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, and went out a-hunting. As soon
as he had got out of sight of the lodge, he changed himself into the
wood-bird, as 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, with other
circumstances, convinced them that he was not as the Indian people
around him.
In a few days his mother-in-law told him that 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 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," she answered, "but my son; 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, "Very well," he said, "I
will be at home the next time, to see him."
Both the mother and the wife urged Monedowa to be aware of the manito.
They made known to him 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
discourse, in a gentle-spoken voice, 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 was immediately prepared. But one dish was used.
Monedowa partook of it first, to show his guest that he need not fear,
saying at the same time, "It is a feast, and as we seldom meet, we must
eat all that is placed on the dish, as a mark of gratitude to the Great
Spirit for permitting me to kill animals, and for the pleasure of seeing
you, and partaking of it with you."
They ate and talked, on this and that, until they had nearly dispatched
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, which relished
to himself as being of the 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 enforced 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
enameling 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, Minda, the mother and her young son,
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 his, 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; and as they were now
all assembled, the old manito began to speak of the race, belted himself
up and pointed to the post, which was an upright pillar of stone.
"But before we start," said the manito, "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. "We shall see whose head is to
be dashed against the stone."
"We 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 he at the same time 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, and 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, lighting at some
distance ahead of the manito, resumed his mortal shape.
When 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 he knew
that he was still in distress from the birch-bud which he had swallowed
at his mother-in-law's lodge.
Monedowa again took wing, and, shooting into the air, he 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 bird with red wings, 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, "Give me to 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, 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, and
falling, falling, like clear drops, as they 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, and 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, go whither she would, sounding
peace and joy in her ear.
XXIV.
BOKWEWA, THE HUMPBACK.
Bokwewa and his brother lived in a far-off part of the country. By such
as had knowledge of them, Bokwewa, the elder, although deformed and
feeble of person, was considered a manito, who had assumed the mortal
shape; while his younger brother, Kwasynd, manly in appearance, active,
and strong, partook of the nature of the present race of beings.
They lived off the path, in a wild, lonesome place, far retired from
neighbors, and, undisturbed by cares, they passed their time, content
and happy. The days glided by serenely as the river that flowed by their
lodge.
Owing to his lack of strength, Bokwewa never engaged in the chase, but
gave his attention entirely to the affairs of the lodge. In the long
winter evenings he passed the time in telling his brother stories of the
giants, spirits, weendigoes, and fairies of the elder age, when they had
the exclusive charge of the world. He also at times taught his brother
the manner in which game should be pursued, pointed out to him the ways
of the different beasts and birds of the chase, and assigned the seasons
at which they could be hunted with most success.
For a while the brother was eager to learn, and keenly attended to his
duties as the provider of the lodge; but at length he grew weary of
their tranquil life, and began to have a desire to show himself among
men. He became restive in their retirement, and was seized with a
longing to visit remote places.
One day, Kwasynd told his brother that he should leave him; that he
wished to visit the habitations of men, and to procure a wife.
Bokwewa objected; but his brother overruled all that he said, and in
spite of every remonstrance, he departed on his travels.
He traveled for a long time. At length he fell in with the footsteps of
men. They were moving by encampments, for he saw, at several spots, the
poles where they had passed. It was winter; and coming to a place where
one of their company had died, he found upon a scaffold, lying at length
in the cold blue air, the body of a beautiful young woman. "She shall be
my wife!" exclaimed Kwasynd.
He lifted her up, and bearing her in his arms, he returned to his
brother. "Brother," he said, "can not you restore her to life? Oh, do me
that favor!"
He looked upon the beautiful female with a longing gaze; but she lay as
cold and silent as when he had found her upon the scaffold.
"I will try," said Bokwewa.
These words had been scarcely breathed, when the young woman rose up,
opened her eyes, and looked upon Bokwewa with a smile, as if she had
known him before.
To Kwasynd she paid no heed whatever; but presently Bokwewa, seeing how
she lingered in her gaze upon himself, said to her, "Sister, that is
your husband," pointing to Kwasynd.
She listened to his voice, and crossing the lodge, she sat by Kwasynd,
and they were man and wife.
For a long time they all lived contentedly together. Bokwewa was very
kind to his brother, and sought to render his days happy. He was ever
within the lodge, seeking to have it in readiness against the return of
Kwasynd from the hunt. And by following his directions, which were those
of one deeply skilled in the chase, Kwasynd always succeeded in
returning with a good store of meat.
But the charge of the two brothers was greatly lightened by the presence
of the spirit-wife; for without labor of the hand, she ordered the
lodge, and as she willed, every thing took its place, and was at once in
proper array. The wish of her heart seemed to control whatever she
looked upon, and it obeyed her desire.
But it was still more to the surprise of her husband Kwasynd that she
never partook of food, nor shared in any way the longings and appetites
of a mortal creature. She had never been seen arranging her hair, like
other females, or at work upon her garments, and yet they were ever
seemly, and without blemish or disorder.
Behold her at any hour, she was ever beautiful, and she seemed to need
no ornament, nor nourishment, nor other aid, to give grace or strength
to her looks.
Kwasynd, when the first wonder of her ways had passed, payed little heed
to her discourse; he was engrossed with the hunt, and chose rather to be
abroad, pursuing the wild game, or in the lodge, enjoying its savory
spoil, than the society of his spirit-wife.
But Bokwewa watched closely every word that fell from her lips, and
often forgot, like her, all mortal appetite and care of the body, in
conferring with her, and noting what she had to say of spirits and
fairies, of stars, and streams that never ceased to flow, and the
delight of the happy hunting-grounds, and the groves of the blessed.
One day Kwasynd had gone out as usual, and Bokwewa was sitting in the
lodge, on the opposite side to his brother's wife, when she suddenly
exclaimed:
"I must leave you," as a tall young man, whose face was like the sun in
its brightness, entered, and taking her by the hand he led her to the
door.
She made no resistance, but turning as she left the lodge, she cast upon
Bokwewa a smile of kind regard, and was at once, with her companion,
gone from his view.
He ran to the door and glanced about. He saw nothing; but looking far
off in the sky, he thought that he could discover, at a great distance,
a shining track, and the dim figures of two who were vanishing in
heaven.
When his brother returned, Bokwewa related all to him exactly as it had
happened.
The face of Kwasynd changed, and was dark as the night. For several days
he would not taste food. Sometimes he would fall to weeping for a long
time, and now only it seemed that he remembered how gentle and beautiful
had been the ways of her who was lost. At last he said that he would go
in search of her.
Bokwewa tried to dissuade him from it; but he would not be turned aside
from his purpose.
"Since you are resolved," said Bokwewa, "listen to my advice. You will
have to go South. It is a long distance to the present abiding-place of
your wife, and there are so many charms and temptations by the way that
I fear you will be led astray and forget your errand. For the people
whom you will see in the country through which you have to pass, do
nothing but amuse themselves. They are very idle, gay and effeminate,
and I fear that they will lead you astray. Your path is beset with
dangers. I will mention one or two things which you must be on your
guard against.
"In the course of your journey you will come to a large grape-vine lying
across your path. You must not even taste its fruit, for it is
poisonous. Step over it. It is a snake. You will next come to something
that looks like bear's fat, of which you are so fond. Touch it not, or
you will be overcome by the soft habits of the idle people. It is frog's
eggs. These are snares laid by the way for you."
Kwasynd promised that he would observe the advice and bidding his
brother farewell, he set out. After traveling a long time he came to the
enchanted grape-vine. It looked so tempting, with its swelling purple
clusters, that he forgot his brother's warning, and tasted the fruit. He
went on till he came to the frog's eggs. They so much resembled
delicious bear's fat that Kwasynd tasted them. He still went on.
At length he came to a wide plain. As he emerged from the forest the sun
was falling in the west, and it cast its scarlet and golden shades far
over the country. The air was perfectly calm, and the whole prospect had
the air of an enchanted land. Fruits and flowers, and delicate
blossoms, lured the eye and delighted the senses.
At a distance he beheld a large village, swarming with people, and as he
drew near he discovered women beating corn in silver mortars.
When they saw Kwasynd approaching, they cried out:
"Bokwewa's brother has come to see us."
Throngs of men and women, in bright apparel, hurried out to meet him.
He was soon, having already yielded to temptation by the way, overcome
by their fair looks and soft speeches, and he was not long afterward
seen beating corn with the women, having entirely abandoned all further
quest for his lost wife.
Meantime, Bokwewa, alone in the lodge, often musing upon the discourse
of the spirit-wife, who was gone, waited patiently his brother's return.
After the lapse of several years, when no tidings could be had, he set
out in search of him, and he arrived in safety among the soft and idle
people of the South. He met the same allurements by the way, and they
gathered around him on his coming as they had around his brother
Kwasynd; but Bokwewa was proof against their flattery. He only grieved
in his heart that any should yield.
He shed tears of pity to see that his brother had laid aside the arms of
a hunter, and that he was beating corn with the women, indifferent to
the fate and the fortune of his lost wife.
Bokwewa ascertained that his brother's wife had passed on to a country
beyond.
After deliberating for a time, and spending several days in a severe
fast, he set out in the direction where he saw that a light shone from
the sky.
It was far off, but Bokwewa had a stout heart; and strong in the faith
that he was now on the broad path toward the happy land, he pressed
forward. For many days he traveled without encountering any thing
unusual. And now plains of vast extent, and rich in waving grass, began
to pass before his eyes. He saw many beautiful groves, and heard the
songs of countless birds.
At length he began to fail in strength for lack of food; when he
suddenly reached a high ground. From this he caught the first glimpse of
the other land. But it appeared to be still far off, and all the country
between, partly vailed in silvery mists, glittered with lakes and
streams of water. As he pressed on, Bokwewa came in sight of innumerable
herds of stately deer, moose, and other animals which walked near his
path, and they appeared to have no fear of man.
And now again as he wound about in his course, and faced the north once
more, he beheld, coming toward him, an immense number of men, women,
and children, pressing forward in the direction of the shining land.
In this vast throng Bokwewa beheld persons of every age, from the little
infant, the sweet and lovely penaisee, or younger son, to the feeble,
gray old man, stooping under the burden of his years.
All whom Bokwewa met, of every name and degree, were heavily laden with
pipes, weapons, bows, arrows, kettles and other wares and implements.
One man stopped him, and complained of the weary load he was carrying.
Another offered him a kettle; another his bow and arrows; but he
declined all, and, free of foot, hastened on.
And now he met women who were carrying their basket-work, and painted
paddles, and little boys, with their embellished war-clubs and bows and
arrows, the gift of their friends.
With this mighty throng, Bokwewa was borne along for two days and
nights, when he arrived at a country so still and shining, and so
beautiful in its woods and groves and plains, that he knew it was here
that he should find the lost spirit-wife.
He had scarcely entered this fair country, with a sense of home and the
return to things familiar strong upon him, when there appeared before
him the lost spirit-wife herself, who, taking him by the hand, gave him
welcome, saying, "My brother, I am glad to see you. Welcome! welcome!
You are now in your native land!"
XXV.
THE CRANE THAT CROSSED THE RIVER.
A famous hunter who lived in a remote part of the North had a fair wife
and two sons, who were left in the lodge every day while he went out in
quest of the animals whose flesh was their principal support.
Game was very abundant in those days, and his labors in the chase were
well rewarded. They lived a long distance from any other lodge, and it
was seldom that they saw any other faces than those of their own
household.
The two sons were still too young to follow their father in the hunt,
and they were in the habit of diverting themselves within reach of the
lodge.
While thus engaged, they began to take note that a young man visited the
lodge during their father's absence, and that these visits were
constantly renewed.
At length the elder of the two said to his mother:
"My mother, who is this tall young man that comes here so often during
our father's absence? Does he wish to see him? Shall I tell him when he
comes back this evening?"
"Naubesah, you little fool," said the mother, "mind your bow and arrows,
and do not be afraid to enter the forest in search of birds and
squirrels, with your little brother. It is not manly to be ever about
the lodge. Nor will you become a warrior if you tell all the little
things that you see and hear to your father. Say not a word to him."
The boys obeyed, but as they grew older and still noticed the visits of
the stranger, they resolved to speak again to their mother.