FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLE BROWN OWL
Now what of the little brown owl? We last heard of him, foiled in his
sneaking enterprise against Whispering Grass, escaping from the fox
with the most desperate and painful efforts. For the whole of the
following day he remained hidden among the branches of the little
tree; and by nightfall he was able to fly again, though slowly and not
without pain. He found hunting a difficult matter for days after the
blow from the old woman’s arrow, so stiff and sore were his muscles;
but a worse matter than this was the enmity of the big lynx, whom
he had enticed to the store-house of the herb-doctor. For the lynx,
having found a roof of strong poles where he had been told to expect
nothing but bark, and having received a painful wound in the side from
a flint-headed arrow, now proclaimed the treachery of the little brown
owl to every bird and beast of that part of the wilderness.
So the owl that had once been Bright Robe, that great and evil
magician, lived in fear of his life, in the very country over which he
had so often cast the shadow of his evil deeds. None feared him now
save the smallest creatures of the wood; and even they found him to be
the least dangerous of all the birds of prey. To hide his identity as
that particular owl so widely condemned by the lynx, he was compelled
to cease his efforts against Whispering Grass and refrain entirely from
telling the story of his great past to the forest creatures. For the
word had gone abroad that the _small, brown owl that says it is a great
magician, and has no modesty of speech, has been proved a traitor by
No-Tail, the lynx, whom it led into a dangerous trap_. _So beware of
the owl that talks overmuch, and lies more than is usual even among
such birds. Kill him, if you can, for the credit of the forest._
With every claw, and tooth, and beak in the country ready to rend
him, ’tis small wonder that the little owl was utterly discouraged.
It was not safe for him even to exchange a word with another owl, so
bitter against him were the birds of his kind for the discredit he
had brought upon them. Their reputation for wordiness and untruth
was so bad already that they lusted for the blood of the stranger who
had made it worse. But, for several days, he escaped the anger of the
creatures around him by keeping out of their sight. One twilight-time,
however, he was attacked suddenly by an owl of his own size; and, for
all the fierce heart in his body, he was knocked about disgracefully.
He sought safety in flight, at the first opportunity, and travelled
many miles, at his best speed, before his antagonist gave up the chase.
He pitched into the top of a bushy tree, to recover his breath and his
wits. In his cowardly heart he vowed that every bird and beast within
ten miles of that mountain should be slain when he recovered his power.
He continued his flight, heading southward, and at last had out-flown
the lynx’s story; and he found a splendid hunting-ground, and fairly
stuffed himself with mice. His evil little brain began to plot and
plan again, now that he had the comfortable sensation of food inside
him. He remembered people who had been his followers, men after his
own heart, scattered about the country. They had often been his tools
in past troubles; why should they not serve him again as instruments
of destruction and revenge? And now the need of them was greater than
ever, for he realized how impotent he was, in his miserable owl-body.
These men whom the enchanted magician remembered, were all small
workers of magic, sly, greedy folk without courage or principles, and
with but sufficient knowledge of the secret science to enable them to
destroy their simpler fellows and pass as great warriors. They could
increase, by a little, the strength and deadliness of weapons; blind a
man’s vision, for a short time, by the flashing of bright stones and
mumbling of words, and many such pretty tricks as these. But they were
all evil, in various degrees, and looked upon Bright Robe as their
master.
The strongest of these, the one most advanced in magic, wickedness, and
wealth, was Fang. Fang lived in a big village in the south, and was
second in power to the chief. The chief was an honest man, ignorant
of any hidden arts, but a wise and a mighty warrior. Bright Robe,
the little owl, knew that Fang had been plotting that good chief’s
destruction for many years. Why should he not join in the wickedness?
It would be a beginning, and quite amusing, much more amusing than
being beaten and chased by owls. He would whisper cunning advice into
Fang’s ears, and encourage him with his mighty presence, and there
would soon be one honest man the less in the world; and that meant one
enemy the less.
The little brown owl spent several days in finding the village in
which lived his old friend Fang; and when he came to it, at last, and
perched on a near-by tree, he was surprised to find all the inhabitants
clustered together, every man talking at the top of his voice and no
man listening. He saw Red Eye, Fang’s brother, in the middle of the
crowd; but Fang and the chief, and the chief’s son were not there. He
listened to the angry voices and soon learned that the people were
trying to divide the chief’s and Fang’s properties among them,--the
lodges and furs, the wampum and weapons and stores of food.
Ah, so the chief had already been settled with. And Fang, too, it
would seem. But what of Jumping Wolf, that upright young warrior who
had never shown fear or respect? But the matter in hand drove these
questions out of his mind, for the time. He listened to Red Eye, whose
voice outshrieked all the others.
“My brother’s goods are now mine,” screamed Red Eye, “and as the
chief’s goods became Fang’s when he struck the blow, so did they pass
to me when he was killed.”
The air was filled with shouts of rage and derision. Hands (most of
them containing clubs and knives) were brandished on all sides.
“We chased the young man, and were wounded by his arrows,” cried a
warrior at the edge of the crowd. “Are we to have nothing for our blood
and weariness?”
“While you sat at home,” bawled another.
“We feared Fang, for we thought him full of magic power, and yet
Jumping Wolf killed him with one blow,” cried a third.
Then they all surged about Red Eye, shouting like mad men.
“No one fears you,” they roared. “The old chief used to treat you like
dirt under his moccasins.”
Now the little owl saw that Red Eye was inwardly quaking. All his false
courage was quenched by the angry faces, as a little fire is quenched
by a dash of water.
“Share the goods as you will,” he cried, “for I am weary of such
ingratitude;” and with that, he made his way quickly from the crowd
and entered a lodge. Jeering shouts were hurled after him; even the
women were not silent in their scorn, and children capered after him
with impertinent whoops and gestures.
The owl did not like the state of affairs in the village at all. Fang
had been an apt pupil, and a sure man in an evil enterprise. And
behold! he was now less than a shadow among his people. Listen! They
reviled his name even while they fought over the division of his goods.
One warrior, snatching a skin of pemmican from the store-house of the
departed Fang, proclaimed his satisfaction at Jumping Wolf’s escape.
The sentiment was favourably received, and repeated on all sides.
“Truly, he did us a good turn,” cried one, “when he broke Fang’s skull
with his club; for Fang would have been a cruel master, for all his
fine promises. Now we are free and rich, with two fortunes to share
among us. Ah, I am glad that we did not catch the boy while Fang’s evil
spell was on our hearts and brains.”
“And he did but avenge the old chief’s death,” said another.
“You are full of fair words now,” cried an old hag; “but you hunted him
out, with clubs and spears. I know the breed; and I think that cub may
return, to strike another blow at the murderers of the old wolf.”
Men and women ceased their wrangling and looked at the old woman who
had spoken, with various emotions depicted on their faces. Some looked
ashamed, some afraid, some angry; but all showed uneasiness.
A young woman with a child in her arms laughed shrilly.
“You are for ever trying to frighten us,” she cried.
“Jumping Wolf is a warrior,” said the old woman, gazing fixedly at
one of the men. “He and the chief were the only warriors in this
village,--two warriors among a crowd of cowards and traitors.”
Her voice became higher and shriller. “You listened to Fang, and
thought him a great magician; and you watched him slay your chief with
his hidden knife. But, ah! In a second Fang, too, lay dead. Then you
hunted the lad; and he turned you back. Again your picked men went on
his trail; and again he outwitted you. You saw him taken from the pan
of ice, alive, by a strong man and a young girl, in a canoe that was
not like your canoes. Then sleep light, oh, warriors, for Jumping Wolf
has you in his mind. Sleep light, with your spears and your clubs at
your side, for you may taste the heat of his arrows again.”
It was quite evident to the owl that the old woman’s remarks struck
home. Some men scowled; some shook their fists at her; and one
commanded her to keep silent. She laughed, long and harshly.
“You should thank me for the warning,” she cried. “If you but heed it,
it may save you your lives. I warned Fang, for he was my daughter’s
child, against the evil temptings of that blustering Bright Robe; but
his heart was wicked and greedy. And now he is dead. So I warn you to
choose an honest chief, though you should have to make a three-days’
journey to find one. I warn you to deafen your ears against the wiles
of the treacherous Bright Robe, for he is less dangerous as an enemy
than as a seeming friend. And, again, I warn you against the son of the
chief whom you murdered.”
The people were now thoroughly frightened by the woman’s free and
disrespectful use of the name of Bright Robe. They gazed fearfully
about them, as if expecting that awful magician to leap upon
them from the woods or the sky. He had visited them several times
during the period between his return from exile and his fight with
Wise-as-a-she-wolf, and of that fight, and its result, they knew
nothing. The children gazed around also, but with curiosity rather
than fear, for they did not understand the gravity of the situation.
And in so doing, a small boy with a bow in his hand espied the owl in
the tree. With a cry of delight, he fitted an arrow to the string and
let fly. The shaft rattled among the branches within a few inches of
the bird’s head; and the villagers, looking in that direction, saw
something like a tiny shadow drift away into the forest.
The owl was furious at what he had heard from the old woman. It seemed
that every old woman was his enemy. If she continued to preach in that
vein, and with Fang dead, the entire village would be lost to him in
but a short time.