This shall be the story of how Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, saved Strike Axe
from the medicine of Yellow Face, the bad medicine man, who would take
his life an’ steal the Feather, his squaw. An’ it is a story good to
show that you should never lose a chance to do a kind deed, since kind
deeds are the steeps up which the Great Spirit makes you climb to reach
the happiness at the top. When you do good, you climb up; when you do
bad, you climb down; an’ at the top is happiness which is white, an’ at
the bottom is pain which is black, an’ the Great Spirit says every man
shall take his choice.
Strike Axe is of the war-clan an’ is young. Also he is a big fighter
next to Ugly Elk who is the war chief. An’ Strike Axe for all he is only
a young man an’ has been but four times on the war trail, has already
taken five skelps--one Crow, one Blackfoot, three Pawnees. This makes
big talk among all the Sioux along the Yellowstone, an’ Strike Axe is
proud an’ gay, for he is held a great warrior next to Ugly Elk; an’
it is the Pawnees an’ Crows an’ Blackfeet who say this, which makes it
better than if it is only the talk of the Sioux.
When Ugly Elk sets up the war-pole, an’ calls to his young men to make
ready to go against the Pawnees to take skelps an’ steal ponies, Strike
Axe is the first to beat the war-pole with his stone club, an’ his war
pony is the first that is saddled for the start.
Strike Axe has a squaw an’ the name of the squaw is the Feather. Of the
girls of the Sioux, the Feather is one of the most beautiful. Yet she is
restless an’ wicked, an’ thinks plots an’ is hungry <an’ thirsty to do
evil. But that is not the Feather’s fault.
Yellow Face, the bad medicine man, has made a spell over the Feather.
Yellow Face hates Strike Axe because of so much big talk about him.
Also, he loves the Feather an’ would have her for his squaw. He tells
her she is like the sunset, but she will not hear; then he says she
is like the sunrise, but still she shakes her head, only she shakes it
slow; so at last Yellow Face tells her she is like the Wild Rose, an’ at
that she laughs an’ listens.
[Illustration: 0397]
But the Feather will not leave Strike Axe an’ go with Yellow Face,
for Strike Axe is a big fighter; an’ moreover, he kills many elk an’
buffalo, an’ his lodge is full of beef an’ robes, an’ the Feather is no
fool. Besides, at this time her heart is not bad, but only restless.
Then Yellow Face sees he must give her a bad heart or he will never win
the Feather. So Yellow Face kills the Great Rattlesnake of the Rocks,
who is his brother medicine, an’ cooks an’ feeds his heart to the
Feather. Then she loves Yellow Face an’ hates Strike Axe, an’ would help
the Yellow Face slay him. For the heart of the Great Rattlesnake of
the Rocks is evil, an’ evil breeds evil where it touches, an’ so the
Feather’s heart turns black like the snake’s heart which she swallowed
from the hand of Yellow Face.
Strike Axe does not know what the Feather an’ Yellow Face say an’ do,
for he is busy sharpening his lance an’ making arrows to shoot against
the Pawnees, an’ his ears an’ eyes have no time to run new trails. But
Strike Axe can tell that the Feather’s heart is against him; an’ this
makes him to wonder, because he is a big fighter; an’ besides he has
more than any Sioux, meat an’ furs an’ beads an’ blankets an’ paint an’
feathers, all of which are good to the eyes of squaws, an’ the Feather
is no fool. An’, remembering these things, Strike Axe wonders an’
wonders; but he cannot tell why the heart of the Feather is against him.
An’ at last Strike Axe puts away the puzzle of the Feather’s heart.
“It is a trail in running water,” says Strike Axe, “an’ no one may
follow it. The heart of a squaw is a bird an’ flies in the air an’ no
one may trace it.” With that, Strike Axe washes his memory free of the
puzzle of the Feather’s heart an’ goes away to the big trees by the
Yellowstone to hunt.
Strike Axe tells the Feather he will be gone one moon; for now while
her heart is against him his lodge is cold an’ his blankets hard an’ the
fire no longer burns for Strike Axe, an’ his own heart is tired to be
alone.
It is among the big trees by the Yellowstone that Strike Axe meets
Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, while Moh-Kwa is hunting for a bee tree. But he
can’t find one, an’ he is sad an’ hungry an’ tells Strike Axe he fears
the bees have gone far away to live with the Pawnees.
But Strike Axe says “No!” an’ takes Moh-Kwa to a bee-tree he has found;
an’ Moh-Kwa sings in his joy, an’ climbs an’ eats until he is in pain;
while Strike Axe stands a long way off, for the bees are angry an’ their
knives are out.
Moh-Kwa is grateful to Strike Axe when his pain from much honey is gone,
an’ says he will come each day, an’ eat an’ fight with the bees while
there is honey left. An’ Moh-Kwa asks Strike Axe to remember that he
is the Great Wise Bear of the Yellowstone, an’ to tell him what is evil
with him so Moh-Kwa can do him good.
Strike Axe thinks very hard; then he tells Moh-Kwa how the Feather’s
heart is against him an’ has left him; he would know what the Feather
will do an’ where her heart has gone.
Moh-Kwa puts his paw above his eyes to keep out the sun so he can
think better; an’ soon Moh-Kwa remembers that the wife of the Great
Rattlesnake of the Rocks, when he met her hunting rats among the cliffs,
told him she was now a widow, for Yellow Face had killed the Great
Rattlesnake of the Rocks--who was his brother medicine--an’ fed his
heart to the Feather.
Moh-Kwa tells Strike Axe how the Feather was bewitched by Yellow Face.
“Come now with me,” said Moh-Kwa to Strike Axe, “an’ I will show you
what the Feather an’ Yellow Face do while you are gone. You are a young
buck an’ a good buck, an’ because of your youth an’ the kind deed you
did when you found for me the bees--to whom I shall go back an’ fight
with for more honey to-morrow and every day while it lasts--I will show
you a danger like a lance, an’ how to hold your shield so you may come
safe from it.”
Moh-Kwa took Strike Axe by the hand an’ led him up a deep canyon an’
into his cavern where a big fire burned in the floor’s middle for light.
An’ bats flew about the roof of Moh-Kwa’s cavern an’ owls sat on points
of rock high up on the sides an’ made sad talks; but Strike Axe being
brave an’ with a good heart, was not afraid an’ went close to the fire
in the floor’s middle an’ sat down.
Moh-Kwa got him a fish to eat; an’ when it was baked on the coals an’
eaten, brought him a pipe with kinnikinick to smoke. When that was done,
Moh-Kwa said:
“Now that your stomach is full an’ strong to stand grief, I will show
you what the Feather an’ Yellow Face do while you are gone; for they
make medicine against you an’ reach out to kill you an’ take your life.”
Moh-Kwa then turned over a great stone with his black paws an’ took
out of a hole which was under the stone, a looking glass. Moh-Kwa gave
Strike Axe the looking glass an’ said, “Look; for there you shall see
the story of what the Feather an’ the wicked Yellow Face do.”
Strike Axe looked, an’ saw that Yellow Face was wrapping up a log in a
blanket. When he had done this, he belted it with the belts of Strike
Axe; an’ then he put on its head the war-bonnet of Strike Axe which hung
on the lodge pole. An’ now that it was finished, Yellow Face said the
log in the blanket an’ wearing the belts an’ war-bonnet was Strike
Axe--as Strike Axe saw truly in the looking glass--an’ Yellow Face stood
up the log in its blanket an’ belts an’ war-bonnet, an’ made his bow
ready to kill it with an arrow. As Yellow Face did these things, the
Feather stood watching him with a smile on her face while the blood-hope
shone in her eyes; for she had eaten the snake’s heart an’ all her
spirit was black.
Strike Axe saw what went on with the Feather an’ Yellow Face, an’ told
it as the glass told it, word for word to Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear, who
sat by his side to listen.
Then Moh-Kwa, when he knew that now Yellow Face with three arrows in
his left hand was stringing a bow to shoot against the log which he
had dressed up an’ named “Strike Axe,” said there was little time to be
lost; an’ Moh-Kwa hurried Strike Axe to the round deep spring of clear
water which was in the cavern, an’ told him to stand on the edge of the
spring an’ look hard in the looking glass an’ take sharp notice just as
Yellow Face was to shoot the arrow against the log.
“An’ you must dive in the spring when Yellow Face shoots,” said Moh-Kwa
to Strike Axe; “you must dive like the loon dives when you shoot at him
on the river.”
Strike Axe looked hard in the looking glass like Moh-Kwa said, an’ dived
in the spring when the arrow left the bow of Yellow Face.
When he came up, he looked again in the glass an’ saw that Yellow Face
had missed the log. Yellow Face had a half-fear because he had missed,
an’ Strike Axe looking in Moh-Kwa’s glass could see the half-fear
rising up as a mist in his eyes like a morning fog lifts up from the
Yellowstone. Also, the Feather stood watching Yellow Face, an’ her eyes,
which were grown hard an’ little an’ bright, like a snake’s eyes, showed
that she did not care what happened only so that it was evil.
But Moh-Kwa told Strike Axe to still watch closely, an’ would not let
his mind pull up its pickets an’ stray; because Yellow Face would shoot
twice more with the arrows which were left; an’ he must be quick an’
ready each time to dive like the loon dives, or he would surely die by
the log’s wound.
Strike Axe, because he had eaten the fish an’ smoked, an’ had a full
stomach an’ was bold an’ steady with a heart made brave with much food,
again looked hard in the glass; an’ when the second arrow left the bow
of Yellow Face he dived sharply in the spring like a loon; an’ when he
came up an’ held the looking glass before his eyes he saw that Yellow
Face had missed the log a second time.
An’ now there was a whole-fear in the eyes of Yellow Face--a white fear
that comes when a man sees Pau-guk, the Death, walk into the lodge; an’
the hand of Yellow Face trembled as he made ready his last third arrow
on the bow. But in the eyes of the Feather shone no fear; only she
lapped out her tongue like the snake does, with the black pleasure of
new evil at the door.
Moh-Kwa warned Strike Axe to look only at Yellow Face that he might be
sure an’ swift as the loon to dive from the last arrow. Strike Axe did
as Moh-Kwa counselled; an’ when the last arrow flew from the bow,
Strike Axe with a big splash was safe an’ deep beneath the waters of the
spring.
“An’ now,” said Moh-Kwa to Strike Axe, “look in the glass an’ laugh,
for a blessing of revenge has been bestowed on you through the Great
Spirit.”
Strike Axe looked an’ saw that not only did Yellow Face miss the log,
but the arrow flew back an’ pierced the throat of Yellow Face, even up
to the three eagle feathers on the arrow’s shaft. As Strike Axe looked,
he saw Yellow Face die; an’ a feeling like the smell of new grass came
about the heart of Strike Axe, for there is nothing so warm an’ sweet
an’ quick with peace as revenge when it sees an’ smells the fresh blood
of its enemy.
Moh-Kwa told Strike Axe to still look in the glass; for while the danger
was gone he would know what the Feather did when now that Yellow Face
was killed by the turning of his own medicine.
Strike Axe looked, an’ saw how the Feather dammed up the water in a
little brook near the lodge; an’ when the bed of the brook was free of
water the Feather dug a hole in the soft ground with her hands like a
wolf digs with his paws. An’ the Feather made it deep an’ long an’ wide;
an’ then she put the dead Yellow Face in this grave in the brook’s
bed. When she had covered him with sand an’ stones, the Feather let the
waters free; an’ the brook went back to its old trail which it loved,
an’ laughed an’ ran on, never caring about the dead Yellow Face who lay
under its wet feet.
Then the Feather went again into the lodge an’ undressed the log of its
blankets, belts an’ war-bonnet; an’ the Feather burned the bow an’ the
arrows of Yellow Face, an’ made everything as it was before. Only now
Yellow Face lay dead under the brook; but no one knew, an’ the brook
itself already had forgot--for the brook’s memory is slippery an’ thin
an’ not a good memory, holding nothing beyond a moment--an’ the Feather
felt safe an’ happy; for her heart fed on evil an’ evil had been done.
Strike Axe came out from the cave with Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear.
“You have given me life,” said Strike Axe.
“You have given me honey,” said Moh-Kwa.
Then Strike Axe was troubled in his mind, an’ he told Moh-Kwa that he
knew not what he must do with the Feather when he returned. But Moh-Kwa
said that he should make his breast light, an’ free his thought of the
Feather as a burden, for one would be in his lodge before him with the
answer to his question.
“It is the Widow,” said Moh-Kwa, “who was the wife of the Great
Rattlesnake of the Rocks; she will go to your tepee to be close to the
heart of her husband. In her mouth the Widow will bring a message from
Yellow Face to the Feather for whom he died an’ was hid beneath the
careless brook.”
Thus said Moh-Kwa. An’ Strike Axe found that Moh-Kwa spoke with but one
tongue; for when he stood again in his lodge the Feather lay across the
door, dead an’ black with the message of Yellow Face which was sent to
her in the mouth of the Widow. An’ as Strike Axe looked on the Feather,
the Widow rattled joyfully where she lay coiled on the Feather’s breast;
for the Widow was glad because she was near to her husband’s heart.
But Moh-Kwa was not there to look; Moh-Kwa had gone early to the
bee-tree, an’ now with his nose in a honey comb was high an’ hearty up
among the angry bees.
There arose no little approbative comment on the folk-lore tales of
Sioux Sam, and it was common opinion that his were by odds and away the
best stories to be told among us. These hearty plaudits were not without
pleasant effect on Sioux Sam, and one might see his dark cheek flush to
a color darker still with the joy he felt.
And yet someone has said how the American Indian is stolid and cold.
It was the Red Nosed Gentleman, as the clock struck midnight on this our
last evening and we threw our last log on the coals, who suggested that
the Jolly Doctor, having told the first story, should in all propriety
close in the procession by furnishing the last. There was but one voice
for it, and the Jolly Doctor, who would have demurred for that it seemed
to lack of modesty on his side, in the end conceded the point with
grace.
“This,” said the Jolly Doctor, composing himself to a comfortable
position in his great chair, “this, then, shall be the story of ‘The
Flim Flam Murphy.’”