WIGWAM WONDER TALES
[Illustration: “There will be no living with him,” said the crow]
WIGWAM
WONDER TALES
BY
WILLIAM THOMPSON
ILLUSTRATED BY
CARLE MICHEL BOOG
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1919
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
Published September, 1919
[Illustration: Publisher’s colophon]
DEDICATION
This book is affectionately dedicated to H. T., who for ten years
has been my constant companion. We have travelled together from the
Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic Ocean. Have climbed glaciers of Alaska
and shivered in the fogs of Newfoundland. Have rocked in the crafts of
the North Sea fishermen. Have looked from the Phœnician ruins of Eze
to the island of Corsica. Have enjoyed the nature smiles of southern
Europe from Italy to Setubal, the ancient Cetubriga of the Romans. Have
strolled along the highways and byways of Germany, Holland, France,
Belgium, Moresnet, Italy, and romped together in the cork-groves of
Portugal and the olive-groves of Spain. We have shared the same room
in spooky inns along the trails of Don Quixote in La Mancha, and have
ridden fourth-class with a first-class ticket hundreds of kilometres
... because dogs were not allowed in first-class compartments on
European railways.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE GIANT BUTTERFLY AND THE MOUSE 1
WACTU, THE ANIMAL PAINTER 15
ALITOCI AND THE GIANT BIRDS 28
NIONA AND THE MOON MAN 40
WHY DOGS DO NOT TALK 56
MR. FISH AND YONI 68
FIRE BOY AND WATER BOY 92
OLD SPOT AND THE CUPIDS 107
THE UNDERWATER PEOPLE 129
WATC’ AGIC KILLS THE TALKING-BIRDS 144
ILLUSTRATIONS
“There will be no living with him,” said the crow _Frontispiece_
PAGE
Every one laughed. What a joke! This tiny
mouse offering to release the sun! 5
“Come down,” said Ayas. “I wish to discuss a
business offer with you” 9
Over their heads they heard a little voice calling,
“They fit perfectly” 13
This he did, much to the amazement of the beaver 17
Wactu waited patiently for the color-sprites to dance
on the snow and lakes 21
On and on the frightened old man was carried 29
Down the big tree he lowered himself 33
The birds walked off in another direction 37
“Niona, you are so, so beautiful” 41
Niona felt herself being drawn up and up 47
“I’m coming!” 53
So Nudi and his dog, Happy, would wander off to
the mountains 57
One day, trailing a bear, Happy told all she knew of
Neti’s romance 61
“Yes,” said Tiki, “she has told that which she should
not.” 65
There he found a strange and very large fish splashing
and floundering 73
“My! how fast we are going!” 83
“Mr. Fish! Mr. Fish!” called Yoni 89
“We have brought a goose and caribou tongues, and
we will share them with you” 97
Looking up to her he waved his hand and smiled 101
He sat without discomfort in the midst of the flames 105
“You’ve got a fine catch this morning” 113
It was but the work of a few seconds and all was over 121
“How really clever Old Spot is” 125
They suddenly saw a man passing along in the dusk 131
“Do ha-s tei-ul tuk,” which means “Do not kill me” 137
He looked up and saw a giant frog standing on his left
foot 141
Once there was a man who wandered all over the
earth 145
“My good brother, what have you on your back?” 149
And he began to sing in a harsh voice 153
WIGWAM WONDER TALES
THE GIANT BUTTERFLY AND THE MOUSE
When Ayas was a small child, hardly able to walk, he would try to catch
the sunbeams that played with his fingers and toes. Onitu, an old woman
who had noticed his efforts, smiled and said: “He will be a sun-catcher
some day; in all truth, Ayas will be a sun-catcher.”
Of course, the people did not know the meaning of her strange remark,
and looked serious.
Ayas grew to be a man, and travelled the long, lonely trails of
the forest in search for game. One day, being very tired, as it was
oppressively warm, he lay down to sleep. During his slumber something
that passed scorched his leather coat. This made him very angry, for
upon the coat he had worked long days with needle and thread, putting
many colored beads in fantastic design. As he arose, his coat fell from
his back, and the thread holding the beads parted, scattering them upon
the ground.
“I’ll find out my enemy!” declared Ayas, so loud that the animals of
the forest became frightened and ran to their holes, or scampered away
in many directions.
Unstringing his bow, lashed many times around with caribou sinew, he
made a snare across the road, and over the spot where he had been
sleeping. Then he went home.
The next day the sun did not rise, or the next, and the medicine-men
were consulted; but they were as much mystified as the people, who met
in their lodges, many of them too frightened to speak. “Had the Great
Spirit deserted his people? Was this the end of all things?”
Ayas’ sister, who suspected her brother had been up to some mischief,
went to him and said: “What have you been doing that the sun does not
give light?”
He replied: “I set a snare the other day; I will go and see if I have
caught anything.”
So he went back to the wood where he had set his snares, and the nearer
he approached the hotter it became. When he arrived at the opening of
the trail he saw he had snared the sun. He tried to release it, but it
would not keep still, jumping up and down so fast Ayas could not grasp
the snares.
“Keep still!” he cried, but his command was of no avail. So he called
all the animals from near and far to help him; but it was so hot they
dared not approach, fearing their fur would be scorched, and as winter
was drawing near, they would not risk that which kept them warm.
A wee ground-mouse was looking on from his tiny hole under a great
ant-hill that had been deserted. He called to Ayas and said: “Go to the
giant butterfly who makes wings over there in the dead pine. If he will
agree to make for me a pair of wings and guarantee a good fit that I
may fly back should the sun take me with him, I’ll release it.”
Every one laughed. What a joke! This tiny mouse offering to release the
sun when the great animals of the forest dare not attempt it! A lynx,
just ready to spring at the silly little creature, was prevented from
doing so by Ayas, who gave him a stroke across his snout. This is the
reason the lynx has such a short nose.
[Illustration: Every one laughed. What a joke! This tiny mouse offering
to release the sun!]
Ayas looked at the ant-hill. How large it was, and how small the
beings that had made it. “Perhaps the mouse can do as it agrees,” he
thought.
It was so hot the grass began to scorch, and leaves became seared.
Something must be done.
“Go to the butterfly and tell him I wish to speak to him,” Ayas
demanded of the mouse.
“He will not come and scorch his wings. He has the finest pair in all
the lands about here,” answered the mouse.
Ayas thought the mouse was right; so he started off for the wing
factory. When he got near the old tree he called, and slowly, from a
great hole in the trunk peered the face of Mr. Butterfly.
“Come down,” said Ayas. “I wish to discuss a business offer with you.”
The great winged creature slowly drew himself out of the hole, and
spreading his wings, glided to the earth. He was so enormous Ayas was
but a tiny being compared to him.
[Illustration: “Come down,” said Ayas. “I wish to discuss a business
offer with you”]
“The sun has become entangled in my snare,” said Ayas, “and a young and
very tiny mouse promises that he will release it if you will furnish
him with a pair of wings. The fit must be guaranteed as well as the
quality, as he may be required to make a long journey, and must be
assured they will stand the strain; and in addition, they must be made
of material that will be able to withstand great heat.”
“What will be my compensation?” asked Mr. Butterfly.
“What do you expect?” asked Ayas.
“That is not the way I bargain,” replied Mr. Butterfly. “What is it
worth to you?”
Ayas thought a moment. Knowing that if the sun was not released,
soon all the hunting-grounds would be destroyed by fire, he decided to
make a good offer, so he said: “I’ll give you five portions of clover
honey, two hundred fresh wild roses, and build a long ladder to your
hole, that you may not need to fly when you grow old.”
This appealed to Mr. Butterfly, for his wing joints did not work as
smoothly as when he was younger.
“Throw in a measure of goose oil and it’s a bargain,” said he.
“Very well,” said Ayas. “Have you any wings in stock that will fit?”
“I cannot tell without seeing your friend; bring him here and upon your
return I’ll have a few pairs ready for a try-on.”
So Ayas went back and told the mouse he had fixed up the matter, so
they returned together, the mouse in the pouch of Ayas’ coat. Many
wings were tried on, and finally little Johnny Mouse selected a pair
that seemed satisfactory, although not bigger than the wings of a
sparrow.
“Go up the tree and fly down,” said Mr. Butterfly, and up crawled
the mouse until he had gone so far they could not see him. Over their
heads they heard a little voice calling, “They fit perfectly. My! this
is wonderful!” And down glided the wee mouse in little circles to the
ground.
[Illustration: Over their heads they heard a little voice calling,
“They fit perfectly”]
“Now to keep my promise,” said he, flying around Ayas’ head and
settling on his right shoulder.
Saying good-afternoon to Mr. Butterfly, who was to call for his
supplies the following day, Ayas and the mouse returned to the
struggling sun. Going to the strings of sinew, the mouse began to gnaw,
and very soon, one after another of the strands holding the sun parted.
With one great effort, it burst the remaining bonds and started again
on its path of day, giving light to all the world.
If it had not been for the mouse the sun would have remained a
prisoner, and there would have been no day. If it had not been for the
sun, bats would have always remained mice.
WACTU, THE ANIMAL PAINTER
As long as the birds could remember, Wactu had lived among them. This
was a very long time ago, and before the rays of the sun had penetrated
the deep mist that surrounded the earth. It was only now and then that
the people living in the lowlands could see the golden shafts of light
tipping the great mountain-tops as they stood like mighty gods, covered
with garments of snow. The snows, melting slowly, formed lakes high up
in the mountain valleys, and across the great glaciers and fields of
ice all the colors of the painter’s palette passed like a pageant of
beauty among the mountain peaks.
For ever so long Wactu had stripped the white birches that he called
the “white ghosts of the forest” of their bark and made baskets of it,
for what reason the magpie and owl had been very much perplexed to know.
One morning a large timber-wolf called to discuss a matter of
importance with Wactu, who was the King of the Kingdom of Animals, and
master of the woodlands.
“I’m growing very tired of so much sameness of color among my
subjects,” he said to the wolf. “It’s always black or white. Why don’t
you go up the mountain and bathe in the lake and roll on the snows, and
become beautiful of color? See!” pointing to the rays of light piercing
the mist, “See! Is that not more fair than your gray costume?”
But old wolf only grunted an indifferent acknowledgment, for he had
little sentiment for anything but his appetite. His indifference caused
Wactu to ejaculate: “You are the most acrimonious of all my people.
Go bring me a young beaver, and mind you do not devour him before he
serves my purpose.”
Wactu had decided upon a plan by which there was to be a change of
fashion among his subjects, and he began preparations then and there.
Old wolf returned with a young whimpering beaver-cub, crying at the top
of his voice, for Mr. Wolf had not been over-careful in handling the
youth, who, being accustomed to the tender solicitude of fond parents,
did not understand the rougher ways of one who at any moment was liable
to devour him. Wactu instructed the wolf to hold Young Beaver tight as
he wanted to pluck a few hairs from his back and tail. This he did,
much to the amazement of the beaver, who, though crying lustily, was
more frightened than hurt.
[Illustration: This he did, much to the amazement of the beaver]
“Take him back to his mother,” demanded Wactu, “and mind your appetite
does not prompt you to rashness, for I may want you to bring him to me
again.” So Mr. Wolf disappeared in the wood.
Wactu always had his suspicions that Mr. Wolf feasted on Young Beaver,
for when he needed more hair for his brushes, he always looked
carefully for the places he had plucked, but could not find them; so he
of course knew that Mr. Wolf had not brought him the same animal. As
Mr. Wolf had served him well he never made any reference to the matter.
For many days that followed Wactu made journeys to the mountains,
and waited patiently for the color-sprites to dance on the snow
and lakes; and as they appeared, he caught them and thrust them
into his baskets. There were red, blue, green, orange, and yellow
sprites--indeed, all the colors of the rainbow. Several times one end
of the arch dipped into the waters of the lakes, and as Wactu knew the
spirits of his departed friends formed the beautiful colors, he was
careful not to capture them, so waited for the rainbow to pass before
collecting material for his interesting undertaking.
[Illustration: Wactu waited patiently for the color-sprites to dance on
the snow and lakes]
When Wactu returned to his lodge, the owls, eagles, and hawks would go
far out on the limbs of the tall trees so that he could not hear them,
and discuss the state of his mind, for they had “never seen him do
such strange things before.” Once or twice they flew down, unbeknown
to their master, and lifted the baskets, but, finding them very light,
they were convinced that they contained nothing that would do them harm.
Being King of the Kingdom of Animals and Birds, Wactu knew the
language of all his people; so one morning, while he was tying up the
beaver hairs and making brushes of different sizes--some with long
handles and some with short--he called the skylark, the long-eared
owl, the raven, the sparrow-hawk, the cuckoo, the chaffinch, the gray
wag-tail, the spotted flycatcher, the crested titmouse, the woodpecker,
the robin, the nightingale, the blackbird, the crow, and all the other
feathered people of his empire, and said:
“My good people, it will be many thousands of years before the mists
and clouds surrounding this great world are dispersed by the goddess of
the sun. It is my purpose to hasten the work of Nature, by painting all
of my people in the colors of the rainbow. Could you bathe in the rays
of the sun, I would be saved all my trouble. You would then be like a
queen on her throne, arrayed in all the glories of color. Who will be
the first to change his or her plain garment for one of beauty? I have
collected all the colors to complete Nature’s works.”
* * * * *
“I will,” called Mr. Peacock, as Wactu reached for his colors, and
placed them beside him in rows.
“Step right up and I will begin,” said Wactu in a pleased tone. So the
peacock, with his long flowing tail trailing behind him, his head bowed
in an embarrassed, coy way, approached Wactu, who, after placing him in
a position most convenient, began to apply the mystical tints that were
to make Mr. Peacock the most vain and conceited of all featherdom.
Beginning at the head, he painted the neck, wings, and body. When the
tail was to be renovated, he had to stand up and go around, as it was
so long. Once or twice he stepped on it. The peacock winced though it
did not hurt him at all.
“There will be no living with him,” said the crow as he noticed the
peacock straighten up and throw his head back in a haughty manner.
“Right you are,” said the raven.
“Such arrogance,” said the wren, loud enough for Mr. Peacock to hear.
Wactu, having completed his toilet, asked him to step off a bit so
that he could see if the colors had run. This he did ’midst expressions
of admiration from some, and, Wactu was sorry to know, suppressed jeers
of others.
“Me next,” said Miss Robin Redbreast as she surveyed the plain, soiled
whiteness of her clothing.
“Get on my knee,” said Wactu in a gentle voice, for she was very small
and timid. “What colors for you, Miss Robin?”
“Red on my breast, and for the others, those that will not soil easily.”
In the meantime, Mr. Peacock, who had always heretofore mingled with
his people on an equal social footing, had strutted away, and was
standing alone in self-satisfied admiration, his beautiful tail spread
like a giant fan. The humming-bird afterward told his mate he heard him
say, “I am more beautiful than the sun,” and Mrs. Humming-Bird replied,
“I really believe he thinks it is so.”
One by one the birds were bedecked with new garments. The old fogies
like the raven, crow, and blackbirds said, “None of it for us,” and
went away quite satisfied with their old clothes.
There were many animals who had come out of mere idle curiosity,
standing about wondering what would happen to them if old Wactu did not
use up all of his colors. Mr. Porcupine felt quite confident that the
royal decorator would not insist upon any reform in _his_ apparel, no
matter what changes he made in the others.
ALITOCI AND THE GIANT BIRDS
Alitoci, a beaver chief, who had become too old to work, spent most of
his time when the weather was not too cold along the rivers, fishing.
He had three dogs that helped him in winter, but in summer they did no
work, though they must eat; so Alitoci fished for them.
One day he was sitting by a dark water-hole full of fish, saying to
himself: “Here shall I get plenty of food for my faithful dogs.”
So he fished until he had caught all he could carry. As he was not
strong, he had but few. He climbed up the bank to return home.
It was growing dark, and as his head was bowed from age, he could
not see a great bird hovering over him. This bird was enormous in
size, and its wings spread like the limbs of a large tree. Suddenly it
swooped upon him, and took him up toward the clouds that were piled in
the heavens like great banks of snow. On and on the frightened old man
was carried. Still remembering his faithful dogs, he held on to his
strings of fish until his hands were so tired he had to let them fall
to the earth, many thousands of feet below.
[Illustration: On and on the frightened old man was carried]
His coat was old and he could hear the sinew giving under his weight,
for though aged, he was still a heavy man, and there was a great strain
on the coat.
The old man could see only the wings of the giant bird as they went up
and down, slowly, in flight.
“Where are you taking me?” said he in great terror; but the bird did
not reply.
After a long journey over rivers and mountains, he was dropped into a
large nest that rested on the limbs of a dead tree. The bird said to
his young ones, who seemed very much frightened: “Take good care of
the old man; I will go for food.” So the bird departed to seek young
animals like the rabbit, ermine, and small fox, as his children were
too young to eat the larger game.
When it was growing light, for the morning dawned while the father bird
was away, the mother returned. She was not quite so large and strong
as her husband, but she also was big enough to carry a man for miles
through the air.
“How does it happen that you smell of a man?” she asked her children.
“We should smell of a man when father brought one here for us,” the
young ones said in chorus, without meaning to deceive their mother.
They were so large, although very young birds, that they could
easily hide the man under their wings, and their mother did not know he
was there, which was well for the old man, for she would have eaten him
had she known the truth.
The old man trembled so that it shook the birds, and the mother,
thinking them ill, said: “Why do you shake so; are you not well?”
“Oh, yes,” they replied, “we are very well indeed.”
She seemed satisfied.
The old man thought of his poor dogs who were waiting for food, and of
the fish he had lost after working so hard to catch them. The fear for
his own safety worried him, too, but greatest of all his troubles was
the weight of the birds sitting on him, and the added weight of the
mother caused him still more distress. When the sun came up he was sure
he would be seen.
As the sun rose higher and higher, one by one the birds fell asleep.
“Now is my chance,” thought the old man, lame and out of breath. So out
of the nest he crawled and down the big tree he lowered himself. He
waited at times to hear if there was any chattering in the nest, but
heard none, so he went on and reached the ground in safety.
[Illustration: Down the big tree he lowered himself]
“Now,” thought the old man, “if I should try to return home they might
wake up and find me gone and follow me, and take me back to the nest.”
He began to collect knots and dry wood which he piled at the foot
of the tree. After heaping them as high as he could reach, he gathered
dry blades of grass which he put under the pile of wood. Then striking
together two pieces of flint which he took from his pocket, he lighted
the grass and this lighted the fagots. The flames ran higher and higher
until they set fire to the nest. The wings of the birds were burned,
and they fell to the ground. They tried to fly, but could not. The old
man walked as fast as he could, and hid behind a tree. The birds walked
off in another direction. They did not suffer as only their feathers
were burned.
[Illustration: The birds walked off in another direction]
And this is the way it came about that great birds like the ostrich,
the emu, and the auk, though having feathers and wings, cannot fly.
Thus were the birds punished for trying to prevent the old man from
returning and feeding his hungry dogs, who had always served their
master so faithfully.
NIONA AND THE MOON MAN
There once lived on the shores of the beautiful Lake Athabasca an
Indian chief whose name was Wyani, and his two daughters, Wiona and
Niona.
Wiona helped her father cure the moose and caribou skins, and put the
fish to dry on racks in the sun, for food for the dogs during the
winter.
Niona, the younger daughter, was very beautiful. She would sit by the
lake where she could see her reflection, and arrange her hair, putting
in her tresses large eagle feathers and wild flowers. She would make to
adorn her feet beautiful moccasins of white deer-skin decorated with
beads and many colored silks, and would say to herself: “Niona, you are
so, so beautiful.”
[Illustration: “Niona, you are so, so beautiful”]
Then she would glance at her pretty feet, and her slippers beaded in
wild roses and big leaves, and sigh, saying to herself: “How fortunate
to be so beautiful.”
When her father would call to her to help him, she would say, “Oh,
father! Do it yourself!” or call to Wiona to help her father. Sometimes
she would say: “I must make myself beautiful like the sun.”
A young Cree brave would come to visit her. He was a great hunter and
feared no man. One day while he was sitting near her when she was
adorning herself, she leaned too far over the water to admire her
reflection, and fell into the lake. He pulled her out, saying: “If you
were not so vain this would not have happened.”
“Do not scold me,” Niona said, as she caught her breath and shook the
water from her dress.
“You are very beautiful, but you are also very selfish,” said the young
man.
“All who are very beautiful are selfish,” Niona replied.
“That is not so,” said the Indian.
“Old Father Bear and Mother Lynx and Brother Fox tell me I am
beautiful; even the birds, more beautiful than I am, say I am
beautiful. Are they not proud of their plumage? Why should I not be!”
exclaimed the maiden.
“You are very beautiful,” the young Indian repeated, “but you are not
kind to your father; and your sister is very tired. Why do you not
consider them? They are both very good to you.”
“I have no time. I must make myself like the sun; the beauty of
everything comes from the sun, and I must be like her. She paints the
clouds and rainbow and flowers and water--everything. I am the child
of the sun and gather the beautiful things of color that I may adorn
myself. You also think me beautiful. That is pleasing to me. I know
myself that I am beautiful.”
“Yes, but beauty is not everything,” he replied.
“Do not scold me. You would not like me if I were like the Old Man in
the Moon.”
“I should like you better if you were helpful, and considerate of those
who love and serve you; and mind, you better not let the Moon Man hear
you speak slightingly of him or he may ‘make medicine.’”[1]
[1] The Shaman of the Indian and Eskimo of Greenland, North America
and Siberia are supposed to have supernatural power. The exercise
of this power is called “making medicine.”
“Shoot an arrow at the Moon Man,” said Niona. “Who’s afraid of him!”
Suddenly it became very dark, and the moon seemed to draw nearer to the
earth.
“Save me! Save me!” cried Niona, but her companion had disappeared.
Niona thought, “How silly it was to be afraid of the old dead moon,”
and cried out in defiance:
“Boil the moon; save your passion;
Boil your lazy head,
Hiding thus in idle fashion
In your starry bed.”
The Old Man in the Moon seemed to frown and to come closer and closer.
Niona felt herself being drawn up and up; faster and faster she seemed
to fly until the light of the camp-fires could no longer be seen. The
stars grew larger and brighter and Niona began to feel very cold. Up
and up she went until she could see the earth but dimly, and only as a
round ball. Suddenly she stopped, and a voice said: “This is the end of
your journey. You must live here. You thought only of yourself, of your
beauty. Your time you spent in idleness. You did no good for any one.
This is your punishment.”
[Illustration: Niona felt herself being drawn up and up]
Niona looked around. There were no flowers, or lakes, no trees, no
people. There were only mountains of dead rocks, craters of extinct
volcanoes, and deep-sea beds, but no water.
“What a terrible place,” thought Niona, without speaking.
“Yes,” said the Old Man of the Moon, “it is so. We once had all, but
age came upon us, as it has now come to you.”
“To me?” cried Niona.
“Yes, to you,” he replied. “Look into the Grotto of Shadows yonder.”
Niona walked to a deep cave and looked down. There she saw reflected
the face of an old woman, older than any she had ever seen on earth.
“Horrors!” she cried, “How can I escape this awful fate?”
“There is but one way,” said the Moon Man. “Come with me.”
They ascended a high mountain and looked afar to the “City of Good
Works.” One end of a rainbow rested in a great square of the city, and
people, bejewelled and wearing beautiful costumes, were dancing around
it. There was music, such as Niona had never heard in the woods, and
great gardens with flowers bursting into bloom, and birds of wondrous
plumage, too numerous to imagine.
“This,” said the Moon Man, “is the abode of contentment.”
“Oh! How can I get there?” cried Niona.
“There is but one way,” he answered as she looked in wonderment. “You
must go back to earth and there seek out those who need help and
comfort; be kind to the aged, and share your blessings with those who
most need them. If you promise to do this, you may return.”
“I promise, I promise!” cried Niona, “When may I go?”
“At once,” answered the Moon Man, taking a great bow and an arrow that
was so long its head rested on a mountain miles away. On the other
end was a little compartment, lighted with many colored lights, and
containing chairs and a table which was set with the most dainty fruits
and cakes.
“Get in, hold tight, and keep your promise.” As he spoke he touched her
lightly on the shoulder, and she began at once to regain her youth and
beauty.
She stepped into the fairy car.
“Remember your promise,” said the Moon Man sternly. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” replied Niona.
Before she could say more, she found herself flying toward earth;
nearer and nearer she flew. Soon a light appeared, then another and
another. Soon she could see the great lake, then her old father who was
sitting outside his lodge. He was crying, “Niona, Niona, come back!”
“I’m coming!” she called, as the great arrow plunged into the earth,
stopping just in time so Niona could step out and be welcomed by her
father.
[Illustration: “I’m coming!”]
“I’ve come to help you gather wood, and to fish, and to sew
caribou-skins, and make snares, and cure the moose-skins, and to hunt,
and to draw water.”
He looked up and smiled, he had grown very old.
“Where are your fine clothes?” he asked.
Niona looked down at her feet, and behold! she was in rags!
“I shall not need them now, good father. I have come to serve you.”
For many moons she had been faithful to her promise made to the Man
in the Moon, when, one day, there came from the forest, a handsome
brave, with a deer slung over his shoulder--not the Indian she had
admired before her strange journey, but one nobler and taller. Walking
toward the old man he said: “You have a beautiful daughter. May I wed
her when the moon is full?”
“She is a good daughter, and may do as she thinks best,” replied the
chief.
Niona grew to love the young Indian, and they were married and devoted
their lives to her father as long as he lived. They lived to be very
old, beloved by their tribe for their good works. When they died they
were mourned by all who knew them. It is said they are now living in
the beautiful City of the Rainbow.
WHY DOGS DO NOT TALK
At the foot of a mountain, with his daughter Neti and his dog, lived
Nudi, an Indian whose wife had left him. He was fond of both, but of
the two he loved his dog more dearly as she gave to him affection and
obedience.
At the time the incidents of this story happened all dogs could talk.
Then language was very primitive, but as the dog has for nearly all
time been a friend of man and his companion, each learned the language
of the other, as does man when associating with a people speaking
another language.
The dog, being also the most sociable of all animals, learned that
man could hunt with more skill when in quest of food, and before he
became his companion, would follow on his trail and devour the meat
discarded by him. When the dog found man a kindly being, he would join
in the hunt, each finding the other helpful. Man found the dog had
more highly developed the instinct for location, and that his sense of
smell and his hearing were more acute, combining also the pleasure he
enjoyed in associating with man rather than with his own kind. So man
and dog became fast and enduring friends, and as some one has said of
the latter, “the most intimate and companionable comrade for man of all
the kingdom of animals.”
So Nudi and his dog, Happy, would wander off to the mountains in
search of game, and fish the waters for trout so plentiful in the dark,
winding streams that came down with such a rush from the upper reaches
of the mighty mountain that Nudi called “The Giant.”
[Illustration: So Nudi and his dog, Happy, would wander off to the
mountains]
Sometimes they would have much to say, sometimes little. Happy would
always consider the moods of Nudi--if he was not disposed to talk, she
would run along beside him if the path was wide, and if not, follow at
his heels in silence.
There was something Happy had for a long time wanted to tell Nudi,
about his daughter, but she would always hesitate, for she felt that
perhaps it would not be right as it was natural for all creatures to
love some one. Neti was very beautiful; she had many young braves who
admired her, and she was very fond of their wooing, as she was also
fond of the pretty trinkets they would bestow upon her. But the youth
Neti liked the most, her father did not favor, so, unknown to him,
she would go for long walks with her lover, and Happy knew, as she
had followed them, that he had kissed her and said to her words of
affection which Neti liked, even though she blushed and had taken her
hand from his.
One day, trailing a bear, Happy told all she knew of Neti’s romance.
This vexed the father, so he threatened not to allow Neti to go
more than twenty paces from the lodge, and to take from her all the
baubles she had received from her admirers, this being the most severe
punishment he could inflict. He also went to Tiki, the Shaman of the
tribe, and asked him to make medicine and bring upon the lover some
evil.
[Illustration: One day, trailing a bear, Happy told all she knew of
Neti’s romance]
“No,” said the Shaman, “It is not upon the young brave, but upon your
dog that I shall bring punishment.”
“No, no!” said Nudi, “My dog is my friend. You shall not bring upon her
any misfortune!”
“Yes,” said Tiki, “she has told that which she should not. We cannot
ourselves judge of another’s affection. We must choose according to the
dictates of our own hearts.”
[Illustration: “Yes,” said Tiki, “she has told that which she should
not.”]
So the Medicine Man used his powers so that dogs could never talk
again; but left them the capacity to understand the language of all
mankind. Though he took from all dogs the power of speech, he left to
them fidelity, patience, and affection, and made them so nearly human
that many who have loved them mourn their loss almost as much as one
of their own kind. For has not the dog much of human intelligence with
none of man’s conceit, hypocrisy or ingratitude? Does he not cling to
his master no matter how humble may be his lot or how spare may be his
meal? He will even forgive those who abuse and neglect him. No matter
what may be the adversity that befalls those around him, he is still
their loyal, clinging friend.
What an object-lesson is this patient, trusting creature that
shares man’s companionship, a companionship that if broken by the loss
of the master, has sometimes ended in the death of man’s best and
truest friend.
MR. FISH AND YONI
Yoni, an old Indian, had lost his wife by death, so, to the custom of
his people, he covered her body with birch-bark, and wrapped it in a
large moose-skin. Then, with the help of his friends, he put the body
on a platform high up in the boughs of a tall, young spruce-tree.
He then cut his hair very short, as a sign of mourning, and began to
think how alone he would be during the long winter days.
The frost had come and touched the trees and bush, and the beautiful
colors that the artist of Nature was painting upon them, just a little
while before Nature destroyed the picture, began to appear in places
here and there, all over the land. The fine birds that sang to Yoni,
and the plain little wrens he loved best were leaving, one by one,
to wing their ways to the Southland where the sun is always warm and
smiling, and Jack Frost and his bearded old relation Father Winter are
unknown.
Yoni had been very happy during the many years of his life. He was a
good hunter, so of deer meat and fish he always had a plentiful supply.
But his age, even with all the pleasant memories of the years gone by,
meant to him in his solitude only sorrow and loneliness. He would have
been glad if his wife, many years younger than he, could have lived to
help him in his old age, but this was not to be.
He would sit outside his lodge, and watch the beavers working on their
dam just across the river, and recall how he had told his wife, Noimi,
who was very pretty in his eyes, that there was no one to compare with
her in all the graces and virtues, that she must not go for wood when
the nights were cold; and if she did, he would call her back and insist
that she go into the tipi and sit by the fire, and if she wished, she
could sew on the skins that would keep them warm during the winter.
He would waken at night, and out of the silence would come, from far
across the lonely hills, the barking of the great timber-wolves,
sounding like big dogs. Sometimes a stealthy bear would come with
its cubs and tear down his fish-racks, and carry off the fish he had
dressed and was drying for the winter. In the morning he would go out
to see what damage they had done. He would never get angry, saying in
a low voice: “Let them eat. It’s very bad to be hungry.” Then he would
smile at their destruction, and with thin, trembling hands, try to
straighten the poles.
Twice a day he would pull up his nets that were made of willow fibre.
Sometimes there were many fish, and sometimes only a few--but he never
complained, for there were always enough for his needs now that he
was all alone--having not even a dog. The preceding fall he had had
two, but one had wandered away and he had given the other to Moni,
his friend, who lived just around the bend of the river, and who was
busy hauling wood for his winter fires, so did not come to visit him
so often as in summer. Moni was growing old also, and his children had
left him, all but a daughter, and she was blind, and not much help.
One morning before it was very light, old Yoni heard a terrific
splashing in the water above the place he tied his canoe. He had heard
the connie or pike making a great rumpus when trying to catch a frog,
but the splashing increased, so Yoni started for the shore as fast as
his poor old legs could go. There he found a strange and very large
fish splashing and floundering, and the more he floundered the more he
became entangled in Yoni’s net, and the only one he had.
[Illustration: There he found a strange and very large fish splashing
and floundering]
When the fish saw Yoni he called: “Come quickly and release me. I’m
afraid I shall die. Come! I feel so strange.”
Yoni made no effort to untangle the monster, who was just twenty-five
feet long to an inch.
“Oh!” thought Yoni, “You are a fine catch; you’ll be food for me all
winter and much to spare; this I can barter with Moni for my winter’s
wood.” And Yoni was pleased and smiled, and this he did not do very
often.
The more the creature struggled, the more and the tighter the net held
him.
“Hurry!” called the fish, not knowing what Yoni had been thinking
about. Then he became perfectly still, and looking up at Yoni in a very
appealing way said: “You are an old man. Get me out of this tangle and
I will reward you.”
“How?” said Yoni, becoming very much interested to have an affair with
a fish that could talk.
“There are many places and people,” said the fish, “along these great
river ways that you have never seen.”
“Yes,” said Yoni, becoming more interested. “The Yellow Knife, the Dog
Rib, the Cree and many tribes far away to the North.”
“I know their language,” said the fish. “Release me and I will take you
where you will be among friends, and to those who will honor your old
age. As you know, the rivers are long with many rapids that would upset
your old canoe, and crush it on the rocks. Many of the portages are
high hills, and many too rough and stony for your feet.”
“This is all very well in words,” said Yoni, “but you may be like
many of the fur-traders who do not always speak words that are to be
depended upon.”
Although the net was very tight about the neck of the fish, he managed
to smile.
“Ah” said he, “fish who talk never are known to speak untruths. Release
me, and I will prove to you my gratitude by taking you anywhere you
wish to go.”
So Yoni, convinced that he was talking to a truthful fish, waded
slowly arm deep in the water, and cut the tangled strands holding his
new-found friend.
“Just a moment,” said the fish after the last strand binding his gills
had been severed, and he straightened out to see if his tail and fins
were in working order, “I’ll swim out a little way to see if everything
is right for our journey.” So far from shore and nearly to the middle
of the stream the fish swam.
“He’ll never come back,” thought Yoni, “and my net is in shreds.”
Far out, and out of sight the monster had gone. At first Yoni thought
he would never believe the promise of a talking-fish again, but knowing
he had saved the creature’s life, he thought he might keep faith with
one who had so truly befriended him. Just as Yoni was really losing
faith, the fish rose to the surface far out in midstream.
“I’m coming,” he called. “There are a few scales missing, but otherwise
I’m all right for a long swim.”
Yoni was glad his confidence was justified, although he did begin to
think the story was fishy, like others where fish were concerned.
“Wade out to the rock,” called the fish. “I’ll swim alongside; you get
on my back and then we’ll be off for anywhere.”
So Yoni with some difficulty waded to the rock, and climbed upon it
just as the fish rose alongside. Yoni got aboard, straddling the huge
back as if he were riding a horse just as he had once done before he
grew so old.
“Where shall we go, and what is your name?” asked the fish.
“Yoni,” replied the old Indian, “What is yours?”
“Piscatori,” answered the huge creature.
“What a strange name,” said Yoni, “I am afraid I cannot remember it. My
memory is not so good as it was years ago.”
“That’s not important,” replied the fish. “Just call me Mr. Fish. I’ll
understand.”
Yoni thought that was best, so he asked the fish to turn around and go
down the river to a place where he had set his snares and traps the
year before. So Mr. Fish turned around and began to swim so fast it
took Yoni’s breath almost away.
“Not so fast, Mr. Fish,” called Yoni. “I’m afraid I’ll slip off.”
“Oh, no!” said Mr. Fish. “Hold onto my front fin. Look out you don’t
prick your fingers, the points are sharp. If you get cold, lift up the
fin, step down, and you’ll find a cosy room just large enough to hold
you comfortably.”
So Yoni, being just a little chilly, with some difficulty raised the
fin, and to his great joy and surprise he found such a cosy little
place like a little room, with the floor and sides covered with the
most beautifully colored scales--just as if they had stolen the tints
from an Arctic rainbow or from the inside of a beautiful shell. And it
was so warm, and Mr. Fish said, “Quite waterproof.”
Yoni had not been so really contented for many years. He sat upon a
strange little seat, so soft and warm, and looking around he found to
his great astonishment that each scale formed a little window through
which he could look out. Mr. Fish was passing through the deepest part
of the river, and Yoni could see so many strange water things, fish of
many colors and shapes, turtles, eels, frogs, rocks with very beautiful
clinging vines in which fish of many kinds were hiding. Yoni was in a
maze of wonderment that was broken by the movement of Mr. Fish, who
was pointing for the bank. Yoni looked out and recognized the place as
the one at which he had camped many years before, and just across the
river where the old elm was still standing, was the spot where he had
first met Noimi, who afterward became his wife. This made him sad, but
he felt better when he realized he had found a new friend and a very
agreeable companion. Though he had not felt bold enough to ask, he
thought Mr. Fish was much older than he himself was.
The fish swam to a great tree that had fallen into the water, due to
the underwash of a swiftly flowing river and the grinding ice that cuts
the banks in the spring.
“Get off here,” said Mr. Fish; and Yoni raised the fin and stepped out
on the tree, and then climbed the steep bank. Mr. Fish, seeing how
infirm the old man was, moved a little, then backing up, raised his
strong tail and gave Yoni a gentle push.
“That is a great help,” said Yoni. Mr. Fish made no reply. He was
thinking how unfortunate it was to be old, and of the “Tree of Youth”
that grew where the waters of the Slave River flowed into the great
lake of the same name.
Mr. Fish waited patiently for the old man to return from his
wanderings, and when he did, his eyes were red from weeping.
“Cheer up,” said Mr. Fish, “we are going on a long journey. To go by
canoe would take five or six days. If the water is not low, I can do it
before sundown.”
“Good for you,” said Yoni, having great confidence in Mr. Fish as a
means of transport.
Mr. Fish smiled. “I’ll give the old fellow the greatest surprise of his
life,” said he to himself as he swished his tail to the right and to
the left with the power of a great propeller.
“My! how fast we are going,” said Yoni aloud; and he told Mr. Fish so,
but he was too busy dodging rocks and sunken timber to have answered
even had he heard Yoni.
[Illustration: “My! how fast we are going!”]
On Mr. Fish swam, cutting the corners of the river, winding his
way between sunken ledges, leaping great rapids in which many a
trapper’s scow had been crushed, as the little crosses on the graves
on the banks can testify--struggling over shallow water, getting fast
on sand-bars covered with wreckage from the great forests, held by
boulders in narrow ways and pushing through with his muscular tail and
wiggles--then down into deep water where things looked black and spooky
to Yoni. For hours, fast and slow, the great physical being worked like
a mighty engine.
“What will become of me?” thought Yoni, “if anything happens to Mr.
Fish?”
As the sun was falling and the shadows were dying in the water, the
craft of flesh pulled to the bank, and Yoni, a bit cramped from being
so long in one position, got on the back of Mr. Fish and looked around
to survey his surroundings.
“We’ll remain here to-night,” said the fish, as he wiped the
perspiration from his kind face.
“You must be very tired,” observed Yoni.
“Oh, no!” answered Mr. Fish. “It’s a bit strenuous when one has a cargo
aboard, to get over dry land when one is accustomed to a water route.
Going back you’d better take your time--that is if I don’t go back with
you.”
Yoni looked worried.
“Why have you brought me so far from home?” he asked.
“Don’t ask silly questions,” replied Mr. Fish. “On the bank yonder
you’ll find some leaves and fagots. I’d help you if I could, but it
makes me very short of wind to be out of water very long, so you will
have to excuse me. Collect an armful, build a fire under the tree with
the leaves all aflame with the ‘Fire of Youth’--that one” pointing with
his fin. “There are berries enough on the hill for your supper. I’ll
sleep in the black hole over there. It’s near the shore.”
Yoni went about gathering leaves and small sticks which he placed near
the tree, as there were many spots showing little piles of ashes where
fires had been built before. While he was standing under the strange
tree, a leaf would now and again fall--it seemed to him, all aflame.
One touched his forehead and fell to the ground. He stooped to pick it
up, but just as his fingers touched it, it disappeared.
“What can be the meaning of this?” said Yoni to himself, and then he
remembered Mr. Fish having said something about the “Fire of Youth.” A
strange desire to sleep came over him, and all night he slept, dreaming
strange dreams of fairies and places and people.
The sunshine chased away a gray dawn and shone straight in Yoni’s
face. He turned to get away from the glare, and in turning he felt
so strange that he partly awakened. Becoming wide-awake, he gripped
the grass and leaves with a vigor long forgotten. He looked at his
hands. They again had the appearance of youth. His limbs were hard and
muscular. Looking down, he discovered he was wearing a beautifully
embroidered suit of moose-skin made for him by Noimi many years before.
Looking up, he saw that the tree under which he had fallen asleep was
now bare of all foliage, and not a leaf was to be seen on the ground.
Everything seemed strange to him.
“Mr. Fish! Mr. Fish!” called Yoni in a voice so strong it almost
frightened him. “Where are you, Mr. Fish?”
[Illustration: “Mr. Fish! Mr. Fish!” called Yoni]
Mr. Fish was so tired on account of his long journey, that Yoni had to
call many times. At last the vibrations of Yoni’s voice touched the
ear of the fish, and he awoke, moved his tail, blew the water, and
swam slowly to the bank. Of course, he knew what had happened when he
saw the young man on the shore. He smiled so hard that three scales
loosened by the struggle of the day before fell off, and went sailing
and sinking down-stream.
“Good morning! ... and good-by! Long life and always happy days to
you. Seek Noimi in the lodge just over the hill. I’m off for the sea.”
Yoni called frantically, but Mr. Fish had gone so fast and far, he
could not hear. He would not have come back if he had, having given to
the old man “Youth,” some say, the most beautiful and precious of all
things.
FIRE BOY AND WATER BOY
As long as the oldest Indians could remember, the Fire and Water Boys
had lived along the shores of the great lake called Athabasca. They
never seemed to grow any older; sometimes they were very good and
very helpful--sometimes, very annoying and often destructive. When
the Indians grew tired of their pranks and tried to punish them, many
strange things would happen.