It seems that those who were most skilled in the arts of sorcery and

enchantment, who dwelt even to the very edge of the world, knew the

exact moment Haieñdoñnis had killed the old woman and her wicked

daughters, for at that moment a great shout of joy went up from the

people, which was heard all over the world; they rejoiced because these

women so powerful in magic and so utterly wicked were dead and burned

up.

Now, Haieñdoñnis, putting spittle on his hands, rubbed with opposing

orenda, or magic power, the head of Yenongäa,[35] his wife. He gently

pulled and smoothed her hair, which had been short before that time,

and it soon became long and glossy. He had neutralized her orenda

through this manipulation. Thereafter they dwelt in the lodge of

Haieñdoñnis in great contentment.

20. THE MAN WITH THE PANTHER-SKIN ROBE AND HIS BROTHER WITH A

TURKEY-SKIN ROBE

In the olden time an uncle lived in a lodge together with two nephews,

the one 2 or 3 and the other 15 or 16 years of age. They dwelt happily

in a forest. When the uncle went out to hunt the elder nephew would

remain at home and when the elder nephew was out hunting the uncle

would not leave the lodge, for the younger nephew was too small to

leave alone during the day.

One day the elder nephew said to his uncle: “Mother’s brother, will you

kindly kill a turkey gobbler for me? If you will, I will make a robe

for my little brother.” “How will you do that?” queried the uncle. “Oh,

I shall skin him and make a feather coat for my little brother,”

declared the elder nephew.

The next day the indulgent uncle brought home from his hunting a

beautiful white wild turkey gobbler and his nephews were delighted to

see it. Then the elder nephew skinned the fine bird, leaving the head,

legs, wings, and tail attached to the skin. He rubbed and carefully

prepared in the usual manner the skin with the feathers in place, and

when it had been thoroughly cured and tanned with smoke he placed the

turkey-skin robe on his little brother, whom it fitted very well. The

boy thrust his feet into the skins of the legs and his arms into the

skins of the wings. The skin was a close fit, because the little boy

was just the size of a turkey gobbler, and now he looked just like one.

The little fellow was able to walk around looking for beechnuts and he

could also fly up into trees, so his uncle and elder brother called him

“Turkey Brother.”

The uncle and his two nephews lived together until the elder nephew was

of an age to be married. Then the uncle said: “Oh, I am tired of

cooking and of doing other kinds of woman’s work. I would like to have

something prepared by a woman. You, my nephew, are now old enough to

marry; so now go off among the people and seek a suitable wife. There

is a chief living not far from here who has three excellent daughters,

and you can get one of them for the asking.” The nephew, after a

moment’s hesitation, replied, “It is well; I am willing to go to seek a

wife.”

Now it happened that the Turkey Brother earnestly desired to leave home

in quest of a wife, but his elder brother deprecated his desire to go

at this time, saying, “Oh, my Turkey Brother, it is better that you

remain at home with our uncle, who is now in need of our company—how

can we leave him entirely alone?” But the Turkey Brother, unmoved by

this plea, answered, “I do not want to stay with my uncle; my wish is

to accompany you.” No matter how much the elder brother coaxed or how

bitterly he scolded him for his great desire to leave home at this

time, the Turkey Brother was determined to go at all cost, so finally

he was permitted to leave. The uncle said to him: “Now, my nephew, you

must have a suitable outfit of raiment and a fitting stock of weapons,

for people must see that you are a great man. I will now bring what I

have prepared for you for an occasion of this character.”

Then the uncle brought forth a fine coat or robe of wildcat skins and

placed it on his nephew. Stepping back in order to see better how his

nephew looked in it, he declared, “That is not good enough.” Then he

brought out a beautiful lynx-skin robe and placed it on his nephew’s

shoulders. Again stepping back to get a better notion of the set of it,

he exclaimed: “This, too, is not befitting the occasion. Oh, I have

another, which is just the thing for you.” Thereupon he took from his

bark chest of treasures a magnificent panther-skin robe, with the head

of the animal formed into a cap or hood. When the wearer of this

remarkable robe became excited this head would cry out in anger. In

this cap the uncle placed two loon feathers, which sang at all times.

This fine robe the uncle put on the shoulders of his nephew and, after

critically inspecting him, he exclaimed, “This is befitting and

needful, and it will suit the purpose of your journey; now, the people

will see you as you are.” To complete the outfit the uncle now brought

out a pair of handsome moccasins and a pair of beautiful leggings to

match them and an ornamented pouch of a whole fisher’s skin, which,

whenever an enemy came near its wearer, snapped at and bit him. In this

pouch was a stone pipe, the bowl of which represented a bullfrog and

the stem a water snake; when this pipe was smoked the bullfrog would

croak and the snake would wriggle and try to swallow the frog. Lastly

the uncle gave his nephew a fine bow and a quiver full of arrows, and a

war club.

Then, addressing his nephew, the uncle said: “Now, my nephew, go

directly toward the west. It is six years’ journey to the country

whither you are going. For a long distance from here on all sides the

people have been carried off, and we are the sole survivors of our

tribe; this is the reason you must go so far to obtain a wife. There is

a dangerous spring halfway between here and your destination; it is

close to the path, but you must not under any circumstances stop there

or touch the water. Farther on, about midway between the spring and the

chief’s lodge, dwells an old man, a great sorcerer and robber. You must

not pay any attention to him. Do not on any account stop with him or

listen to him.”

The two brothers started on their long journey at sunrise. By midday

they had reached the spring, although it was distant three years’

ordinary traveling. As soon as the elder brother saw the spring he

became very thirsty and strongly desired to drink of the water, but the

Turkey Brother exclaimed, “Our uncle warned us not to touch this

spring, for it is dangerous to do so.” As they were passing on, the

elder brother, looking again at the spring, became so thirsty that he

went back to drink from it. Lying on his hands and face, he started to

drink, when something caught him by the hair and pulled him into the

water. Gripping the creature, he succeeded after a long struggle in

drawing it upon the bank. It was a strange creature covered with hair

and resembling a man in form and size. As it lay on the bank it gasped

and piteously begged to be returned to the water, saying, “Oh,

grandson, throw me back into the water!” “Oh, no! You must remain where

you are,” he sullenly replied. He stooped the second time to drink,

when another creature seized him, but this also he pulled out of the

water. It, too, gasped, “Oh, grandson, throw me back into the water!”

Without making a reply he stooped a third time to drink and was then

undisturbed. The water was very sweet and wholesome. When he had drunk

his fill he killed the two creatures. Then with the Turkey Brother’s

help he collected a great pile of dry wood on which they placed the two

creatures and soon burned them to ashes. Thereupon they continued their

journey.

In the middle of the afternoon they came to a place where there were

many tall trees. There they saw a poor-looking old man, who kept

running around in great haste, shouting: “Oh, grandson, shoot it! Look

here! Such a fine raccoon! Oh, shoot it for me! Just one arrow you need

spare me.” He begged so urgently that the elder brother shot an arrow

at the raccoon, which struck its body. The raccoon ran into a hole in

the tree, as the elder brother thought. The old man shouted: “Oh, you

must get your arrow! We must find the raccoon; you must take off your

garments, lest you should spoil them. You need not be afraid. I shall

not touch them, for I shall go up the tree, too.” So the young man

removed his robe, leggings, moccasins, and pouch and laid them at the

foot of the tree, which he climbed, the old man following him closely.

When they reached the hole in the tree the young man peered into it,

and, thinking he saw right at hand the arrow sticking in the raccoon,

he reached to pull it out; but the old man pushed him into the hole in

the tree, and down he went through the hollow in the trunk to the

bottom. There was there no raccoon, only an illusion.

Now, the old man, quickly descending to the ground, donned the

panther-skin robe, the leggings, and the moccasins, and he also took

the pouch with the pipe. At once he began to grow younger in looks; he

felt younger, too, and the cap began to roar. Taking the bow and

arrows, he started off westward toward the lodge of the chief.

The poor Turkey Brother began to weep and to scream for his lost

brother whose clothes were stolen. He flew upon a tree and sat there

weeping.

On recovering his senses the elder brother thought: “Now I am certainly

in trouble. My dear uncle warned me not to listen to this old man. How

can I ever get out of this place? There is no way of climbing out of

this den, for the opening is smooth on every side.” Under his feet he

felt the bones of other unfortunate people who had been thrown in there

before by the wicked old man, and he smelt the odor from them. He

remained all night in the hollow of the tree. Toward morning he

remembered that in his boyhood he had had a dream, in which a large

spider appeared to him, saying, “When you get into trouble I will help

you.” He therefore cried out, “Oh, great Spider, come to me and help me

now!” At that moment a great Spider began to make a web in the tree,

and soon it had made a large ladder woven of thick strands. “Now

climb,” said the great Spider. But the young man had not gone up more

than halfway when the web ladder broke. “Oh,” said he to the great

Spider, “you are not able to help me at this time.”

Then he remembered that he had had another dream, in which an enormous

blacksnake had appeared to him and had promised to help him whenever he

was in trouble. Therefore he cried out, “Oh! Blacksnake, come to me and

help me now.” Straightway there came a great Blacksnake on the tree,

which slipped its tail down into the hollow in the trunk until the

young man was able to seize it; then the snake coiled itself up,

bringing the young man to the top in safety; thereupon the great

Blacksnake disappeared.

The Turkey Brother greatly rejoiced to see his brother and, flying to

the ground, said: “What can we do? Must we not go home to our uncle

now?” “Oh, no!” said the elder brother; “we must go on. I will put on

the old man’s clothes.” So he arrayed himself in the old man’s worn-out

garments—his shabby robe, stiff leggings, old moccasins, and filthy

headdress. He now looked like the old man, having a weak voice and a

terrifying cough.

Meanwhile the old man felt grand in the stolen panther-skin robe, for

he had arrived at the chief’s village early in the evening. In front of

the chief’s lodge was a broad river. The chief appeared to him on the

opposite side, and the old man shouted across to him to be ferried

over. The chief’s eldest daughter rowed across in a canoe and, seeing

the fine-looking man wearing the panther-skin robe and moving around

with a haughty bearing, asked him, “Who are you and whither are you

going?” The old man coolly replied: “I come from the east, and I am

going to the lodge across the river. The truth of the matter is, I am

looking for a wife, and I hear that the chief has three marriageable

daughters.” “Well, I am one of his daughters,” replied the young woman.

Then the old thief answered, “Oh! I think that you would suit me very

well.” “Then you are my husband, and we will live together,” rejoined

the young woman. She brought him to her father’s lodge and showed him

her couch, which was beautifully adorned with fine furs and skins,

saying, “This is your place for repose.” He sat there quietly until his

wife came to him.

The next evening the elder brother and the Turkey Brother appeared on

the opposite side of the river. The former attempted to shout, but his

voice was so weak and thin that for a long time he could not make

himself heard. At last, some one outside of the lodge said, “There are

a man and a turkey on the other side of the river, who are trying to

cross.” The youngest daughter of the chief went over and asked the man,

who was old in appearance, whence he came and who he was. “I came from

the east,” he replied, “and I am on my way to the chief’s lodge. I want

to get married, and so I am looking for a wife.” “Looking for a wife?

Why, you are too old to marry,” replied the chief’s daughter. “I am not

old; I am quite young. Perhaps I look old, but here is my brother who

is a little boy yet.” “You come from the east, you say; do you come

from beyond the sorcerer’s spring?” she asked. “I am from beyond that

spring,” he replied. “Did you pass the spring?” she persisted. “Yes, I

did; and I cleared it of its monstrous denizens,” declared the elder

brother. “Did you come past the little old man who runs around the

tree?” was her next question. “Yes; and that is why I look as old as I

do. He craftily stole my enchanted outfit—my garments and dress,”

declared the elder brother. In her own mind the young woman thought

that this was the man for whom they were waiting, so she resolved to

marry him. Saying to him, “You may come along with me,” she ferried him

with his brother across the river and took him to the lodge of her

father, where she showed him to her couch, which was also beautifully

adorned with skins and fine furs. She told him, “This is your place of

rest.” Above it was a smaller bed, and she added, “Your brother can

have that couch,” and they placed the Turkey Brother up there.

That night the old thief opened the fisher-skin pouch to take out the

pipe, but the fisher bit his finger and it was with the greatest

difficulty that he released his finger from its mouth.

After the youngest daughter brought her husband home there was great

dissatisfaction in the lodge because of her seemingly poor choice of a

husband. They tried to get the aged chief to dissuade her from living

with her husband, but with a knowing look he would say, “Oh! she knows

what she is doing; so let her alone.”

For a number of days these families lived without any unusual incident.

Then the husband of the youngest daughter informed her that he was ill

with severe pains in the stomach, and that she must get from her father

his best wampum bowl, because he, the sick man, desired to disgorge

into it. Hurrying away, she brought the bowl. Her husband cast up

enough beautiful black wampum to fill it completely. Then he bade her,

“Take this to your father and give it to him for me.” In receiving it,

the chief remarked: “Oh! thanks. I knew that he is a great man, for he

came from a good country. He is the greatest man of whom I have ever

heard. This is a beautiful present.” [36]

When the eldest daughter’s husband heard of this he said to his wife,

“Run to your father and get his wampum bowl. I too desire to use it.”

When she had brought it, he filled it in a similar manner, but only

with half-decayed lizards and worms and all manner of foul things of an

intolerably offensive odor. He then bade her to take it to her father

as a present from him. She did so, but her father was very angry,

saying: “How dare you bring that vile stuff to me. Run to the creek

with it, and thoroughly wash and scrape the bowl; wash it many times

over. But never do this again.”

A few days later the husband of the youngest daughter said again, “Go

to your father and get that wampum bowl again.” This time he filled the

bowl heaping full with beautiful white wampum. He then said, “Take this

to your father as a present from me.” She ran with it to her father,

and the old chief was delighted with it, saying: “Oh! he is a man. I

thought that there was something great in him, for he comes of a

powerful family of a great tribe in a good country.”

When the husband of the eldest daughter heard of this present of white

wampum he again sent for the wampum bowl and used it with such result

that his devoted wife did not dare go with it to her father, but went

quickly to the creek, where she spent an entire day in thoroughly

cleansing it.

At this time a Wildcat and a Fox came to visit the husband of the

youngest daughter of the chief, for they were his friends. As they

walked around, the Wildcat would rub against his legs and purr, and

talk to him. It was not long before the Fox saw the Turkey Brother

sitting on his couch over the bed, and said to the Wildcat, “That is a

fine gobbler up there. Can you get him for us?” The next night the

Wildcat, as the Turkey Brother’s bed was near the fire, crawled down

the smoke-hole to a point from which it could reach him. But the Turkey

Brother, sitting with his eyes open, saw the Wildcat, and, waiting

until it got within reach, struck it on the head with a club which he

kept and tumbled it into the fire, in which the Wildcat rolled about a

number of times, with the result that it got a singed coat. It got out

of the fire and began to cry, “Oh! I have fits.” “You can not have fits

here,” cried the eldest sister, jumping out of her bed and kicking it

out of doors. “That is not a turkey,” said the Wildcat to the Fox, “it

is a wizard.”

At this time the youngest daughter of the chief said to her husband,

“Why do you not take your enchanted articles of dress from that old

thief?” Her husband replied: “I shall do so when the proper time comes.

But in the meantime, will you ask your father for his bow and arrows,

for I much wish to go on a hunting trip?” So she went to her father

with her husband’s request, and her father willingly gave his

permission for the use of his bow and arrows, saying, “Yes; he shall

have them if he needs them,” and his daughter carried them back to her

husband.

The next day her husband went on a hunting expedition, and he had the

good fortune to kill a large number of deer; more, in fact, than had

ever been killed before in that place. He called the Wildcat and the

Fox and said to them, “I give you one deer from this pile.” So they

gladly dragged the deer away and ate it. After the game was brought to

the chief’s lodge it was distributed among the people, and all had an

equal share. No one was left without venison, and every one wondered at

the prowess of the hunter.

Then the old chief notified the people that there would be a great

council on the following day at the lodge of public assembly. Everyone

else was up at the break of day, but the eldest daughter of the chief

and her husband slept soundly. While they were asleep the husband of

the chief’s youngest daughter took from the old thief the panther-skin

robe, the moccasins, the leggings, and the pouch of fisher skin which

had been stolen from him by craft. Having recovered his own garments

and accouterments, he now donned them to attend the council.

There remained in the chief’s lodge only the old woman, the servants,

and the sleeping couple. Finally the old woman, the chief’s wife, went

to the couch of the sleepers, and said, “Come! come! you two, arise,”

at the same time shaking her daughter. Then looking more closely at her

sleeping son-in-law she started back in utter disgust, with the

exclamation, “That is a nice-looking husband you have in your arms!”

When the covers were removed the true character of the man appeared.

With the loss of the stolen enchanted garments he had immediately

become old and shrunken, with the face of an owl. The unhappy woman

awoke, and, looking at her husband, she was surprised to see what an

ugly creature had been sleeping with her. So without any compunction

she dragged him out of bed and pushed him with his own soiled garments

out of the lodge, saying, “I shall never again have you for a husband.”

The wily old owl at once disappeared and was never seen in that place

again.

When the husband of the chief’s youngest daughter came into the lodge

he looked strong, young, and vigorous. The panther’s head on his robe

cried out, the loon’s feathers sang. Opening his pouch and taking out

the pipe, he lighted it and smoked; the bullfrog croaked, the

blacksnake wriggled and tried to swallow the bullfrog. All the people

looked on in wonder, and they said, “We have never before seen a man

with orenda so powerful.” Then this magically potent son-in-law said to

his father-in-law, “I must now go home to my uncle in the far east.”

“We shall go, too,” replied the aged chief, and all the people shouted

assent. They were soon ready to follow. The young husband replied: “It

is well. My brother and I will go on ahead to prepare for you. You are

welcome.”

Then, calling his Turkey Brother, he said to him, “Now, my dear

brother, I think that you may take off your turkey-skin robe and put on

garments such as other boys wear.” His brother had grown to be a large

boy, for he was nearing the age of puberty. So he removed his

turkey-skin robe and put on his new style of garments, in which he

looked well.

The two brothers then started, and they reached home in one day. But

the old chief and his people were six years on the way. They could not

travel with the speed of men possessed of powerful orenda. They were

welcomed with joy on their arrival in the country of the chief’s potent

son-in-law, and the old chief and his people thereafter lived there in

comfort and peace.

21. DEADOEÑDJADASES (THE EARTH-GIRDLER) AND THE OLD WOMAN’S GRANDSON

An old woman and her grandson lived together in a lodge in a large

forest. They were both feeble and poor, for the old woman had no

able-bodied person to help her and her grandson was still a very small

boy. The old woman cried much of the time, therefore, on account of

their needy condition. Every day, however, she went into the forest to

gather firewood. She felled trees by burning, and when they were on the

ground she burned them into pieces of such length that she would be

able to carry them to her lodge; but whether she was going or coming

from the forest she wept without ceasing.

At last her little grandson said to her, “Grandmother, why do you cry

all the time, both night and day? Tell me, will you?” In reply she

said, “I had many brothers and relatives, but they are all dead now.”

Then she took the little boy by the hand, and drawing him to a door,

she opened it and led the boy into another room, in which he had never

been before. This room was full of articles of dress of every kind and

of weapons, ball clubs, balls painted (with symbols of) heads, and a

drum. The boy wondered at what he saw here and wanted very much to

touch the various articles, but his grandmother told him that he must

not remain in the room, nor should he touch any of the things.

The next day when she had again gone after wood for fuel the boy went

to the forbidden room and beat the drum, whose sound was so pleasing

that he was delighted. Taking a ball and a lacrosse club he went out of

doors and began to play ball—that is, lacrosse. He threw the ball with

the club and it flew far away toward the east. So he ran after the ball

until he found it in a large clearing. And this place was so pleasant

that he was very glad to be there. But he soon started for home,

arriving there before the grandmother had returned with the wood to the

lodge.

On the following day, while his grandmother was absent in the forest,

the little grandson again visited the mysterious room and played around

in it; but he did not forget to be home before his grandmother

returned. He did likewise for several days. But finally he beat the

drum so heavily that the old woman heard him far away in the forest.

She hastened home at once and scolded the lad for his disobedience,

saying, “Why did you go into that room when I told you not to go there

nor to touch any of the things?” “Oh, grandmother,” he replied, “do not

talk about that, but tell me where are all our friends—my father and

mother, my brothers and sisters, and my cousins?” The grandmother said

deprecatingly: “Oh, you can never see them. There is a man dwelling far

away in the east who carries off people and devours them. His name is

Deadoeñdjadases, and it is he who has eaten all our friends and

relations.” The lad with impatience replied: “Make me four pairs of

moccasins. I will fetch them back.” His grandmother, weeping, refused

his request, yet she prepared him for the journey.

When he was ready he went eastward, traveling many days and nights

until he arrived at a broad clearing in the forest. In the middle of it

he saw a long lodge and a person who looked like the inflated skin of a

man, watching this clearing, which was occupied by a large strawberry

patch.[37] This sentinel guarded the field night and day. Oddly enough,

the long lodge extended from north to south instead of from east to

west.

The lad, standing concealed within the edge of the woods and calling a

mole, said to it, “I want to borrow your skin for a while.” The mole

agreed to his request, and then the lad removed his own garments and

laid them back of a tree. Then, after reducing his size sufficiently,

he crawled into the skin of the mole. Making his way under the leaves

and underground until he came to the spot above which was the skin man,

he shouted to the sentinel: “Come down, my friend! I want to talk with

you.”

After the lad had promised to liberate the skin man, Hadjoqda, and to

give him back his flesh body, Hadjoqda related to him all the secrets

of this mysterious clearing and of the people who lived in it. He told

him: “The man who dwells in that long lodge is called Deadoeñdjadases.

He goes around the world every day, seizing and killing people, whose

bodies he brings home to eat. Living in the lodge with him are three

sisters, who are all great witches. Every day they are engaged in

preparing human flesh and pounded green corn, for their ferocious

brother will eat nothing else. When not so occupied, the three sisters

spend their time driving elks out of the clearing, which is covered

with the most beautiful strawberries.” Hadjoqda continued: “Neither

Deadoeñdjadases (nor his sisters, for that matter) has a heart in his

body; and no one can kill them by beating or cutting them up, for their

lives are in another place. In the corner of the lodge is a bed; under

this bed is a lake; in this lake a loon swims about; and under the

right wing of this loon are the four hearts (the lives) of

Deadoeñdjadases and his sisters. The largest heart is his own, the next

in size is that of his eldest sister, and the smallest is that of his

youngest sister. If you squeeze these hearts their owners will faint

away; but if you crush them they will die.” [38]

The lad gave Hadjoqda a piece of false wampum which he had made from a

small reed and colored with strawberry juice, saying: “The sisters are

calling you now. You must tell them that you were making this wampum as

the reason why you have remained away so long. I shall become in person

just like their brother and shall return home ill, as it were, and

expectorate blood. When I am in their lodge I shall cause the elks to

run into the strawberry patch, and you must give the usual alarm. While

the sisters are out driving the elk I shall have time to take their

hearts from under the wing of the loon.”

The sisters, missing Hadjoqda, called to him many times. When he

reached the lodge they angrily asked him: “Where have you been? What

have you been doing?” “I have been making this piece of wampum,” said

he. All three sisters wanted it, and they were satisfied, for he gave

it to them. They pardoned him for his absence. Then he told them that

their brother had come home earlier than usual, and that he was ill and

spitting up blood.

Now, the lad, going back to the mole, returned its coat and donned his

own garments. Then, assuming the exact form and manner of

Deadoeñdjadases, he walked through the clearing toward the lodge,

spitting blood.

When he entered the lodge none of the sisters except the youngest

suspected any deceit. She looked at him sharply, saying, “This is not

our brother.” Then they tried him with different kinds of food, but he

would eat nothing until they brought him human flesh and pounded green

corn, which he ate heartily. This satisfied them that there was no

deception.

While he was eating, the alarm came that the elks were in the

strawberry patch, and the three sisters, armed with their war clubs,

ran out to drive away the elks. The lad lost no time in going to the

bed and raising its cover. There he saw a lake in which a loon was

swimming. He called it to him and asked for the hearts. The loon raised

its left wing, for it was in doubt whether to give up the hearts or

not. “Oh, no,” declared the lad; “the hearts are under your right wing.

So raise that wing.” Being satisfied as to his right to ask for the

hearts, the loon did so; and the lad, seizing them, rushed out of the

lodge just as the sisters returned from chasing the elks.

Resuming his natural form, the lad ran around exultingly, crying, “I

have taken your hearts. I have taken your hearts.” Then the three

sisters pursued him with their war clubs. As the eldest was on the

point of overtaking him, the lad squeezed her heart and she fell down

in a faint. Then the second sister drew close to him, when he at once

squeezed her heart and she, too, fell in a faint. The same thing

happened to the third sister also. Then the lad came to a great round,

flat rock, where Deadoeñdjadases was accustomed to kill his victims; he

ran around this while the sisters, who had recovered from their

fainting spells, sought to close with him. Every little while he would

squeeze a heart and its owner would fall in a faint; but as soon as he

stopped squeezing she would spring up again. When he had sufficiently

tortured the sisters in this manner he ruthlessly dashed their hearts

against the great rock, one after another, and thus all were killed.

When the cannibal returned at the usual time and did not find his

sisters at home he was very angry; but Hadjoqda assured him that they

were pursuing the elks and that his dinner was left all prepared for

him. Deadoeñdjadases sat down and began to eat. Emboldened by the fact

that the lad stood beside him holding the heart of Deadoeñdjadases,

Hadjoqda taunted Deadoeñdjadases, “the Earth-circler.” [39]

At once Deadoeñdjadases rushed after the lad, who ran toward the great

rock. When the man-eater drew near him the lad would squeeze the heart

and the great Deadoeñdjadases would fall in a faint. When the lad

ceased squeezing the heart the man-eater would rise again. So, no

matter how he tried, he could get only as near the lad as the latter

would let him. When tired of this kind of sport the lad dashed the

heart of the man-eater against the rock, and Deadoeñdjadases fell dead

in his tracks.

Around the great rock on every hand the lad found heaps of human bones,

which he carefully gathered together into a great pile. Placing

Hadjoqda on the ground with his head toward the west and his feet

toward the east, the youth went to a great hickory which was standing

near and shouted, “Do you all rise and run or the tree will fall on

you.” On the instant a great number of persons arose and ran in every

direction. Hadjoqda received his body back and became at once as well

as ever. But some had legs and arms which had belonged to others, and

hence were deformed in these members.

“Now,” said the lad to Hadjoqda, “there is no other such strawberry

patch in the world. We must all come here to live. This field shall

belong to you, and I and all my people shall settle around here. I

shall go after my grandmother and you must go after your friends.”

Among the people whom he had raised the youth found all his relations,

and these persons accompanied him on his journey to bring his

grandmother to that country. His grandmother was very glad to see all

her relations again, as she had never expected this good fortune.

Taking their garments and weapons which the grandmother had kept for

them in the long room, all set out, with the aged grandmother, for the

great strawberry patch of Deadoeñdjadases. With their friends and

relations from far and near, all settled in villages around the great

strawberry patch, they lived in great contentment thereafter. Among

these people who were raised by the potent youth were the Okweson,

Osoon, and the Goqgwaih [i.e., the Partridges, the Wild Turkeys, and

the Quail]; the youth and his grandmother, and even Hadjoqda, belonged

to the Osoon tribe.

22. HATʻHONDAS (THE LISTENER) [40]

Once upon a time an uncle and his nephew lived together in the forest.

Being very needy, they gathered and cooked for food fungi which grow on

trees. After they had lived some time in this way his uncle said one

day to the boy, who had grown nearly to the age of puberty, “To-morrow

you must go out yonder into the ravine to listen, and as soon as you

hear something you must hurry back to tell me what it is.”

The nephew did as he was ordered. The next morning as soon as he heard

the song of a bird he hurried home, rushing almost breathless into the

lodge and crying, “Oh, uncle, I have heard something!” “Wait a while,

nephew,” said the uncle. “Wait until I light my pipe and the smoke

rises from it.” [41]

Soon the smoke arose from the pipe; then Hatʻhondas told what he had

heard, imitating the call of a bird. “Oh, nephew! that is nothing. Go

again to-morrow,” said the uncle. He went the next day, and heard a

bird of some other kind. After rushing to the lodge as before, and

after his uncle had lighted the pipe, he told his uncle what he had

heard. Each day he heard a new bird and told his uncle what he had

heard. After several such fruitless trips to the ravine he heard two

women singing, “I am going [am on my way] to marry Dooehdanegen.” [42]

The women were moving through the air coming toward his uncle’s lodge.

Hatʻhondas rushed home almost breathless, crying, “Oh, uncle! I have

heard it.” “Well, what is it?” asked the uncle, and straightway he

lighted his pipe and the smoke arose from it. “I heard two women

singing, ‘I am going to marry Dooehdanegen,’ and they are coming this

way,” declared the nephew. “We must make ready to receive them,” said

the uncle; “we must put the lodge in order.” He therefore smoothed the

skins on his couch and put his nephew’s bed away from his own in the

corner near the ashes, telling his nephew to lie there while the women

were in the lodge, and to face the other way, and further to keep quiet

and not to show his face. The old man then put on his best garments,

with two feathers in his cap, and tried to be as nimble and bright as

when a young man. He kept sending his nephew out to see how near the

women were. When at last they reached the lodge the nephew ran in,

crying, “Oh, uncle, they are here.” “Go to your bed; lie down, and do

not stir,” said the uncle.

The women entered the lodge, bringing a basket of marriage bread.[43]

The old man hurried around to make it pleasant for them, but could not

interest them, for their minds were elsewhere. They kept looking toward

the corner where Hatʻhondas was lying. When night came the old man

spread out the skins of his couch and told them there was the place for

them to lie down; but, going over to the corner where the ashes were

piled, they lay down with Hatʻhondas. They smoothed his hair and

fondled him, speaking pleasant words to and about him. The old man was

very angry and slept none that night. The women left the lodge at

daybreak. When Hatʻhondas awoke, he had become a man in full vigor,

strong and fine looking.

The old uncle now called his nephew, saying: “You now have become a

man. You must follow the women. The mother bears the most noted name in

sorcery in her tribe. She is now seeking a husband for her daughter.

Near her lodge grows a large hickory tree [44] on which sits an eagle

as a target. Whoever can bring down that eagle will get the daughter.

Men go there from every direction and place to shoot at it, but no one

has yet hit it. You must shoot at it, too.”

The old man then brought out from his chest an outfit consisting of a

cap of otter skin, a panther-skin coat, leggings of wildcat skin,

moccasins of owl skin, and a tobacco pouch of fawn skin. The garments,

which were beautiful and endowed with rare orenda (magic power), fitted

the young man well. Then the uncle took the garments off his nephew;

and the cap became a live otter, the robe, or mantle, a live panther,

the leggings a pair of live wildcats, and the moccasins two live owls.

Again he put the garments on his nephew, telling him to sit down. The

latter did so and, opening the pouch, took out a pipe, which he filled

with tobacco. Immediately two girl sprites and two trick pigeons leaped

out of the pouch; the girls brought fire to light the pipe, and as soon

as he put it to his mouth the two pigeons, which were perched on the

stem, rustled their wings and cooed, being very happy.

“Now, my nephew,” said the old man, “spit.” He spat and the spittle

fell to the ground in a shower of wampum beads. “That is enough,” said

the uncle; “you shall always spit wampum from this pipe. Your outfit

will always do what it has done to-day. Now you must start. Go directly

east. About noon you will find a trail. Take that and keep on until you

come to the great hickory tree. Here are a bow and arrows. The arrows

will never miss the mark. On the road you must keep no man company.

Sleep alone and hurry on your way.”

So the young nephew set out. In an hour he came to a trail. Finding it

so soon, he thought it could not be the right one and ran back to

inquire. “Oh! you are a swift runner,” said the uncle; “you found the

right trail. Follow it.” Hatʻhondas started again. Again he found the

trail, which bore toward the east. Near evening he saw a man who was

making a fire by the wayside, and who inquired of Hatʻhondas, “Where

are you going?” “Oh! where all are going—to shoot at the eagle on the

hickory tree,” replied the young man. “Stay with me. It is too late to

go farther,” said the stranger. “No! I must go on,” answered

Hatʻhondas, hurrying away. At night he built a fire and slept by

himself. The next day he went on without interruption until evening,

when a man who was building a fire beside the trail urged him to stop,

but he refused to do so. Again the man urged him but Hatʻhondas would

go on.

The third evening he came on a man who insisted and coaxed so much that

he remained with him overnight. Each occupied one side of the fire.

After supper, Hatʻhondas took off his garments and soon fell asleep.

The strange man attempted to steal the clothes, but the mantle,

changing into a panther, would not let him come near. Then the man, bit

by bit, fed meat to the panther until the animal was pacified, when he

put the mantle on his own shoulders. So with the leggings and all the

other things, until at last he got possession of the whole outfit of

the young man, except the bow and arrows, which he forgot. When ready,

he thrust a sharp dart of hickory bark down the backbone of Hatʻhondas,

and at daylight hurried away to the company which had gathered at the

great woman’s lodge to shoot at the eagle.

Hatʻhondas awoke in terrible pain; he was doubled up like an old man

and began to cough badly. After much effort and great suffering, he

succeeded in putting on the other man’s garments and in dragging

himself some distance to a log, on which he sat, holding his bow and

arrows, with his head bowed in sorrow.

After he had been sitting there a couple of hours, a poor,

destitute-looking girl came to him, saying: “My mother lives not far

from here. I will take you to her.” On going home with the girl he

learned that her mother was his own sister and that she was therefore

his niece. He told his sister about the visit of the two women, about

setting out to shoot the eagle and being robbed on the road of

everything but his bow and arrows, and, lastly, about becoming decrepit

and aged-looking from the effects of the hickory bark thrust down his

backbone. His sister and her daughter were very poor. They had no meat.

As they were talking, a robin perched on the edge of the smoke-hole.

Hatʻhondas drew his bow with great difficulty and shot an arrow which

killed the bird. His sister cut it into small pieces and, bruising

them, made some soup, which in a measure strengthened her brother. The

next day a partridge came in like manner and he killed that, too; and

then a turkey, so they had provision enough. Many days later his sister

drew the bark from her brother’s back and he became well again.

As he sat by the door one day he heard a great shouting and tumult, and

asked what it meant. They told him that it was the sounds made by those

who had assembled to shoot the eagle, and pointed out the great hickory

tree, the top of which could be seen above the forest, seemingly not

more than 200 or 300 rods away.

The next day, on looking toward the tree, he could see that some arrows

came very near the eagle, some not so near, and others far away from

it. At last he said, “I must shoot an arrow at that eagle.” “Oh!” said

the sister, “you can not hit it from here.” But he would have his own

way, and going outside of the lodge with his bow and arrow, he said to

his sister’s daughter: “Go out into the crowd. When I shoot the arrow

and the bird falls to the ground run and bring it here with the arrow

sticking in it, and let no one take it from you.” The girl went. Her

uncle shot, and his arrow, flying through the air, struck the eagle.

When she grasped the bird after it had fallen to the ground a man

pushed her aside, and snatching the bird from her disappeared in the

crowd. She cried out, but no one heeded her. Now, the crowd gathered at

a mound, a short distance from the tree. On this mound the great witch

woman was sitting with her friends to witness the shooting. The people

stood in a circle. The stranger came up with the eagle and claimed her

youngest daughter, who, insisting that he was not the right man,

refused to marry him; but the old woman said her promise must be kept,

and had the marriage proclaimed.

When, in the evening, the young wife would not remove her designated

husband’s clothing, the old woman did so. On taking off the moccasins,

and throwing them, tied together, over a crossbar near the couch, they

became owls, so wretchedly weak that they were barely able to hold on

to their perch; and so with the panther, the wildcats, and the otter;

they seemed scarcely alive.

The young woman would not go near her designated husband, but, rolling

herself up in a bearskin, slept apart. The next morning the

mother-in-law, addressing her intended son-in-law, said: “What can you

do for me [in thaumaturgy]?” He opened his pouch, from out of which

came the girls, who were barely able to bring a coal of fire, and the

pigeons, nearly lifeless. He smoked, and cast spittle on a deerskin

which was spread before him, and spittle it remained. Again he tried,

but with the same result. Then the mother-in-law, growing angry, went

away in disgust and chagrin.

The evening after Hatʻhondas was robbed the sky was red, and his uncle

at home knew that his nephew was in great trouble—that his life was in

danger. He sat down by the fire, throwing ashes on his head, and wept,

saying, “Oh! nephew, I shall mourn for you ten summers.” But now the

sky was not so red, and the old man knew that his nephew had gained

some relief.

The second night the young woman slept apart from her designated

husband.

The next day Hatʻhondas’s niece, the poor woman’s daughter, said, “I

will visit the great witch woman, for she is a friend of mine.” When

the girl went to the lodge, the great woman was glad to see her. She

heard all the news of the marriage and that the young woman would not

go near her designated husband. On reaching home she told her mother

all she had heard. The next day very early, while the strange man was

still asleep, Hatʻhondas’s sister went into the great witch woman’s

lodge and, taking the panther-skin coat with the rest of the garments

and having thrust the piece of hickory bark into the back of the

sleeping husband, hurried home.

Hatʻhondas now had his whole outfit. Putting on his garments and taking

his bow and arrows he went to the lodge of the great witch woman. When

the daughter saw him coming, she could scarcely retain herself for joy,

crying out, “That is the man! That is the man!”

It was now almost noon, and the designated husband had not appeared. On

looking for him they found him on the couch all doubled up, old and

miserable, and coughing terribly.

As the arrow which was still sticking in the eagle was unlike his

arrows but just like those which were in the quiver of Hatʻhondas, the

people were convinced that the old man was a deceiver, so they threw

him out without pity.

Hatʻhondas was now married to the young woman and her mother proclaimed

to all the people, “My youngest daughter is now married.” In the

evening, when the young wife pulled off her husband’s moccasins and

threw them on the crossbeam, they became a pair of fine owls with great

eyes, and hooted; as soon as the panther-skin coat touched the beam it

became a large panther; the leggings became two wildcats; and the cap

an otter.

The next evening the mother-in-law asked her son-in-law, “What can you

do for me?” and spread a deerskin in front of him. As he opened his

pouch the two girls jumped out of it, followed by the two pigeons. The

girls, running nimbly to the fire, brought coals for lighting the pipe.

The pigeons, perching on the pipe as he put it into his mouth, rustled

their wings and cooed. As often as he spat the spittle fell on the skin

in a shower of wampum beads.

The next day he went hunting and killed so many deer, bear, and elk

that all the people had enough, and he sent a great supply to his

sister.

After they had enjoyed life a while, he said, “Now, I must go to my

uncle.” His sister prepared provisions for the journey. She would shake

all the flesh of a deer until it became small as the end of her little

finger, continuing this process until she had in a small pouch venison

enough to fill a lodge. On the way when they wanted to eat venison all

they had to do was to strike a very small portion, when the meat would

resume its natural size. So they traveled till they came to the old

uncle’s lodge.

While his nephew had been away, animals had tormented him by coming to

his door while he was sitting near the fire mourning for his nephew. He

would hear a voice at the door cry, “Quick, Uncle! I have returned,”

but on opening the door-flap he would find merely a fox, rabbit, or

some other creature.

Now, to make sure, he cut a hole in the skin door-flap saying, “Put

your hand through the hole, if you are my nephew.” This being done, he

tied a strong bark string around the wrist and fastened the other end

to the pole at the fireplace; then, seizing the corn-pounder, he opened

the door carefully, intending to strike the intruder. On discovering,

however, that it was really his nephew, he rejoiced and cried out: “Oh!

you have come at last with your wife. Wait, until I clean up a little.”

Soon he let them in. The venison was increased in quantity again by

striking it against the ground, and there was more than enough to fill

the lodge, so they had to build a new lodge in which to store it.

They lived on together happily. This is the story of Hatʻhondas, “The

Listener.”

23. THE STORY OF THE OHOHWA PEOPLE

In a quiet forest, in a lodge of their own, a husband and his wife of

the Ohohwa people lived in much contention. It was their invariable

habit to quarrel all night long. In the morning, however, all was

pleasant again.

One night a visitor came to pay them a call. As soon as the man of the

lodge saw the newcomer he went away from the lodge. Thereupon the

would-be visitor remarked to the woman, “It is indeed strange that he

should go out just as I came in, so I shall go, but will come again at

another time.” With these words he left.

In a short time the husband returned, and being very jealous of his

wife, seized the occasion of this visit of a strange man to scold and

quarrel with her until, becoming enraged, he beat her and finally she

fought in defense of herself. At last, becoming tired of fighting, the

husband started off with the remark: “I am going to get another wife. I

will not be troubled in this way any longer.” Weeping bitterly, she

followed him until, touched by her plight, the husband grew sorry for

what he was doing and returned with her to their lodge.

In the morning he told his wife that he had had a dream during the

night. He said, “My dream spirit told me that I must kill a large bear

and be back home before the dew is off the grass.” Ostensibly he

started away to carry out this injunction, but when he got out of sight

of the lodge he went to the lodge of another woman, who also was of the

Ohohwa people, where he remained all day. Toward night he started for

home. On his way he met a fine-looking woman. He addressed her, saying,

“Where are you going, my cousin?” She replied, “Oh, I am only going

home.” He asked, “Let me go home with you?” Answering coquettishly,

“All right, if you can overtake me,” off she ran with great speed, with

him in pursuit. This woman was of the Djohkwehyanih [45] people.

All night long they ran toward the north. About midday they came to a

lodge, which the woman entered. The Ohohwa man followed, but on

entering the lodge he did not see the woman, but only two old men. He

asked them, “Have you seen a woman pass here?” The two men sat with

their heads down and did not answer the question. But on the question

being repeated by the intruder, one of the men, looking up, said, “It

seems to me that I heard some sound,” and the other made the same

remark. Then he who spoke first said, “Then get our canoe.” Going to

another part of the lodge, the second man returned with a bark canoe

and two basswood knives. “Now,” said the other old man, “seize the game

that has come to our lodge.” The intruder drew back as the old man

advanced, cautioning the old men, saying: “Be very careful, old men.

You are Nosgwais people, as I know. I came only to ask for

information.” But as the two old men advanced the intruder turned and

fled. The old men chased him with great speed. After a while, turning

and running back to the lodge, he seized a wooden mallet and the first

man that appeared at the doorway he knocked on the head, and he did

likewise to the second man. As the old men picked themselves up they

said, “It seems that there is a great deal of fun in the game animal

that has come to us.” On their making another attempt to enter their

lodge the intruder again knocked them down. Thereupon one of the old

men said: “Get up and do the best you can [magically]. Are we to be

beaten in this way? It would indeed be a singular occurrence for us to

be overmatched by the game animal that has come to us.” But in making a

third attempt to enter the lodge the old men were still again knocked

down. But the intruder said to himself, however, “I can not kill these

people, and so I would better try to escape.” So, passing out of the

doorway at the opposite side of the lodge, he saw the tracks of the

woman going directly northward. He followed them all day. When night

came he still saw her tracks leading in the same direction. He remarked

to himself, “I will soon overtake her, I think.” But these tracks were

not those of the woman. He had made a circuit and at daybreak he was

near the starting point. He looked down and, seeing his own tracks,

said: “Oh, another man is following her! I will kill him when I

overtake them.” Soon he came to the lodge of the two old men from which

he had started. Again he inquired of the old men about the woman, but

they caught him and threw him into their canoe. Then they began to

dispute as to which should kill and quarter him. At last they said,

“Push the canoe back and leave it, for the game animal can not run

away.” Indeed, the man could not release himself, as he seemed to be

fastened to the canoe.

Toward night be heard a voice saying: “You think that you are going to

die. You would be were it not for me.” The man in the canoe replied, “I

do think so.” Then the invisible man said: “No; you shall not die. At

the end of the canoe there is a string, to which hang the two hearts of

the old men; and this is why you were not able to kill them by knocking

them on the head when you were here before (he now knew for the first

time that he was in the same lodge again). Wait until it is dusk; then

try to move and you will work loose. Then get out of the canoe quietly,

and I will give you light to see where the hearts are. Take them off

the string and pound them up, and you will be free. You can then remain

here all night. The canoe has great orenda (magic power), and these two

old men use the canoe when they travel. If you wish, I will teach you

the song that belongs to it.” The man in the canoe, being very weak,

could hardly speak, but he replied, “Yes; I should like to learn the

song.” Then the invisible man answered, “I will teach you the song,”

and he began singing, “Tgâiiehe onĕⁿ o’waqdĕñdĭʼ neʼʹ akʻhoñwâⁿʼ.” When

he finished singing “Correctly my canoe has started” the man in the

canoe thanked him, saying that he had learned the song. After dusk he

began to move, and as he moved he gained strength. Looking around, he

saw a pale light in the end of the canoe. Having freed himself, he took

the hearts from the cord, and as he crushed them he heard groans and

wails of pain. Placing them under the canoe, he crushed them, and their

cries ceased. Then the young man lay down and slept.

The next morning he awoke and said: “Now I have something in which I

can travel. I shall now soon overtake the woman.” Setting the canoe

outside of the lodge, he turned its bow toward the north, and, getting

into it, he sang the song which he had learned to cause it to fly. The

canoe started off so rapidly that only the wind could be heard as it

flowed past his ears. All the time the canoe kept going higher and

higher and swifter and swifter, and the youth grew more and more

frightened; he began to fear that the canoe might bear him off to some

evil place. Suddenly he heard a scrambling sound at the stern of the

canoe, as if some one were trying to board it from the rear. Looking

around, the youth saw a man getting aboard, who said: “It is wonderful

how fast you are going. I was bound to get aboard, so I leaped. You are

afraid this canoe will carry you away. I am the person who was with you

last night. It is my fault that you are frightened, for I did not give

you full instructions. The reason the canoe goes faster and faster and

higher and higher is that you keep repeating the song. You should

change the words of the song, and then you can guide it. I came to tell

you this.” As he stopped speaking, he stepped off the stern of the

canoe into the air and disappeared.

The youth now changed the words of the song, singing, “Tgāiiehe

wa’tkĕⁿ’dioñʹdă’t ne’ʹ akʻhoñʹwãⁿʼ,” and at once the canoe began to

descend, gradually coming to the ground. But the occupant of the canoe

exclaimed, “Oh! this is not what I wanted. I desired to come down a

little lower only, not to the ground.” So he sang again the first words

of the song. At once the canoe shot upward like an arrow and, heading

northward, flew faster than it did before. As it flew along the youth

saw the woman’s tracks ahead. Higher and higher went the canoe, the

wind whizzing past his ears in a frightful manner. The speed of the

canoe troubled the youth, and finally he exclaimed, “Oh! I am getting

too high again.” Then, recollecting that he must change the words of

the song, he sang, “Tgāiiehe hehdageshon hohweson nakʻhoñʹwâⁿʼ.” The

canoe descended, but its speed was so great that he was greatly

disturbed and distressed. At last he said, “I have learned the music,

and all I have to do is to sing, ‘My canoe must stop immediately.’”

[The story ends here thus abruptly.]

24. THE CHESTNUT TREE GUARDED BY THE SEVEN SISTERS

In a small lodge, deep in a dense forest, a man lived alone with his

nephew. It was the custom of the uncle to cook every day the food

required by his nephew, but he never ate with him. There came a time,

however, when the little nephew asked his uncle to eat with him. The

only reply was, “No; I have already eaten my food.” Then, urging his

nephew to be quiet, he would remark, “I have cooked this food for you

alone.”

As the little nephew grew older he began to wonder at this strange

conduct of his uncle. Finally he asked him: “Oh, my uncle, I never see

you eat! How is this?” But the uncle made him no reply. So the little

nephew decided to try to catch his uncle eating by spying on him. One

night after this, when the little nephew had eaten his supper, he said:

“Oh, uncle, I am very tired and sleepy. I am now going to bed to get a

good rest.” With this remark he lay down on his bed, and drawing over

him the deerskin cover soon began to snore as if he were sound asleep.

The wily old uncle waited a while, and then assuming that his nephew

was fast asleep, he decided to begin getting his own evening meal.

Going to his bed and carefully searching among the skins with which it

was covered, he drew forth a small kettle and a very small bundle. Then

placing the kettle on the bench near the fire and opening the bundle,

he took out of it some substance, a small quantity of which he scraped

into the kettle. After putting water into the kettle he hung it over

the fire. When the water began to boil the old man, taking a wand from

its wrappings of skin, began to strike gently on the kettle while he

sang the words, “Now, my kettle, I want you to grow in size.” Obedient

to the words of the song, the kettle began to increase in size and its

contents grew in bulk. Repeating the words and continuing to tap gently

on the kettle, the old man watched it becoming larger and larger. He

kept up the singing until he decided that the kettle would hold enough

of the mush which he was making to satisfy his hunger; then he stopped

singing and tapping on the kettle. Carefully replacing the rod, or

wand, in its skin wrapping, he removed the kettle from the fire and sat

down to eat. After finishing his supper he carefully washed his kettle;

then he shook it until it decreased to the size it was when he took it

from the hiding place under the bed, to which place he now returned the

rod, the bundle, and the kettle.

The nephew, who was still feigning sleep, was watching his uncle

through a hole in the bed covering. He decided to take breakfast with

his uncle in the morning, and in order to do this he resolved to arise

much earlier than usual. When he arose, however, the youth found that

his uncle had finished breakfast and was preparing something for him to

eat.

After the uncle had gone out to hunt the youth brought into the lodge a

large quantity of bark to make a good fire. About midday he said to

himself: “I am going to be very kind and good. My uncle will be tired

when he returns, so I shall have his supper all ready for him. I think

that I can prepare it just as he does.” For a long time he searched in

his uncle’s bed for the bundle; at last he found it. On opening it he

discovered that it contained a small fragment of a chestnut. Beside the

bundle he found the kettle, which was very small. These were the only

articles he found under his uncle’s bed. He wondered and wondered at

what he had discovered, for he could not understand how it was that

with this bit of chestnut and the tiny kettle his uncle could make

enough mush to feed him. Finally he decided on his course of action,

saying to himself: “Well, I must do this exactly as my uncle did. This

chestnut must be enough for one more meal.”

Kindling a good fire, the youth carefully scraped all the chestnut into

the kettle; and then he poured water into the kettle and set it over

the fire. Then taking the wand from its skin wrapping, when the water

began to boil he gently tapped on the kettle, saying, “I want you to

grow, my kettle.” He was so much amused by the increase in size of the

kettle that he kept on tapping it and repeating the magical words,

until there was hardly room enough in the lodge for him, because the

kettle and the mush which it contained had grown so large; so, climbing

to the roof, he continued to tap the kettle until it touched the sides

of the lodge. He was so busy that he did not see his uncle approaching.

The latter from a distance saw him on the roof, and watched his

actions. As he approached the lodge he heard the nephew say, “Oh, grow!

my kettle. Oh, grow! my little kettle,” and then he knew that the youth

had discovered everything. This made the uncle very sad and depressed.

He called to his nephew: “What have you done now, my nephew?” The youth

replied in delight: “Oh, I have so much pudding that we shall have a

grand feast.” Then he told his uncle everything.

The uncle asked, “Did you use all the chestnut?” The youth replied,

“Yes. There was only a small bit here.” Thereupon the poor uncle

exclaimed: “By doing this you kill me. That is the only kind of food I

can eat. I shall die of hunger now. That kind of chestnut does not grow

everywhere, and only a person who has great orenda (magic power) can

get it.” “Oh, pshaw!” replied the nephew; “I know where there are whole

trees full of chestnuts of this kind. I can get a large bagful for you,

my uncle. So do not worry.” The uncle, unconsoled, replied: “No, it is

not possible for you to do so. This is a bad thing that you have done.

This chestnut would have lasted me for years. Now I never can get

another; I shall starve to death. I may as well tell you about it, for

I must soon die.”

Then, shaking the kettle slightly to decrease its size so that he could

get into the lodge, the uncle said: “There is but one tree in the world

that bears such chestnuts. Seven sisters who are great sorcerers own

that tree. Many men have lost their lives in trying to get these

chestnuts.” The youth confidently replied, “I am sure that I can get

you one.” The uncle answered: “No, you can not. You are yet only a

small boy. You would lose your life. These seven women have a great

eagle perched upon a very tall tree to watch it. Night and day he

guards it. Not a living thing can come near the tree, for if even a man

try his utmost the eagle would discover him and scream out a cry of

distress. Thereupon the sisters would come forth and beat the intruder

to death no matter who he might be. Men have often taken the forms of

various birds and animals to try to deceive them, but so far they have

all failed in their attempts. These seven sisters have beaten to death

everything that has come near that chestnut tree.” But this kindly

advice did not change the youth’s resolve to make the attempt to get

some of these well-guarded chestnuts.

The next morning he said to his uncle, “You must tell me where the tree

stands, for I am going to try to find it.” When the fond uncle saw that

he could not repress his nephew’s desire to go, he replied: “Go toward

the rising sun, and after you have passed through the forests

intervening you will come to a large open space. In the middle of this

great clearing you will see a very tall tree near which stands a lodge.

On the top of this tree sits the eagle with his sharp eyes looking in

all directions; and it is in this lodge that the seven sisters dwell.”

Taking a bag, the young nephew said: “Now, cheer up, uncle. I will

bring you a whole bagful of chestnuts before you have finished eating

the pudding in that kettle.” With this remark the youth started toward

the sunrise. After traveling for some time he killed a deer, which he

cut up, filling his bag with the venison.

Finally the nephew came to a place where he began to see through the

forests to an opening, whereupon he resolved that he must put forth all

his caution and craft. So, having the mole as his fetish, he called out

“Now, my friend, I want you to come to me; come to me, you mole!” In a

short time the leaves began to rustle at his feet, and a mother mole

appeared and asked him, “What do you want of me?” The youth replied: “I

have done a great mischief to my uncle by scraping away all his

chestnut. Now I want you to help me get more for him. I shall enter

your body and you will carry me underground to that tall tree yonder on

which the eagle is sitting. When you are under the tree thrust out your

nose a little so that I can see. I shall have to carry my bag with me.

Do you think that you can bear me and it, too?” The mole answered, “Oh,

yes! I can carry all.”

After reducing his size magically, the youth entered the body of the

mole and then it made its way to the tree indicated. As the mole

arrived directly under the tree, thrusting its nose out of the ground,

it said, “The eagle is looking.” In a flash the youth, stepping out of

the mole, scattered venison all over the ground under the tree. The

eagle flew down and began to eat voraciously of the meat. In the

meantime the youth stuffed his bag with the chestnuts, which he

gathered in handfuls, and just as the eagle was finishing the last

morsel, the mole was engaged in carrying the youth with his bag back to

the forest. When the meat was all eaten the eagle uttered a loud

scream, and out ran the seven sisters with their clubs. When they saw

that the chestnuts were already stolen and that no one was in sight,

they fell upon the eagle and beat it until they had nearly killed him.

Arriving in the forest, the youth said to the mole: “Now, I will hide

my chestnuts here, and you must then take me back to the lodge of the

seven sisters, so I can hear what they say, in order to learn whether

they intend to follow us in an attempt to recover the chestnuts.”

Having again entered the body of the mole, the youth told it to go

under the ground until it came to the lodge. The mole obeyed him

literally. When the mole reached the lodge, it thrust out its nose and

mouth. The youth then stuck his ear out of its mouth and listened to

what was being said in the lodge. He finally overheard one of the

sisters say: “It must be a young man just grown. No one has succeeded

since his uncle in stealing the chestnuts. Perhaps he has a nephew now

who is as crafty as he used to be, and it may be that he, too, is going

to live on chestnuts.” Another answered her, saying: “Well, they are

stolen. We may as well let them go.” After hearing this last speech the

youth asked the mole to bear him back to the forest at once. After

reaching the forest the youth dismissed the mole with thanks for its

aid, and then hurried home.

When the youth reached home he found his uncle sitting by the fire,

singing his death song, “I must now die of hunger, for my nephew will

never return to me.” Then the nephew rushed into the lodge, saying,

“Oh, my uncle! I have brought you here a bag full of chestnuts.” The

old man welcomed his nephew home and gave thanks to their guardian

spirits for the latter’s success, and he was very, very happy. He is

still making chestnut puddings. His nephew became a great hunter. He

obtained whatever be desired, because he had the mole for his guardian

spirit and aid.

[Note.—There are several versions of the foregoing story. In one

version the tree is guarded by geese. The lad entered one of the geese,

and as the seven sisters were bathing he slipped from the goose into

the person of the youngest sister, and she thereby became pregnant.

Being born of her, he became the master of the chestnuts.]

25. THE OTTER’S HEART AND THE CLAW FETISHES

Once in the fall of the year in time long past, a prominent chief with

six or seven families went on a hunting expedition far away from their

village. Having arrived at their usual hunting grounds, they did not

find any game for many days. At last the chief, whose fetish, or charm,

was a fawn skin, calling the members of the party to his kanosʻha

(temporary lodge), asked each person to lay hold of his pouch fetish,

and to declare while touching the pouch what he or she intended to kill

on the following day.

The first one to touch the pouch was a man who said that he intended to

kill a bear; the next said that he intended to kill a deer, and so on;

and finally the chief’s wife declared that she intended to kill geese.

But, as the pouch passed around, the chief’s daughter requested her

husband not to touch it by any means; when it was nearing them on its

round she grasped her husband’s arm to keep him the more effectually

from putting his hand on the pouch. As he showed a disposition to touch

it, she pushed him over on the ground, but he arose again while she

still clung to him. In spite of her he finally placed his hand on the

pouch, saying, “Tomorrow, I shall kill two otters before daylight.”

At midnight the chief’s son-in-law, arising, went to a place where the

neighboring stream made a very pronounced loop, and there he watched

for the otters. Soon he saw two approaching and killed both. He was

very hungry, and as it was not yet daylight he took out the hearts of

the otters, which he roasted and ate. By doing this he unwittingly

destroyed the power of the orenda (magic potency) of the pouch for

those who had touched it; so that day all the other persons returned to

the lodge without any game. The chief’s wife, who had said that she

would kill geese, also returned empty handed. When she saw the geese on

the wing and clapped her hands, shouting: “Let them fall dead! Let them

fall dead!” the geese kept on flying; in fact the charm, or orenda, of

the pouch had been broken or spoiled by some one. After these things

had been reported to the chief, he examined the two otters slain by his

son-in-law. When he saw that their hearts had been removed, he became

very angry with him. His daughter, the wife of the culprit, becoming

frightened for the welfare of her husband, concealed a piece of dog’s

flesh and a knife, at the same time telling her husband where he could

find them in case of need.

The chief said to his retinue, “My son-in-law has nullified the orenda

of the pouch by eating one of the taboos, which is the earnest of the

compact with it; so I think we would better kill him.” But his daughter

exclaimed, “If you kill him, you must first kill me.” As the chief was

quite averse to killing his daughter, he said, “Then, instead of

killing him we will leave him here naked and without provisions and we

will go far away to avoid the consequences of his act.” So the chief

and the people stripped the son-in-law of everything, even of his

weapons, and then departed, taking his wife with them.

At midnight, when all alone, the son-in-law heard some person

approaching on snowshoes, for this was in the winter season. In a short

time a man came to the lodge and said to the young man, “You feel that

you are doomed to die, do you not?” The young man answered, “Yes; I do

think so.” Then the stranger said: “You shall not die. I have come here

to assist you. Tomorrow morning follow my tracks to a hollow tree.

There you shall find a bear. Kill it and you will have plenty of meat

and you can make yourself a robe and footwear from its skin.” Then the

stranger went away. The next morning the young man could find no tracks

other than those of a rabbit. These he followed to a large hollow tree,

in which indeed he found a bear, which he killed. Carrying it home, he

skinned and dressed it. From its skin he made himself a robe and a pair

of moccasins.

Again about midnight the young man heard some person approaching on

snowshoes, for the snow was deep. Soon a man’s voice from outside his

lodge said to him: “I sent you help last night. Tonight I have come to

tell you that your wife will be here tomorrow about midday. She

believes that you are dead from hunger and exposure and she has run

away from her father’s camp to come to look for you. As soon as she has

rested, send her on the following day for her father and his people.

Instruct her to tell her father that you are alive and well. Let her

say to him, ‘My husband has meat enough for all.’ They will be glad to

come back to you, for they have no meat and are hungry. They have been

punished enough for abandoning you.” Then the stranger departed.

The next day about noontide the wife came and she was welcomed by her

husband. After resting that night the young man in the morning sent her

for her father. The night she was absent the stranger again came to the

lodge and said to the young man: “Your father-in-law will be very glad

to know that you have meat sufficient for yourself and for his people,

and he will be very willing to come to you. When he has arrived here he

will exhibit his fetishes, and ostensibly to repay you he will give you

your choice. Among them is one which you must select; this is wrapped

in bearskin. It is the claw which I lost when your father-in-law caught

me in a trap. You must not pay heed to your father-in-law’s statement

that it is not of much account. He will insist that you take some other

which he will represent as of much greater potency than this. But take

my advice and choose this one.” Then the stranger departed.

The next morning toward midday the chief and all his people returned to

the lodge of the chief’s son-in-law, who welcomed them and offered them

what he had in the way of food.

In a few days the chief unfolded all his fetishes, informing his

son-in-law that he could take his choice. On his reaching over and

taking the one wrapped in bearskin, his father-in-law said, “Oh,

son-in-law! that is of no account; here is a better one.” But the young

man, remembering the advice of his midnight visitor, replied, “No; I

will keep this one,” so he retained the one wrapped in bearskin.

Some time afterward the young man went into the forest to meet the

strange man who had befriended him and to whom the claw, or finger,

belonged. He had not gone far when he saw what appeared to be a lodge

standing in the middle of a clearing. On going to this lodge he found a

man in it who received from him the claw or finger. Thanking him for

its return, the man said: “I shall always be your friend for this

favor. You shall succeed in all that you may undertake.” As the young

man turned to go home the strange man bade him farewell. Having

proceeded a short distance toward home, the young man turned to take a

look at the lodge, but to his surprise it had disappeared. What he had

thought was an opening in the forest was now a large body of water.

Ever after this circumstance the chief’s son-in-law enjoyed good

fortune in all that he undertook. He became a great hunter and a great

warrior. When his tribe waged a war against a neighboring people he

took many scalps and many prisoners. Whatever he desired he obtained

easily in abundance. It was said by those who knew the circumstances

that his good luck came from the friendship of the otter, whose finger,

or claw, the young man had so generously returned to it.

26. THE SEVEN SISTERS WHO PRODUCED WAMPUM

In the long ago there lived seven sisters who were endowed through

their orenda with great skill in sorcery. These sisters lived together

in a lodge situated on a high mountain. From this advantageous

situation they were able to see a long distance in every direction.

One of their chief occupations during berrying time was to gather large

quantities of huckleberries for drying and storing. They would carry

long baskets on their backs by means of the forehead strap and smaller

ones in their hands, for collecting the berries from the plants and

bushes. These berries they gathered in the neighboring patches which

belonged to them and brought them home to dry in the sun.

Now, it so happened that these seven sisters were misanthropes, and

they boasted that they hated men. Each one of them sincerely and

frequently said, “I can not bear the odor of a man.” True to their

animosity to men, they would not permit one to come near their

domicile. They carried this aversion to the presence of men to the

extent that they would have no relations whatever with married women,

even turning up their noses at them, with the contemptuous remark, “Oh,

they smell of men.” So they would not allow either men or women near

their huckleberry patch.

Among the young men who heard of these peculiar sisters was one who

determined to have a look at them. In order to see them he managed to

conceal himself in their huckleberry patch about the time of their

coming. When the sisters, therefore, came with their baskets into the

berry patch the young man saw the youngest, with whom he immediately

fell deeply in love, for she was very beautiful in face and attractive

in figure. He then and there decided to approach stealthily the spot

where she was picking berries by herself and to speak to her at all

hazards. He did not get the opportunity until the next day.

On going again to the spot he had chosen as the best place to meet her,

he concealed himself and awaited the coming of the seven sisters to

their daily task of gathering berries. By good fortune the youngest

sister came directly to the place near which the ardent gallant was

concealed, and he lost little time in making his presence known by

speaking to her in very low tones lest the other sisters should hear

him. The sister addressed, turning around, saw him and at once fell in

love with him, for he was a fine-looking young man. He said to her, “I

greatly desire to speak to you, but I do not want your sisters to

overhear me, for I am afraid of them.” So she stopped picking berries

and listened to what he had to say to her. They conversed together for

a long time. At last he remarked: “I must go lest your sisters discover

me. I will meet you here tomorrow.”

After her lover had gone the youngest sister tried very diligently to

fill her basket with huckleberries, but she did not have time to do so

before the eldest sister called out, “Come, now, my sisters, our

baskets are full, and we must go home.” They started toward their

lodge, but missing their youngest sister, called her until she came.

She acted shyly, being afraid to go very near them lest they should

detect any odor which would let them know that she had been near a man.

Then they asked her, “How is it that you have not filled your basket?”

To deceive them she feigned illness, but the eldest sister, going near

her, exclaimed in disgust: “Oh, pshaw! She emits the odor of a man.

Indeed, she has been near a man.” The youngest sister attempted to deny

this charge, for she was afraid of her sisters; but they would not

believe her. Too well did they know the odor of a man. They were very

angry, and they scolded and threatened her; but she was now thinking of

the young man, and so did not care what they said or did.

The next day they started out again to gather huckleberries, and the

youngest sister went directly to the spot where the young man had

promised to meet her. She was more than delighted to see him there

awaiting her coming. She sat down with him and they made love to each

other. The other sisters, being very busy, forgot to watch her, as they

did not expect that anyone would have the temerity to lurk, unwelcome,

in their huckleberry patch. Finally she told him how angry her sisters

were on the preceding day because her basket was not full, and so they

began to pick berries together. When her basket was nearly full, the

eldest sister again called out: “Come, sisters! our baskets are full.

We must now go home.”

The youngest sister lagged behind as long as possible, and the other

sisters waited for her until she came up to them. When she drew near

they cried out in bitter anger: “Oh! she smells strong of a man. She

can not deny that she has been talking again to a man.” Thereupon they

threatened to turn her away and not to let her enter their lodge again.

But she begged them not to do so, saying: “What if I do marry? I shall

not bring my husband into this lodge, for he will take me away to his

own lodge.” But they would not listen to her pleading, their only

answer being, “Tomorrow we shall go once more to pick huckleberries,

and if you again talk to a man we shall never permit you to come again

into our home.”

All that evening and night she sat pensively thinking of her situation

and of the young man. She could not bring herself to the point of

giving him up. Finally she decided to cast her lot with his people,

saying to herself, “Well, they may do as they like, but as for me I

shall accept the young man as my husband.” Collecting a small bundle of

her belongings, she carefully concealed them outside the lodge, so that

in case they would not let her return to the lodge she could get them.

During that same evening and night her sisters kept saying: “Oh! what a

disgusting smell that is. How can she stand it?” and they made fearful

grimaces at the odor.

The next day the seven sisters went again to gather huckleberries. The

elder sisters were so incensed at their youngest sister that they paid

little attention to her beyond murmuring continually against her

reprehensible conduct.

On her part she went directly to the usual place, where she met the

young man, who was impatiently waiting for her. After hearing how

bitterly opposed his sweetheart’s sisters were to her love-making, he

said to her, “If they do not let you go to your home, come to me, and I

will be most happy to care for you.”

When the time came for the sisters to go home and they made the usual

call, she would not go near them, telling them to go on and that she

would make her way home by herself. Then they said: “She has been with

that man again. She will indeed bring shame upon us.” At last some of

the younger sisters, relenting a little, said: “What shall we do? She

is our youngest sister. She is very proud. If we turn her away from

home, she will never come back again. We shall then lose her forever”;

and they were very sad and disconsolate. But the elder sister, more

conservative than they, said, “We must turn her away from us, because

if we do not do so, some other sister here will be doing the same thing

as she has done.” She was able to bring them, as least outwardly, to

her view, and so when the erring one came to the lodge, they said, “You

must not come into this lodge any more.”

Deeply grieved, the youngest sister replied, “If you have thus

deliberately cast me out from you, I will go away,” and true to her

answer, she started away. Weeping bitterly thus to leave her sisters,

whom she loved dearly, she walked along, hardly knowing whither she was

going. But in her grief she instinctively started back to the young

man, who had promised to care for her should her sisters cast her out.

Suddenly, while she was thus pensively walking along, she heard the

voice of the young man addressing her, saying: “Lo! I followed you near

enough to see for myself how your sisters would treat you. Now that

they have cast you out, I ask you to come with me to my lodge and be my

wife.” Having no other present resource, she accepted his offer and the

young man led her home in triumph. Now it so happened that the young

man was an only son, and his mother was delighted to learn that he had

obtained a fine-looking young wife.

For a time they were undisturbed in their happiness arising from their

devotion to each other. But there came an evil day when the young man’s

mother began to be jealous of her daughter-in-law, for she felt that

the young wife had displaced her in her own son’s affections. She felt

this the more keenly because up to the time of his marriage he had been

devoted to his mother and had not passed his time in the company of

other women and men. Now he was attentive to his wife and tried to

grant her every wish, although he did not neglect his mother at all on

this account. The young man and his wife were accustomed to go away on

hunting trips for several days at a time, and on their return brought

much game and meat. But the young man noticed that his mother’s manner

had changed toward him and his wife, and this troubled him.

His wife, being a prospective mother, did not accompany him when her

term was approaching; but when her husband left he would say to her:

“You must be very wary, as I am afraid that my mother may do you harm,

for she is very jealous of my love for you. Before knowing you I loved

only her; but now I love you, and of course she feels that you have

taken her place. I am afraid that she may do you harm, although I do

not think that she will attempt to poison you. But you must be kind to

her, and do not let her know what I have told you. Be on your guard at

all times.”

At last, without telling his mother the reason, he took his wife away

with him to the forest, where he built a lodge and remained. Soon a boy

was born to them.

After a while the young man, wishing to know whether his mother was in

need, went to visit her, carrying a large quantity of game. He was not

long absent. He made several such trips to his mother. It was his

practice to tell his wife just when she should expect him to return,

and he did not fail to keep his promise. At last, however, he did not

return. Time passed; his wife anxiously waited for him day after day,

but he never returned. She told her son, who had grown to be quite a

lad, that his father must be dead or that his mother had made him a

captive in such manner that he could not escape to return to them.

Years passed and the boy grew into manhood. In looks and manner he was

the exact double of his father. He had become a great hunter and was

very fond of killing turkeys.

One evening on his return from hunting he found only the upper half of

his mother’s body lying on her bed, while the other half was gone. She

told him that while she was bending over a kettle, cooking, two men

came into the room and, stealing up behind her, with a single blow

cleft her body in two; that they then fled with the lower half, leaving

her to die. She had crawled on her hands to her bed.

The youth, who was in terrible grief by reason of his mother’s

misfortune, exclaimed: “Oh, mother! you can not live. Oh! you will

surely die.” But she consoled him by telling him that she had healed

her body and that she could live a long time as she was then; and that,

if she could recover by any means the lower half of her body, she could

cause the two parts to unite again, so that she would be as well as

ever.

Moreover, calling her son to her side, she said to him: “Now you are

old enough to know about such things, I will tell you all that you

should know. This misfortune has come upon me through the machinations

of my sisters, who are six in number. There were seven of us. When I

was unmarried wampum beads of great value passed from me. This was true

also of my sisters. But when I married your father this ceased, and my

sisters were very angry with me. This is the reason why my sisters do

not marry, for they are becoming very rich by selling the wampum beads

which they obtain in this manner. Since your father went away I again

pass wampum beads; and this is the reason that the lower part of my

body has been stolen by the two men, who were sent here by my sisters.

It now hangs in the lodge of public assembly, so that the wampum beads

may be gathered from it. You shall bring back my body to me. I will

give you the magic power to do it—the orenda which will enable you to

call to your assistance any being or thing that you may need.” Placing

her head upon his shoulder and her hand on his head, she continued:

“You are my son, and I am one of the Seven Sisters. Whatever you wish

to do you will now always be able to do by such aid as you may call on

to assist you.”

After this annunciation she thrust her hand into her bosom and drew

therefrom a tiny black dog. Giving it to her son, she said: “This

little dog shall be a companion to you hereafter. It will aid you.” The

youth exclaimed with delight, “Oh, mother! why did you not give me this

beautiful little dog long ago?” The boy was delighted with the tiny

dog, taking it up and caressing it in an exuberance of joy. When he put

the dog down, it leaped around, trying to bark and seeming to be full

of life. “Now,” said the mother, “I will show you what you have to do

in this matter.” Taking a small wand from her bosom, she gently tapped

the dog, accompanying the action with the words, “Grow! my dog. Grow!

my dog.” With each blow of the wand the dog increased in size until he

became an immense beast. Then she said to the boy: “Get on his back and

you will see that he can carry you. You must be very kind to him and

never neglect him. He will always fight for and protect you. Should you

desire to make him small again, pull his ears and shake him gently, and

he will assume any size you may wish, from a great dog to one so small

that you can secrete him in your bosom.”

The youth willingly accepted his mother’s commission, saying: “Mother,

I shall not wait another day to perfect my preparations. I will go

after the lower part of your body at once.” His mother told him that

the oil of a wild turkey was the only thing which could make the parts

of her body grow together again; that it must come from a gobbler; and

that he should prepare this oil before he went after the lower part of

her body. She told him further that the oil must be rubbed hot on the

raw flesh, and that then the two parts would grow together again, and

she would be well. The youth said, “I will kill the turkey gobbler on

the way.” But his mother said to him, “Oh, no! The turkey must not be

killed until we are ready to use the oil, for it must live until the

last minute.”

Then the youth started on his quest for the lower part of his mother’s

body. While on the way he encountered a flock of wild turkeys and

contrived to take a fine gobbler alive. He fastened it to a tree where

it would not be devoured by prowling animals of prey and where he would

find it on his return.

When the youth drew near the lodge of public assembly, which was his

destination, he heard loud laughing, screaming, and quarreling over

wampum beads, which the people were getting from his mother’s body.

This made him very angry and determined to accomplish his errand.

Having made his dog very large, he said to it, “Remain here until I

return”; then he went to the lodge of assembly. On his way there he

called on the Chief of the Crows to come to his aid. In a moment the

Black Chief was at his side ready for any command. To him the youth

said: “Friend, my mother’s body is hanging on a post inside of the

lodge and the people are getting wampum beads from it. Now, when the

people stoop down to gather the beads I wish you to go in at the

smoke-hole, draw up the body out of the lodge, and quickly bring it to

me.” The Black Chief replied, “I will do your bidding at once.” Waiting

until the people on the inside of the lodge began to scramble and fight

for the wampum beads, he swooped down through the smoke-hole, and

seizing the part of the body which he sought, he flew out with it to

the waiting youth, who sat on the back of the monster dog. With an

exclamation of thanks to his friend, the Black Chief of the Crows, the

youth parted from him. The huge dog ran homeward with great speed,

directing his way to the place where the turkey was fastened to the

tree. Having obtained it, the dog soon brought the youth, the part of

the mother’s body, and the turkey to the waiting mother, who hardly

expected her son back so soon. At once the youth killed the turkey, and

taking the oil from it, rubbed it on the severed surface of the lower

part of the body.

After treating likewise the surface of the upper part he brought the

two parts of her body close together, whereupon they joined of

themselves. Then the woman with her hands rubbed the place of juncture.

Becoming then entirely whole, she arose and, standing, said, “I am well

now, and no one shall come to trouble us again. I am thankful to you.”

This prediction proved true, for they two lived in peace and

contentment.

The youth became a great hunter, famous for his great successes in the

chase. His mother continued to pass wampum beads as in former years,

and their lodge was richly ornamented with many strings of wampum, each

of which was worth a man’s life and two that of a woman.[46] Although

the youth was always looking for his father, the latter never returned.

27. THE FORSAKEN INFANT AND GAHA (THE WIND)

A number of Seneca went hunting. When they had finished their hunting

and were ready to return home, they did not know what to do with a

little boy whose father and mother had died while they were at the

chase. They had so much meat that they could not well carry him, and,

owing to his infancy, he could not walk. Finally they decided to leave

him in the hunting lodge, with plenty of wood and meat. Learning this,

the child cried bitterly.

When the hunters reached home the report went around that a child had

been left in the woods, and all feared that it would die. At once the

chief sent a trusty man to see whether the child was alive. When he got

outside the village the man turned himself into a great bear, so that

he could run the faster.

Meanwhile the child kept a good fire and cooked meat and lived fairly

well. One cold night he began to cry, for the meat was nearly gone and

all the wood had been burned. At last he heard some one come to the

door, making a sound as if shaking the snow off his feet, and call out:

“Well, little boy, you think you are going to die, but you will not. I

am going to help you. The chief has sent a man to see whether you are

still alive, but he will not be here for some time yet. I will be your

friend. When you want me to aid you all you have to do is to think of

me and I will come.” Soon after that the boy fell asleep. In the

morning he found a pile of wood at his door, and on a low limb of a

near-by tree hung a piece of meat. Now he was happy. Building a fire,

he cooked and ate some of the meat.

The next night this strange man came again. Stopping at the door, he

shook his feet but he did not come in. He said: “The man who is coming

will not help you; he is coming in the form of a great bear; he will be

here tomorrow forenoon. In the morning you will find between the roots

of the old stump in the dooryard a trusty knife. You must sharpen this

knife to kill the bear. When he is near, you must run to the spring

where the tall hemlock stands and climb the tree a little way; the

great bear will follow you. Then slip down on the other side, and when

he is coming down after you, stab him in the forefoot.”

The next morning the boy did as the voice told him. After he had killed

the bear, he went to the lodge and was very glad.

The next night he awoke, and the stranger, knocking, said: “My friend,

I want to say to you that men are coming for you; you must go with them

for they will be fond of you. You must not be proud. The headman of the

tribe will want you to stay with him. You will be one of the fastest

runners among your people. Do not forget that I am your friend; you

will not be able to see me, for I am the one whom you call Gaha. If you

are in trouble just think of me and I will come and help you. Tomorrow

afternoon four men will be in this lodge. They will ask you about the

great bear, and you shall say, ‘I saw no great bear, but a strong wind

went through the woods one morning.’”

The next day four men came to the lodge with food; they saw that the

boy had wood and meat but no bow nor arrow. They took him home the next

day. The chief ordered them to bring him to his lodge for the lad’s

relatives were all dead. The chief said, “You shall be my grandson and

you shall live with me.” The boy wanted a club instead of a bow and

arrows. “What do want a club for?” asked the chief. “To kill deer

with,” replied the boy. The chief had a club made for him. Owing to his

great speed, the youth used to chase deer, which he struck in the

forehead with his club; he also killed birds by striking them before

they could rise to fly.

The last word that his friend Gaha said to him was: “Do not think that

you are the swiftest runner living. Do not boast of your speed.” But

the boy had this idea of running always in his mind; when he saw other

boys running, he laughed, thinking, “That running is nothing; I can run

faster than any other living man.”

One night he heard some one come and strike the door post near the bed.

He did not speak. Then a second knock, and the visitor spoke, saying,

“Who is there?” “I am here,” answered the boy. “Well, I challenge you

to run a race with me, because you think that you are the swiftest

runner living. We will start from the second mountain and run from

sunrise to sunset,” declared the stranger.

In the morning the boy asked his grandfather whether he had heard a man

talking in the night. “No,” came the answer. “Well, a man challenged me

last night to run a race,” said the boy. “Oh! I do not believe it is a

man. It is a beast. Perhaps you will get killed,” said the old man.

“Well, I must be ready,” said the boy; “we run on the third morning

from this.” The youth made ready ten pairs of moccasins, put flint on

his arrows, and took prepared parched corn to eat.

On the third morning he went to the appointed place. As he drew near he

saw there a great dark mass. When nearer he saw an immense creature,

but he did not know what it was. When daylight came, he saw that it was

a great bear. When the sun appeared the bear said, “Now, we will

start.” At once he leaped straight across the valley to the next hill.

The ground sank where he struck. He leaped from hill to hill all the

time, but the boy had to run through the valley. At noon the great bear

was ahead, and the boy was falling behind. The latter began to think,

“I am lost; I wish my friend Gaha would come.” At that moment Gaha came

in a whirlwind and carried the boy far ahead of the bear. Gaha threw

all the trees down, and the bear was delayed jumping over them. The boy

called to the great bear, “You must do better than that.” The great

bear then gave up, telling the boy that he might have his life; so the

boy killed him. Then he took some burned tobacco to his friend Gaha,

and, after doing this, asked to be taken home. His friend, carrying him

in a whirlwind, set him down in front of his grandfather’s lodge. The

boy said: “I have come, grandfather. I have killed the great bear, and

you must send and get his body.” The grandfather sent eight men to get

his body. They were twenty days going and twenty days returning. The

boy was not one day coming, for Gaha carried him over the woods and

under the clouds.

28. THE OLD MAN AND THE BOY

In the past an old man and a small boy lived together in a lodge by

themselves. With great affection they passed the time. Each called the

other “friend.” They were not blood relatives, only cousins.

One day the old man dressed himself richly—sticking new feathers in his

headdress, trimming his hair, and painting his face, and putting on new

moccasins. The little boy, watching him, asked, “What are you going to

do, my friend?” “Oh, I am going to see the world. I shall be gone a

good while. I shall make a long journey,” the old man answered. “Can I

not go with you?” asked the boy. “Well, if your father and mother will

let you go, I will take you along,” said the old man.

Going to his mother, the boy asked her if he might go. After thinking a

minute, she said, “Yes; you may go,” and gave him a new pair of

moccasins to wear on the journey.

He returned to his friend, who washed him, trimmed his hair, painted

his face, put new feathers in his headdress, and gave him a fine new

bow and arrows. Then both set out together. They traveled until night,

when they stopped and made their fire in the woods; then they ate their

evening meal and slept.

They traveled in this way for five days, until they came to a lake so

broad that they could not see the other shore. “How can we get across?”

asked the boy. “Oh! we shall have to make a canoe,” said the old man.

“Will it take long?” asked the boy. “About one day,” the old man

replied. He looked around in the woods until he found a large bitternut

hickory tree; stripping off the bark he made a large canoe.

The next morning the old man and the boy, putting their bows, arrows,

and fur robes into the canoe, started across the lake. The boy was

seated in front and the old man, who paddled, in the stern. In the

evening they came in sight of a low island, and without landing they

fastened their canoe to the bullrushes that grew around the shore. “How

can we sleep here? Is it safe? Are there not things in the water that

might kill us?” were some of the anxious queries of the boy. “Oh!” said

the old man, “there are fish in the water, and there are in the world

evil things reaching from the bottom of the water up to the home of the

Master of Life.” [47] “If the wind blows we shall be carried off into

the lake,” said the boy. “Oh, no! we are safe,” said the old man. So

both lay down and soon fell asleep.

About midnight the boy heard a rushing sound as of swiftly moving

water, and it seemed to him that the canoe was moving rapidly. He

thought that the wind must be blowing hard. On sitting up in the canoe

he found that the weather was calm. Then he thought that the water must

be running very fast, and putting his hand overboard he found this to

be true. He roused the old man at once by shaking his feet and saying:

“Get up, friend, and see what the trouble is. The water is running by

very fast. Where is the lake going? What are we to do?” “Lie down,”

said the old man, “no harm will come to you or me.”

The boy then lay down, but he could not sleep. Just at daybreak a voice

spoke to him. Opening his eyes, he saw a fine-looking, middle-aged man,

beautifully decorated with paint and feathers, standing at the bow of

the boat. The boy saw, too, that the canoe was on dry land. Now the

stranger roused the old man saying, “Come with me.” Taking up their

bows and arrows and other equipage, they followed the man, who took

them to a long lodge. They entered it. There were, they saw, many

persons inside, some asleep, some awake. When the old man of the lodge

met them he said to the guide, “Oh! you have brought them,” and then,

turning to the two friends, he said: “I am glad that you have come. I

know you have heard of us before. We are the people whom you call Hinon

in your home. We bring rain to make corn and beans and squashes grow.

We sent our young man to the island for you. It is we who put it into

your mind to come east. We want you to help us, for you are more

powerful in orenda than is anything else. The world was made for you.

You are more powerful in orenda in some respects than we are, and we

want you to help us to kill some of your and our enemies.”

Then they ate their morning meal. There were all kinds of food—corn,

beans, squashes. “We have these things. We take a little from a great

many fields,” said the old man. “When you see a small row of corn, or a

withered squash, or bad kernels of corn on an ear, or dried-up beans in

a pod, then you may know that we have taken our part from these. We

have taken our part—that part is the spirit of these things—and we have

left the shells, or husks. If you should see a whole field blasted and

withered, then you would know that we had taken the whole field. But we

seldom or never do that. We take only a little from each field.”

After they had eaten, the youngest warrior of the long lodge said: “Now

we will go and try to kill the great porcupine. Off there on the hill

stands an immense hemlock tree, the largest tree in the whole country.

On that tree dwells a terrible porcupine, of such size that his quills

are as large as long darts. These he hurls in all directions, killing

all who approach him. We Hinon can not kill him, and we are afraid to

go near the tree.” So they all agreed to go together.

As they went toward the tree the boy marched ahead with his little bow

and arrows. The old man, his friend, and the Hinon laughed to see him,

and the old man said in fun: “I think that our little friend might try

his luck first.” “All right,” said the Hinon. The little boy was

pleased with the suggestion. They stopped at a good distance from the

great hemlock tree. No one would venture nearer.

Then, the little boy going down into the ground, went forward until he

was directly under the tree in which the porcupine lived. Putting his

head and arms out of the ground, and taking aim, he sent an arrow into

the porcupine’s body. It moved a little. Then he sent another and still

another arrow in quick succession. Feeling something hit him, the

porcupine, raising his quills, shot them in every direction. To avoid

them the boy hid under the ground. Then the porcupine groaned and,

rolling from the tree, fell to the ground dead. Thereupon all the Hinon

with the old man came up. Cutting open the great porcupine, which was

very fat, they took out his entrails, and then dragged his body home;

they saved his quills and ate his flesh. All wondered at the orenda of

the little boy.

Old Hinon was delighted. “Now,” said he, “we have another enemy—a great

and terrible sunfish, which lives in our river here and which lets no

one come near for water; he devours everything, and he even springs up

out of the water and catches birds as they fly over the river. The

little boy said, “I can kill him without trouble, for he is in the

water.”

The next day the Hinon and the old man went near enough to show him

where the sunfish lived. The trunk of a great tree had fallen into the

river, and it was under this that the sunfish used to lie in wait. He

was in his lurking place when they arrived there. The little fellow at

once saw him; he shot his arrow straight into the heart of the sunfish,

which came to the surface and died. Springing into the water, the whole

party of Hinon pulled the sunfish to land and dragged him off to the

lodge of old Hinon, who was overjoyed at seeing his second enemy dead.

“He is good eating,” said old Hinon, and they feasted on him that day.

The third day old Hinon said: “Now comes the turn of our last enemy.

Every other day there flies past here an enormous butterfly, as big as

a cloud. He brings sickness, and many of our people die because of him.

If we could kill this butterfly, we should have good health and very

few of us would die. He passes over here from the west early in the

morning and goes back in the evening. Wherever he goes he carries

sickness. He will come tomorrow morning.”

The next morning very early they went out in the high grass, where they

waited. Soon the great butterfly appeared, flying toward them. He was

almost over the place where they were concealed when the little boy,

drawing his bow, let an arrow fly. This struck the butterfly, whereupon

the hind part of his body immediately dropped, hanging toward the

ground. All expected to see him fall. Instead of that he turned and

flew back slowly in the direction from which he came. Hinon said: “I am

very glad. I do not think that he will come again to this place. Our

last enemy is destroyed.”

They then went back to the lodge and ate. As the day passed, the old

man said to the two friends, “You may stay and live with us or go home,

as you choose.” The old man said: “I am old and can not help you, but

my young friend—the little boy—may stay. He is very powerful in orenda.

He can do anything, and will be of great assistance to you.” “Well,”

said the Hinon, “we are going to your place this evening. There will be

a great dance there tonight. We will all go and have some sport, and

will carry you as we pass along in the clouds.”

After dark, when the council lodge was full of men and women dancing,

the old man, the boy, and the Hinon went in. As the Hinon entered, they

began to dance. When they shook their heads the lightnings began to

play around the lodge. The chiefs said, “Our grandfathers are here

tonight. They should behave themselves or they may do us harm.” Then

for a little while the Hinon quieted down. Later, again becoming

excited in the dance, they shook their heads until the lightning

flashed everywhere and the people were afraid.

After dancing as much as they wished the Hinon went home, leaving the

old man but taking the boy with them, and today the little boy goes

with them everywhere. “And after the great peals of thunder we hear the

little fellow with his boyish voice, and we say, ‘That is the boy.’ We

burn tobacco to him, saying, ‘This is all we have to give you,’ and we

thank him for the rain that he and the Hinon bring,” say the Seneca.

29. THE STORY OF THE GIRLS WHO WENT FOR A HUSBAND [48]