The Manitou Race.
Sprigg awoke. Bolt upright, all unharmed he found himself standing in
front of the old hunting shanty; in the self-same sun-spot where he had
stood when his father and Pow-wow, all unconscious of his presence, had
passed him by. Yes, and the self-same hour, too, of the day, as he could
judge by the length of his shadow in the sunshine, which he remembered
as having been traced on the landscape at that conjuncture. Was that
yesterday, or the moment gone but now? He could not tell, so like a
dream appeared it all. He ran his eyes along the buffalo-trace, that led
in the direction of home, half expecting to catch another glimpse of his
father's retreating figure. Thus he stood, for many moments, in a state
of dreamy bewilderment, gazing about him far and wide, until his
wondering thoughts and wandering eyes reverted directly to his personal
self. He looked down; his feet were bare. Where were the red moccasins?
Red moccasins! They were but a part of the dream; or, rather, the very
master-fancy of it--the incubus! Never had he seen such things in bodily
form. Assuredly, he must be at home, aflat of his back on the floor,
asleep and dreaming.
He was still looking about him, trying to make something of his strange
experiences, when his eye was caught by a glitter and a gleam in the
grass, which caused him to spring affrightedly backward, as from the
glittering eye and gleaming crest of a rattlesnake. But no serpent was
there. The more the pity! Only the red moccasins, adjusted side by side,
with their old air of easy self-assurance, and now in open view before
him. Yet, but the moment previous his look had chanced to be resting on
that very spot, and naught but the tufted grass had he seen there! With
their familiar sheen in his eyes, all came flashing back to his
memory--the terrors of Manitou hill, the wonders of Manitou cave. Yet
what assurance had he that these things also were not dreams? Let all
the rest be as unreal as it might, the red moccasins were there in
bodily form, and his own identical pair, too, as he could easily
distinguish by a certain peculiar token, which was wanting in those he
had seen on the feet of the elves. Upon all of theirs, between toe and
instep, was the figure of an arrow traced in blood-red beads. Upon his
own was the same figure, thrust through that of a human heart, but the
whole device wrought in colorless beads. As he stood there gazing upon
them, a twinkling light came glancing out of their beads, which met his
look amazingly like a smile of familiar recognition. Then came it again,
stealing upon his ear, that sound, or fancy, so like a voice; but
whence, whether from the moccasins, or from some airy tongue, or from
his own heart, perplexed him as much as ever to decide.
"Our brave Sprigg, in a pet of wrath, flung us from him up there on
Manitou hill. He thought that we had deceived him. He had only deceived
himself. So bemisted were his eyes from gazing, and gazing, and gazing
at us, that he could see nothing as it really was. Therefore, without
being aware of it, he passed on directly by his grandpap's house;
directly by young Ben Logan's house; directly by pretty little Bertha
Bryant's house--the very places whither he was so bent upon going when
he set out from home. Now, at any of these houses we should have been
perfectly willing to stop, at pretty little Bertha's in particular, only
he did not seem inclined to turn our toes that way, but went on, and
went on, and never stopped going, until the first thing he knew he found
himself lost. Whose fault? Sprigg's; nobody's but Sprigg's. Yet he
blamed us for it; blamed us for keeping along with his feet! What else
could we do? We can't walk backward; we can't walk sideways--never
could. We can only follow our toes, and their course is determined by
the feet that are in us. Right their course, right ours. Then to fling
us from him, like a pair of slip-shod shoes, when we had done our very
best to speed him on his way! Thus spiting his toes by biting his nose,
as the bull and the cat and the wolf soon showed him. Had he kept us
under him, we could have kept him at easy distance from the monsters and
made ourselves merry at their expense. But, as it was, we could only
stand by and kick them out of the way, whenever they came uncomfortably
near; and precious little thanks we got for it, too! But here we are,
ready and willing as ever to serve our young master, his whole-souled
friends to the last!
"Sprigg, this old hunting shanty, as you know, stands exactly midway
between your pap's house and your grandpap's house. There's the road
home; you know every crook and turn of it as well as we. You are free,
perfectly free, to go that way if you prefer it; we shall say nothing,
do nothing to hinder you; only, if you choose that road, you shall have
to travel it without our good help, without our pleasant company,
barefooted--ugly hills, cutting stones, scratching briars, piercing
thorns! There's the road to grandpap's house--level and smooth, shady
and pleasant! You may not know every crook and turn of it as well as you
do of the other, that is true; but we do, so what's the difference? We
can take you thither, be assured; and that, too, by set of sun, just at
the time when Ben Logan, the bold young hunter, shall be coming home
from the forest with the spoils of the chase; just as Bertha Bryant, the
pretty little milkmaid, shall be coming home from the bluegrass glades
with the cows. Then shall they see us and admire us--you and your
beautiful shoes--admire us, fit to die--the boy of envy, the girl of
love! Only, you must have a care, Sprigg, to keep your eyes clear of the
red mist, else you will go agawking by them, as you did yesterday
evening, when, off we are kicked again, like a pair of slip-shod shoes.
"Yes, Sprigg prefers that road, and so do we; suits him better, suits us
better, for we never turn back, nor does a brave boy! And Sprigg is a
brave boy! Who said our Sprigg was not a brave boy? On with us, then,
and away!"
The boy was again bewitched. His old love had returned upon him with
exaggerated force. He seated himself upon a stone, and placed the
moccasins down on the grass before him, their eye-like beads all
atwinkle, as with conscious light. Hark! What is that? Those mysterious
sounds again, so like the murmuring, whispering voices, which had been
haunting the air around him ever since his leaving home.
Sternly. "Home, false boy! Home to your father-er-er-er-er!'"
Softly. "Home, poor child; home to your mother-er-er-er!"
'Twas but the whispering wind, with leaves for lips. Only the murmuring
brook, with echoes for words. Wind can whisper and wail; water can
murmur and laugh.
The boy took one of the moccasins in his hands, a thumb and two fingers
on each side; yet still he hesitated--that terrible Manitou eye!! Might
it not be as present in the depths of the sky above as he had seen it in
the depths of the earth beneath, and at that very moment looking as
piercingly through his secret soul? He was on the point of dropping the
moccasins, when a jay-bird in the nearest tree before him, and a
red-bird in the nearest tree behind him began chattering in a noisy,
commonplace, wide-awake way, which made him laugh and say to himself:
"Foolish boy! Thus to sit listening to water and wind, and the
lengthening shadows telling how swiftly the day is waning! On with the
moccasins! Up and away!" And on they were in a twinkling. But now they
were on, why was the boy not up and away? There he still sat, his eyes
fastened upon the red temptations, bigger with wonder than ever before!
The colorless beads, describing the arrow and heart, had grown, in an
instant, red as blood.
"Bleed, poor heart! bleed!" cried a soft voice close beside him. "Bleed!
or be to your mother forever a sorrow!"
"Bleed, false heart! bleed!" cried a stern voice close behind him.
"Bleed! or be to your father forever a curse! You have chosen! Abide by
your choice! Up and away!"
With a high spring, the moccasins lifted their wearer bodily up from the
ground, and began executing a variety of fantastic antics, as
completely foreign to any design or will on the part of the boy as if he
had been but a wire-worked puppet. Whereat peals of elfish laughter came
ringing out, with explosive abruptness, from every side--from the leafy
heart of the forest, from the rocky breast of the hill, from the empty
depths of the sky, from the solid depths of the earth--wild and mocking
laughter, mingled with cries of "Put him through! Put him through!"
Then, as suddenly, the laughter ceased, when, with a hop, step and
prodigious jump, by way of a start, the red moccasins bounded off
through the forest, no more to be guided or curbed than the feet of a
wild and unbridled horse. Through darksome wood and glimmering glade,
over rugged hill and tangled vale, with incredible swiftness sped they
on; nor turned aside for bramble covert or reedy brake, but right
through the thick of them dashed, till the boy was covered with
scratches from head to foot, and his garments all torn into rags.
"Stop! stop! I pray you, stop!" cried poor Sprigg, in piteous accent, at
every new peril which seemed to threaten his destruction. At length, as
if in spite, the moccasins stopped, so abruptly that he was thrown
forward upon the ground, with a violence that left him stunned for
several moments. Then, with hands that shook, did he assay to free
himself from the accursed things. Too late; they clung to his feet, as
if they had grown to the flesh, and the harder he tugged at them the
closer they clung. In fear and rage he stamped with them upon the
ground, and they, in revenge, squeezed and pinched his toes, till he
screamed outright with the pain inflicted. Then, again, they were off at
the same wild speed, and with no more regard for any purpose or wish of
his than had he been but a dead load in them, and they had taken into
themselves all part of his life and all his will.
By and by, of their own accord, the moccasins came to a halt; and weary
and faint, and sick unto death, our unfortunate little hero threw
himself down at the foot of a tree to die. But scarcely had he stretched
himself along the ground, when his ear was caught, first, by a rude
roar, a far way off in the forest; then by a hoarse howl; then by a
shrill scream; then by a gruff growl; and now, nearer at hand the roar,
the howl, the scream, the growl--all heard at once in a savage chorus.
He knew them but too well, and their sound struck a terror into his
heart, which even the thought of approaching death had not awakened. Up
again he sprang, exhausted as he was, to fly for the life which, but the
moment before, he would fain have resigned. As he turned to flee he
threw a fearful glance behind him, and through the chinks of the forest
caught sight of a bear, a panther, a wolf and a bison bull, coming
swiftly on and making directly toward him. For more than this he waited
not, but, with a despairing cry to his father for help; to his mother
for--it were hard to say what--away he sped, as if his moccasins had
taken the wings of the wind.
Through darksome wood and glimmering glade, over rugged hill and tangled
vale, the Manitou race went on--the sky all blue and serene above them;
the setting sun all bright and smiling before them. At every fearful
glance cast behind him the young fugitive could perceive that his
pursuers were gaining upon him. Anon, they were so close upon him that
he could see their eyes, glaring like balls of fire. And now were they
treading upon his very shadow, their smoking breath blown hot upon his
ears and neck. Again went up the despairing cry to father; to mother.
And they did hear it; would have heard it had they been in their graves!
The cry was still in the air, when a young bear shot forward, wheeled
about, and rearing himself up square before him, snatched his cap from
his head. His cap was still in the air, when it was replaced by a green
coronal, at whose magic touch the whole scene assumed at once a totally
different aspect. The grisly shape before him was not a rampant bear,
but Manitou-Echo himself, bareheaded, somewhat excited, but not in the
least degree short of breath. His other pursuers, appearing now in their
true shapes to the fugitive, proved also to be but elves, each wearing
the skin of the beast, whose whole likeness he wore but now, and showing
an aspect, wild and savage enough, yet which would not have been
unbeautiful to innocent eyes. With a bland smile and light wave of the
hand, thus speaks Manitou-Echo:
"Bravely done, Sprigg! Bravely done! You have run a magnificent race! We
never saw a young human thing acquit himself in handsomer style! Why,
sir, we were beginning to think your shadow was all we were likely to
catch! But here we are, one and all, coming out at the goal at the same
instant! That's brave! We promised to speed you on, and show you in
style to grandpap's house by set of sun! And like true Manitous, too,
have we kept our word! You can't deny it! Nobody can! Look!"
Sprigg looked. The Manitou race, after stretching its length for many a
zig-zag mile, had brought them to the hour of sunset, and to the top of
the lofty hill, where stood the small stockade fort, under the shelter
of whose wooden walls his grandfather and the other pioneers had
established their cabin homes. But these, with the loving human hearts
he had trusted to find there, were now behind him, utterly beyond his
reach. Out before him was a depth of airy emptiness! Down beneath
him--horrible! A tremendous precipice, and his feet on the very brink!
Back he shrank, aghast! But the elves were behind him! His brain spun
'round! The mystic coronal was snatched from his head. The next instant
the Manitou moccasins, with a wild leap, sheer over the dizzy verge, had
flung him away, like a waif! Down the frightful declivity, whirling, he
went, dropping from ledge to ledge like a lifeless lump, whirling and
dropping, till into the dusky depths of the forest that shagged the foot
of the hill he rolled and vanished. And peals of elfin laughter; weird
and mocking laughter, beginning at the brink of the steep, far up there,
and keeping pace with the whirling body, now in the edge of the wood,
far down there, subsiding into an elfin wail, a weird and pitying wail,
then suddenly ceased. A dell, it was, where echoes were wont to linger
and answer each other; but never an echo lingered now to lead in the
deathlike silence that settled at once on the glimmering evening scene.