the hill in the midst of virgin Big Woods, there were grouped in an
irregular circle thirty teepees of the Sioux. The yellowish-white skin
cones contrasted quite naturally with the variegated foliage of
September, yet all of the woodland people knew well that they had not
been there on the day before.
Wetaota, the Lake of Many Islands, lies at the heart of Haya Tanka, the
Big Mountain. It is the chosen home of many wild tribes. Here the crane,
the Canadian goose, the loon, and other water-fowl come annually to
breed undisturbed. The moose are indeed the great folk of the woods, and
yet there are many more who are happily paired here, and who with equal
right may claim it as their domicile. Among them are some insignificant
and obscure, perhaps only because they have little or nothing to
contribute to the necessities of the wild man.
Such are the Little People of the Meadow, who dwell under a thatched
roof of coarse grasses. Their hidden highways and cities are found near
the lake and along the courses of the streams. Here they have toiled and
played and brought forth countless generations, and few can tell their
life-story.
* * * * *
"Ho, ho, kola!" was the shout of a sturdy Indian boy, apparently about
ten years old, from his post in front of the camp and overlooking the
lake. A second boy was coming towards him through the woods, chanting
aloud a hunting song after the fashion of their fathers. The men had
long since departed on the hunt, and Teola, who loved to explore new
country, had already made the circuit of Wetaota. He had walked for
miles along its tortuous sandy shores, and examined the signs of most of
the inhabitants.
There were footprints of bears, moose, deer, wolves, mink, otter, and
others. The sight of them had rejoiced the young hunter's heart, but he
knew that they were for his elders. The woods were also full of
squirrels, rabbits, and the smaller winged tribes, and the waters alive
with the finny folk, all of which are boys' game. Yet it was the
delicate sign-language of the Hetunkala, the Little People of the
Meadow, which had aroused the enthusiasm of Teola, and in spite of
himself he began to sing the game scout's song, when Shungela heard and
gave him greeting.
"What is the prospect for our hunt to-day?" called Shungela, as soon as
his friend was near enough to speak.
"Good!" Teola replied, simply. "It is a land of fatness. I have looked
over the shores of Wetaota, and I think this is the finest country I
have ever seen. I am tired enough of prairie-dog hunts and catching
young prairie-chickens, but there is everything here that we can chase,
kill, or eat."
Shungela at once circulated the good game news among the boys, and in
less time than it takes an old man to tell a story all the boys of the
camp had gathered around a bonfire in the woods.
"You, Teola, tell us again what you have seen," they exclaimed, in
chorus.
"I saw the footprint of every creature that the Great Mystery has made!
We can fish, we can hunt the young crane, and snare the rabbit. We can
fool the owl for a night-play," he replied, proudly.
"Ho, kola, washtay! Good news! good news!" one urchin shouted. Another
ran up a tree like a squirrel in the exuberance of his delight. "Heye,
heye, he-e-e-e!" sang another, joyously.
"Most of all in number are the Little People of the Meadow! Countless
are their tiny footprints on the sandy shores of Wetaota! Very many are
their nests and furrows under the heavy grass of the marshes! Let
Shungela be the leader to-day in our attack upon the villages of the
Little People," suggested Teola, in whose mischievous black eyes and
shaggy mane one beheld the very picture of a wild rogue.
"Ho, ho, hechetu!" they all replied, in chorus.
"This is our first mouse-hunt this season, and you all know the custom.
We must first make our tiny bows and arrows," he said, again.
"Tosh, tosh! Of course!" said they all.
In the late afternoon the sun shone warmly and everything was still in
the woods, but upon the lake the occasional cry of the loon was heard.
At some distance from the camp thirty or more little redskins met
together to organize their mimic deer-hunt. They imitated closely the
customs and manners of their elders while hunting the deer. Shungela
gave the command, and all the boys advanced abreast, singing their
hunting song, until they reached the meadow-land.
Here the leader divided them into two parties, of which one went twenty
paces in advance, and with light switches raked aside the dead grass,
exposing a net-work of trails. The homes of the Little People were
underground, and the doors were concealed by last year's rank
vegetation. While they kneeled ready to shoot with the miniature bow and
arrows the first fugitives that might pass, the second party advanced in
turn, giving an imitation of the fox-call to scare the timorous Little
People. These soon became bewildered, missed their holes, and were shot
down with unerring aim as they fled along their furrow-like paths.
There was a close rivalry among the boys to see who could bring down
the largest number of the tiny fugitives, but it was forbidden to open
the homes or kill any who were in hiding.
In a few minutes the mice were panic-stricken, running blindly to and
fro, and the excitement became general.
"Yehe, yehe! There goes their chief! A white mouse!" exclaimed one of
the boys.
"Stop shooting!" came the imperative command from the shaggy-haired boy.
"It is a good sign to see their chief, but it is a very bad sign if we
kill any after we have seen him," he explained.
"I have never heard that this is so," demurred Shungela, unwilling to
yield his authority.
"You can ask your grandmother or your grandfather to-night, and you will
find that I am right," retorted the shaggy-haired one.
"Woo, woo!" they called, and all the others came running.
"How many of you saw the white mouse?" Teola asked.
"I saw it!" "I too!" "I too!" replied several.
"And how many have heard that to see the chief of the mouse people
brings good luck if the mice are spared after his appearance, but that
whoever continues to kill them invites misfortune?"
"I have heard it!" "And I!" "And I!" The replies were so many that all
the boys were willing to concede the authenticity of the story, and the
hunt was stopped.
"Let us hear the mouse legends again this evening. My grandfather will
tell them to us," Teola suggested, and not a boy there but was ready to
accept the invitation.
* * * * *
Padanee was an ordinary looking old Indian, except that he had a really
extraordinary pair of eyes, whose searching vision it seemed that
nothing could escape. These eyes of his were well supported by an
uncommonly good memory. His dusky and furrowed countenance was lighted
as by an inner flame when once he had wound the buffalo-robe about his
lean, brown limbs and entered upon the account of his day's experience
in the chase, or prepared to relate to an attentive circle some
oft-repeated tradition of his people.
"Hun, hun, hay!" The old savage cleared his throat. A crowd of
bright-eyed little urchins had slipped quietly into his lodge. "Teola
tells me that you had all set out to hunt down and destroy the Little
People of the Meadow, and were only stopped by seeing their chief go by.
I want to tell you something about the lives of these little creatures.
We know that they are food for foxes and other animals, and that is as
far as most of us think upon the matter. Yet the Great Mystery must have
had some purpose in mind when He made them, and doubtless that is good
for us to know."
Padanee was considered a very good savage school-teacher, and he easily
held his audience.
"When you make mud animals," he continued, "you are apt to vary them a
little, perhaps for fun and perhaps only by accident. It is so with the
Great Mystery. He seems to get tired of making all the animals alike,
for in every tribe there are differences.
"Among the Hetunkala, the Little People, there are several different
bands. Some live in one place and build towns and cities like the white
man. Some wander much over forest and prairie, like our own people.
These are very small, with long tails, and they are great jumpers. They
are the thieves of their nation. They never put up any food of their
own, but rob the store-houses of other tribes.
"Then there is the bobtailed mouse with white breast. He is very much
like the paleface--always at work. He cannot pass by a field of the wild
purple beans without stopping to dig up a few and tasting to see if they
are of the right sort. These make their home upon the low-lying
prairies, and fill their holes with great store of wild beans and edible
roots, only to be robbed by the gopher, the skunk, the badger, who not
only steal from them but often kill and eat the owner as well. Our old
women, too, sometimes rob them of their wild beans.
"This fellow is always fat and well-fed, like the white man. He is a
harvester, and his full store-houses are found all through the bottom
lands."
"Ho, ho! Washtay lo!" the boys shouted. "Keep on, grandfather!"
"Perhaps you have heard, perhaps not," resumed the old man. "But it is
the truth. These little folk have their own ways. They have their plays
and dances, like any other nation."
"We never heard it; or, if we have, we can remember it better if you
will tell it to us again!" declared the shaggy-haired boy, with
enthusiasm.
"Ho, ho, ho!" they all exclaimed, in chorus.
"Each full moon, the smallest of the mouse tribe, he of the very sharp
nose and long tail, holds a great dance in an open field, or on a sandy
shore, or upon the crusty snow. The dance is in honor of those who are
to be cast down from the sky when the nibbling of the moon begins; for
these Hetunkala are the Moon-Nibblers."
As this new idea dawned upon Padanee's listeners, all tightened their
robes around them and sat up eagerly.
At this point a few powerful notes of a wild, melodious music burst
spontaneously from the throat of the old teacher, for he was wont to
strike up a song as a sort of interlude. He threw his massive head back,
and his naked chest heaved up and down like a bellows.
"One of you must dance to this part, for the story is of a dance and
feast!" he exclaimed, as he began the second stanza.
Teola instantly slipped out of his buffalo-robe and stepped into the
centre of the circle, where he danced crouchingly in the firelight,
keeping time with his lithe brown body to the rhythm of the
legend-teller's song.
"O-o-o-o!" they all hooted at the finish.
"This is the legend of the Little People of the Meadow. Hear ye! hear
ye!" said Padanee.
"Ho-o-o!" was the instant response from the throats of the little Red
men.
"A long time ago, the bear made a medicine feast, and invited the
medicine-men (or priests) of all the tribes. Of each he asked one
question, 'What is the best medicine (or magic) of your tribe?'
"All told except the little mouse. He was pressed for an answer, but
replied, 'That is my secret.'
"Thereupon the bear was angry and jumped upon the mouse, who disappeared
instantly. The big medicine-man blindly grabbed a handful of grass,
hoping to squeeze him to death. But all the others present laughed and
said, 'He is on your back!'
"Then the bear rolled upon the ground, but the mouse remained uppermost.
"'Ha, ha, ha!' laughed all the other medicine-men. 'You cannot get rid
of him.'
"Then he begged them to knock him off, for he feared the mouse might run
into his ear. But they all refused to interfere.
"'Try your magic on him,' said they, 'for he is only using the charm
that was given him by the Great Mystery.'
"So the bear tried all his magic, but without effect. He had to promise
the little mouse that, if he would only jump off from his body, neither
he nor any of his tribe would ever again eat any of the Little People.
"Upon this the mouse jumped off.
"But now Hinhan, the owl, caught him between his awful talons, and said:
"'You must tell your charm to these people, or I will put my charm on
you!'
"The little medicine-man trembled, and promised that he would if the owl
would let him go. He was all alone and in their power, so at last he
told it.
"'None of our medicine-men,' he began, 'dared to come to this lodge. I
alone believed that you would treat me with the respect due to my
profession, and I am here.' Upon this they all looked away, for they
were ashamed.
"'I am one of the least of the Little People of the Meadow,' said the
mouse. 'We were once a favored people, for we were born in the sky. We
were able to ride the round moon as it rolls along. We were commissioned
at every full moon to nibble off the bright surface little by little,
until all was dark. After a time it was again silvered over by the Great
Mystery, as a sign to the Earth People.
"'It happened that some of us were careless. We nibbled deeper than we
ought, and made holes in the moon. For this we were hurled down to the
earth. Many of us were killed; others fell upon soft ground and lived.
We do not know how to work. We can only nibble other people's things and
carry them away to our hiding-places. For this we are hated by all
creatures, even by the working mice of our own nation. But we still
retain our power to stay upon moving bodies, and that is our magic.'
"'Ho, ho, ho!' was the response of all present. They were obliged to
respond thus, but they were angry with the little mouse, because he had
shamed them.
"It was therefore decreed in that medicine-lodge that all the animals
may kill the Hetunkala wherever they meet them, on the pretext that they
do not belong upon earth. All do so to this day except the bear, who is
obliged to keep his word."
"O-o-o-o!" shouted the shaggy-haired boy, who was rather a careless sort
in his manners, for one should never interrupt a story-teller.
"It is almost full moon now, grandfather," he continued, "and there are
nice, open, sandy places on the shore near the mouse villages. Do you
think we might see them dancing if we should watch to-night?"
"Ho, takoja! Yes, my grandson," simply replied the old man.
* * * * *
The sand-bar in front of the Indian camp was at some little distance,
out of hearing of the occasional loud laughter and singing of the
people. Wetaota was studded with myriads of jewel-like sparkles. On the
shadowy borders of the lake, tall trees bodied forth mysterious forms
of darkness. There was something weird in all this beauty and silence.
The boys were scattered along in the tall grass near the sand-bar, which
sloped down to the water's edge as smooth as a floor. All lay flat on
their faces, rolled up in their warm buffalo-robes, and still further
concealed by the shadows of the trees. The shaggy-haired boy had a bow
and some of his best arrows hidden under his robe. No two boys were
together, for they knew by experience the temptation to whisper under
such circumstances. Every redskin was absorbed in watching for the
Little People to appear upon their playground, and at the same time he
must be upon the alert for an intruder, such as Red Fox, or the
Hooting-owl of the woods.
"It seems strange," thought Teola, as he lay there motionless, facing
the far-off silvery moon, "that these little folk should have been
appointed to do a great work," for he had perfect faith in his
grandfather's legend of the Moon-Nibblers.
"Ah-h-h!" he breathed, for now he heard a faint squeaking in the thick
grass and rushes. Soon several tiny bodies appeared upon the open, sandy
beach. They were so round and so tiny that one could scarcely detect the
motion of their little feet. They ran to the edge of the water and
others followed them, until there was a great mass of the Little People
upon the clean, level sand.
"Oh, if Hinhan, the owl, should come now, he could carry away both claws
full!" Teola fancied.
Presently there was a commotion among the Hetunkala, and many of them
leaped high into the air, squeaking as if for a signal. Teola saw
hundreds of mice coming from every direction. Some of them went close by
his hiding-place, and they scrutinized his motionless body apparently
with much care. But the young hunter instinctively held his breath, so
that they could not smell him strongly, and at last all had gone by.
The big, brown mice did not attend this monthly carnival. They were too
wise to expose themselves upon the open shore to the watchful eyes of
their enemies. But upon the moonlit beach the small people, the
Moon-Nibblers, had wholly given themselves up to enjoyment, and seemed
to be forgetful of their danger. Here on Wetaota was the greatest
gathering that Teola had ever seen in all his life.
Occasionally he thought he noticed the white mouse whom he supposed to
be their chief, for no reason except that he was different from the
others, and that was the superstition.
As he watched, circles were formed upon the sand, in which the mice ran
round and round. At times they would all stand still, facing inward,
while two or three leaped in and out of the ring with wonderful
rapidity. There were many changes in the dance, and now and then one or
two would remain motionless in the centre, apparently in performance of
some ceremony which was not clear to Teola.
All at once the entire gathering became, in appearance, a heap of little
round stones. There was neither sound nor motion.
"Ho, ho, ho!" Teola shouted, as he half raised himself from his
hiding-place and flourished part of his robe in the clear moonlight. A
big bird went up softly among the shadowy trees. All of the boys had
been so fascinated by the dance that they had forgotten to watch for
the coming of Hinhan, the owl, and now this sudden transformation of the
Little People! Each one of them had rolled himself into the shape of a
pebble, and sat motionless close to the sand to elude the big-eyed one.
They remained so until the owl had left his former perch and flown away
to more auspicious hunting-grounds. Then the play and dance became more
general and livelier than ever. The Moon-Nibblers were entirely given
over to the spirit and gayety of the occasion. They ran in new circles,
sometimes each biting the tail of his next neighbor. Again, after a
great deal of squeaking, they all sprang high in the air, towards the
calm, silvery orb of the moon. Apparently they also beheld it in front
of them, reflected in the placid waters of Wetaota, for they advanced in
columns to the water's edge, and there wheeled into circles and whirled
in yet wilder dance.
At the height of the strange festival, another alarm came from the
shaggy-haired boy. This time all the boys spied Red Fox coming as fast
as his legs could carry him along the beach. He, too, had heard the
fairy laughter and singing of the Moon-Nibblers, and never in his whole
wild career is he better pleased than when he can catch a few of them
for breakfast or supper.
No people know the secret of the dance except a few old Indians and Red
Fox. He is so clever that he is always on the watch for it just before
the full moon. At the first sound that came to his sharp ears he knew
well what was going on, and the excitement was now so great that he was
assured of a good supper.
"Hay-ahay! Hay-ahay!" shouted the shaggy-haired boy, and he sent a swift
arrow on a dangerous mission for Red Fox. In a moment there came another
war-whoop, and then another, and it was wisdom for the hungry one to
take to the thick woods.
"Woo, woo! Eyaya lo! Woo, woo!" the boys shouted after him, but he was
already lost in the shadows.
The boys came together. Not a single mouse was to be seen anywhere, nor
would any one suspect that they had been there in such numbers a few
moments earlier, except for the finest of tracery, like delicate
handwriting, upon the moonlit sand.
"We have learned something to-night," said Teola. "It is good. As for
me, I shall never again go out to hunt the Little People."
Wechah the Provider
"Come, Wechah, come away! the dogs will tease you dreadfully if they
find you up a tree. Enakanee (hurry)!" Wasula urged, but the mischievous
Wechah still chose to remain upon the projecting limb of an oak which
made him a comfortable seat. It was apparently a great temptation to him
to climb every large, spreading tree that came in his way, and Wasula
had had some thrilling experiences with her pet when he had been
attacked by the dogs of the camp and even by wild animals, so it was no
wonder that she felt some anxiety for him.
Wasula was the daughter of a well-known warrior of the Rock Cliff
villagers of the Minnesota River. Her father had no son living,
therefore she was an only child, and the most-sought-after of any maiden
in that band. No other girl could boast of Wasula's skill in paddling
the birch canoe or running upon snow-shoes, nor could any gather the
wild rice faster than she. She could pitch the prettiest teepees, and
her nimble, small fingers worked very skilfully with the needle. She had
made many embroidered tobacco-pouches and quivers which the young men
were eager to get.
More than all this, Wasula loved to roam alone in the woods. She was
passionately fond of animals, so it was not strange that, when her
father found and brought home a baby raccoon, the maiden took it for her
own, kept it in an upright Indian cradle and played mother to it.
Wasula was as pretty and free as a teal-duck, or a mink with its
slender, graceful body and small face. She had black, glossy hair,
hanging in two plaits on each side of her head, and a calm, childlike
face, with a delicate aquiline nose. Wechah, when he was first put into
her hands, was nothing more than a tiny ball of striped fur, not unlike
a little kitten. His bright eyes already shone with some suggestion of
the mischief and cunning of his people. Wasula made a perfect baby of
him. She even carved all sorts of playthings out of hoof and bone, and
tied them to the bow of the cradle, and he loved to play with them. He
apparently understood much that she said to him, but he never made any
attempt to speak. He preferred to use what there is of his own language,
but that, too, he kept from her as well as he could, for it is a secret
belonging only to his tribe.
Wechah had now grown large and handsome, for he was fat and sleek. They
had been constantly together for over a year, and his foster-mother had
grown very much attached to him. The young men who courted Wasula had
conspired at different times against his life, but upon second thought
they realized that if Wasula should suspect the guilt of one of them his
chance of winning her would be lost forever.
It is true he tried their patience severely, but he could not help this,
for he loved his mistress, and his ambition was to be first in her
regard. He was very jealous, and, if any one appeared to divide her
attention, he would immediately do something to break up the company.
Sometimes he would resort to hiding the young man's quiver, bow, or
tomahawk, if perchance he put it down. Again he would pull his long
hair, but they could never catch him at this. He was quick and sly. Once
he tripped a proud warrior so that he fell sprawling at the feet of
Wasula. This was embarrassing, and he would never again lay himself open
to such a mishap. At another time he pulled the loose blanket off the
suitor, and left him naked. Sometimes he would pull the eagle feather
from the head of one and run up a tree with it, where he would remain,
and no coaxing could induce him to come down until Wasula said:
"Wechah, give him his feather! He desires to go home."
Wechah truly thought this was bright and cunning, and Wasula thought so
too. While she always reprimanded him, she was inwardly grateful to him
for breaking the monotony of courtship or rebuking the presumption of
some unwelcome suitor.
"Come down, Wechah!" she called, again and again. He came part way at
last, only to take his seat upon another limb, where he formed himself
into a veritable muff or nest upon the bough in a most unconcerned way.
Any one else would have been so exasperated that all the dogs within
hearing would have been called into service to bay him down, but
Wasula's love for Wechah was truly strong, and her patience with him was
extraordinary. At last she struck the tree a sharp blow with her
hatchet. The little fellow picked himself up and hastily descended, for
he knew that his mistress was in earnest, and she had a way of punishing
him for disobedience. It was simple, but it was sufficient for Wechah.