|IN a region of country where the forest and the prairie strove which
should be the most beautiful--the open plain with its free sunshine and
winds and flowers, or the close wood with its delicious twilight walks
and green hollows--there lived a wicked manito in the disguise of an old
Indian.
Although the country furnished an abundance of game and whatever else
a good heart could wish for, it was the study of this wicked genius to
destroy such people as fell into his hands. He made use of all his arts
to decoy men into his power for the purpose of killing them. The country
had been once thickly peopled, but this Mudjee Monedo had so thinned
it by his cruel practices that he now lived almost solitary in the
wilderness.
The secret of his success lay in his great speed. He had the power to
assume the shape of any four-footed creature, and it was his custom to
challenge to a race all those he sought to destroy. He had a beaten path
on which he ran, leading around a large lake, and he always ran around
this circle so that the starting and the winning-post was the same.
Whoever failed, as every one had, yielded up his life at this post;
and although he ran every day, no man was ever known to beat this evil
genius; for whenever he was pressed hard, he changed himself into a fox,
wolf, deer, or other swift-footed animal, and was thus able to leave his
competitor behind.
The whole country was in dread of this same Mudjee Monedo, and yet the
young men were constantly running with him; for if they refused, he
called them cowards, which was a reproach they could not bear. They
would rather die than be called cowards.
To keep up his sport, the manito made light of these deadly
foot-matches. Instead of assuming a braggart air and going about in a
boastful way with the blood of such as he had overcome upon his hands,
he adopted very pleasing manners and visited the lodges around the
country as any other sweet-tempered and harmless old Indian might.
His secret object in these friendly visits was to learn whether the
young boys were getting old enough to run with him; he kept a very sharp
eye upon their growth, and the day he thought them ready, he did not
fail to challenge them to a trial on his racing-ground.
There was not a family in all that beautiful region which had not
in this way been visited and thinned out; and the manito had quite
naturally come to be held in abhorrence by all the Indian mothers in the
country.
It happened that there lived near him a poor widow woman whose husband
and seven sons he had made way with. She was now living with an only
daughter and a son of ten or twelve years old.
This widow was very poor and feeble, and she suffered so much from lack
of food and other comforts of the lodge, that she would have been glad
to die but for her daughter and her little son. The Mudjee Monedo had
already visited her lodge to observe whether the boy was sufficiently
grown to be challenged to the race; and so crafty in his approaches and
so soft in his manners was the monedo, that the mother feared he would
yet decoy the son in spite of all her struggles and make way with him as
he had done with her husband and the seven elder sons.
And yet she strove with all her might to strengthen her son in every
good course. She taught him, as best she could, what was becoming for
the wise hunter and the brave warrior. She remembered and set before him
all that she could recall of the skill and the craft of his father and
his brothers who were lost.
The widow woman also instructed her daughter in whatever would make her
useful as a wife; and in the leisure-time of the lodge, she gave her
lessons in the art of working with the quills of porcupine, and bestowed
on her such other accomplishments as should make her an ornament and
a blessing to her husband's household. The daughter, Minda by name,
disdained no labor of the lodge, was kind and obedient to her mother,
and never failed in her duty. Their lodge stood high up on the banks
of a lake, which gave them a wide prospect of country embellished with
groves and open fields, which waved with the blue light of their long
grass, and made, at all hours of sun and moon, a cheerful scene to look
upon.
Across this beautiful prairie, Minda had one morning made her way to
gather dry limbs for their fire. And while enjoying the sweetness of the
air and the green beauty of the woods, she strolled far away.
She had come to a bank painted with flowers of every hue, and was
reclining on its fragrant couch, when a bird, of red and deep-blue
plumage softly blended, alighted on a branch near-by and began to pour
forth its carol. It was a bird of strange character, such as she had
never before seen. Its first note was so delicious to the ear of Minda,
it so pierced to her young heart, that she listened as she had never
before to any mortal or heavenly sound. It seemed like the human
voice, forbidden to speak and uttering its language through this wild
wood-chant with a mournful melody, as if it bewailed the lack of the
power or the right to make itself more plainly intelligible.
The voice of the bird rose and fell and circled round and round; but
whithersoever floated or spread out its notes, they seemed ever to have
their center where Minda sat; and she looked with sad eyes into the sad
eyes of the mournful bird, that sat in his red and deep-blue plumage
just opposite to the flowery bank.
The poor bird strove more and more with his voice and seemed ever more
and more anxiously to address his notes of lament to Minda's ear, till
at last she could not refrain from speaking to him.
"What aileth thee, sad bird?" she asked.
[Illustration: 0295]
As if he had but waited to be spoken to, the bird left his branch, and
alighting upon the bank, smiled on Minda. Shaking his shining plumage,
he answered:
"I am bound in this condition until a maiden shall accept me in
marriage. I have wandered through these forests and sung to many and
many of the Indian girls, but none ever heeded my voice till you.
Will you be mine?" he added, and poured forth a flood of melody which
sparkled and spread itself with its sweet murmurs over all the scene,
fairly entrancing the young Minda, who sat silent, as if she feared to
break the charm by speech.
The bird, approaching nearer, asked her, if she loved him, to get her
mother's consent to their marriage. "I shall be free then," said the
bird, "and you shall know me as I am."
Minda lingered and listened to the sweet voice of the bird, either
in its own forest notes, or else filling each pause with gentle human
discourse. For it questioned her as to her home, her family, and the
little incidents of her daily life.
She returned to the lodge later than usual, but she was too timid to
speak to her mother of that which the bird had charged her. She returned
again and again to the fragrant haunt in the wood; and every day she
listened to the songs of her bird admirer with more pleasure, and he
every day besought her to speak to her mother of the marriage. This she
could not, however, muster heart and courage to do.
At last the widow began herself to have a suspicion that her daughter's
heart was in the wood, from her long delays in returning and the little
success she had in gathering the fire-branches for which she went in
search.
Then, in answer to her mother's questions, Minda revealed the truth
and made known her lover's request; and the mother gave her consent,
considering the lonely and destitute condition of her little household.
The daughter hastened, with light steps, to carry the news to the wood.
The bird lover, of course, heard it with delight and fluttered through
the air in happy circles, pouring forth a song of joy which thrilled
Minda to the heart.
He said that he would come to the lodge at sunset, and immediately took
wing, while Minda hung fondly upon his flight, till he was lost far away
in the blue sky.
With the twilight the bird lover appeared at the door of the lodge. But
now his name was Monedowa, and he had returned to his true form of
a hunter, with a red plume on his head and a mantle of blue upon his
shoulders.
He addressed the widow as his friend, and she directed him to sit down
beside her daughter, and they were regarded as man and wife.
Early on the following morning he asked for the bow and arrows of those
who had been slain by the wicked manito, then went out a-hunting. As
soon as he had got out of sight of the lodge, he changed himself into
the wood-bird he had been before his marriage, and took his flight
through the air.
Although game was scarce in the neighborhood of the widow's lodge,
Monedowa returned at evening, in his character of a hunter, with two
deer. This was his daily practice, and the widow's family never more
lacked for food. It was noticed, however, that Monedowa himself ate but
little, and that of a peculiar kind of meat flavored with berries, which
fact, with other circumstances, convinced his wife that he was not as
the Indian people around him. His mother-in-law told him that in a few
days the manito would come to pay them a visit, to see how the young
man, her son, prospered.
Monedowa answered that he should on that day be absent.
When the time arrived, he flew upon a tall pine-tree overlooking the
lodge and took his station there as the wicked manito passed in.
The Mudjee Monedo cast sharp glances at the scaffolds so well laden with
meat, and as soon as he had entered, he said, "Why, who is it that is
furnishing you with meat so plentifully?"
"No one but my son," she answered. "He is just beginning to kill deer."
"No, no," he retorted; "some one is living with you."
"Kaween, no indeed!" replied the widow. "You are only making sport of
my hapless condition. Who do you think would come and trouble themselves
about me?"
"Very well," answered the manito, "I will go; but on such a day I will
again visit you and see who it is that furnishes the meat, and whether
it is your son or not."
He had no sooner left the lodge and got out of sight, than the
son-in-law made his appearance with two more deer. On being made
acquainted with the conduct of the manito, he said, "Very well, I will
be at home the next time, to see him."
Both the mother and the wife urged Monedowa to beware of the manito.
They made known all of his cruel courses, and assured him that no man
could escape from his power.
"No matter," said Monedowa. "If he invites me to the race-ground, I will
not be backward. What follows may teach him, my mother, to show pity on
the vanquished and not to trample on the widow and those who are without
fathers."
When the day of the visit of the manito arrived, Monedowa told his wife
to prepare certain pieces of meat, which he pointed out to her, together
with two or three buds of the birch tree, which he requested her to
put in the pot. He directed also that the manito should be hospitably
received, as if he had been just the kind-hearted old Indian
he professed to be. Monedowa then dressed himself as a warrior,
embellishing his visage with tints of red to show that he was prepared
for either war or peace.
As soon as the Mudjee Monedo arrived, he eyed this strange warrior whom
he had never seen before; but he dissembled, as usual, and with a gentle
laugh said to the widow, "Did I not tell you that some one was staying
with you? For I knew your son was too young to hunt."
The widow excused herself by saying that she did not think it necessary
to tell him, inasmuch as he was a manito and must have known before he
asked.
The manito was very pleasant with Monedowa, and after much other
gentle-spoken discourse, he invited him to the racing-ground, saying it
was a manly amusement, that he would have an excellent chance to meet
there with other warriors, and that he should himself be pleased to run
with him.
Monedowa would have excused himself, saying that he knew nothing of
running.
"Why," replied the Mudjee Monedo, trembling in every limb as he spoke,
"don't you see how old I look, while you are young and full of life? We
must at least run a little to amuse others."
"Be it so, then," replied Monedowa. "I will oblige you. I will go in the
morning."
Pleased with his crafty success, the manito would have now taken his
leave, but he was pressed to remain and partake of their hospitality.
The meal, consisting of one dish, was immediately prepared.
Monedowa partook of it first, to show his guest that he need fear
nothing.
"It is a feast," he said, "and as we seldom meet, we must eat all that
is placed on the dish, as a mark of gratitude to the Great Spirit,
not only for permitting me to kill animals, but also for giving me
the pleasure of seeing you and partaking of it with you." They ate and
talked of this and that, until they had nearly despatched the meal,
when the manito took up the dish and drank off the broth at a breath.
On setting it down he immediately turned his head and commenced coughing
with great violence. The old body in which he had disguised himself was
well-nigh shaken in pieces, for he had, as Monedowa expected, swallowed
a grain of the birch-bud, and this, relished by Monedowa because of
his bird nature, greatly distressed the old manito, who partook of the
character of an animal, or four-footed thing.
He was at last put to such confusion of face by his constant coughing
that he was forced to leave, saying, or rather hiccoughing, as he left
the lodge, that he should look for the young man at the racing-ground in
the morning.
When the morning came, Monedowa was early astir, oiling his limbs and
enamelling his breast and arms with red and blue, resembling the plumage
in which he had first appeared to Minda. Upon his brow he placed a tuft
of feathers of the same shining tints.
By his invitation his wife, her mother and her brother attended Monedowa
to the manito's racing-ground.
The lodge of the manito stood upon a high ground, and near it stretched
out a long row of other lodges, said to be possessed by wicked kindred
of Mudjee Monedo, who shared in the spoils of his cruelty.
As soon as the young hunter and his party approached, the inmates
appeared at their lodge-doors and cried out:
"We are visited."
At this cry, the Mudjee Monedo came forth and descended with his
companions to the starting-post on the plain. From this the course could
be seen, winding in a long girdle about the lake. As they were now all
assembled, the old manito began to speak of the race, belting himself up
and pointing to the post, which was an upright pillar of stone.
"But before we start," said he, "I wish it to be understood that when
men run with me I make a wager, and I expect them to abide by it--life
against life."
"Very well--be it so," answered Monedowa. "Aye shall see whose head is
to be dashed against the stone."
"Aye shall," rejoined the Mudjee Monedo. "I am very old, but I shall try
and make a run."
"Very well," again rejoined Monedowa; "I hope we shall both stand to our
bargain."
"Good!" said the old manito. And at the same time he cast a sly glance
at the young hunter and rolled his eyes toward where stood the pillar of
stone.
"I am ready," said Monedowa.
The starting shout was given, and they set off at high speed, the manito
leading and Monedowa pressing closely after. As he closed upon him, the
old manito began to show his power, and changing himself into a fox he
passed the young hunter with ease, then went leisurely along.
Monedowa now, with a glance upward, took the shape of the strange bird
of red and deep-blue plumage, and with one flight, which took him some
distance ahead of the manito, resumed his mortal shape.
The Mudjee Monedo espied his competitor before him. "Whoa! whoa!" he
exclaimed; "this is strange," and he immediately changed himself into a
wolf and sped past Monedowa.
As he galloped by, Monedowa heard a noise from his throat and knew that
he was still in distress from the birch-bud which he had swallowed.
Monedowa again took wing, and shooting into the air, descended suddenly
with great swiftness and took the path far ahead of the old manito.
As he passed the wolf he whispered in his ear:
"My friend, is this the extent of your speed?"
The manito began to be troubled with bad forebodings, for on looking
ahead he saw the young hunter in his own manly form, running along at
leisure. The Mudjee Monedo, seeing the necessity of more speed, now
passed Monedowa in the shape of a deer.
They were now far around the circle of the lake and fast closing in upon
the starting-post, when Monedowa, putting on his red and blue plumage,
glided along the air and alighted upon the track far in advance.
To overtake him the old manito assumed the shape of the buffalo; and he
pushed on with such long gallops that he was again the foremost on the
course. The buffalo was the last change he could make, and it was in
this form that he had most frequently conquered.
The young hunter, once more a bird, in the act of passing the manito,
saw his tongue lolling from his mouth with fatigue.
"My friend," said Monedowa, "is this all your speed?"
The manito made no answer. Monedowa had resumed his character of a
hunter and was within a run of the winning-post, when the wicked manito
had nearly overtaken him.
"Bakah! bakah! nejee!" he called out to Monedowa. "Stop, my friend, I
wish to talk to you."
Monedowa laughed aloud as he replied:
"I will speak to you at the starting-post. When men run with me I make a
wager, and I expect them to abide by it--life against life."
One more flight as the blue and red bird, and Monedowa was so near to
the goal that he could easily reach it in his mortal shape. Shining in
beauty, his face lighted up like the sky, with tinted arms and bosom
gleaming in the sun, and the parti-colored plume on his brow waving
in the wind, Monedowa, cheered by a joyful shout from his own people,
leaped to the post. The manito came on with fear in his face.
"My friend," he said, "spare my life"; and then added in a low voice,
as if he would not that the others should hear it, "Let me live." And he
began to move off as if the request had been granted.
"As you have done to others," replied Monedowa, "so shall it be done to
you."
And seizing the wicked manito, he dashed him against the pillar of
stone. His kindred, who were looking on in horror, raised a cry of fear
and fled away in a body to some distant land, whence they have never
returned.
The widow's family left the scene, and when they had all come out into
the open fields, they walked on together until they had reached the
fragrant bank and the evergreen wood where the daughter had first
encountered her bird lover.
Monedowa, turning to her, said:
"My mother, here we must part. Your daughter and myself must now leave
you. The Good Spirit, moved with pity, has allowed me to be your friend.
I have done that for which I was sent. I am permitted to take with me
the one whom I love. I have found your daughter ever kind, gentle and
just. She shall be my companion. The blessing of the Good Spirit be ever
with you. Farewell, my mother--my brother, farewell."
While the widow woman was still lost in wonder at these words, Monedowa
and Minda his wife changed at the same moment and rose into the air as
beautiful birds, clothed in shining colors of red and blue.
They caroled together as they flew, and their songs were happy, falling,
falling, like clear drops, as the birds rose, and rose, and winged their
way far upward. A delicious peace came into the mind of the poor widow
woman, and she returned to her lodge deeply thankful at heart for all
the goodness that had been shown to her by the Master of Life.
From that day forth she never knew want. Her young son proved a comfort
to her lodge, and the tuneful carol of Monedowa and Minda, as it fell
from heaven, was a music always sounding peace and joy in her ear, go
whither she would.