Among the legends the old warriors used to tell me were many stories of
evil spirits. But I was taught to fear them no more than those who
stalked about in material guise. I never knew there was an insolent
chieftain among the bad spirits, who dared to array his forces against
the Great Spirit, until I heard this white man's legend from a paleface
woman.
Out of a large book she showed me a picture of the white man's devil. I
looked in horror upon the strong claws that grew out of his fur-covered
fingers. His feet were like his hands. Trailing at his heels was a scaly
tail tipped with a serpent's open jaws. His face was a patchwork: he had
bearded cheeks, like some I had seen palefaces wear; his nose was an
eagle's bill, and his sharp-pointed ears were pricked up like those of a
sly fox. Above them a pair of cow's horns curved upward. I trembled with
awe, and my heart throbbed in my throat, as I looked at the king of evil
spirits. Then I heard the paleface woman say that this terrible creature
roamed loose in the world, and that little girls who disobeyed school
regulations were to be tortured by him.
That night I dreamt about this evil divinity. Once again I seemed to be
in my mother's cottage. An Indian woman had come to visit my mother. On
opposite sides of the kitchen stove, which stood in the center of the
small house, my mother and her guest were seated in straight-backed
chairs. I played with a train of empty spools hitched together on a
string. It was night, and the wick burned feebly. Suddenly I heard some
one turn our door-knob from without.
My mother and the woman hushed their talk, and both looked toward the
door. It opened gradually. I waited behind the stove. The hinges
squeaked as the door was slowly, very slowly pushed inward.
Then in rushed the devil! He was tall! He looked exactly like the
picture I had seen of him in the white man's papers. He did not speak to
my mother, because he did not know the Indian language, but his
glittering yellow eyes were fastened upon me. He took long strides
around the stove, passing behind the woman's chair. I threw down my
spools, and ran to my mother. He did not fear her, but followed closely
after me. Then I ran round and round the stove, crying aloud for help.
But my mother and the woman seemed not to know my danger. They sat
still, looking quietly upon the devil's chase after me. At last I grew
dizzy. My head revolved as on a hidden pivot. My knees became numb, and
doubled under my weight like a pair of knife blades without a spring.
Beside my mother's chair I fell in a heap. Just as the devil stooped
over me with outstretched claws my mother awoke from her quiet
indifference, and lifted me on her lap. Whereupon the devil vanished,
and I was awake.
On the following morning I took my revenge upon the devil. Stealing into
the room where a wall of shelves was filled with books, I drew forth The
Stories of the Bible. With a broken slate pencil I carried in my apron
pocket, I began by scratching out his wicked eyes. A few moments later,
when I was ready to leave the room, there was a ragged hole in the page
where the picture of the devil had once been.