Then Fleet Deer, the father, spoke: "I wish my son to know the tale of the White Canoe and how a great warrior honored his parents."

Nokomis had no request. She was a fine story-teller herself and interested in hearing everything that might be related.

Then, to the joy of his hearers, the story-teller began.

First he delighted the children by telling of the ground hog that saved his own life by teaching a new dance.

The next tale was about the first animals and how they came to live in the forests and on the plains.

After the story-teller had explained how sickness came into the world, Fleet Deer wanted to be a medicine man and find all the plants that cure disease.

And so they all listened to one tale after another until the midnight stars shone overhead and the embers grew white where the burning logs had sparkled.

Now you may read for yourselves the stories that were told in an Indian lodge on a winter evening.



THE GROUND-HOG DANCE

Seven wolves once caught a ground hog. "Now we'll kill you and have something good to eat," they said.

But the ground hog replied: "When we find good food we must rejoice over it, as people do in the green-corn dance. I know you mean to kill me, and I can't help myself, but if you want to dance I'll sing for you.

"I will teach you a new dance. I'll lean up against seven trees in turn, and you will dance away, then come back toward me. At the last turn you may kill me."

The wolves were very hungry, but they wanted to learn the new dance. So they told the ground hog to go ahead. The ground hog leaned up against the first tree and began the song.

All the wolves danced away from the trees. When the signal was given they danced back in line.



"That's fine!" said the ground hog, as he went to the second tree and began the second song. The wolves danced away, then turned at the signal and danced back again.

"That's very fine," said the ground hog; and he went to another tree and started the third song.

The wolves danced their best, and were praised by the ground hog. At each song he took another tree, and each tree was a little nearer to his hole under a stump.

At the seventh song he said, "Now this is the last dance. When I give the signal you will all turn and come after me. The one who catches me may have me."

So the ground hog began the last song, and kept it up until the wolves were many steps away. Just as the signal was given he made a jump for his hole.

The wolves turned and were after him. But the ground hog reached his hole and dived in. He was scarcely inside when the foremost wolf caught him by the tail and pulled so hard that it broke off.

And the ground hog's tail has been short ever since.



THE LUCKY HUNTER

Soon after the world was made, a hunter lived with his wife and only son near a high mountain. No matter when the man went into the woods he was sure to come back with plenty of meat. And so he went by the name of the Lucky Hunter.

The little boy used to play every day by a river not far from the house. One morning the old people thought they heard laughing and talking in the bushes as if two children were playing together.

When the boy came home at night he was asked who had been with him all day.

"A wild boy comes out of the water," answered the son. "He says he is my elder brother."

The father and mother wished very much to see their son's companion, but the wild boy always ran into the river when he heard them coming.

"This must not go on," said the father.

That night the Lucky Hunter said to his son: "To-morrow when the wild boy comes to play, ask him to wrestle with you. When you have your arms around him, you must hold him and call us."

In this way the wild boy was caught and kept in the house until he was tamed. He was full of mischief, and he led the smaller boy into all kinds of trouble.

One day the wild boy said to his brother: "I wonder where our father gets all his game. Let's follow him and find out."

A few days afterward the Lucky Hunter took a bow and some feathers in his hand and went toward a swamp. After waiting a short time, the boys followed.

The old man cut reeds, fitted the feathers to them, and made arrows.

"What are those things for, I wonder?" said the wild boy.

When the Lucky Hunter had finished his arrows, he went on over the low hills and up the mountain.

Keeping out of sight, the boys watched him. When he was halfway to the top he stopped and lifted a large rock in the side of the mountain.

At once a deer ran out. The Lucky Hunter killed it with his first arrow. Then he carefully replaced the heavy stone and pulled a strong vine over it to conceal the cracks.

"Oho," said the boys. "He keeps the deer shut up inside of the mountain. When he wants meat he lets one out and kills it with the arrows he made in the swamp."

They hurried to reach home before their father, who had the heavy deer to carry.

A few days later the boys went to the swamp, made arrows, and started up the mountain. When they came to the hole, they lifted the rock and a deer came running out.

Before they could shoot him another came, and another. The boys could not stop them, and they could not shoot them.



Other animals made a rush for the entrance. There were elk, antelope, raccoons, wolves, foxes, panthers, and many others. They scattered in all directions and disappeared in the wilderness.

Then a great flock of birds came flying out of the hole. There were turkeys, geese, ducks, quail, eagles, robins, hawks, and owls.

They darkened the air like a cloud and made such a noise with their wings that the Lucky Hunter heard them.

"My bad boys have got into trouble," he cried. "I must go and see what they are doing."

So he went up the mountain and found the two boys standing by the opening. Not an animal nor a bird was to be seen.

Their father was very angry. Without a word he went into the cave and kicked off the covers of four jars. Out swarmed wasps, hornets, gnats, flies, mosquitoes, and all manner of stinging and biting insects and bugs.

The boys screamed with pain. They rolled over and over on the ground, trying to brush off their tormentors.

Their father looked on until he thought they had been punished enough. Then he spoke.

"See what you have done, you rascals. Always before you have had enough to eat without working for it. Whenever you were hungry, all I had to do was to come up here and take home anything your mother wanted to cook.

"After this when you want a deer to eat, you will have to hunt all over the woods for it, and then may not find one.

"Now you may go and take care of yourselves."



HOW SICKNESS CAME

In the old days when the beasts, birds, fishes, insects, and plants could talk, they lived in peace and friendship with the children of men.

But, as time went on, the people increased in number, and they crowded the animals out of their homes.

This was bad enough, but, to make it worse, man invented bows and arrows, spears, knives, and hooks, and began to kill the animals.

They were killed for clothing, and they were killed for food, and still they were patient. But when man began to kill them for sport, they determined to unite for common safety.

The bears first met in council with their chief. After each in turn had complained of the cruel treatment of man, they all declared war against him.

Some of the bears proposed to make weapons and use them. But the chief said: "It is better to trust to the teeth and claws which Nature has given us."

As no one could think of other plans, their chief dismissed the council. The bears returned to the woods, and have done little harm to man ever since.

The deer next held a council. They decided that any one who killed a deer without asking his pardon should be lame with many pains.

The reptiles and the fish talked the matter over. They agreed to punish man by making him dream of snakes and of eating raw fish.

In the last council the birds, rabbits, squirrels, ducks, and the smaller animals came together. All complained of stolen nests, stones, and arrows.

The ground squirrel alone said a good word for man. This made the others so angry that they fell upon the little animal and tore him with their claws. You can see the stripes on his back even to this day.

Then all the squirrels that had lost legs or tail by arrows, all rabbits running on three legs, all birds that had seen their little ones die, all wild ducks lamed, and all animals that had ever been wounded for sport rose up and called for revenge.

"Let the pains and the trouble that man has sent to us and our children be sent to him and his children," they demanded.

"But how can we do this?" asked the others. "We cannot turn man's weapons against him."

"Let us send new diseases," proposed a limping fox.

All rose up with pleasure at this proposal. And they commenced to invent diseases so fast that they had soon named every kind of sickness that you ever heard of. Had they thought of many more, no human beings would now be alive.

The grubworm, who had been stepped on by man, was so delighted that he fell over backwards and has had to wriggle on his back ever since.

But the plants continued friendly to man. When they heard what the animals had done, they promised to help him and his children forever.

Every tree and plant, even the grass and the moss, agreed to furnish a cure for one of the diseases sent by the animals.

Each said in turn: "I shall help man when he calls on me in his need."

Thus came medicine. And if we only knew where to look, we might find among the plants a cure for every kind of sickness.



HOW SPRING CONQUERED WINTER

Far to the North lives the terrible giant, Winter. When he leaves his home, all people dread his coming. He whistles, and the storms roar about him. Where he steps, the ground turns to rock and plants bow their heads to the earth.

All the animals flee before him and hide in caves and hollow trees. The children leave their happy play and sit shivering by the wigwam fire.

One day old Winter looked about him. He saw no life in field or forest. The wind raged, and the drifts almost hid the lodges of the Indians.

"The world is conquered; I am the only king," said giant Winter. He sat alone in his lodge. The fire was white with ashes, and the tempest howled.

A step was heard, and a young warrior entered the lodge.

He was tall and straight and youthful.

Old Winter welcomed the stranger. "Sit here on the mat beside me," he said. "Let us pass the night together. You shall tell me of your strange adventures, and of the lands in which you have traveled."

The old man drew his long peace pipe from its pouch. It was made of red sandstone, and its stem was a smooth reed. He lighted the pipe from the dying embers and passed it to his guest.

Long they talked and smoked together, each boasting of his power.

"When I blow my breath about me," said old Winter, "rivers stop their flowing, and water turns to stone."

The young man smiled. "When I blow my breath about me," he replied, "I free your prisoned waters, and they rush onward to the seas."

"My power is greater than yours," boasted Winter. "I have only to shake my long hair and the leaves die on the branches. Plants bow their heads before me and go back into the earth."



And now the stranger laughed as he boasted of greater power. "When I shake my curling locks, I call the leaves back on the branches. The plants come out of the brown earth and bring forth their flowers and fruit."

Old Winter frowned. "I speak, and the birds fly away. I command, and the wild beasts obey me. They hide in caves. They burrow in the earth. They do not venture to look upon my face!"

"I call back the birds you have sent away," replied the stranger. "They hear my voice and return to their nesting places. I speak, and the beasts leave their shelters and fill the forests and the plains with life."

"I am the king," shouted Winter, "for even man obeys me. When I send the tempest, the mightiest warriors turn and flee. They close the doors of their lodges, and I imprison them with drifts of snow."

"I also have power over man," replied the stranger. "My name is Spring. I melt your snow and open the wigwam doors. All men rejoice, and they come forth to hunt and feast and dance."

The night waned, and the sun came from his lodge like a painted warrior. The air grew warm and pleasant, and the bluebird and the robin sang on the lodge poles.

But the giant! What was taking place? He was growing smaller. Now he was no larger than a common man. His war bonnet was no longer white, but old and gray, and its feathers were falling one by one.

Still the giant dwindled. Smaller and smaller he grew. Tears flowed from his eyes. He vanished from sight, and fled away with a noise like the rush of waters. Far to the north he flew where the snow never melts.

Thus did Spring, the beautiful youth, conquer the great and mighty Winter.

"Thus it was that in the Northland Came the Spring with all its splendor, All its birds and all its blossoms, All its flowers and leaves and grasses."



THE GIFT OF CORN

A tribe of Indians once lived on the beautiful islands of a large lake. They were driven from their homes by hostile tribes. Men, women, and children left everything they owned and paddled their canoes westward to the mainland.

But Manabush, the bravest of the warriors, remained behind. It was his purpose to keep close watch of the enemy, and to send warning in time to prevent surprise.

Every day he paddled his birch canoe close to the shore, hiding in nooks and bays. He had with him two boys, and with their aid the canoe was hauled every night into the thick woods.

As they walked, they carefully covered their footprints with sand.

Each day Manabush thought of his suffering people, whose supplies of food had been stolen by the enemy. The brave warrior prayed to the spirits of earth and air, asking that food be given to his tribe.

One morning Manabush rose early, leaving the two boys asleep. He went out from the tent and walked in the forest, where he could not be seen.

Suddenly he came out upon an open plain. Approaching him was a handsome youth dressed in garments of green and yellow. In his hair he wore a red plume.

Truly this stranger must come from skyland, he thought. What answer does he bring?

"I am Mondamin," said the strange man. "Your prayers are heard, for you pray, not for yourself, but for your people. I have come to show you how by labor and struggle you can gain what you have prayed for. You must wrestle with me."

Long they strove together. The man of the red feather was strong and active, but at last he was thrown to the earth.



"I have thrown you! I have thrown you!" shouted Manabush.

"You have gained a great gift for your people," said Mondamin, "for I am the spirit of the corn."

Even as he spoke, a wonderful change took place. Gone was the man who had wrestled with such strength. His garments had turned into green and yellow corn husks, and his body to a ripe red ear of corn. But the red plume was still waving.

Again the voice of Mondamin was heard from the ground. "Take from me my covers. Scatter my kernels over the plain. Break my spine and throw it all about you.

"Make the earth soft and light above me. Let no bird disturb me, and let no weed share my resting place. Watch me till I stand once more tall and beautiful. Then you shall have food for your people."

Manabush obeyed all that the voice had commanded. On the way back to his canoe he killed a deer, but he said no word to his companions of his strange adventure with the man of the red feather.

When the new moon hung like a bow in the west, he visited the field alone. What were the wide grass-like blades making green the plain? What were the vines that sent their runners all about?

Carefully he tilled the field. The stems grew strong, and the broad leaves gleamed in the sunshine. Still he kept the secret, spending many hours in watching for his enemies.

When summer drew near its close, Manabush paddled his canoe to the shore nearest the wrestling ground. He found the corn clad in green and yellow, with red plumes waving. And great yellow pumpkins were ripening on the green vines.

As he picked the ripe red ears he heard a voice from the field, saying: "Victory has crowned your struggles, O Manabush. The gift of corn is to your people, and will always be their food."



THE MAGIC CANOE

One night, as Manabush was lying on the ground in the thick woods, he heard strange voices. "This is no common enemy," he said to himself. But he lay motionless and listened.

The evil spirits were plotting to take his life. By his magic power he was able to defend himself from their attacks, and they slipped away unseen.

In the morning he went to the open shore. There he saw a canoe drawn up on the beach. Coming near, he found a man in the bow and another in the stern. They had been changed into stone images as a punishment for their wicked deeds.

The canoe was the largest and finest that Manabush had ever seen. It was full of bags of the most beautiful clothing and stores of the rarest food.

Manabush carried all the treasures into the wood and concealed them in a cave. Then he took the magic canoe and hid it among the rocks.



A voice was heard from one of the stone images: "In this way will the canoes of your people be loaded when they pass again along this coast."

Manabush returned to his two young companions, bidding them arise and cook. He showed them the abundance of meat and fish, the bags of maple sugar and dried berries, and other foods liked by the Indians.

Then he thought of his aged father and mother, who had fled far from their homes. Danger seemed past, and he wished them to return and share his gifts.

Westward he sailed in the magic canoe. He needed no paddles, for his wishes guided him, and the boat flew through the water with amazing speed.

Before daylight he was at the lodge of his parents. He found them asleep, and he carried them to his canoe so gently that they did not awaken.

When they awoke in the morning, they could hardly believe their eyes. They had left behind hunger and a barren lodge. They found themselves in their own country, with abundance all about them.

Food was placed before them. Then the bags were opened. There were beaded dresses for the mother and war bonnets for the father. There were moccasins and warm blankets. There were skins as soft as the most skilled work could produce.

Manabush built his parents a lodge near the cornfield and filled it with every comfort. Then he brought ears of corn and pumpkins and laid before them. He told them of his wrestling with Mondamin, and he showed them the field where the corn stood in its garments of green and yellow, waving its red plumes.

The secret of the magic canoe, the stone images, and the wonderful gifts was shared by Manabush with his father and mother.

When spring returned a large cornfield grew and prospered. The exiled tribe came back, and from that time they were noted for their fine crops of maize.



THE HAPPY HUNTING GROUNDS

All who leave the earth must follow the death trail. Each walks alone—warrior, squaw, or child. All but papoose. The good spirits carry papoose.

The trail goes on and on to the place where the sun slips over the edge of the earth plane. There it comes to a deep, rapid stream, and the only bridge is a slippery pine log.

On the other side of the river are six strange beings with rocks in their hands. These rocks are magic stones which can injure only those who have done evil, but can never touch nor harm the good.

When the one who follows the death trail reaches the middle of the log, he sees the stones come flying toward him.

If his life has been evil, he tries to dodge; therefore, he slips off the log and falls into the black, swirling water.

Sometimes he crawls out of the stream and climbs to the top of the rocks. But he can never reach the country of the good spirits.

There is only one trail to the Happy Hunting Grounds, and that is over the narrow, slippery log. But if the one who is crossing has brought good to his kinsmen and his tribe, he does not fear.

He knows that no harm can come from the stones that fly around him, and so he keeps his footing and walks safely over.

The trail winds on over high rocks to the beautiful land. No storms and no winter enter the Happy Hunting Grounds. The sky is always blue, and the grass never grows dry with heat nor brown with frost.

The trees are full of birds, the bushes of fruit, and the forests are alive with game. Feasting and dancing fill the day, and the war cry is heard no more.



ABOUT THE BOOK

The facts and stories which have made this little book possible are found in the works of Schoolcraft and in the Government reports of Ethnology. Especial credit is due to Albert E. Jenks, author of "The Wild-Rice Indians of the Upper Lakes," and to James Mooney, who reported for the Government the tribal myths told by famous Cherokee story-tellers.

There is evidence that the Indians of early times had regular trade routes across the continent, north and south, and east and west. It was the custom of their story-tellers to exchange stories, and it is therefore possible that some of the myths told in the south found their way in northern wigwams. The story of the birds welcoming a papoose, for example, is obtained in part from the Cherokee collection, and in part from Schoolcraft, who lived among the Ojibways, or Chippewas as they are often called. That certain tales are similar to fables of AEsop is explained by the theory that a primitive people, observing nature, would originate similar myths.

The forests where rice grew wild in the shallow water of lakes and streams, were coveted lands and the cause of many Indian wars. Here game was abundant, and maple sugar, berries, and nuts could be obtained in season.

After years of conflict for the rice lands, peace was made between the Ojibways of the Great Lakes and the Sioux, or Dakotahs, farther west. Trade with the whites had begun, but there were many villages which the white men had never entered, and where the primitive customs were still unchanged.

As Hiawatha was not the only Indian who married a Dakotah, it follows that there were homes where the family life was influenced by the customs of both tribes.

The author has endeavored to describe child life in the Wild-Rice region west of the Great Lakes at this period, and to retell some of the most interesting stories enjoyed by Indian children.

The aim of the book is to gratify the American child's natural interest in primitive life by stories of our own land and to increase his respect for all that is original and worthy in the lives of the First Americans.

THE END