and we have let him escape. {291} When our brother returns he
will not believe us if we tell him the man has vanished."
Shortly after this another Thunder-man entered with the body of a man
he had killed. When the brothers told him their story he was quite
sceptical.
"If I had been here," said he, "I would not have let him escape."
As he spoke the youth snatched his pipe from him and pressed it against
the back of his hand.
"Oh," said the Thunder-man, "I am burnt!"
"It was not I," said one brother.
"It was not I," said the other.
"It was I," said the youth, pulling off his hat and appearing among
them. "What were you talking about among yourselves? Here I am. Do
as you said."
But the Thunder-men were afraid.
"We were not speaking," they said, and the youth put on his hat and
vanished.
"What will our brother say," cried the three in dismay, "when he hears
that a man has been here and we have not killed him? Our brother will
surely hate us."
In a few minutes another Thunder-man came into the lodge, carrying the
body of a child. He was very angry when he heard that they had let a
man escape.
The youth repeated his trick on the new-comer--appeared for a moment,
then vanished again. The fifth and last of the brothers was also
deceived in the same manner.
Seeing that the monsters were now thoroughly frightened, the young man
took off his magic hat and talked with them.
The Finding of the Snake-Wife
"You do wrong," said he, "to eat men like this. You should eat
buffaloes, not men. I am going away. {292} When I come back I will
visit you, and if you are eating buffaloes you shall remain, but if you
are eating men I shall send you away."
The Thunder-men promised they would eat only buffaloes in future, and
the young man went on his way to seek for the Snake-woman. When at
last he came to the village where she dwelt he found she had married a
man of another tribe, and in a great rage he swung the sword the
magician had given him and slew her, and her husband, and the whole
village, after which he returned the way he had come. When he reached
the lodge of the Thunder-men he saw that they had not kept their
promise to eat only buffaloes.
"I am going to send you above," he said. "Hitherto you have destroyed
men, but when I have sent you away you shall give them cooling rain to
keep them alive."
So he sent them above, where they became the thunder-clouds.
Proceeding on his journey, he again crossed the Great Water with a
single stride, and related to the old wizard all that had happened.
"I have sent the Thunder-men above, because they would not stop eating
men. Have I done well?"
"Very well."
"I have killed the whole village where the Snake-woman was, because she
had taken another husband. Have I done well?"
"Very well. It was for that I gave you the sword."
The youth returned to his father, and married a very beautiful woman of
his own village.
A Subterranean Adventure
There lived in a populous village a chief who had two sons and one
daughter, all of them unmarried. {293} Both the sons were in the habit
of joining the hunters when they went to shoot buffaloes, and on one
such occasion a large animal became separated from the herd. One of
the chief's sons followed it, and when the pursuit had taken him some
distance from the rest of the party the buffalo suddenly disappeared
into a large pit. Before they could check themselves man and horse had
plunged in after him. When the hunters returned the chief was greatly
disturbed to learn that his son was missing. He sent the criers in all
directions, and spared no pains to get news of the youth.
"If any person knows the whereabouts of the chiefs son," shouted the
criers, "let him come and tell."
This they repeated again and again, till at length a young man came
forward who had witnessed the accident.
"I was standing on a hill," he said, "and I saw the hunters, and I saw
the son of the chief. And when he was on level ground he disappeared,
and I saw him no more."
He led the men of the tribe to the spot, and they scattered to look for
signs of the youth. They found his trail; they followed it to the pit,
and there it stopped.
They pitched their tents round the chasm, and the chief begged his
people to descend into it to search for his son.
"If any man among you is brave and stout-hearted," he said, "let him
enter."
There was no response.
"If any one will go I will make him rich."
Still no one ventured to speak.
"If any one will go I will give him my daughter in marriage."
There was a stir among the braves and a youth came forward.
{294}
"I will go," he said simply.
Ropes of hide were made by willing hands, and secured to a skin shaped
to form a sort of bucket.
After arranging signals with the party at the mouth of the pit, the
adventurous searcher allowed himself to be lowered. Once fairly
launched in the Cimmerian depths his eyes became accustomed to the
darkness, and he saw first the buffalo, then the horse, then the young
brave, quite dead. He put the body of the chief's son into the skin
bucket, and gave the signal for it to be drawn up to the surface. But
so great was the excitement that when his comrades had drawn up the
dead man they forgot about the living one still in the pit, and hurried
away.
Lost Underground
By and by the hero got tired of shouting, and wandered off into the
darkness.
He had not gone very far when he met an old woman. Respectfully
addressing her, he told her his story and begged her to aid his return
to his own country.
"Indeed I cannot help you," she said, "but if you will go to the house
of the wise man who lives round the corner you may get what you want."
Having followed the direction she had indicated with a withered finger,
the youth shortly arrived at a lodge. Hungry and weary, he knocked
somewhat impatiently. Receiving no answer, he knocked again, still
more loudly. This time there was a movement inside the lodge, and a
woman came to the door. She led him inside, where her husband sat
dejectedly, not even rising to greet the visitor. Sadly the woman told
him that they were mourning the death of their only son. At a word
from his wife the husband looked at the youth. Eagerly he rose and
embraced him.
{295}
"You are like our lost child," said he. "Come and we will make you our
son."
The young brave then told him his story.
"We shall treat you as our child," said the Wise Man. "Whatever you
shall ask we will give you, even should you desire to leave us and to
return to your own people."
Though he was touched by the kindness of the good folk, there was yet
nothing the youth desired so much as to return to his kindred.
"Give me," said he, "a white horse and a white mule."
The Return to Earth
The old man bade him go to where the horses were hobbled, and there he
found what he had asked for. He also received from his host a magic
piece of iron, which would enable him to obtain whatever he desired.
The rocks even melted away at a touch of this talisman. Thus equipped,
the adventurer rode off.
[Illustration: "He emerged in his own country"]
Shortly afterward he emerged in his own country, where the first
persons he met were the chief and his wife, to whom he disclosed his
identity, as he was by this time very much changed. They were
sceptical at first, but soon they came to recognize him, and gave him a
very cordial reception.
He married the chief's daughter, and was made head chieftain by his
father-in-law. The people built a lodge for him in the centre of the
encampment, and brought him many valuable presents of clothing and
horses. On his marriage-day the criers were sent out to tell the
people that on the following day no one must leave the village or do
any work.
On the morrow all the men of the tribe went out to hunt buffaloes, and
the young chieftain accompanied {296} them. By means of his magic
piece of iron he charmed many buffaloes, and slew more than did the
others.
Now it so happened that the chief's remaining son was very jealous of
his brother-in-law. He thought his father should have given him the
chieftainship, and the honours accorded by the people to his young
relative were exceedingly galling to him. So he made up his mind to
kill the youth and destroy his beautiful white horse. But the
sagacious beast told its master that some one was plotting against his
life, and, duly warned, he watched in the stable every night.
On the occasion of a second great buffalo hunt the wicked schemer found
his opportunity. By waving his robe he scared the buffaloes and caused
them to close in on the youth and trample him to death. But when the
herd had scattered and moved away there was no trace of the young brave
or of his milk-white steed. They had returned to the Underworld.
White Feather the Giant-Killer
There once dwelt in the heart of a great forest an old man and his
grandchild. So far as he could remember, the boy had never seen any
human being but his grandfather, and though he frequently questioned
the latter on the subject of his relatives he could elicit no
information from him. The truth was that they had perished at the
hands of six great giants. The nation to which the boy belonged had
wagered their children against those of the giants that they would beat
the latter in a race. Unfortunately the giants won, the children of
the rash Indians were forfeited, and all were slain with the exception
of little Chácopee, whose grandfather had taken charge of him. The
child learned to hunt and fish, and seemed quite contented and happy.
{297}
One day the boy wandered away to the edge of a prairie, where he found
traces of an encampment. Returning, he told his grandfather of the
ashes and tent-poles he had seen, and asked for an explanation. Had
his grandfather set them there? The old man responded brusquely that
there were no ashes or tent-poles: he had merely imagined them. The
boy was sorely puzzled, but he let the matter drop, and next day he
followed a different path. Quite suddenly he heard a voice addressing
him as "Wearer of the White Feather." Now there had been a tradition
in his tribe that a mighty man would arise among them wearing a white
feather and performing prodigies of valour. But of this Chácopee as
yet knew nothing, so he could only look about him in a startled way.
Close by him stood a man, which fact was in itself sufficiently
astonishing to the boy, who had never seen any one but his grandfather;
but to his further bewilderment he perceived that the man was made of
wood from the breast downward, only the head being of flesh.
"You do not wear the white feather yet," the curious stranger resumed,
"but you will by and by. Go home and sleep. You will dream of a pipe,
a sack, and a large white feather. When you wake you will see these
things by your side. Put the feather on your head and you will become
a very great warrior. If you want proof, smoke the pipe and you will
see the smoke turn into pigeons."
He then proceeded to tell him who his parents were, and of the manner
in which they had perished, and bade him avenge their death on the
giants. To aid him in the accomplishment of this feat he gave him a
magic vine which would be invisible to the giants, and with which he
must trip them up when they ran a race with him.
{298}
Chácopee returned home, and everything happened as the Man of Wood had
predicted. The old grandfather was greatly surprised to see a flock of
pigeons issuing from the lodge, from which Chácopee also shortly
emerged, wearing on his head a white feather. Remembering the
prophecy, the old man wept to think that he might lose his grandchild.
In Search of the Giants
Next morning Chácopee set off in search of the giants, whom he found in
a very large lodge in the centre of the forest. The giants had learned
of his approach from the 'little spirits who carry the news.' Among
themselves they mocked and scoffed at him, but outwardly they greeted
him with much civility, which, however, in nowise deceived him as to
their true feelings. Without loss of time they arranged a race between
Chácopee and the youngest giant, the winner of which was to cut off the
head of the other. Chdcopee won, with the help of his magic vine, and
killed his opponent. Next morning he appeared again, and decapitated
another of his foes. This happened on five mornings. On the sixth he
set out as usual, but was met by the Man of Wood, who informed him that
on his way to the giants' lodge he would encounter the most beautiful
woman in the world.
Chácopee's Downfall
"Pay no attention to her," he said earnestly. "She is there for your
destruction. When you see her turn yourself into an elk, and you will
be safe from her wiles."
Chácopee proceeded on his way, and sure enough before long he met the
most beautiful woman in the world. Mindful of the advice he had
received, he {299} turned himself into an elk, but, instead of passing
by, the woman, who was really the sixth giant, came up to him and
reproached him with tears for taking the form of an elk when she had
travelled so far to become his wife. Chácopee was so touched by her
grief and beauty that he resumed his own shape and endeavoured to
console her with gentle words and caresses. At last he fell asleep
with his head in her lap. The beautiful woman once more became the
cruel giant, and, seizing his axe, the monster broke Chácopee's back;
then, turning him into a dog, he bade him rise and follow him. The
white feather he stuck in his own head, fancying that magic powers
accompanied the wearing of it.
[Illustration: "Everything happened as the Man of Wood had predicted"]
In the path of the travellers there lay a certain village in which
dwelt two young girls, the daughters of a chief. Having heard the
prophecy concerning the wearer of the white feather, each made up her
mind that she would marry him when he should appear. Therefore, when
they saw a man approaching with a white feather in his hair the elder
ran to meet him, invited him into her lodge, and soon after married
him. The younger, who was gentle and timid, took the dog into her home
and treated him with great kindness.
One day while the giant was out hunting he saw the dog casting a stone
into the water. Immediately the stone became a beaver, which the dog
caught and killed. The giant strove to emulate this feat, and was
successful, but when he went home and ordered his wife to go outside
and fetch the beaver only a stone lay by the door. Next day he saw the
dog plucking a withered branch and throwing it on the ground, where it
became a deer, which the dog slew. The Giant performed this magic feat
also, but when his wife went to the door of the lodge to fetch the deer
she saw only {300} a piece of rotten wood. Nevertheless the giant had
some success in the chase, and his wife repaired to the home of her
father to tell him what a skilful hunter her husband was. She also
spoke of the dog that lived with her sister, and his skill in the chase.
The Transformation
The old chief suspected magic, and sent a deputation of youths and
maidens to invite his younger daughter and her dog to visit him. To
the surprise of the deputation, no dog was there, but an exceedingly
handsome warrior. But alas! Chácopee could not speak. The party set
off for the home of the old chief, where they were warmly welcomed.
It was arranged to hold a general meeting, so that the wearer of the
white feather might show his prowess and magical powers. First of all
they took the giant's pipe (which had belonged to Chácopee), and the
warriors smoked it one after the other. When it came to Chácopee's
turn he signified that the giant should precede him. The giant smoked,
but to the disappointment of the assembly nothing unusual happened.
Then Chácopee took the pipe, and as the smoke ascended it became a
flock of pigeons. At the same moment he recovered his speech, and
recounted his strange adventures to the astounded listeners. Their
indignation against the giant was unbounded, and the chief ordered that
he should be given the form of a dog and stoned to death by the people.
Chácopee gave a further proof of his right to wear the white feather.
Calling for a buffalo-hide, he cut it into little pieces and strewed it
on the prairie. Next day he summoned the braves of the tribe to a
buffalo-hunt, and at no great distance they found a magnificent herd.
The pieces of hide had become buffaloes. The {301} people greeted this
exhibition of magic art with loud acclamations, and Chácopee's
reputation was firmly established with the tribe.
Chácopee begged the chief's permission to take his wife on a visit to
his grandfather, which was readily granted, and the old man's gratitude
and delight more than repaid them for the perils of their journey.
How the Rabbit Caught the Sun
Once upon a time the Rabbit dwelt in a lodge with no one but his
grandmother to keep him company. Every morning he went hunting very
early, but no matter how early he was he always noticed that some one
with a very long foot had been before him and had left a trail. The
Rabbit resolved to discover the identity of the hunter who forestalled
him, so one fine morning he rose even earlier than usual, in the hope
of encountering the stranger. But all to no purpose, for the
mysterious one had gone, leaving behind him, as was his wont, the trail
of the long foot.
This irritated the Rabbit profoundly, and he returned to the lodge to
consult with his grandmother.
"Grandmother," he grumbled, "although I rise early every morning and
set my traps in the hope of snaring game, some one is always before me
and frightens the game away. I shall make a snare and catch him."
"Why should you do so?" replied his grandmother. "In what way has he
harmed you?"
"It is sufficient that I hate him," replied the querulous Rabbit, and
departed. He secreted himself among the bushes and waited for
nightfall. He had provided himself with a stout bowstring, which he
arranged as a trap in the place where the footprints were usually to be
found. Then he went home, but returned very early to examine his snare.
{302}
When he arrived at the spot he discovered that he had caught the
intruder, who was, indeed, no less a personage than the Sun. He ran
home at the top of his speed to acquaint his grandmother with the news.
He did not know what he had caught, so his grandmother bade him seek
the forest once more and find out. On returning he saw that the Sun
was in a violent passion.
"How dare you snare me!" he cried angrily. "Come hither and untie me
at once!"
The Rabbit advanced cautiously, and circled round him in abject terror.
At last he clucked his head and, running in, cut the bowstring which
secured the Sun with his knife. The Sun immediately soared upward, and
was quickly lost to sight. And the reason why the hair between the
Rabbit's shoulders is yellow is that he was scorched there by the great
heat which came from the Sun-god when he loosed him.
How the Rabbit Slew the Devouring Hill
In the long ago there existed a hill of ogre-like propensities which
drew people into its mouth and devoured them. The Rabbit's grandmother
warned him not to approach it upon any account.
But the Rabbit was rash, and the very fact that he had been warned
against the vicinity made him all the more anxious to visit it. So he
went to the hill, and cried mockingly: "Pahe-Wathahuni, draw me into
your mouth! Come, devour me!"
But Pahe-Wathahuni knew the Rabbit, so he took no notice of him.
Shortly afterward a hunting-party came that way, and Pahe-Wathahuni
opened his mouth, so that they took it to be a great cavern, and
entered. The Rabbit, waiting his chance, pressed in behind them. But
when {303} he reached Pahe-Wathahuni's stomach the monster felt that
something disagreed with him, and he vomited the Rabbit up.
[Illustration: "Once more the Rabbit entered, disguised as a man"]
Later in the day another hunting-party appeared, and Pahe-Wathahuni
again opened his capacious gullet. The hunters entered unwittingly,
and were devoured. And once more the Rabbit entered, disguised as a
man by magic art. This time the cannibal hill did not eject him.
Imprisoned in the monster's entrails, he saw in the distance the
whitened bones of folk who had been devoured, the still undigested
bodies of others, and some who were yet alive.
Mocking Pahe-Wathahuni, the Rabbit said: "Why do you not eat? You
should have eaten that very fat heart." And, seizing his knife, he
made as if to devour it. At this Pahe-Wathahuni set up a dismal
howling; but the Rabbit merely mocked him, and slit the heart in twain.
At this the hill split asunder, and all the folk who had been
imprisoned within it went out again, stretched their arms to the blue
sky, and hailed the Rabbit as their deliverer; for it was
Pahe-Wathahuni's heart that had been sundered.
The people gathered together and said: "Let us make the Rabbit chief."
But he mocked them and told them to be gone, that all he desired was
the heap of fat the hill had concealed within its entrails, which would
serve him and his old grandmother for food for many a day. With that
the Rabbit went homeward, carrying the fat on his back, and he and his
grandmother rejoiced exceedingly and were never in want again.
{304}