It was in the country of the Winnebagoes, or people of the turbid water,
and there was a great scarcity of game. An Indian hunter, while
returning from an unsuccessful expedition, at the sunset hour, chanced
to discover in the top of a tree a large white owl. He knew that the
flesh of this bird was not palatable to the taste, but as he thought of
his wife and children, who had been without food for several days, he
concluded to bend his bow and kill the bird. Hardly had he come to this
determination, before he was astonished to hear the owl speaking to him
in the following strain: “You are a very foolish hunter. You know it is
against the laws of your nation to kill any of my tribe, and why should
you do wrong because you happen to be a little hungry? I know that your
wife and children are also hungry, but that is not a good reason for
depriving me of life. I too have a wife and several children, and their
home is in the hollow of an old tree. When I left them a little while
ago, they were quite as hungry as you are, and I am now trying to obtain
for their enjoyment a red squirrel or a young opossum. Unlike you, I
have to hunt for my game only at night, and if you will go away and not
injure me, I may have it in my power to do you a kindness at some future
time.”
The Indian hunter was convinced, and he unbent his bow. He returned to
his wigwam, and after he had told his wife what had happened to him, she
told him she was not sorry, for she had been particularly fortunate in
gathering berries. And then the Indian and his family were contented,
and game soon afterwards became abundant in the land.
Many seasons had passed away, and the powerful nation of the Iroquois
were making war upon the Winnebagoes. The hunter already mentioned had
become a successful warrior and a chief. He was a mark for his enemies,
and the bravest among them started upon the war-path for the express
purpose of effecting his destruction. They hunted him as they would the
panther, but he always avoided their arrows. Many days of fatigue had he
now endured, and, believing that his enemies had given up the chase, he
stopped, on a certain evening, to rest himself and enjoy a repast of
roots. After this comfortless supper was ended, he wrapped himself in
his skins and thought that he would lie down and enjoy a little sleep.
He did so, and the only sounds which broke the stillness of the air were
caused by the falling of the dew from the leaves, and the whistling of
the whipporwill. It was now past midnight, and the Winnebago was yet
undisturbed. A whoop is heard in the forest, but so remote from his
grassy couch as not to be heard by the unconscious sleeper. But what can
this shouting mean? A party of the Iroquois warriors have fallen upon
the trail of their enemy, and are in hot pursuit. But still the
Winnebago warrior is in the midst of a pleasant dream. On come his
enemies, and his death is inevitable. The shouting of the Iroquois is
now distinct and clear, but in the twinkling of an eye it is swallowed
up in a much louder and more dismal shriek, which startled the Winnebago
to his feet. He is astonished, and wonders whence comes the noise. He
looks upwards, and lo! perched upon one of the branches of the tree
under which he had been resting, the form of a large white owl. It rolls
its large yellow eyes upon him, and tells him that an enemy is on his
trail, and that he must flee for his life. And this is the way in which
the white owl manifested its gratitude to the Winnebago hunter for his
kindness in sparing its own life many years before. And since that time
the owl has ever been considered a very good and a wise bird, and when
it perches above the wigwam of the red man it is always safe from harm.