THE YOUTH RECOVERS HIS STRENGTH AND VISITS RUN-ALL-DAY
When the young man awoke after a sleep of sixteen hours’ duration, he
begged for food. Whispering Grass held a small vessel of broth to his
lips. He drained it at a gulp, and demanded meat and fish.
“I am hungry,” he said, “for I have spilled blood and the strength of
an hundred men. Do you expect me to recover my lost energy by means of
a mouthful of hot water?”
Much against her convictions as a physician, the old woman cut a meagre
slice of dried caribou meat, broiled it and gave it to the invalid. He
devoured it ravenously, making no more than two mouthfuls of it.
“You will heat your blood. You will have a fever,” she exclaimed.
“My friend,” he replied, “this is no time for half-measures. Even my
good hunger-belt would be useless now. Though you behold but a small
man lying here, sorely cut and bruised, yet the strength of a giant
must be recuperated.”
“Of a giant?” she queried, wondering if the fever had already found him.
He nodded. “Of the giant who mastered Bright Robe,” he said.
“Of the great, invisible one?” she asked, in an awe-stricken whisper.
“Even so. Was it not a great battle?”
“And you--? Why must you eat, young man, to feed his body?”
“We have but the one mouth, old woman,” he replied, smiling gently.
“Who are you, chief?” she cried.
“They call me Wise-as-a-she-wolf,” he said.
Whispering Grass was amazed and disconcerted. For a long time she could
do nothing but gaze at the slight, mild-featured youth reclining on her
couch. Could this be the furious, invisible fighter who had hunted the
mighty Bright Robe from one form to another before her eyes; who had
done battle with him, struck fear into his heart, and overthrown him?
At last she found the use of her tongue again. “You saved me from his
wrath, chief; but who is to protect me when you go again about your
great affairs?” she asked.
“The heart of Bright Robe is known over all the world,” she continued,
“and his black soul is never deaf to the cry of vengeance. When the
winds forget to blow we may expect that terrible one to forget those
who have angered him.”
“We shall be warmed by five summers before Bright Robe regains his
power to harm,” replied the youth. “For five summers and five aching
winters, he must make his home in the trees, in the shape of a little
brown owl.”
“Why did you not kill him, chief?” asked Whispering Grass. “He is your
enemy, and the enemy of the whole world.”
“I did what was in my power,” replied Wise-as-a-she-wolf. “Only the
gods can take his life. He and I have drunk of the same river, that
flows around and around at the very top of the world. But I took his
magic robe from him, and broke his giant’s body, and spilled his magic
for five winters. He could have done no more to me had he defeated me
in the battle.”
“And when the five winters are sped?” queried the old woman.
“I shall be waiting for him,” replied the youth.
The wounds of the good magician healed with a wonderful rapidity, that
was not entirely due to the skill of Whispering Grass. And his appetite
for food, for a few days, was a thing to strike consternation to the
heart of a housekeeper. He ate dried fish and dried meat like a pack
of wolves, for a giant as tall as a pine and as broad as a hill lurked
within his slender frame. He promised that he would refill the larder
as soon as he was on his feet.
On the third day after the battle, he was able to sit up and repair
his moccasins, which had been torn on rocks and timber in the heroic
combat. They had not been made for such rough usage, for they were
the moccasins of the wind. While he worked, patching and stitching
with skill and patience, Whispering Grass told him of the visit of
the chief who had come for medicine for his child, and of how Bright
Robe had seen him flying from the hillside and had mistaken him for
Wise-as-a-she-wolf. She described the chief; and the magician knew that
Run-all-day had made use of the red feathers.
On the morning of the fifth day after the fight with Bright Robe, the
youth arranged his garments of dressed leather, which had been cleaned
and mended, and assured the old woman that his injuries were entirely
cured and that he must go about his business again.
“It was a speedy cure,” replied Whispering Grass. “I can find the wish,
in my selfish old heart, that your magic and my poor washes had not
healed the wounds so quickly, for now I shall spend my lonely days in
fear of that little brown owl.”
At that the youth laughed. “Only the mice and the sparrows need fear
him, for many moons,” said he.
“But the heart within his little breast is still the heart of Bright
Robe,” argued the old woman, dismally wagging her head.
“I tell you that he is harmless, save to the smallest creatures of the
wood,” replied the magician, with a note of sternness in his voice. He
stepped to the door of the lodge.
“I shall return in a few minutes with meat and fish and pemmican,” he
said.
Then, for a second, she heard the swishing rush of his flight. She
hobbled to the doorway and looked out; but the sky was empty. So
she turned back and busied herself with setting the lodge in order,
muttering and shaking her gray head over the wonders that had crowded,
of late, into her secluded life. She was spreading the skins on the
couches when a shadow fell across the floor. Turning, she beheld
Wise-as-a-she-wolf. His smooth face was flushed and he breathed as one
after a sharp run. “Your store-house is full,” he said. “I went to my
own village and got food for you; enough of the best to last you three
moons. And here is a little whistle, made of willow. Blow upon it if
you happen to be in need of my help, and I shall hear, and make speed
to you, no matter in what part of the world I may be. But remember,
should you blow upon this whistle without real need, the note of it
will not reach my ears.”
The old woman accepted the gift gratefully and immediately set about
fastening it around her neck by a leathern thong. And when she raised
her eyes from the task the good magician was gone.
Wise-as-a-she-wolf, invisible by the potency of his own magic and with
the silver robe of his rival under his arm, sped eastward in search of
Run-all-day’s village. The afternoon was well spent before he found it,
for it was a new village.
Alighting nearby, under a clump of crowded pines, he hid the white robe
and walked, in his usual form, through the woods to the clustered
lodges. Half a dozen women, and a few old men, were seated outside the
wigwams, some weaving rough baskets and others laboriously shaping
canoe paddles by means of flint wedges and knives. They looked at
the strange young man with undisguised wonder. He greeted them
good-naturedly and walked straight to the big lodge, feeling sure
that, in so small a village, Run-all-day would be chief. Singing Bird
caught sight of him before he reached the open doorway and whispered to
Red Willow that the young man who had spent a night with them, during
the previous summer, was approaching. Then Red Willow and old Blowing
Fog knew that it was the great magician. Run-all-day and the other
able-bodied men and boys of the village were away, hunting the beaver
and musquash along the breaking streams.
Wise-as-a-she-wolf, great in magic, fearless in battle, peeped into the
lodge. On seeing only women and children there, he stepped shyly to one
side and looked vaguely around, as if uncertain what to do next. The
chatter of women could not be answered by magic and his valour was no
shield against the big eyes of Singing Bird. But before he could plan
a dignified escape Red Willow looked out and invited him to enter. He
stepped cautiously within; whereupon she sent all the children save the
baby to play outside, thus making room for him to sit on one of the
skin-covered couches. He inquired the whereabouts of Run-all-day, and
then asked if the baby was quite recovered from its recent illness.
“He is cured, chief, thanks to your gift of red feathers,” replied Red
Willow.
The magician expressed his pleasure at this and smiled bashfully at
the baby. Then followed a silence that lasted for several minutes. It
was broken by old Blowing Fog who had been blinking curiously at the
visitor ever since his arrival.
“Great magicians were bigger men, in my young days,” said she.
Red Willow and Singing Bird were horrified at that remark; but the
young man laughed good-naturedly.
“There was Highest Star, who slew the great moose that swam across the
Narrow Sea,” continued the old woman, complacently. “He killed the
fearful beast with one blow of his closed hand. Many a time did he
visit my father’s lodge. He was ten feet high and broad as a bear is
long.”
“And where is he now?” asked the youth.
Blowing Fog could not tell him, for certain, but she had her
suspicions. One was that the gods had grown jealous of his greatness
and had buried him under a mountain. Another was that he himself had
become a divinity and now sat in some gorgeous lodge beyond the sunset,
superior to the affairs of the island in which he had been born.
“Nay, do not mourn him,” said the youth, “for he still lives on the
earth and is even now in this island.”
“Then I would I might see him again,” cried Blowing Fog, “for he was as
beautiful and good as he was big.”
“Highest Star was one of the names men called me by,” said the
magician, modestly.
“But he was double the size of you, chief,” expostulated Blowing Fog.
“With one blow of his hand he killed the great moose that swam across
the Narrow Sea to overthrow our lodges.”
She eyed him skeptically.
Wise-as-a-she-wolf nodded his head. “Yes, yes, I remember,” he said.
“The great moose was thrice the size of his kind and his antlers
spread more than the width of this fine lodge. He was king of all
the moose of the western lands. But I was more than ten feet high
when I slew him. Large as I was then, I doubled my stature before I
encountered that gigantic beast. As he drew himself out of the water, I
smote him on the forehead, for the safety of my people.”
“Then why do you go about in so humble a shape to-day?” asked Blowing
Fog, cunningly.
“You do not believe me,” he said, eyeing her steadily.
The old woman was silent for a moment.
“Even Bright Robe stood in fear of Highest Star,” she said, “but
Wise-as-a-she-wolf went softly about the world, studying magic. He was
not a great warrior.”
“Highest Star was one of the names men called me by,” replied the
youth, quietly. He looked at Red Willow.
“Do you doubt what I tell?” he asked her.
“I do not doubt you, chief,” she replied.
At that moment the voice of Run-all-day was heard without, speaking
to Singing Bird. As he entered, the women turned their eyes from the
magician to the door.
“Where is the great and good Wise-as-a-she-wolf?” asked the hunter,
peering about him. Sure enough, there was not a sign of the young man
in the lodge.
“He is here,” whispered Red Willow. “He was seated there, but a moment
ago.”
Blowing Fog gazed wildly around, but said nothing. She trembled
with fear, and wished that she had not voiced her doubts nor spoken
slightingly of the gentle ways of Wise-as-a-she-wolf.
“I do not see him,” said the hunter. “Surely he slipped outside when
you were not watching.”
He gazed all around, and up and down. “Was he angry?” he asked. “Was he
displeased with me for having used the red feathers?”
“You used them in a good cause, my friend,” said a gruff but kindly
voice from up near the peak of the high lodge. The three stared upward,
awe-stricken. The old woman clung desperately to Red Willow. At last
Run-all-day found his voice.
“Are you displeased with me, chief?” he asked.
“Nay, friend,” replied the voice of the unseen, from the dusky peak of
the lodge, “’tis Blowing Fog who has displeased me with her talk.”
“But she is old, chief,” said the hunter, apologetically. “Her wits are
dull, but her tongue wags. I am sure that, whatever she said, she meant
nothing disrespectful by it.”
At that, Blowing Fog loosed her hold of Red Willow’s hand, and,
forgetting her fear, glared in rage and amazement at her tactless
son-in-law. So she wagged her tongue, did she? And she was old? And
her wits were dull,--the impudent rascal. She drew a deep breath,
preparatory to loosing her wrath upon the hunter, when the voice from
the roof spoke again.
“I, too, am old,” said the voice. “I was old before this woman was
born; and yet I do not doubt a person’s word until I have proved him a
liar.”
The hunter looked sternly at the old woman. “You doubted this great
chief’s word,” he cried. “And yet you know that it was by his magic
gift that I was able to fly to Whispering Grass, and home again, swift
as a hawk, and so save the life of the little warrior.”
Blowing Fog was now too angry and mortified to fear anything.
“Silence, blockhead!” she cried. “What do you know of magic and
magicians? ’Tis but a little while since you were afraid to touch
the red feathers. And Bright Robe turned your heart to water, with a
glance.”
She looked upward. “Chief,” she said, “have you but made yourself
invisible and thrown your voice into the peak of the roof, or do
you really stand with your feet on the ground and your head in the
smoke-hole?”
Poor Red Willow was horrified at her mother’s temerity and uncalled-for
rudeness. With a sobbing cry, she tried to place her hand over the old
woman’s mouth. But she did not succeed, and received a shrewd blow on
the cheek for her pains.
“Old woman, you shall see, with your own eyes, whether or not
Wise-as-a-she-wolf speaks the truth,” cried the angry voice from above.
“Forgive her, chief. Do not hurt her,” cried Red Willow and the hunter.
Then they fell back, against the bark walls of the lodge, speechless;
for there bulked a great figure, its feet in the middle of the floor,
its knees bent, and its head against the very top of the roof.
“These quarters cramp me,” said the giant, and he immediately
straightened his knees and his back and expanded his chest. The great
lodge was ripped and torn, and with the top of it on his head, the
incensed magician strode away into the woods.
Then there was panic and tumult in the village. Women screamed and men
shouted and old Blowing Fog fell down in a fit. Red Willow clutched her
littlest baby tightly in her arms and her other children scampered to
her protection and clung to her garments.
“Silence!” cried Run-all-day to the villagers. “I do not blame the
great magician for getting angry and showing his power. And see, he has
hurt no one. Throw some cold water on the old woman. She insulted my
friend and master in my own lodge--and yet we must not let her die in
the grip of fear.” He was very angry with his mother-in-law.
Liberal sousings of icy water soon caused the old woman to open her
eyes, spring to her feet and attack the people who had carried the
water and poured it upon her with such gusto. She dealt old Green Bow a
slap on the side of the head that shook the few teeth in his jaws, and
was about to assault another ancient warrior when Wise-as-a-she-wolf,
once more in the shape of a mild young man, again appeared. At sight
of him she slipped quietly behind the fattest person present. The
magician went straight to Red Willow.
“I am sorry that I lost my temper,” he said, sincerely. “I acted like
a braggart; and I have ruined your fine lodge. But I will set to work
immediately to rebuild it.”
The poles and bark of which the big wigwam had been constructed were
uninjured. Wise-as-a-she-wolf and Run-all-day set to work like beavers
and their example was soon followed by all the villagers save Green
Bow. He, poor old man, went home and nursed his jaw. By the fall of
dusk the big lodge was as good as new again, and the entire family and
their guest sat comfortably within. Blowing Fog busied herself with
cooking the evening meal, and had not a word to say. But the sight of
Wise-as-a-she-wolf’s stature and strength had impressed her tough old
heart more than a dozen less spectacular demonstrations of his magical
powers would have done.
The good magician, his conscience still pricking him for his recent
violence, made himself very agreeable. He cut several of the bright
stones from his shirt of leather and gave one to each of the children,
including the girl, Singing Bird, and the littlest baby. “They are
jewels of courage,” he said, “and impart their virtue to the wearer.
They were dug from great mountains, by a fierce red-skinned people who
live far to the south and west, in a great land beyond the seas.”
He told them some of the adventures that had befallen him since their
last meeting. He gave a modest account of his battle with Bright Robe,
near the lodge of Whispering Grass. The heart of Run-all-day was glad
within him when he heard that the cruel magician had been overthrown
and shorn of his powers for five long summers. Even Blowing Fog forgot
her disgrace for a moment and cackled. “Ho! ho! Think of that little
brown owl with the heart of that great magician under his ribs. He will
be a mighty slayer of wood mice. Ho! ho!”
Everybody laughed at that,--even the little children who did not know
what it meant.
Early next morning the magician drew Run-all-day aside and charged him
to be careful of the red feathers.
“Make use of them only in worthy adventures, for the saving of your own
life or the lives of others,” he said. “And do not let them become a
matter of common report, for even though Bright Robe is harmless for a
long time, there are many others who know their virtue and would risk
much to possess them. Remember that you have them in charge for the
littlest warrior, of whom I expect great things.”
Then he went into the woods and took the white robe from its
hiding-place, and flew northward and westward.