duck waddling behind her. After the old man had eaten, White Cloud
said, "Grandfather, do you know any stories about ducks?"
"Point to the north, my grandchild, and tell me who live in the land
of ice and snow."
"North Wind and Old Winter," answered the child.
"And what do they do, little one?"
"They send the game far from my father's arrows. They freeze our food
and try to starve us. North Wind gives the war whoop as he flies in
the forest.
"Then Old Winter comes like the Indians on the war trail. We cannot
see him, and we cannot hear him. He does not break a twig, and his
footsteps make no sound. He crowds into our lodge, and tries to steal
our fire and freeze us. I wish he would never come again!"
"We must be brave, my grandchild. We must make ready with food and
firewood to fight his power. I will tell you of a brave little duck
that even North Wind could not conquer."
A BRAVE DUCK
Far to the north lived Wild Duck. His lodge was by the frozen lake.
Winter was beginning, and he had but four logs of wood for his fire.
"Four logs will do," he said. "Each log will burn for many sleeps, and
then spring will be on the way."
Wild Duck was as brave as a warrior. On the coldest days he went to
the lake to fish. He found the rushes that grew high above the water.
With his strong bill he pulled up the frozen plant stems. Then he
dived through the holes he had made in the ice and caught the fish
swimming beneath.
In this way he found plenty of food. Every day he went home to his
lodge dragging strings of fish. North Wind blew his fiercest blasts,
but no wind was cold enough to keep Wild Duck in his wigwam.
"This is a strange duck!" said North Wind. "He seems as happy as if
it were the moon of strawberries. He is hard to conquer, but I will
freeze him."
So the wind blew colder and colder, and great drifts of snow were
piled up about the wigwam. But still the fire burned brightly. The
duck went daily to the lake, and daily he brought home fish.
"Soon I will visit him," said North Wind. "Then he shall feel my power."
That very night North Wind went to the door of the wigwam. He lifted
the curtain and looked in.
Wild Duck had cooked his fish and was lying before the bright fire. He
was singing a song to his enemy.
"You may blow as hard as you can, North Wind," he sang. "I dare you to
freeze me. You may pile the snow to the top of my lodge. I shall climb
the drifts and go fishing just the same."
"How dare a little duck sing like this about me?" blustered North Wind.
"I will enter. I will blow my cold breath upon him, and he will freeze."
North Wind pushed his way through the door and sat down on the
opposite side of the lodge. Cold blasts filled the hut.
Was Wild Duck afraid? He got up and poked the fire, singing his song
louder and louder. Not once did he look at his guest.
"Does he not know that I am here?" thought North Wind.
The little duck stirred the great log until it crackled and snapped.
"I cannot stand this heat," said North Wind to himself. "I am melting. I
must go out." The water was dripping from his hair, and tears ran down
his cheeks. He crept out of the wigwam and left Wild Duck to his songs.
"What a wonderful duck!" he said. "I cannot freeze him, I cannot even
stop his singing. The spirit of the fire is helping him, and I will
let him alone."
And to this day you can see the wild duck fishing where the rushes
grow. He is warm in his coat of thick feathers, and North Wind can
never freeze the brave little duck.
[Illustration]
SUMMER SPORTS
Swift Elk and his companions were cutting great chunks of clay from
the bank near the stream. Soon a crowd of boys, each armed with a
large piece of clay and a long green switch, ran shouting to the
near-by forest.
Here they divided into two bands for a sham battle, and all hid behind
trees. Balls of clay were pressed on the ends of the slender sticks
and thrown, as you would throw green apples.
Swift Elk ran out from behind the tree where he had been hiding.
Quickly he threw mud balls at every boy that he saw peeping at him.
Other boys rushed from their sheltering tree trunks to dare the
opposing forces. A shower of mud balls filled the air. There were
shouts and war whoops, advances and retreats.
Dogs, barking and jumping, rushed into battle with their masters.
When the clay was all used, the boys ran to the bank for more. For
half a day the fight went on, many prisoners being taken on both sides.
Here and there were young braves who had been hit in the face and
badly hurt. One was suffering great pain with a swollen eye.
Do you think he left the game and ran home? Do you think he cried or
told tales? A boy would rather stand pain than be laughed at by his
companions. "Tears are for girls and women," they had all heard their
fathers say. "A warrior must not notice pain."
At last, heated and mud-stained, they ran to the lake and jumped in.
You would have thought they all needed a bath, could you have seen them.
Splashing and swimming, diving and yelling, they continued their
battle by wrestling in the water. The day wore on. One by one, tired
with action, they left the lake. Some lay on the grass, and others
made images of animals with soft clay.
[Illustration]
Two or three boys, very hungry, shot some birds, made a fire, and
roasted their game. It mattered not to them that their food was far
from clean.
Before they went home at night, Swift Elk's band dared the other side
to a ball game, to be played the next morning.
"Let us ask Black Wolf to watch our game," said Swift Elk. All agreed.
The old warrior could not go on the long hunt or the warpath, and
nothing gave him greater pleasure than to help the boys and young men
in their games of strength or skill.
[Illustration]
THE BALL GAME
Early in the morning the boys met on the level piece of ground that
had been selected for the game. At each end of the field two upright
poles, a little distance apart, were erected for goal sticks.
In the great ball games played by the men, each side is allowed but
one goal stick, which must be hit by the ball. As this is very
difficult, Black Wolf helped the boys set up two very long sticks,
between which the winner's ball was to be thrown.
Each player always carries a ball stick bent at one end into a small
hoop or ring. Strips of rawhide are passed through holes in the hoop,
making a netted pocket in which the ball may rest half hidden.
The one simple rule that each player follows at all times is: "Keep
the ball away from your own goal." Only by sending the ball off the
field between the two goal sticks of the opposite side can victory be
won.
Swift Elk and Antelope were chosen captains because they were good
runners. All the best players stood in the middle of the field. The
younger boys were grouped about the goal sticks with orders to send
the ball back into the field.
At a signal from Black Wolf, Antelope tossed the ball into the air. It
was caught by a player on his own side, who started to run in the
opposite direction from his own goal sticks.
The ball was knocked out of his hand and thrown the other way. Back
and forth it went until Antelope caught it in his ball stick. He
started at full speed toward the goal on Swift Elk's side.
In a moment he was caught and the ball again turned. Running,
screaming, throwing, pushing, striking each other's arms with ball
sticks, the boys rushed together.
At last Antelope's side gained the advantage. Nearer and nearer the
ball came to Swift Elk's goal sticks. One strong throw, and the game
would be won. Antelope's players danced and yelled with joy.
Suddenly a younger boy, one of the poor players who was made to stand
on guard, caught the ball and sent it whizzing toward Swift Elk.
The other side, sure of success, was taken by surprise. Before
Antelope could turn, Swift Elk had the start and was speeding toward
the opposite goal.
"Never was there a finer race," Black Wolf thought. All the boys had
crowded together at one end of the line to see the victory, leaving an
open field for the two fleetest runners.
You would have liked to see the two Indian lads with painted bodies
running like the wind. They were followed by a crowd of boys shouting,
howling, rushing, pushing, and trying in vain to overtake them.
But not even Antelope could regain the advantage he lost in starting.
Swift Elk swung his stick and sent the ball spinning between the two
poles of the goal. He had won the game for his side.
After the victors had shouted themselves hoarse, they lay down on the
ground near Black Wolf and asked for a story.
"I will tell you," said the old man, "of the most wonderful ball game
the world ever saw. It happened long ago when the animals ruled the
land and there were no people on the earth."
THE ANIMALS AND THE BIRDS PLAY BALL
Once the animals dared the birds to play a game of ball with them. The
birds chose the eagle for their captain, and the animals chose the bear.
They all talked at the same time, trying to make their plans. When
should they play? Where should they play? "Leave that to the eagle and
the bear," said the deer. And all agreed.
At the appointed time the animals met on a smooth, grassy plain and
the birds in a tree top near by.
Captain Bear was so large and heavy that he could pull down anyone who
came in his way. All along the trail to the ball ground he tossed up
great logs to show his strength; and he bragged of what he would do to
the birds when the game began.
The turtle, at that time, was very much larger than he is now. His
shell was so hard that the heaviest blows could not hurt him.
[Illustration]
He, too, was a great brag. Again and again he rose on his hind feet
and dropped heavily to the ground. "Look at me," he said. "See how I
will crush any bird that tries to take the ball from me." The swift
deer, the mountain goat, and the rabbit were at their best speed.
Indeed, the animals had a fine team.
The eagle gathered his forces together. There was the hawk, strong and
swift, and the wild geese that can fly without resting. The black
martin was there and the crow, with a host of other birds. The blue
jay was chosen to scream in the ears of the animal players, and the
humming bird to fly in their eyes.
The birds looked at the great animals on the field below, and were
afraid. Just then two little things hardly larger than field mice
climbed the tree where sat the bird captain.
They begged to join the game.
"You have four feet; why do you not go to the animals, where you
belong?" asked the eagle.
"We did," said the little things, "but they drove us off because we
are so small."
"Let them play, let them play," called out the birds in pity.
But how could they join the birds when they had no wings? The eagle
and the hawk consulted, and it was decided to make wings for the
little fellows. What could they find for wings?
At last someone remembered the drum they used in their dances. The
head was made of ground-hog skin. So they took the drumhead, cut two
wings, and made the bat.
Then they threw the ball to him. The bat dodged and circled about,
keeping the ball always in the air; and the birds soon saw that he
would be one of their best men.
The other little animal came for wings, but there was no more leather.
What could be done? Two birds thought they might enable him to fly by
stretching his skin. Thus was the flying squirrel made.
To try him, the bird captain threw up the ball. The flying squirrel
sprang off the limb after it, caught it in his teeth, and carried it
to another tree below.
All were now ready. The signal was given and the game began. At the
first toss the flying squirrel caught the ball and carried it up a
tree. He threw it to the birds, who kept it in the air for some time,
until it dropped.
The bear rushed to get it, but the martin darted after it and threw
it to the bat. By dodging and doubling, the bat kept it out of the way
of the swift deer. And now the game was close. The great deer could
not turn as quickly as the bat, and so he lost the game. The little
bat threw the ball between the posts and won the victory for the birds.
And the bear and the turtle, who had done the most bragging, did not
have a chance even to touch the ball.
For saving the ball when it dropped, the martin was given a gourd to
build his nest in. And he still has it, for you can often see a gourd
on a post near the Indian lodges.
GATHERING WILD RICE
"Have you seen the beautiful new canoe father has just finished?"
asked White Cloud.
"Seen it! I helped make it," answered Swift Elk. "I cut nearly all the
birch bark."
"Your father has it ready for the wild-rice harvest," said Good Bird.
"To-day I go to tie the stalks. You are to help me, White Cloud."
Nothing could have pleased the little girl better. All summer she had
hoped for this great pleasure. From a low hill near her home she had
watched the growth of the rice.
When the June berries were ripe, the first shoots came up near the
shore of the lake. In a few weeks the rice beds looked like beautiful
green islands in the water.
And when the yellow-green blossoms opened, she coaxed her father to
take her in his canoe to the rice plants. She picked the flowers,
shaded with reddish purple, and she saw the spreading mass of
blossoms, their straw-colored anthers moving with every breeze.
Swift Elk was very proud of the new canoe. He had made the paddles,
and had cut the forked sticks that would be needed to force the boat
through the shallow water.
"When the rice is ripe, I'll go with you and manage the boat," he said
to his mother. "When you come home to-night, White Cloud, bring some
green rice to parch for supper."
"I'll have some all ready for you," promised his sister. "You shoot a
deer to-day, and to-night we'll have a feast. We'll ask grandfather,
and perhaps he'll tell us a story."
Soon Good Bird was paddling rapidly toward the rice beds. It was a
beautiful morning, and White Cloud was as happy as any little girl
could ever be.
For many weeks she had helped her mother prepare the string for tying
the rice stalks. It was cut from the inner bark of the basswood tree.
The narrow bands were wound in a ball so large that the child could
hardly reach around it.
"Why do you tie the wild rice stalks, Mother?" she asked.
"So that our little brothers, the birds, can not eat all our grain,"
answered Good Bird. "All the bunches we have tied are our own, and
will be more easily harvested. No friendly Indian ever touches the
heads of rice bound together by another."
With a curved stick Good Bird pulled a mass of stalks within her reach
and bound the heads firmly together with the narrow strips of bark.
For hours she worked, forcing her way through the thick mass of water
plants and tying the stalks on both sides of the canoe.
"May I come here again with you when the wild rice is ripe?" asked
White Cloud.
"It will take two strong women to gather the harvest, my child; but
the canoe is very long and I think you can help."
[Illustration]
"How is it done, Mother?" asked the child.
"Swift Elk will sit at one end of the canoe and paddle. Nokomis will
bend the stalks over the boat and untie the long pieces of bark, and I
shall beat the heads with a stick. The grain will fall until the boat
holds as much as it is safe to carry."
"Are we going to take home any to-day?" asked White Cloud.
"Oh, yes; when the rice is not quite ripe it is just right for
parching. As soon as my rows are all tied, you shall help me gather
the greenish kernels."
Good Bird worked until she had used all her string. The long rows of
heads, neatly tied, looked very fine.
New plants were found, and the stalks beaten with a stick. The rice
fell into the canoe, and White Cloud found it was good to eat even
without cooking. By sunset the bottom of the canoe was covered with
grain, and they started home across the quiet lake.
"May we have maple sugar with our rice to-night, Mother?"
"There is very little left, my daughter. I think we would better save
it for winter."
"When are we going to the sugar trees to make more?"
"After the winter is nearly over and the first crow comes to tell us
that the sap is flowing. Then we will move to our sugar lodge and stay
for a whole moon."
"May I take care of a kettle and boil sugar next time we go to the
lodge?" asked White Cloud, "By that time I can count eight winters."
"You may if you will cut birch bark and make your own sap dishes. You
will need a great many."
"Why can't we eat the sugar we have, Mother? What is the use of saving
it?"
"There may be little food on the cold, snowy days that are coming. We
shall need the sugar more then than we do now. Have you forgotten the
story of the ant and the katydid?"
"Tell it again. Tell it now before we get home, Mother."
"I think there is time, as it is a short story," said Good Bird. And
White Cloud listened to the tale of the lazy katydid and the
hard-working ant while the canoe moved slowly across the quiet lake.
THE ANT AND THE KATYDID
The oldest ant was building an underground home. Through the long
summer days she worked, carrying out a grain of sand at a time. Then
she filled her storehouse with food for the winter.
Her work was finished just as the frost came to mow down the growing
plants. All summer the katydid called from the trees, and the locust
danced and buzzed in the sunshine.
When winter came, the oldest ant was warm and comfortable and she had
enough food for her daily needs.
But the locust and the katydid were cold and hungry. "Why should we
freeze?" chirped the katydid. "The ant has a warm house." "And why
should we be hungry?" said the locust. "The ant has plenty of food."
So together they went to the home of the oldest ant.
"Let us in, let us in, kind ant," they cried. "We are cold and hungry."
"What did you do through the warm weather?" asked the oldest ant.
"We played in the sunshine. We chirped and buzzed and sang."
"Did you build no lodge? Could you not store food for the time of
frost and storm?"
"We had no need to work when the summer was here with its warmth and
beauty. We danced away the happy hours."
"Go dance away the winter, then," said the oldest ant. "I worked hard
through all the long summer days, and I had no time to dance or sing."
The locust and the katydid turned away shivering. "It is not fair,"
they said, "that the ant has plenty and we have nothing. She should be
forced to let us in."
HOW WILD RICE WAS DISCOVERED
When Good Bird and White Cloud reached home, they found great
rejoicing. Swift Elk had shot his first deer, and the meat was already
roasting by an outdoor fire.
The hunters had found game in abundance that day, and many feasts were
already called in the village.
Swift Elk had chosen to invite only his grandparents, and they were
already listening to his story of the hunt.
White Cloud made haste to parch the rice, and soon a very hungry
family was enjoying the fresh and abundant food.
After the supper the children asked their grandfather to tell them
stories about wild rice.
The old man remembered more than one fierce battle for the possession
of the rice fields. Many years had passed since the peace pipe was
last smoked, and the children had lived without being in constant
fear of war.
"My grandchildren," he said, "I will tell you how rice came to be used
in the earliest times. There are many stories about Manabush, and you
have heard how he wrestled with Mondamin and obtained the gift of corn.
"In his early youth Manabush lived with his grandmother, who taught
him his duty to his people.
"One day she said to him: 'My grandson, you are old enough to prove
yourself a man. Before you can become a great warrior you must show
that you are able to endure many hardships without complaint.
"'Set forth on a long journey alone and without food. Travel through
unknown forests, enduring hunger and thirst. Sleep on the cold ground,
and pray for a vision that shall be your guide through life.'
"Manabush took his bow and arrows and went out into the forest. He
fasted many days until he became weak and faint from hunger.
"In his wanderings he drew near the shore of a lake. Great beds of
wild rice filled half its waters, but Manabush did not know that the
seeds were good to eat.
"As he walked along within reach of the growing plants, he heard a
soft voice say, 'Sometimes they eat us.'
"'Who is speaking?' he asked. All the bushes that grew so thickly in
the water seemed full of whispers. He looked about and saw birds of
many kinds feeding on the tall grass-like plants.
"So he picked some of the grain and ate it. 'Oh, but you are good!
What do they call you?' he asked.
"Again the rustling whispers in the tall grass seemed to say, 'Wild
rice. They call us wild rice!'
"Manabush waded out into the water and beat the grain from the heads.
So his fast was broken by the new food given in answer to his prayers
in the forest.
"And since that time, my children, the wild rice feeds thousands of
our people every year. It grows without planting in the lakes and
rivers of our forest land.
"Another story tells us that Manabush returned one day from a long
hunt without game. The fire in front of his lodge was still burning,
and a duck was sitting on the kettle eating boiled rice.
"Manabush tasted the new food and found it good. He followed the bird
to a lake not far away where wild rice had grown and ripened.
Afterwards boiled rice became a common food among his tribe."
MOVING THE DOLLS' CAMP
White Cloud ran out of her wigwam home. Her work was done, and a happy
time of play was before her.
She hurried through the tall grass toward a near-by lodge, calling:
"Flying Squirrel, come and play with me."
The skin curtain hanging over the lodge door was raised and a little
head appeared. But there was no squirrel to be seen, only an Indian
girl with the blackest of hair and eyes.
Her playmates had given her the name of Flying Squirrel because she
was always climbing trees and jumping from one branch to another.
"Bring your dolls," said White Cloud. "We'll build lodges for them.
Come as soon as you can, for my baby is trying to get away."
"Your baby! What do you mean? Where did you find a baby?"
White Cloud was rejoicing in a family of young puppies--new playthings
for her. She had bound one of them to a board, and had tied the board
cradle to her back, as a squaw carries a papoose.
"Be still! Be still, bad baby!" she cried to her squirming pet. But
the little dog would not be still. He howled louder and louder, and
struggled so hard that he broke away from his cords and bands.
"Bad baby! Bad baby!" said White Cloud. "Next time I'll tie you
tighter!"
Flying Squirrel brought out an armful of dolls, and the children went
to the bushes to cut long straight sticks. They soon found enough
poles for their dolls' wigwams. Each child set up her sticks in a
circle, bringing them together at the top.
"Now we'll hunt birch bark," said Flying Squirrel. "My father has made
me a new knife."
Soon the small lodges were covered with long strips of bark and the
floors sprinkled with cedar twigs.
"I wish we had skin covers for our dolls' wigwams," said White Cloud.
Flying Squirrel looked at the even strips of bark that were well
placed around her frame of slender poles. "Lots of people have bark
covers," she replied. "My father has seen whole villages of
bark-covered lodges."
"When the peace pipe was smoked over west, my father was there," said
White Cloud. "Now we can get big skins in trade, and sometime we'll
have ponies. Have you ever seen a pony, Flying Squirrel?"
"No; but my father saw white men when he went north in the moon of
snow to trade furs. He says the tribes west will come and fight us
again for our rice beds. Let's play a war is coming and move our camp.
Where are your dolls, White Cloud?"
"I couldn't bring them, for I had my puppy baby. You have dolls
enough for both of us."
Flying Squirrel gave her playmate two of the queerest-looking dolls
you ever saw. They were rolls of deerskin with faces painted in black
on the ends.
The children tied the smaller dolls in board cradles, hung them to the
lodge poles, and sang lullabies.
Good Bird had packed a basket of food for her little daughter. Dried
meat, berries, parched rice, and corn made a fine feast. All were
invited, even the puppy, and the largest dolls were honored guests.
"I wish I had my new beaded bag to show you," said White Cloud. "I
shall put my doll's best clothes in it and hang it over her bed. Are
you learning to sew, Flying Squirrel?"
"I don't like to sew. I would rather climb trees. It's time to move
now. Let's get ready. We will go to the stream that flows into the
lake." And Flying Squirrel began to whistle for her dogs.