Part 1 — FICTION (continued 2)

Soon after this he heard the hunters moving around; then all became quiet and he concluded that they had gone. He crept slowly toward the camp, but when he reached it he could not find a bite of meat. These were the same four brothers from whom he had stolen before. They had now finished hunting, and had packed their meat and started for home. Disappointed by this failure, he walked on; toward night he saw a camp, and, creeping near it, he again saw the four hunters. He listened to what they were saying. One said, “I wonder who stole our meat that day.” Another said: “I think that man is walking around in the woods. I think his name is Gaqga.” “Oh,” thought Gaqga, “they are talking about me. They will be on the watch. How can I get their meat?” Then he said, “I wish them all to sleep soundly.” They fell asleep, and he went up boldly and took all their meat and hid it in the woods, saying, “This is the kind of man I am.”

The next morning the four hunters missed their meat. One said, “Who has stolen our meat?” Another said: “I dreamed that I saw Gaqga around here. I saw him go off toward the southwest.” Then all said, “Let us follow the direction given by the dream.” They started and soon came to the place where Gaqga was camped. He had been out all night and was now sleeping. One of the men said, “Let us kill him.” “No,” said another; “let him live; he did not kill us while we were asleep.” They took the meat and went away.

When Gaqga awoke he was very hungry, but the meat was gone. “Well,” thought he, “I must go and hunt for more meat,” but he could find none. About midday he heard the noises made by people. He listened and then went on to a lodge. Some one inside was singing and the song said: “Gaqga is coming. Look out. Be careful, Gaqga is coming.” “Why does he sing about me?” thought Gaqga; “I will go inside and find out.” He found a man and his wife and four children. Gaqga said, “I have come to stay a few days with you.” “Very well,” replied the man of the lodge. During the night Gaqga ate all the children; then he lay down and slept. The next morning the old people said, “Where are our children?” Gaqga replied: “I dreamed somebody carried off your children, and my dream told which way he went. I will go with you to hunt them.” After they had gone some distance Gaqga said: “The man lives on that high cliff. I can not go with you for I do not like the man who lives there. I will wait here.” As soon as the father was out of sight Gaqga went away. Now he went on until he came to a place where he found many of his own people; they were having a great dance, and he sat down to watch them.

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16. Ohohwa (the Owl) and the Two Sisters

Two sisters of a tribe lived near the edge of a village clearing. The chief dwelt near the center of it. The mother of these two sisters was accustomed to pick up deer droppings to put into the hominy instead of venison or fish. This was a custom practiced only by widows and by families who from some misfortune were too poor to obtain meat or fish.

One day one of the sisters asked her mother to let her have some of the droppings to mix with the hominy which she was preparing. Her aged mother, who was a widow, replied, “You should be ashamed of yourself to ask for such things, for you are a fine-looking woman and should marry the chief’s son; then you would not be obliged to seek such things for meat, for you would have a good hunter to provide you with all the meat and fish you required.”

Somewhat abashed, the daughter answered, “Well, if my sister will go, I will go; and if he will take us both, it will be well.” So they set to work and prepared the usual marriage bread, and when they were ready to start they asked their mother how the young man looked. She replied: “He is a handsome man, with a hooked nose. Beside the fire he has two deer heads, which are alive and open and shut their eyes whenever fuel is placed on the fire. This young man is very strong in magic—is possessed of potent orenda, and so he has many wild deer around his lodge. You must be very careful lest you be deceived by his uncle, who also has a hooked nose and very closely resembles his nephew. He will attempt to seduce you on the way. The first large lodge you see is the one to which you must go.”

So the daughters started and went along slowly. At last they saw a man running around old stumps trying to catch something. He did not see them coming. Shortly after they came in sight of him he stood up—protruding from his mouth was the tail of a mouse. Seeing the girls, he said, “Ho, ho, where are you two going?” “We are going to propose to the chief’s son,” they replied. “Well, what is his appearance?” was his next question. “Our mother said that he had a hooked nose,” came their answer. The wily old man said, “Look at me! Is not my nose hooked?” “Yes,” said the elder sister, “perhaps this is the man.” So they went to his lodge, which was an old, ugly-looking place. He said to them that he had to get his deer heads, so he got some old heads which his nephew had cast away. His mother and his little boy sat by the fire. He told them to keep quiet and they would have bread shortly. The child cried out, “Father, give me some bread.” The old man said, “Why do you not call me brother? I am your brother.” Then the old man shoved the little boy aside and sat down near the girls. One of them said, “We want to see the live deer you have around the lodge.” So they went outside. This place was not far from that of the nephew. The old man called the deer, but they ran away. Then he said to the girls, “You are not mystically pure enough to come near those deer, for they are very subtle.”

The girls spent the night with the old man. His bed had but few skins, and one of the girls asked him, “Why do you not have a better bed?” “Oh, my mother is washing the turkey-feather blanket in the creek,” he declared.

During the night some person came to the door and said, “Old man, you are wanted at the lodge of your nephew.” The old man paid no heed to the summons. He was again summoned by the words, “Come! your nephew wants you.” Then he declared that he supposed that the people had become frightened at something and wanted him to call a council; so he started off. After he had gone the girls said, “Let us go over and see what is happening.” When they arrived at the lodge they heard loud peals of laughter, and so they peeped through crevices in the bark walls; they saw the old man dancing and before the fire a number of mice roasting on spits. As the old man passed them in his dance he would grasp one and eat it hot and burning, and everybody would laugh.

The girls ran back to the lodge of the old man and placed rotten logs full of ants in their bed in order to deceive him into thinking that they were lying there asleep. Then, taking their basket, which still contained some bread, they went outside the lodge to watch. When the old man returned they peered into the lodge to see what he would do. They saw him quietly creep into the bed between the two logs. Soon he began to be bitten by the ants. Thereupon he turned over, saying, “Do not be jealous of your sister”; but as the biting continued, he repeated his injunction. Finally, the ants made it so uncomfortable for him that he sprang out of bed, and then realizing that he had been lying between logs of wood full of ants, he bitterly upbraided his mother, although she knew nothing of the matter.

The girls then went to the lodge of the nephew, who willingly took them for his wives.

It was not long after this that the old man informed the people that they must close up the smoke-holes of their lodges, for a great pestilence was coming among them. So they did this. Then the old man, after sharpening a beech rod, carried it wherever he went. He made a great noise, saying: “Blue beech is coming. Blue beech is coming.” When he arrived at his nephew’s lodge he cast the beech rod down the smoke-hole, and it entered the breast of his nephew and killed him.

The next morning, when the people heard of the death of their chief, everyone began to weep for him. By the death of the nephew the old man became the chief. He said that some one must marry the girl wives of the dead chief; so he called all the young men together, but before they could speak their minds the wily old reprobate exclaimed, “None of you will do.” He had asked each one for an expression of opinion, but would not permit anyone to answer him. Then he closed the conference by saying, “I must marry them myself.” But the girls would not remain and quickly escaped to their own home.

The old man was an owl, but the nephew was an eagle.

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17. A Great Snake Battle

In old times some Indians had a great battle with snakes, and this is how it happened.

A certain man near the village of the Indians was hunting one day. He found a rattlesnake, which he mercilessly tormented. He tied a piece of bark around its body and passed another piece of bark through the body. Then, fastening the snake to the ground and building a fire, he said, “We shall fight,” as a challenge to the snake people. Afterward he burned up the snake and tormented many other snakes in this way, always challenging them to fight.

The man went back to the village and told the people what he had seen and heard. The chief sent a number of men to the place, and as far as they could see in all directions were snakes three or four feet deep, all moving toward their rendezvous. The men ran back and told the chief what they had seen. The chief said: “We can not avoid it; we have got to fight, and so we must get ready.” To do this they cut great piles of wood and drove stakes close together in the ground; there were two rows of stakes the whole length of the village, and they stacked up the wood in long piles. On the fourth day the chief told the men to set fire to the wood in several places.

When the snakes advanced to attack the village they came right on through the fire, and many of them were burned to death. So many rushed into the fire that they put it out. The live snakes climbed over the dead ones, and in spite of the resistance of the men, who were trying in every way to kill them, they reached the second row of stakes. Here again many were killed, but still the living climbed over the dead above the second row of stakes, and then the battle for life began in deep earnest. The first man they killed was Djisdaah, the man who had challenged them, and then the snakes made for the village, and the men stood and fought. Finally the chief shouted that he surrendered.

Then a snake, whose body was as large as a mountain, and whose head was as large as a lodge, came right up out of the ground and said: “I am the chief of the snakes; we will go home if you agree that as long as the world stands you will not call any man Djisdaah and will not maltreat my people.” The chief agreed willingly to this, and the snakes went away.

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18. The Ongwe Ias (the Cannibal) and His Younger Brother

Two brothers were in the woods on a hunting expedition, and after they had been on the hunt a good while they had success in finding game, and they had built a good sized lodge, in which they enjoyed everything in common.

The elder said to the younger brother: “Now, for the future we must live apart; let us make a partition through the middle of the lodge and have a door at each end, so that you shall have a door to your part and I a door to mine.” The younger brother agreed, and they made the partition. The elder brother said further: “Now, each will live for himself. I will not come to your room and you shall not come to mine; when we want to say anything to each other we can talk through the partition. You may hunt game as before—birds and animals—and live on them, but I will hunt men and eat them. Neither of us will ever marry or bring a woman to the lodge; if I marry, you shall kill me, if you can, but if you marry I will try to kill you.” The brothers lived thus apart in the same lodge, each going out to hunt alone.

One day while the brothers were out hunting, a woman came to the younger brother’s room. The elder brother tracked her to the lodge, caught her at the door, dragged her into his room, and killed and ate her. When the younger brother came home the elder said, “I have had good luck today near home.” The younger brother knew that he must have killed and eaten the woman, but he said merely, “It is well if you have had good luck.”

On another day the elder brother tracked a woman to his brother’s part of the lodge and, going to the door, knocked, calling out, “Let me have a couple of arrows; there is an elk out here.” The woman brought the arrows, and the moment she opened the door he killed her and took her body to his part of the lodge, where he cooked and ate it. When his brother came back they talked through the partition as before. The younger brother warned the next woman against opening the door; he told her to open it for no one, not even for himself; that he would come in without knocking.

The next time the elder brother ran to the door and knocked hurriedly, calling out, “Give me a couple of arrows; there is a bear out here,” the woman sat by the fire, but did not move. Again he called, “Hurry! Give me the arrows—the bear will be gone.” The woman did not stir, but sat quietly by the fire. After a while the elder brother went into his part of the lodge. When the younger brother came home the woman told him what had happened. While they were whispering the elder brother called out: “Well, brother, you are whispering to some one. Who is it? Have you a woman here?” “Oh,” answered the younger, “I am counting over my game.” All was silent now for a time. The younger brother then began whispering cautiously to the woman, saying, “My brother and I will have a life-and-death struggle in the morning, and you must help me; but it will be very difficult for you to do so, for he will make himself just like me in form and voice, but you must strike him if you can.” The woman tied to his hair a small squash shell so as to be able to distinguish him from his elder brother. The latter again called out, “You have a woman; you are whispering to her.” The younger brother denied it no longer.

In the morning the brothers went out to fight with clubs and knives. After breaking their weapons they clenched and rolled on the ground; sometimes one was under and sometimes the other. The elder was exactly like the younger and repeated his words. Whenever the younger cried, “Strike him!” the elder cried out almost at the same time, “Strike him!” The woman was in agony, for she was unable to tell which to strike. At last she caught sight of the squash shell, and then she struck a heavy blow and finished the elder brother.

They gathered a great pile of wood and, laying the body on the pile, set fire to the wood and burned up the flesh. When the flesh was consumed they scattered the burnt bones. Then the younger brother placed the woman in the core of a cat-tail flag, which he put on the point of his arrow and shot far away to the west. Running through the heart of the upper log of the lodge, he sprang after the woman and, coming to the ground, ran with great speed and soon found where the arrow had struck. The cat-tail flag had burst open and the woman was gone. He soon overtook her and they traveled on together. He told her she must make all speed, for the ghost of his brother would follow them.

When the elder brother reached the rotten stump he looked at it and, seeing something like nostrils, put his finger in and almost made the woman sneeze. Though suspicious of the tree, he followed the moccasin tracks swiftly all day and night.

At the break of day the younger brother and the woman continued their journey. At noon the elder brother came back to the place where he saw the stump and not finding it, he was in a terrible rage. He knew now that he had been deceived. He continued to follow the tracks, and on the second day the pursued couple heard his whoop again. Taking out of his pouch a part of the jaw of a beaver with a couple of teeth in it, the younger brother stuck it into the ground, saying, “Let all the beavers come and build a dam across the world, so that the waters may rise to his neck, and let all the beavers in the world bite him when he tries to cross.” Then he and the woman ran on.

When the elder brother came up, the dam was built and the water neck-deep; finding that the tracks disappeared in the water, he said, “If they have gone through I, too, can go through.” When the water reached his breast all the beavers began to bite him, and he was forced to turn back and look for another crossing. All day he ran but could find no end to the dam and cried out, “I have never heard before of a beaver dam across the world.” He then ran to the place whence he had started. The dam was gone and all that remained was a bit of beaver jaw with two teeth in it. He saw his brother’s work in this and was now raving with anger. He rushed along with all speed.

The second day after the younger brother and the woman heard his whoop again. Taking out a pigeon feather from his pouch, the younger brother placed it behind him on the ground, saying, “Let all the pigeons of the world come and leave their droppings here, so that my brother may not pass.” All the pigeons of the world came, and soon there was a ridge of droppings 6 feet high across the country. When the elder brother came up he saw the tracks disappearing in the ridge; thereupon he said, “If they have crossed I, too, can cross it.” He walked into it but he could not get through, and so he turned back with great difficulty and ran eastward to look for an opening; he ran all day, but the ridge was everywhere. He cried in anger, “I have never known such a thing.” Going back, he slept until morning, when he found that all was clean—nothing to be seen but a pigeon feather sticking in the ground. He hurried on in a frenzy of rage.

After dropping the feather the younger brother and woman ran until they came to an old man mending a great fish net. The old man said: “I will stop as long as I can the man who is chasing you. You have an aunt who lives west of here, by the roadside. The path passes between two ledges of rock which move backward and forward so quickly that whoever tries to pass between is crushed, but if you beg of her to stop them for a moment she will do so and will give you information.” They hurried on until they came to the woman, their aunt, and prayed her to let them pass. She stopped the rocks long enough for them to spring through, saying: “Your path is through a river, on the other side of which is a man with a canoe; beckon to him and he will come and take you over; beyond the river is a whole army of Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, but they will not harm you. A little dog wagging his tail will run to meet you. Follow him and he will lead you to an opening in which is your mother’s lodge. The dog will enter—follow him.”

When the elder brother came to the old man who was mending his net he passed, and, pushing him rudely, called out, “Did anyone pass here?” The old man did not answer. Then he struck him a blow on the head with his club. When he did that the old man threw the net over him and he became entangled and fell. After struggling to get out for a long time, he tore himself free and hurried on. When he reached the old woman where the rocks were opening and closing, he begged her to stop them, but she would not; so, waiting for a chance, he finally jumped, but was caught and half his body was crushed; he rubbed it with spittle and was cured. Then he hurried on in still greater fury. When he came to the river he shouted to the man in the canoe, but the man paid no heed; again he shouted, and then he swam across. On the other side he found an immense forest of withered trees, which for miles had been stripped of their bark and killed by the hammering of turtle-shell rattles by Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, keeping time with them while dancing. These Sʻhagodiyoweqgowa, turning upon him immediately, hammered all the flesh off of him; they then hammered all his bones until there was not a trace of him left. When the mother saw her son and his wife she was very happy, and said: “I am so glad you have come. I was afraid your elder brother who took you away would kill you. I knew he would try to do so. Now you will always stay with me.”

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One day Haieñdoñnis, carrying all his small effects, was walking along through the forest. It seems that he did not know where he came from, nor did he know to what particular place he was going, although he well knew that he was going in a northerly direction. Wherever evening overtook him there he would place his bundle on the ground and get into it, when he had no hollow tree to enter, and thus spend the night. In this way he traveled many days.

One morning he came to a steep precipice; here he began to wonder how he might be able to descend its face with so large a pack on his back. At last he placed his pack on the ground, and, hastening to a basswood tree standing some distance away, he stripped all the bark from it, which he slit into fine strands. Tying the strips together, end to end, he made a long strand, one end of which he fastened to a hemlock tree standing on the brink of the precipice and the other he let down over the brink. Then taking hold of the strand near the hemlock tree, he carefully lowered himself over the edge of the cliff. He was soon at the end of the strand and there he hung. His bundle pulled down the upper part of his body until he was in an almost horizontal position, with his face turned upward, so he could not see just where he was. Although he was near the ground he did not know it. Feeling that his situation was critical, he thought: “What shall I do now? Would it not be better for me to kill myself by letting go of the strand, for I can not get up, nor can I in any manner descend.” Finally he decided to let go of the rope of basswood bark and fall to the bottom of the precipice; but, as he released his grip, his pack touched the ground and his head rested on the pack. He thought, however, that he was falling all the time. At last he felt weary of falling, and said, “I will try to turn over on one side, so that I can see whither I am going.” So turning himself on one side he found that he was on the ground, and he exclaimed, “I have been greatly delayed by not knowing that the ground was at the end of the strand of basswood bark.” So saying he arose and went on.

When darkness came he found, after diligent search, a hollow tree, in which he spent the night. In this manner he traveled for many days. Finally he decided to find a place in which to dwell, and he resolved that it must be a place where the trees stood only a short distance apart. Having found such a spot, he built a small cabin, in which he put his pack. Then he began to arrange his things in order—skins and furs, ladles and bark bowls, pouch and weapons.

The next morning he went out very early to hunt for food. Soon he saw a deer walking along, and on pointing his finger at it the deer fell dead. Then he carried its carcass home on his back. He then ordered that it skin itself, and this it did. He cut the carcass into suitable portions, some of which he hung up around the inside of the cabin and some he roasted for his meal. That night he found that he had no firewood. Going out of doors, he said in a loud voice, “Let wood for fuel come and pile itself beside my doorway.” The wish thus expressed was immediately accomplished.

This remarkable man had an influence over every kind of game. When he desired a particular animal, all that he had to do was to point his finger at it, and the victim would fall dead. In this way he was able to kill much game in a day. When he returned to his small cabin he did not carry the game, but would stand at the door and say, “Let the game which I have killed be piled up beside my doorway.” When this was done he would say, “Let the skins come off and the meat be quartered, put up to dry, and be smoked.” Then he would enter his cabin, paying no further attention to the game. In the morning he would find the meat hanging up to dry and a large heap of skins lying at his door. He would then spend the day in tanning the skins.

After a while the thought came to him, “What shall I do with these three pouches?” Then he took down the pouch made of the skin of Gaasyendietʻha and commanded it, saying, “Stand upright here.” Instantly Gaasyendietʻha stood there before him alive. Then Haieñdoñnis made the other two pouches come to life in the same manner, and there they stood inside his cabin. Meanwhile the rumor spread that Haieñdoñnis had settled down in that place and that he was possessed of potent orenda, or mighty magic power, and that he was a sorcerer through possession of this mysterious potency, which worked good for his friends and evil for his enemies.

Not far from the cabin of the mysterious Haieñdoñnis stood the lodge of a woman and her three daughters. The mother was reputed to be a great witch, and it was said that she had come there to dwell because no one in the settlement of her tribe wanted to live near her.

Haieñdoñnis saw the woman coming with a basket on her back, and he exclaimed: “Hoho! There is a woman coming. I think that she is coming to see me. I do wonder if indeed she desires to marry me.” Then, addressing the pouch, Gaasyendietʻha, he said: “I want you to go yonder and to stand beside that tree there. You, Panther, stand a little nearer to the cabin, and you, Fox, stand in the doorway of the cabin.”

As the woman drew near Haieñdoñnis sat smoking his pipe. She came quite close to Gaasyendietʻha, but as she walked with her head down at first she did not see him; but when just in front of him she noticed something, and, looking up, saw so fierce-looking a person that instinctively she turned back and fled. As she ran along the bread all fell out of her basket, so when she reached home there was none left. Her mother, Yenogeauns, asked her, “What is the matter?” But she was entirely out of breath and could not answer. Haieñdoñnis was laughing, for he saw her run all the way home.

Haieñdoñnis saw her coming and said: “Here comes another woman. She will soon be scattering her corn bread, too.” So he stationed the living pouches as he had before. The girl came along with her head down until she reached Gaasyendietʻha, and, seeing him, she said, “I need not be afraid,” and passed on. In like manner she passed Panther, and came to the doorway; there before her stood a man rubbing something against the door which frightened her greatly, and she screamed and fled homeward. On her way she likewise lost all the bread out of her basket. Seeing her flight, Haieñdoñnis laughed at her, too.

Haieñdoñnis hunted a good deal and was accustomed to clean intestines of the game he had killed and fill them with blood and pieces of fat and meat, and so cook them. He cooked many of these and hung them over his couch.

After a few days had elapsed the old woman said to her daughters, “Let us make another trial.” It would seem that the mother well knew what had happened to her daughters who had made the journey to the lodge of Haieñdoñnis. So they made corn bread of such kind as was customary in proposals for marriage, and they filled a basket with it. Then the wily old mother said to her youngest daughter, Yenongäa: “You make the attempt this time. Do not notice anything or fear anything, but go directly to the lodge of Haieñdoñnis.” The dutiful daughter replied with some inward misgivings: “It is well. I will try,” and, taking up the basket of bread, she started.

Now, Haieñdoñnis soon saw her coming, and he exclaimed: “Is it not wonderful what small value these people place on bread? They come here with it and then run off, scattering it along the path as they flee. Now this one is coming with a basketful on her back, and I suppose that she will run off, dropping it along the way behind her.” He watched her come up to Gaasyendietʻha, and saw her look at him and then strike him, so that he fell to the ground. She saw that this seemingly ferocious figure was only the animated skin of Gaasyendietʻha. So coming up to Panther, she dealt with him as she had with Gaasyendietʻha. On arriving at the door where her second sister had thought she saw a man, Yenongäa went up to Fox and struck him a blow with her hand; down he fell, for he, too, was nothing but a pouch of fox skin, the tail of which the wind had been brushing against the flap of the doorway, the occurrence which frightened her sister. The other sisters had thought that living beings stood before them.

Now, when Haieñdoñnis saw her doing these things, he thought, “She will surely come into the lodge; so I must get my pipe and pretend to be an old man.” On entering the lodge, Yenongäa inquired, “Where is Haieñdoñnis?” Receiving no answer, she repeated her question, and then Haieñdoñnis replied in an old man’s accents. “It seems to me that I hear a woman’s voice.” So she called in a louder tone. Then he looked up, saying, “I do not think that he is at home, or that he will return before the end of ten days.” The unabashed young woman replied, “It is well. Then I will come in ten days,” and started for home.

At the end of ten days the youngest daughter again set out for the lodge of Haieñdoñnis. When she drew near he saw her, and said to himself, “Now I shall change myself into a small boy.” On this visit the young woman paid no attention to the animated pouches representing Gaasyendietʻha, Panther, and Fox, but went directly to the doorway and stood there. On making her presence known, she heard the voice of a small boy say, “Come in.” After entering the lodge she asked, “Where is Haieñdoñnis?” The answer came: “He has just gone out. He has gone to the other side of the world.” “How long will he be gone?” was her next inquiry. “Oh!” came the reply, “he said that he would be gone about ten days.” Then she assured the small boy that she would return in that time.

At the end of the time Haieñdoñnis saw her coming again, and resolved to make himself invisible this time, to deceive her. So when she had made her way into the lodge and set her basket down, she looked around but saw no one. Then, saying, “I will wait a while,” she sat down on the couch of Haieñdoñnis. The situation was so amusing that Haieñdoñnis laughed out loud, and the young woman, becoming frightened, arose and fled home, where she arrived quite ashamed of herself, for she had left her basket of corn bread. Her mother asked, “Where is the basket of corn bread?” but she made no reply, knowing that her mother was aware of what had taken place. The mother then heated water and prepared to wash her daughter clean, for she saw that some of the deer intestines which hung in the lodge of Haieñdoñnis were clinging to her daughter. The old woman took them with the remark: “I am thankful to you. These are good meat. You shall go there again to-morrow.”

So the next morning she went again, and when Haieñdoñnis saw her he laughed, saying, “I think that all the intestines will go this time.” On entering the lodge she saw Haieñdoñnis in his real shape. He asked her what she was going to do with the basket of bread which she had left in his lodge. She replied, “My mother sent me to live with you as your wife.” He replied, “It is well, and I agree to it,” and from that time they lived together as man and wife. These two were evil-minded, wicked people, who were full of the orenda, or magic power, of sorcerers, and all wizards and witches in the world knew just the moment that they became man and wife.

The next morning Yenongäa said to her husband that she desired to visit her mother. Haieñdoñnis readily gave his consent to her going; so she went to her home. At once her mother began to work over her for the purpose of endowing her with much more evil-working orenda, and she instructed her, too, how to enslave her husband. She also said to her, “You must urge him to come to live with us.” The young woman returned to her husband, who, on looking at her, discovered that she was being equipped to enslave him. But he foiled her this time and every succeeding time that she undertook to do so. She went to her mother’s lodge for a long time. Finally, Haieñdoñnis became wearied by this conduct of his wife and her mother, and said to himself: “I wonder why they act in this manner. I think that it would be well for me to destroy her people.” To this he made up his mind.

The next morning she again told him that she was going to visit her mother. After she had started Haieñdoñnis followed her. By taking a circuitous route he got ahead of his wife, arriving at her mother’s lodge before she did. Rushing into the lodge, he faced the old woman. He said to her, “I have come to fight with you,” and the aged hag graciously accepted his challenge. So they at once began fighting with war clubs, and were fighting fiercely when the wife entered the lodge. She wondered how her husband had passed her. She stood there powerless to aid either one. The combatants kept on fighting until Haieñdoñnis was certain that the old mother and the two elder daughters were dead. Then addressing his wife, he said, “You go off yonder a little way,” and she willingly obeyed him. Thereupon he set the lodge on fire, and the flames were soon rising high. After the fire had died out somewhat there were a number of explosions among the embers, sounding pop! pop! Then up flew a horned owl, a common owl, and a screech owl to the upper limbs of a tree standing near the scene. These were owls in human form.

Thus were the three women utterly destroyed. Then Haieñdoñnis said to his wife, “Let us go home now.” But she stood there looking in one direction; she seemed spellbound. At last her husband took her by the arm, again saying, “Let us go home,” and she turned and followed him.

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.

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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.”

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.

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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.

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.”

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.

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.

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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 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.”

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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.

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.]

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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.