Part 1 — FICTION (continued 5)

Then Hodadeñon called on the moles to go into the lodge of the four women to discover their hearts, and he accompanied them in the search. It so chanced that he was able to discover the hearts fastened to a string under a couch on which slept the elder of the four women. Seizing them at once he fled out of the lodge. At that moment the woman on watch gave the alarm, shouting, “Hodadeñon has come! Ho, there!” The mother of the witches screamed to her daughters: “Hurry after him my children! Kill him! for he is the last of the family.” The eldest daughter outfooted the others and, as she was overtaking Hodadeñon, he bruised one of the hearts on the string and she fell dead. When the second daughter came up, he bruised another heart, and she also fell dead; and a like fate befell the youngest daughter. Now the old mother alone was left of the brood of witches. She hurried up to him, whereupon he bruised the fourth heart, and she, too, fell lifeless. When the four were dead, Hodadeñon ground their hearts to powder; then dragging the bodies to the lodge, he burned lodge, bodies, and powdered hearts.

Now, the woman watch, who was walking to and fro on the platform continually, was the own sister of Hodadeñon. At this time she was a mere pouch of human skin for her bones and flesh were wanting. Near this platform was a large heap of bones of dead persons. Hodadeñon carried these bones to the foot of a very large hickory tree, and upon the pile he placed the skin of his sister. He then pushed against the tree shouting, “Ho! friends and sister, arise, for the tree is about to fall on you now.” Instantly all leaped up alive, among them his sister.

Then Hodadeñon went to the chestnut trees and taking a nut, he threw it to his other sister in the west, telling the rest of the nuts to follow. They did so, and as they entered the end of the lodge his sister Yenyentʻhwus collected and stored them away.

Hodadeñon now went home with his parents and sister and friends. When they had all taken their places it was seen that one of their number was missing, that there was still a vacant place.

The next morning they found that they were living in a chestnut grove, for the trees were standing all around the lodge.

Later two men came to get some chestnuts for a person who was in danger of death. Replying to their request Hodadeñon said: “It is well. I will give you a chestnut, but you must be very careful not to lose it. Give me your arrow and I will hide the chestnut in the arrow. Be very careful of a man whom you will meet not far from this place. He will say to you, ‘Stop, nephew!’ and then he will come toward you. At that moment you must say, ‘Let us see who can shoot the farther,’ and before he can come near you, do you shoot away your arrows as far as you can, and you will thus save the chestnut. If you lose this one I will not give any more.”

The two men went their way. Soon they saw a man who said to them, “Oh, nephews! I have waited long to see you.” Thereupon he started toward them, but they at once said, “Let us see who can shoot the farther.” Rushing forward the stranger tried to grasp their arrows, and nearly succeeded in doing so. On failing in this attempt, he was very angry, and said, “You are not my nephews at all. Go your way at once.” Willingly they hurried away from him, and after finding their arrows, made their way home.

The next day Hodadeñon said: “There is still one more labor for me to perform. There is yet one empty seat in our lodge. I shall go west this time. Now I go.” He had not gone very far on his journey before he saw an opening, or clearing, in the forest ahead of him. When he came out of the forest into this clearing, he saw a large lake before him, the opposite shore of which he could not see. Between him and this lake was a lodge from which smoke was issuing. Walking up to this and pushing aside the doorflap, he entered; within he found an old man mending moccasins.

Raising his head, the old man said: “Well, nephew, I have been looking for you a long time. I knew that you would come. I am ready to go home. I am from the same place from which you come. The first thing for us to do now will be to eat together.” The old man had a pot of corn and beans with plenty of bear’s meat for seasoning. After they had eaten, the old man said, “Now is our time. We will now go hunting on the little island.”

Then Shagowenotha said to his companion, “Now you go to the lower end and I will go to the upper end of this island. Then we shall meet in the middle of the island, and shall see how much game each of us will have.” Hodadeñon started for the lower end of the island, but in a short time he heard the song of the old man. Turning around, he saw him sailing back to the mainland. Hodadeñon called to him, but received no reply. The old man, however, called out to the creatures in the lake, “If the man on the island tries to swim, eat him at once,” and great hoarse voices out of the water answered, “We will.”

While standing and watching the canoe going over the lake, Hodadeñon heard a voice near him, saying, “Oh, my nephew! come to me.” Hodadeñon went toward the spot whence came the sound of the voice; when he drew near it, he found nothing but a pile of bones covered with moss. The bones asked, “Do you think, nephew, that you are going to die?” “I do,” answered Hodadeñon. The bones, answering, said: “There is a maneater, a cannibal, coming to-night to kill you, but do me a favor, and I will tell you how to save yourself. Go to that great tree and bring me my pouch, and let me smoke, and I will explain all to you.” Going after the pouch, as directed, Hodadeñon brought it to his uncle; then cutting up tobacco, he filled the pipe and lighted it for his uncle. When the latter began to use the pipe, smoke issued from all the orifices in his skull—from the eyeless sockets, the nostrils, the ear openings, and the sutures. When the uncle had finished he asked Hodadeñon to take the pouch back to the place whence he had brought it, whereupon Hodadeñon returned it to the pile of bones. Then the voice from the bones said: “You must go now to cut red willows for material for making manikins and bows and arrows. Run from here to various places on the island; put the manikins in crotches high up in the trees far from one another. Give each manikin a bow and arrow, and when you place each one, say to it, ‘Shoot the dog when it comes.’ When you have put up a number of these come back to me. Then you must go out with manikins a second time; and when you have set these up you must return to me; and you must go out a third time with manikins. When putting up these you must instruct them to shoot the dogs; after doing this, you must return to me. From here you must go to the end of the island, where you must step into the water and walk along in it until you come to an overhanging cliff, which is opposite the landing place. There they can not find you.”

Hodadeñon did as his uncle, the bones, advised him to do. When the manikins were all completed and placed in their places he went to the overhanging bank and there hid himself.

It was not long before the dogs found another tree on which there was a manikin with drawn bow and arrow. When Ongwe Ias saw it, he exclaimed, “Oh! he will kill one of my dogs;” thereupon he shot an arrow, which brought down the manikin. The dogs, rushing at the falling body, seized it, but the Ongwe Ias shouted at them, “Do not eat the flesh! Do not eat the flesh!” as he hurried forward to take it from the dogs. When he saw that they were throwing only bits of red willow from their mouths he was indeed very angry; but he set the dogs on the trail again.

They ran on with Ongwe Ias following them closely. After a while he heard them growling fiercely and found that they had stopped at a pile of bones. Seizing his club, Ongwe Ias pounded the bones, saying, “I have eaten your flesh long ago and still you try to deceive me.” Then, calling his dogs, he set them on the trail made by Hodadeñon when he went to put up the second lot of manikins. The dogs ran around with Ongwe Ias closely following them and singing, “There are no dogs like mine; there are no dogs like mine.” It was not long before they came to a manikin in the crotch of a tree. Seeing the drawn bow and arrow Ongwe Ias said, “Oh, he will kill one of my dogs.” At that instant the manikin shot an arrow and one of the dogs dropped dead. Then Ongwe Ias shot an arrow into the manikin, which fell to the ground. He shouted at the dogs, “Do not eat the flesh! Do not eat the flesh!” Thereupon they let the body go, but he found that it was made merely of bits of red willow.

Starting again on the trail, the dogs ran around for a long time in every direction over the island. Finally Ongwe Ias heard the two surviving dogs barking fiercely; they were at the bones again. Coming up, he shouted: “Why do you deceive me? Long ago I ate your flesh. Why do you trouble me now?” and, seizing his club, he pounded the bones savagely.

A third time he set out with his two dogs on a trail. The dogs followed this until they came to a tree in which was a manikin. This figure shot one of the dogs, killing it. Then Ongwe Ias shot the manikin, which fell to the ground a mass of rotten wood.

At this time day began to dawn. The Ongwe Ias said to himself, “I shall go home now. When it is night again I shall return and I shall be sure of the game.” So bringing his dead dogs to life and taking them into his canoe he sailed away.

Hodadeñon in his hiding place heard the chasing during the entire night, the barking of the dogs and the shouting of the Ongwe Ias; also the sounds made by the club striking his uncle, the bones. When daylight had come and all was quiet Hodadeñon, emerging from his hiding place, returned to his uncle, who welcomed him with the words: “Well, my nephew, you are alive yet. So will you now go to bring my pouch to me, and let me have a smoke, and I will tell you then what to do next.” Hodadeñon quickly fetched the pouch and filled the pipe with tobacco and, lighting it, he placed it in the mouth of his uncle, who smoked with great pleasure, letting the smoke come out of every suture in his skull and through its eye sockets and nose and ear openings. The uncle said to his nephew, “I thank you for this smoke. Now take the pouch back, and when you return we will talk over our troubles.” Hodadeñon carefully concealed the pouch, and when he returned to his uncle he was ready to hear what he must do next.

The uncle then said to him, “Now go to the place where the canoe of Ongwe Ias usually makes a landing; there dig a hole in the shore and bury yourself in the sand, leaving only the tip of your nose out. When Shagowenotha lands and hurries away to the opposite side of the island, you must get up quickly and board the canoe and have the ducks paddle you back to the mainland. So, nephew, take courage and you will win.”

While Hodadeñon was covering himself he heard Shagowenotha singing to the ducks as they paddled him over the water. Soon he heard the canoe ground on the sandy shore and a voice saying, “I shall now go to the place where my nephew has spilled his blood.” Paying strict attention to the advice of his uncle, the bones, Hodadeñon knew exactly what to do next. As soon as Shagowenotha was out of sight Hodadeñon arose quickly, and, calling the ducks, he pushed the canoe back into the water; then he began to sing, “Now we paddle, my ducks; now we paddle, my ducks.” The ducks paddled so swiftly that the canoe fairly flew over the water. The canoe was far out on the lake when Ongwe Ias saw it. At once he rushed to the beach and called out, “Let me get aboard! Let me get aboard!”

Hodadeñon heard but paid no attention to this entreaty; on the contrary, turning to the monsters dwelling in the depths of the lake, he said, “If Shagowenotha should try to swim after me, do you devour him.” Then from the water came a confusion of voices saying hoarsely, “It shall be done; it shall be done.”

Shagowenotha ran up and down the shore, but he could not make his escape. When night came he climbed a tall tree. With the coming of thick darkness the Ongwe Ias came with his three dogs—he had restored to life the two that had been killed by the manikins—and he began at once to chase around with them to find traces of Hodadeñon, for he thought that he was still on the island. At last the dogs led him to the tree in which Shagowenotha had sought shelter. The dogs barked furiously at Shagowenotha in the tree. When Ongwe Ias came up Shagowenotha cried out, “Oh, do not shoot me! I am Shagowenotha.” Ongwe Ias tauntingly replied, “You may call yourself Shagowenotha, but you can not fool me,” and let fly an arrow at the Shagowenotha, who tumbled to the ground dead. Then Ongwe Ias carried off the body and cast it into the canoe, after which he paddled away.

The next morning Hodadeñon said, “Now I shall go to the lodge of Ongwe Ias.” Pushing the canoe out from the shore, he began to sing for the ducks, which came and paddled the canoe until almost evening, when Hodadeñon saw woods on the shore and a lodge standing near the water. Bringing the canoe to the beach, he hid it under the water; then he said to the ducks, “You may go your way until I call for you.” A woman came out of the lodge carrying two pieces of bark, and called to Hodadeñon to remain in the water, where he had sunk the canoe. Going to him, she placed a piece of bark at the water’s edge, telling Hodadeñon to step on it; then putting down the next piece of bark, she asked him to step on that. Then she put the first piece before the second, and then the second before the first, and Hodadeñon kept stepping on bark until at last he reached the lodge without leaving a single track on the ground. When they were in the lodge Hodadeñon said to the woman: “I have come after you. I am your brother. What will you do?” She replied, “I will go with you, but you must remain here until midday to-morrow.” Under her couch was a smaller one, in which she put her brother; then replacing her own over it, she sat on the top.

Soon the yelping of the dogs told of the arrival of Ongwe Ias, and his footsteps were heard. When the first dog came in, with his mouth open, the woman threw a bone into it, and afterward hit him on the head. The Ongwe Ias at once shouted at her, “Oh, you have killed my dog.” In reply she asked, “Why do they run at me as they do? I have done nothing to them.” Calling them off, he said, “I have had bad luck to-day. I have found nothing but a small cub.” Thereupon he prepared his game, which he cooked with pounded corn. When he had finished eating it he said, “My food was very tender and good, and now I shall take a smoke.” Soon he added, “It seems to me, my niece, that you have two breaths.” She answered sharply: “That is too much to say. You might as well kill me. You should not talk that way.”

The next morning Ongwe Ias said: “I shall not go hunting on that island again. I shall go to the other side of the country.” Then he went away, much to the relief of his prisoners.

After he had been gone some time the woman said, “He must be at his destination by this time, so you may come out.” Hodadeñon came out from under the couch and went with the woman to the lake. There he raised the canoe; getting aboard, the two paddled away as quickly as possible. When they had reached the middle of the lake they suddenly heard Ongwe Ias shouting to them, “You can not escape from me! You can not escape from me!” Running into the lodge, he seized a hook and line, which he hurled at Hodadeñon, at the same time saying, “Catch the canoe!” At once the hook did so and Ongwe Ias was pulling the canoe swiftly back to shore. Suddenly the woman saw that the forest on the shore seemed to be coming nearer and nearer, and then she saw the hook and line and Ongwe Ias at the other end of the line. She screamed to Hodadeñon to break the hook. This he quickly did and they were again free; thereupon they speedily paddled back to the middle of the lake. Then Ongwe Ias, in a great rage, screaming, “You shall not escape from me,” started to run along the bottom of the lake toward his intended victims; but at the moment he was at the bottom Hodadeñon said, “Let there be ice all over the lake so thick that nothing can break through it, and let our canoe be on the top of the ice.”

When Ongwe Ias thought that he was under the canoe he sprang upward toward the surface with all his might, striking the ice with such force that it cracked all over the lake. The force of the blow crushed the head of Ongwe Ias, so that he died.

At once Hodadeñon willed that the ice melt away as rapidly as it had formed. When the ice was gone he and his sister paddled to the shore. On landing, they traveled on homeward. When they reached home they entered the lodge by the western doorway; then going around by the way of the south to the eastern side, Hodadeñon took his sister to the last couch, which was at the northwestern corner, where he seated her. The family was now complete and happy.

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42. The Uncle and His Nephew

An uncle and his nephew lived together in a bark lodge in the woods. They had no neighbors.

The uncle went every day to hunt and to dig wild potatoes. During the day and evening the boy sat by the fire and parched corn to eat. Though the uncle brought home plenty of good potatoes, he gave his nephew only small, poor ones to eat.

The nephew wondered why they were always alone, so he asked his uncle whether there were other people living in that region. In reply the uncle said: “Far off in the west there are people powerful in sorcery, who took all our tribe captive except us two. This is the reason we are alone and have no neighbors.”

Then the boy wondered why his uncle gave him such small, poor potatoes to eat. He saw his uncle put large ones into the pot, but in the morning only small ones were left. So one night the nephew made a hole in the skin cover under which he slept, to watch his uncle. Toward midnight he saw his uncle get up and strike a light, and then going to an old couch in the corner of the lodge, in which no one seemingly slept, raise the top and call out a young man, who was beautiful to look upon, strong, and active. Both the uncle and the strange young man sat down by the fire. The potatoes, covered with moss, were simmering over the flames. The uncle uncovered them, picked out the best for his nephew, and brought him also meat and other food. After they had eaten heartily, the uncle sang and kept time for the young man with a turtle rattle while the latter danced. The little boy looked intently all the time at the young man, saying to himself, “I suppose that is my brother; now we will have some fun.” After the young man had finished dancing the uncle put him under the couch again and, banking the fire, lay down on his own couch.

The next morning, as soon as the uncle had gone to hunt and to dig potatoes, the little boy went to the couch, and raising the corner of the cover, said, “Come out! come out here! brother, to me.” “Oh, no!” said the young man, “I can not go out in the daytime; those women off there in the west, the Wadiʻoniondies, would hear me.” “Oh, never mind; they will not hear you,” said the boy. “Oh, yes; they will hear me, and the moment I come out they will carry me off. They do not know now that I am here, but the moment I make a noise they will hear it and will come for me.” The little follow teased and begged so hard, however, that his brother came out at last. After eating together, one danced and then the other, until at last the young man heard the women calling in the distance, “Ween, Ween.” Instantly the elder brother, jumping under the couch, covered himself.

All this time the little boy kept shaking the rattle and dancing with all his might. Soon two women appeared from the west, sailing in a canoe through the air. “Oh! where is he?” cried they. “Your brother! where is he?” said one of the women. “I have only an uncle, who is old. He is now off hunting,” said the boy. “There is somebody here with you in the lodge,” said one of the women. “Oh, no!” said the boy, “I am alone.” “Oh! you little rogue, you lie,” said the woman. “If I should lie, that is my business,” answered the child. “Well, we will let you off this time, but you shall suffer if you lie again to us.”

In the evening when the old uncle came home, he inquired what he had been doing. “Have you found a brother?” he asked. “I have no brother, have I?” asked the little boy. “Was not there anyone here to-day?” queried the uncle. “No,” said the lad. “Well, what did those women come for? I heard them,” said the uncle. “There was no one here,” said the child. The uncle said no more.

The next morning, when going off to hunt, the uncle said, “You would better go out of doors to play, instead of turning everything upside down in the lodge; go out of doors to play.” His uncle had scarcely disappeared when the boy ran to his brother, begging him to come out, until at last he did so. Again they amused themselves; but in the midst of the dancing the elder brother heard two of the women coming. “Now,” said he, “I must go; there is no use to hide or to deny that I am here. I must go.” Presently the two women arrived in their canoe, which, grazing the top of the lodge, came to the ground. The elder brother got into the canoe, and away they went to the west.

When the uncle came home at night he was bowed down with grief, for he knew what had happened. He sat down, crying bitterly. “Oh! do not cry so, uncle,” said his little nephew; “do not cry; I will go and bring him back.” Running out quickly, he gathered a lot of red-willow twigs, from which he scraped the bark. On throwing this into the fire straightway a thick column of smoke rose and shot off toward the west. Jumping into the smoke, the boy was borne away after his brother. He overtook the canoe when it was about halfway to its destination in the west. The youth in the canoe knew that his little brother was following to rescue him. One of the women was sitting in the bow of the canoe paddling, while the other sat in the stern steering. The young man turned to look at his little brother, whereupon one of the women in the canoe struck him on the side of the head with the paddle, crying out: “Sit still! do not look around.” As she struck him he turned his head slightly, so as to look again; he saw that his brother, on noticing the blow, sprang forward and jumped into the canoe, shouting: “Do not strike my brother.” Then he cried: “Let this boat turn around and take my brother home.” Instantly the canoe, turning around in spite of all that the women could do, sailed back faster than it had come.

As they were nearing the uncle’s lodge the women begged the little boy to let his brother go with them, saying: “We will give you whatever you wish, only let him go.” He thought of what he might ask in payment for letting his brother go again. Then the young woman inquired: “Is there anything we might give to induce you to let him go?” He said: “Yes; if each of you will give me her sexual organ for a moccasin, I will let him go.” On their consenting, he cut out with his knife what he wanted and put the moccasins on his feet; they fitted well. Immediately he was at home.

In answer to his old uncle’s inquiry he said: “I brought my brother home, but let him go again; the women gave me these beautiful moccasins to get him back. I can do everything with them.” After a few days the little boy had such power because of his moccasins that he told his uncle how the women were tormenting his brother, and that he was resolved to rescue him. Bringing a lot of red-willow twigs, he scraped off the bark, which he threw on the fire. Then jumping into the rising smoke, he shot off toward the west, where he came down at the edge of a clearing in a great wood. Just opposite, at the other end, was a Long Lodge, and at the right hand, at the edge of the wood, was a small lodge, in which a grandmother lived with three grandchildren, a boy and two girls.

After thinking a while, he said, “I will go over to the little lodge.” Going there he met a boy of his own age and size, just like himself in every way; half of his hair (the crown) was black and half (the sides) red. “Oh! how do you do?” said the strange little boy. “Who are you? You must be my brother?” The boys looked at each other, and seeing that they were just about the same size they became brothers. “Now, you will come and live here with me, little boy,” said the lad; “I have two sisters and a grandmother; my grandmother has gone out.”

When the old woman came home the little boy said, “I have a brother here; he is going to live with us.” “How could he live with us, we are so poor?” said the grandmother. “I think he can; he is poor himself and will be satisfied with what you have to give him,” replied the lad. At last she consented to let him stay. The other boy, drawing near the old woman, asked: “Are you going to the chief’s lodge? Have you heard what is going on there?” “Oh, yes!” said the old woman; “the chief’s two daughters brought a man from the east, from that great wampum people; they hung him up last night and made him cry. His tears are wampum. Tonight they will do the same thing.” “Can we not go over there?” asked the boy. “I suppose so,” said his grandmother; “I will get some wampum.”

When evening came the old woman, her grandchildren, and the little boy went to the Long Lodge. The people had already assembled, and the man was hanging from a post. The two sisters were sitting on couches, one on each side. The boy said to his friend, “Now we will get some dry rushes to light the pipes of the chiefs and of the people standing around, if they will let us in.”

When the old woman came to the Long Lodge she asked whether she might not have a chance to get some wampum. They asked the chief, who said, “Yes; she is a good woman. Let her have a chance, too.” “My little grandson and his friend,” said the old woman, “will come in and carry lights to those who want to smoke.” “Oh, yes,” said the chief, “let the little boys come.”

Again, as they were going to apply the fire to the man, the little nephew put his foot into the fire and the other sister screamed in terrible pain. After they had gotten some wampum and rested, the boy said, “Let them all sleep soundly.” His grandmother and the little boy went outside with his friend, and the grandmother said, too, “Let them all sleep soundly.” When all were asleep the lad cut down his brother, whom he took outside; then, walking around the lodge, he said, “Let this lodge be turned into flint and let it become red-hot.” At once this came to pass and all within the lodge were burned up. “Now,” said the boy, “I think you would better come home with me, grandmother; you would be a good wife for my uncle.”

All went to the uncle’s lodge, where they found him crying for his lost nephew. He had been tormented by foxes, who had knocked at the door, saying, “We have come, uncle.” After the nephews and the rest of the company had come into the old uncle’s lodge, a fox who did not know of the new arrivals knocked at the door, saying, “Uncle, I have come.” “Let him in,” said the boy, while all hid themselves. On coming in the fox ran toward the fire to get ashes to throw into the old man’s face, but the boy caught him. Saying, “Oh, you rascal! I will fix you now,” he tied together the fox’s forelegs with a bark rope and hung him up; thereupon the tears came out of his eyes, his face and—[Here the story ends abruptly.]

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43. Hinon Saves a Woman from Suicide

In a certain village a young man and a young woman were married. Soon after their marriage they set out on a hunting expedition. After traveling some distance they came to a dense wood, where they stopped and built a brush lodge. Every morning the young man, leaving his wife at the lodge, always with the warning not to sleep during the day, went out in pursuit of game.

One afternoon, coming back earlier than usual, the young man found her asleep. He saw a great rattlesnake among the skins on which she lay. While trying to pull the snake away, it disappeared into her body through her pudendum. When she awoke the young man, without saying anything of what had occurred, proposed that they should go back to the village, as he was tired of hunting. On reaching home, he told his wife to go her way and he would go his.

Not long after this she married another man. On the following morning her new husband was found dead. She soon married still another man, who was also found dead on the morning after the marriage. Her people then resolved to find out from the first husband why he had put her away. After much persuasion he told them why, saying, “While hunting I often asked her never to sleep in the daytime, but one afternoon on returning to my camp I found her asleep; there was also a rattlesnake in the bed, which, when I tried to drive it away, disappeared into her body.”

The mother of the young woman told her what they had heard from the first husband. She was so ashamed and troubled that she determined to kill herself by going over Niagara Falls. Getting into her canoe a mile or so above the Falls, she pushed out into the middle of the river. The mother followed her, but too late to stop her daughter. As the canoe neared the Falls the latter, lying down and covering her face with her mantle, disappeared over the brink. But Hinon, who dwells under the Falls, taking the young woman from the water, carried her to his home, where he prepared medicine which he gave to her; then, looking at her, he raised her by the shoulders and let her down on her feet. The second time he did this a dead snake dropped out of her person on the ground. Hinon said, “I am glad to see this snake. Now I shall have something to eat.” Roasting the snake on the hot coals of his hearth he ate it.

The young woman lived with Hinon for some time. As she could not eat his food, he often brought ears of corn, saying, “Here is some corn from your mother’s field.” Then he would bring a roasted squash with the words, “I brought this from your mother’s coals,” having taken it from her fireside.

They lived in this way until the woman was far advanced in pregnancy. Then Hinon said to some of his companions, “It is now time to deliver this woman to her mother. You must take her only to her mother’s field.” So, taking her to the field, they left her. Soon she heard some one crying, and then she saw her mother. The mother was frightened, but she stopped crying and called out, “Are you in your natural life?” The young woman assured her that she was, and together they went to the mother’s lodge. Not long after her arrival there the young woman gave birth to a boy.

When the boy was large enough to run around they often heard Hinon coming, and then it would rain very hard. The boy would go out into the storm and he would be gone some time, but when he came back he would be perfectly dry. At last he said, “The next time my father comes I shall go away with him, and not return.” So he went and he was never seen again; but he is always with his father, and it is he who thunders in the sharp voice of a young man.

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44. The Crawfish and the Raccoon

The chief of the Crawfish settlement one day told his people that he was going about to inspect things and to see if the Ongwe Ias was around.

Starting out, he went to every lodge; he found that every one was in and well. On his way home, as he was walking along the edge of the water he found what he judged to be the body of Ongwe Ias. “Oh! this is good luck,” said he; “I will go and tell all the people to come to see Ongwe Ias lying here dead.” So he invited all to turn out and see their enemy, whom he supposed was dead.

The whole multitude came and saw the Ongwe Ias lying on the ground with his face black and covered with flies. One of them went up and pinched his lips hard, but he did not move. Then saying, “We will sing a song of rejoicing,” they formed in a circle around the Ongwe Ias to dance. While they were dancing and singing, all at once their enemy, the Ongwe Ias, springing up, ate the whole tribe except two or three who escaped. The Ongwe Ias knew the fondness of the Crawfish for dead meat of any kind, so his ruse was successful in providing him with a meal.

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45. The Race Between the Turtle and the Bear

There was once an old man going along slowly but surely by himself. After traveling some distance he met another man, who asked him, “Where are you going?” “Oh, I am going east to see the people,” the old man replied. “You will never get there; it is so far away, and you are too fat for the road,” answered the stranger. Thereupon they parted company.

Soon the old man met another person, a slender young man, who asked, “Where are you going?” “I am going to the east to see how people live in that region,” answered the old man. “You can not get there; you are too fat, and so you can not travel so far,” said the young man. “How do you keep so fat?” “Well, when I come to a village and find people lying around, I bore a hole in each one I like and suck the fat out; that is the way to get fat,” said the old man. “I must try this plan. I am so lean that I must try to get fat,” said the other.

Each went his own road. Soon the thin man came to an opening, or clearing, in the forest, where he found an animal lying asleep at the edge of the woods. Crawling up to it carefully he tried to make a hole in its body near the tail, in order to suck out the fat. But the animal, springing up, hit him a great blow with his heels and ran off. “I shall pay that old man the next time I meet him,” said the slim man.

Going on farther he met the fat old fellow again. “How do you get so fat?” asked the slim man. “Oh, I do it by eating fish,” said the old man; “I put my tail through a hole in the ice, and when a fish bites I pull him out and eat him. That is how I get fat.” “I will try that plan,” said the slim young man. He went on until he came to where there was a good place to fish. Making a hole in the ice, he stuck his tail through and waited until it was frozen in; then he pulled until his tail came off.

The young man went on his way and was magically changed into another kind of person through losing his tail. He traveled around until the next summer, when again he met the old man. “Where are you going?” he asked of the latter. “I am going east,” said the old man. “You will never get there; you are so fat you can not travel fast enough. You would better run a race with me.” “Very well,” said the fat man; “you may run on land but I will run on water. We will run to-morrow.”

The fat man collected a great number of his people, whom he posted in the river all along the course to the starting place, telling each one to stick up his head when the land runner had come almost up to him. As was customary in the contests of great sorcerers, the wager in this race was the head of the loser.

The racers started. The slim young man ran with all his might, but every little while the fat man, as he thought, stuck his head out of the water in advance of him. When he returned to the starting place the fat man was there before him. “You have won the race,” said the young man. “Of course I have,” said the fat man, and seizing the young fellow by the neck he led him to a stone where he cut off his head.

Then the fat man’s friends, all coming out of the water, went to the starting place. When they looked at the dead land runner they said: “Oh, what a fool! Oh, what a fool!”

Now, the old man, the water runner, was a mud turtle. The land runner was a bear, but he had been a fox until he lost his tail in the ice. Bears are all stub-tailed since the fox lost his tail in the ice.

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46. The Woman Who Became a Maneater Through the Orenda of Her Husband’s Dogs

There was once a man who, in company with his wife and little daughter, went hunting in a distant region. Having arrived at his destination, the man built a brush lodge in the woods. Every day he went in pursuit of game.

The man had three dogs, who were his brothers, and of whom he was fond. He shared his food with them and felt bad if they were ill-used. When he left them at home he always told his wife to feed them well and to take good care of them, but in spite of this she abused the dogs; no matter how long he was away, she would give them nothing to eat. At last, the smallest of the three dogs told the man how badly they were treated, saying, “Our sister-in-law never gives us anything to eat; whatever she cooks, she herself eats; if you will watch her, you will see how it is.” When her husband was around the woman was kind to the dogs in order to deceive him. The little dog, however, told him all that happened in the lodge while he was away hunting.

Now, the little dog was fond of good things; so one night he said to his brothers, “I will get some food without asking, if only you will help me.” He had noticed that the woman kept food for herself, which she hid under the skins on which she slept, and had seen her hide there a skin bag of roasted corn. He said further to his brothers, “You are large and strong and can get it while she is asleep.” “No,” said the large dog; “we are heavy and awkward, and we would only awaken her; but you are light and small, and so can lie down by her without being noticed.” “Very well; I will try,” was the little dog’s answer to this.

So at midnight, when all were sound asleep, the little dog, making his way to the bag of roasted corn hidden under the woman’s head, pulled it carefully until he got it out. The large dogs had drawn the door flap aside for him, and all three, well pleased, ran off toward the spring, where they could obtain water to wash down the roasted corn. The little dog said to one of his brothers, “You can carry the bag now.” In taking it he tore it open, when they found it was merely a pouch of roots, bark, and leaves instead of a bag of corn; so they had got into trouble for nothing. Then the large dog said, “The safest way for us is to carry this bag back, and you who got it must return it.” So, taking it back, the little dog placed it with the torn side down, near the woman’s head. The next morning when the woman shook the skins she found the pouch torn and laid the blame on the mice.

A few days after this the little dog said to the man, “We are going to punish our sister-in-law for the bad treatment she gives us.” The man decided that he would say nothing, and that they might punish her if they wished. The next morning he said to his dogs, “You must stay at home, for I shall be away all night.” After he had gone the woman began cooking, and the little dog watched all her movements. When she took the meat down his mouth watered for a piece of it. The dogs sat around watching her as she cut it up, but she did not give them even a mouthful. It so chanced that she cut her finger badly and was not able to stanch the bleeding. In attempting to do so she even thrust the finger into her mouth and began sucking it. She found that she liked the taste of her own blood, and later even the meat she was cooking did not taste so good. So she sucked all the blood out of that finger; then she cut another finger and sucked that, for she had forgotten all about the cooking. Next she cut one arm and sucked it, then the other; then one leg and then the other. Finally, when she had sucked all the blood out of her body, she cut off her flesh, piece after piece, and ate it. The dogs sat around watching her, and her little girl also was looking on. After she had eaten all her own flesh she seized her daughter and, though the child cried and begged for mercy, the unnatural mother, paying no heed to her pleadings, killed her and ate her.

Then the woman ran off in the direction her husband had taken. Suddenly the hunter heard something behind him. Turning, he saw the little dog, who said to him: “I have come to tell you that your wife has become a man-eater; she has eaten the flesh off her own body and has eaten your child, and is now on your trail. We must run for our lives. We will go to the settlement and you must tell the people to leave the place and run, for one is following us who will devour them all. Those who believe you will escape, but those who do not will die. We must run with all speed, for she is following us fast.”

Now, it was through the orenda of the dogs and their influence that the woman had become a man-eater.

When they reached the settlement, the man told the people of their danger. Some escaped, but the woman quickly ate all who remained. Again she followed on her husband’s trail. The little dog told the man when the woman reached the settlement, and soon after said, “Now do your best, for she is coming with greater speed than before; we are near a large river.” The fugitives reached the river and the man, making a small raft, quickly got on it with his dogs. He was in the middle of the stream when the woman reached the bank and called out, “Your flesh is mine. I am going to eat it.” Thereupon she made a great leap with the intention of landing on the raft, but missing it, she was drowned. After the fugitives had crossed the river and had given thanks for their escape, the little dog said, “We shall soon come to a village, and you must do my bidding.”

When they came to an opening or clearing in the forest they saw near by a wretched-looking lodge, and the little dog said, “We are going there; a couple of poor old people live in that lodge.” On entering, the hunter asked the old man of the lodge whether he could stay with him for a short time. The old man answered: “It is difficult to grant your request. We have as much as we can do to live ourselves.” “It is true,” said the man, “you are very poor; so are we. I am not in search of a good home. I am looking for people in my own circumstances.” “Very well,” said the old man, “you can stay with us, but the chief of the place knows already that you have come; he has great magic power and I am afraid that he will take your life.”

Some time passed. Every night the old man would spend a long time in relating the history of the chief and the people. As the visiting man was a good hunter, he brought in much game and soon the old man’s lodge was full of meat. After a while the old man said, “We have decided to adopt you, and you shall be one of our children.”

The chief knew that there was a stranger in the place, and the old man said: “He will be here in two days; he is coming to see who is with us. He will tell you that he is your uncle, and will challenge you to a foot race. You must ask for two days’ time for preparation.” “Very well,” said the man, and as usual he started off to hunt. His dog seemed to know where all the bears were. When he had killed as many as he wanted he went home. The old man said, “The chief has been here, and he challenges you to a foot race.”

When the time came for the race, the old man and his wife and granddaughter started for the race course. The man had said to him, “I will come as soon as I can make my preparations.” The second dog volunteered to take the man’s place in the race, but the little one said, “You stay at home and I will do the hunting”; and to the man he said, “Take off your garments and let me have them.” When the dog had put on the garments, he looked just like the man. The other dog said to the man, “We will go off hunting while he is doing the running.” The hunter and the dog were very happy, for they knew that their little brother would win the race.

When the people had assembled on the race course and the old man saw his supposed son coming, he said, “See how well our son is prepared for the race.” They saw no difference whatever between the person before them and their adopted son. There were many people present, for the village seemed to be very large. Meanwhile the hunter who had accepted the challenge was off in the woods. One of the dogs said to him, “They are now ready to start. They have started.” Though far off in the woods, the dogs seemed to see everything. All at once they called out: “Owe! Owe! Our brother has won the race. Did we not tell you that he would never be outrun? Now we may as well go home.” So they started homeward. They had been at the lodge but a short time when the runner came in, and, taking off the garments of the hunter, who then put them on again, the three dogs laid down by the fire.

It is said that during the race the chief, seeing that he was outstripped, threw a horn after the dog-man, which stuck into his foot. While the dog-man was trying to pull out the horn, the chief passed him, calling, “What are you doing there? Get up!” By the time the dog-man had drawn the horn out of his foot, his enemy was near the goal. But, springing up, he threw the horn at his enemy; it stuck into the chief’s foot, causing him to fall to the ground. Then the dog-man ran ahead, calling out, “Why do you not get up? You can not sit there and beat me.” But before the chief could pull out the horn, the dog-man had passed the goal.

When the old man came home he said to his son, “I thank you for outrunning your enemy; there has never been anyone to outrun him; all have been beaten. Since the wager was heads, you can take his life whenever you wish.” Then he asked the man whether he had done his best. “No,” said he, “I used about half my strength.” “Very well,” said the old man; “he has another game to propose; he will never stop proposing trials of strength, skill, or speed until he has taken your life. To be beaten this time makes him very angry; in two days he will challenge you to play ball with him.” “All right,” replied the man, “I am ready to meet him.”

In two days they saw the chief coming, and as he entered the lodge, he said: “I am sick for a game of ball, and I challenge you to play a game against me; you won in one game, so now try another. I will wager all I have, and if you win, you shall be chief in my place.” The man replied: “I also am sick from lack of amusement and I accept your challenge. I have never met the man who could beat me in a game of ball. But give me time. You have come unexpectedly, and I must make a ball club.” “Very well,” said the chief, going away.

The bent ball club the hunter hung up to season, and the old man made strings; the next day they netted the club. They were ready just in time to go to the ball ground. The time appointed for the game was at midday, and the old man and woman said, “We shall now start.” “Very well; I shall come soon,” said the adopted son. Then the little dog said, “Let it be our eldest brother who shall take part in this game.” So the man removed his garments, and the dog put them on; there he stood, looking just like the man. The little dog said, “We shall surely win the game.” The hunter and the other dogs went to the woods to hunt, while the dog-man went to the ball ground.

The chief was on the spot watching impatiently for the man. At last he saw him coming, with his long hair tied back; he carried his club well and looked splendid. The old man, supposing it was his son, said: “Now, you must use all your strength and must not be beaten.” The dog-man saw that his antagonist was walking around in the crowd, with a very proud and haughty manner. The dog-man seemed very mild and without strength enough for the game.

Seeing that it was time to begin, the people fell back and gave room to the players. When the word was given the players came forward, and the chief said: “I will take my place on this side.” “No; you shall not,” said the other; “you gave the challenge, and I will choose my place.” The chief had to yield, the dog-man choosing the side the chief wanted. They then began to play. “Now,” said the little dog to the hunter in the woods, “our brother has begun the game, which will be a very close contest.” Soon he said: “The chief’s ball has missed the goal; they play well; our brother has caught and sent the ball back. Oh! now he has won an inning. They will play one more inning.” All at once he called out: “They have begun again. It is a very close game. Our brother is having all he can do. We may be beaten, however.” Then he called out: “Owe! Owe! Our brother has won the game. You are chief, and all the old chief has is ours.”

As the dog-man had won two straight games, he caught the chief by the hair and cut his head off. Many of the people thanked him. They said that the old chief had never spared them; that when he had been the loser he had always given the people up to slaughter and saved his own life. The winner seemed to have won many friends among those who witnessed the game. The little dog said: “Now we shall go home.” They had been there but a short time when the ball player came in; giving back the man’s garments, he immediately became a dog again.

When the old people came into the lodge they thanked their son, saying: “You have done more than anyone else was ever able to do before. You are the chief now.” As they praised their son they did not know that it was a dog that had done the work.

The next morning the little dog said: “Let us go to live in the chief’s lodge.” So the hunter, with the old man and his family, moved into the new lodge. All the old chief’s things had been left in their places, as they were part of the wager. Now, as the dogs were so full of orenda, he became a great chief and had much power and influence among the people.

[The narrator of the foregoing story said: “It is true that whenever a person loves a dog he derives great power from it. Dogs still know all we say, only they are not at liberty to speak. If you do not love a dog, he has power to injure you by his orenda.”]

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Ganyadjigowa did not go back, because he had stolen some of the meat. He swam across the outlet of the lake, and, keeping along the bank, he soon saw another lodge. Peeping into it he saw a large family—two old people and their children; these were Hongak people. After standing a while he thought, “I will go in,” and he did so. The inmates greeted him with, “Where do you come from?” “From the other side of the lake,” answered Ganyadjigowa. “What do you come for?” they asked him. “Oh! to look around; it is so pleasant to-day,” Ganyadjigowa replied. “How far will you go?” he was asked. “Around the lake,” he answered.

When Ganyadjigowa got ahead, he said, “Now, come on!” Hongak could not go, for he was unable to walk. Ganyadjigowa went on, leaving him behind. The path grew narrower and narrower until he came to a place where there was not room to walk, and he thought, “How am I to get by these rocks?” The name of this place was Heiosdenoon (“the rocks go to the water”).

Here Ganyadjigowa resolved to go back, but there was not room to turn around. Then he said, “I must go backward.” After a few steps in this way, he fell into the water and went under. When he thought he was past the rocks he came out of the water and walked on again. The sun was near the horizon and he thought, “When shall I get home?” It was soon dark. Finding a hollow tree, he crawled into it.

Not long after this Ganyadjigowa heard footsteps in the leaves outside. The sound stopped at the tree. Ganyadjigowa kept very still. A voice said, “Well, you are sleeping in here?” “Yes; I am,” replied Ganyadjigowa. “I want you to come out and talk with me,” was the challenge. Ganyadjigowa crawled out. There stood Hongak, the man he had left behind. “Well,” Hongak asked, “do you know who I am?” “Why are you angry? I thought you wanted to stay. I urged you to come but you would not,” said Ganyadjigowa. Hongak said: “No. You did something to make me stop. Look at my back.” The feathers were all off where the stone had been secured.

Now Hongak began to fight with Ganyadjigowa, who soon ran away, for he did not want to fight. Speedily overtaking him, Hongak began to fight again. Ganyadjigowa now grew angry. They fought till dark the next day. “Let us rest,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Well, you stay here; I will be back to-morrow,” said Hongak. As soon as Hongak was out of sight Ganyadjigowa ran away. Coming to a river he decided to try to swim, but the water ran too swiftly. He was carried downstream into rough water, where he could not help himself. In the water was a stone against which he was driven; he thought, “Now I am going to die.” He was on the stone all night.

Hongak came back in the morning and, not finding his enemy, tracked him to the water. Then, saying, “I will catch him,” he went into the water and tried to swim. But the water ran so fast that it carried him down to the stone where Ganyadjigowa was. Hongak said, “I am going to die this time.” Ganyadjigowa heard someone talking, and he knew who it was. Now he tried to get away. After struggling a long time he freed himself and came to shore. Hongak became filled with water and died. Then his body floated to shore, whereupon Ganyadjigowa said: “Oh! there is my friend. Did he think he could kill me? I have more orenda than he had.” Traveling on, Ganyadjigowa soon got home.

Going in the direction pointed out, Ganyadjigowa came to a lodge standing on a big rock. He stood by the rock, thinking, “How am I going to get up there?” Then he saw a narrow ledge running around and around; following this, he came to the lodge. On looking about he saw an old man sitting by the fire. They greeted each other, the old man saying, “Why did you come here?” “Just to see all the world,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Where do you come from?” said the old man. “I came from the Great Lake,” said Ganyadjigowa. “What is your name?” continued the occupant of the lodge. “Ganyadjigowa,” the young man declared. “What is yours?” Ganyadjigowa asked in turn. “I am called Dagwanoenyent,” said the old man. Then Ganyadjigowa said, “Will you let me visit you?” “Oh, yes! you can stay with me as long as you like,” said the old man. “I will stay several days,” said the visitor.

One morning Dagwanoenyent asked, “Would you like to go down to see my servant?” “Yes; I should like to go,” said Ganyadjigowa. They soon came to Djothowandon’s lodge, when Dagwanoenyent said, “This is my servant’s lodge. Let us go in.” On going in Dagwanoenyent said, “My servant is not at home. I believe he has gone to the southern end of the world.” Dagwanoenyent said, “A very cross people live there. My servant is trying to make them peaceful.” “Now you would better go home. Something will come and chase you if you are down here at midday,” said the old man. “Very well,” said Ganyadjigowa, starting after his animals.

Then Ganyadjigowa, entering the lodge, said, “You are talking about me, are you not?” “Oh, no,” replied the strange man. “Well, I will go. I thought you were talking about me,” repeated Ganyadjigowa.

Going outside the hut, Ganyadjigowa picked up two stones and striking them together, said, “I would do that way with that man if he came after me.” Gaasyendietʻha, coming out of the hut, asked, “What are you saying?” “Oh, I was saying this is the best friend I have,” declared Ganyadjigowa. “What did you say about the stone?” asked Gaasyendietʻha. “I said when my friend traveled he had to carry these stones, and if he went into the water he had to throw them away,” declared Ganyadjigowa.

Half believing what was told him, Gaasyendietʻha went back into the lodge. Ganyadjigowa laughed and laughed, thinking, “Oh, what a fool he is! He believes what I say.” Then he went into the hut again. Gaasyendietʻha said, “Why do you come here? Why do you not go home?” “Oh, I want to visit you until to-morrow morning,” said Ganyadjigowa. “No, I do not want such a man as you are around,” declared Gaasyendietʻha. “I will not trouble you. I will not chase you,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Go on home! I do not like you. You are too mean,” Gaasyendietʻha declared. Ganyadjigowa answered, “Oh, no! I am not.” Gaasyendietʻha said, “Well, stay then; but you must not talk to me.” “Very well,” said Ganyadjigowa.

Night came. Sitting down by the fire with his pipe, Gaasyendietʻha put coals into it and began to puff clouds of smoke. Ganyadjigowa said, “How do you get tobacco?” Turning around, Gaasyendietʻha looked at him. “Do not speak to me,” commanded Gaasyendietʻha. Soon Ganyadjigowa asked, “Does it taste good?” Gaasyendietʻha did not answer, but kept on smoking. Soon afterward Ganyadjigowa spoke again, saying, “How strangely the smoke is rolling around the room.” Gaasyendietʻha said, angrily, “Go out of this hut! I tell you I do not want you here.” “But you said I might stay until morning,” pleaded Ganyadjigowa. “I will be quiet now; do not put me out.” “Very well,” said Gaasyendietʻha, and smoked on.

Now, Ganyadjigowa began seemingly to believe just as Gaasyendietʻha did. Then Ganyadjigowa inquired, “Do you believe trouble will come if I tell you something, and you do not mind me?” “How can you make trouble for me? You have to die before I do,” declared Gaasyendietʻha. “I do not want to make trouble for you. Other things will do that,” said Ganyadjigowa. Gaasyendietʻha replied, “Go to sleep. I do not want to talk all night.” Gaasyendietʻha still sat by the fire smoking. Soon Ganyadjigowa said, “Do you know anything when you are asleep?” No answer. Again he asked, “What would you do if Wind should come here?” Flashing up, Gaasyendietʻha said, “Now go! I do not like you.” Ganyadjigowa began to beg, but Gaasyendietʻha, seizing him by the hair, pushed him outside. “Oh! let me go in. I will stop talking now,” pleaded Ganyadjigowa. Gaasyendietʻha would not listen. “Go away! or I will kill you,” he said. Ganyadjigowa started off. Then he thought: “That man did me ill. I wish I had magic power to blow down his lodge”; but he kept on. Gaasyendietʻha began to follow. Ganyadjigowa heard somebody coming. Looking back and seeing Gaasyendietʻha, he went into a hollow tree. Gaasyendietʻha knew where Ganyadjigowa was, but to fool him he went back a short distance and hid himself. Thereupon Ganyadjigowa said: “That is the kind of man I am. He did not see me.” So he started on. Gaasyendietʻha followed again, and seeing Ganyadjigowa, said, “Now I have you, and I am going to kill you.” “Oh, no! I do not want to make trouble for you,” replied Ganyadjigowa. “Yes, you do!”—and they began to dispute. Gaasyendietʻha said: “I will ask you a question. How can you make Wind blow down my lodge?” Ganyadjigowa answered, “Oh! I do not know how.” “Well, why did you ask the question, ‘What will you do if a heavy wind blows away your lodge?’ ” inquired Gaasyendietʻha. “I did not say that,” declared Ganyadjigowa. “What did you say?” demanded Gaasyendietʻha. “I said there was a wind around the lake,” was Ganyadjigowa’s reply.

“Do you believe that the earth can go down into the water?” asked Gaasyendietʻha. “No; the earth is always on top of the water,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Do you believe the earth is on the Turtle’s back?” inquired Gaasyendietʻha. “No; the Turtle is not strong enough to keep it up,” declared Ganyadjigowa. “How is it kept up?” came the question. “Oh! the earth is very thick; nobody knows how thick,” asserted Ganyadjigowa. “I believe the Turtle is strong enough to keep the earth up, and when he gets tired the earth will sink down,” Gaasyendietʻha said. “Why, that is just what I believe,” Ganyadjigowa said. “No; it is different. You do not believe as I do,” declared Gaasyendietʻha. “Well, do you know what I believe?” asked Gaasyendietʻha. “The old folks used to say that you believed the earth never goes into the water,” was Ganyadjigowa’s rejoinder. Gaasyendietʻha asked, “Well, do you believe that I can kill you?” “Yes, yes!” said Ganyadjigowa, while he kept backing away. Gaasyendietʻha threatened, “I will kill you now.” “What have I done that you should kill me?” demanded Ganyadjigowa. “You told me that I believe the earth is very thick,” said Gaasyendietʻha, turning to go home. Ganyadjigowa kept on laughing, and said, “That is the kind of a man I am.” Now, Gaasyendietʻha, on hearing this, came back quickly, and shaking him, threw him on the ground, whereupon he cried out: “Oh, my friend! do not kill me. I am always on your side.” “No; I will not stop until I kill you,” said Gaasyendietʻha. Then he thought: “Why do I kill this man? Soon Hanisheonon will come around and punish me for it,” so he let Ganyadjigowa go. Ganyadjigowa, laughing, said, “That is the kind of a man I am.”

Now Gaasyendietʻha grew very angry, and caught him by the neck, saying, “Go far away west.” Going through the air, Ganyadjigowa fell just where the sun sets. As he fell he said: “Oh! what fun to be in the air. Now, where is that man? He does not believe anything.” Gaasyendietʻha heard him, and, flying through the air, came to the spot where he was and asked, “What were you saying?” “Oh! I was saying what a nice place this is,” replied Ganyadjigowa.

Gaasyendietʻha now caused Ganyadjigowa to become Sʻhodieonskon. Then Ganyadjigowa traveled north, saying, “I must go and see where my friend lives.” Seeing a great rock on which stood a lodge, he thought, “This must be the place I dreamed of.” He went to a hut near by. A man sat there, who greeted him with, “Where do you come from?” “I come from the Great Lake,” said Ganyadjigowa. Then the man asked, “Why did you come here?” “Oh! I was lonely at home,” answered Ganyadjigowa. “Very well; what is your name?” he was asked. “Ganyadjigowa,” he replied. “What is your name?” demanded Ganyadjigowa. “Djothowandon,” was the answer. “Can I visit you?” he was asked. “No; you must go to my master first,” said Djothowandon. “Where does he live?” inquired Ganyadjigowa. “You will see his lodge on a great rock not far from here,” was the old man’s answer.

On reaching the rock Ganyadjigowa saw the lodge that stood on it. Looking in he saw an old man sitting by the fire; he thought to himself, “This is the same man who threw me off west.” The man turned, and, looking at Ganyadjigowa, said, “Well, who are you?” “I am Ganyadjigowa,” replied the visitor. “What is your name?” asked Ganyadjigowa. “I am Dagwanoenyent,” replied the man. “Will you let me stay with you a few days?” asked Ganyadjigowa. “Oh, yes! you may stay as long as you like. I am always glad to have somebody with me. I am lonely sometimes,” said the old man.

One morning Dagwanoenyent said, “Do you not want to go to see my servant?” “Oh, yes!” said Ganyadjigowa. They went to Djothowandon’s. Dagwanoenyent, looking around, said: “My servant is not at home. I think he has gone to the southern end of the earth. A very churlish people live there. He is going to try to make them good and quiet. If they do not obey him, I must go to eat them all.” “How far is it from here?” asked Ganyadjigowa. “Oh! you would not get there in fifty winters,” declared Dagwanoenyent. “If that is true,” retorted Ganyadjigowa, “it will be a hundred winters before your servant will come back.” “Oh, no!” said Dagwanoenyent; “my servant travels very fast. He will be in a place as soon as he thinks of it.” “I do not believe that,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Get out of here!” said Dagwanoenyent; “some people are coming this morning who will bewitch you if you are around here.”

“Now, I must go to my friend, Dagwanoenyent,” said Ganyadjigowa. When he got to his friend’s lodge Dagwanoenyent laughed, saying, “A man came here to notify me that I should go to see the spot where you lay dead.” “Oh, pshaw!” said Ganyadjigowa; “I shall never die. Have you never heard the old folks say that if Sʻhodieonskon died he would soon come to life again?” “Yes,” said Dagwanoenyent, “I have heard so. Is that why you came to life?” “Yes,” declared Ganyadjigowa. “Well,” said the old man, “I want you to go where the churlish people live. My servant has come, and he says they will never be quiet. I have heard old men say that Sʻhodieonskon can make churlish people quiet.” “All right, I will go,” answered the young man. When he came down from the rock on which Dagwanoenyent’s lodge was built, Sʻhodieonskon, taking hold of the rock, tried to turn it over. Dagwanoenyent, feeling his lodge move, declared, “This must be my friend who disturbs me.” Ganyadjigowa kept at work, and at last over went the rock, breaking the lodge to pieces. The old man, who was wounded on the head, cried, “Oh! my dear friend; I must kill him now”; and, getting up, he tried to run after him, but his head was so dizzy that he soon fell. Ganyadjigowa came around the rock, and seeing the old man with blood flowing from his head, began to laugh, saying: “What does he think? Does he not know that I am stronger magically than he is?” Having rolled the rock over on Dagwanoenyent, he went on.

When he came to the place where the churlish people lived, he stood near the earth lodge in which they all dwelt, thinking, “I will roll this lodge over.” Taking hold of the end, he lifted it up. The people ran out, and, seeing a man standing there holding up the end of their lodge, they began to bite him. Then Ganyadjigowa ran with all his speed to get outside of the crowd. The people pursued him, but he escaped. “That is the kind of a man I am,” Sʻhodieonskon exclaimed.

In a little while he saw a small speck ahead. As he drew nearer, the speck became larger and larger. At last they arrived at the place where the sun goes down, and the old man reaching there first, Ganyadjigowa said: “You cheated me. I am going to cut your head off.” The old man answered: “Oh! I have not cheated you. I tried to wake you, but I could not, so I let it go.” “Why did you come so far? You live way back at the other end of the earth,” declared the young man. “Oh, that is nothing; I came to see how the sun goes down,” was the reply. “No; I think you tried to get away from me,” said Ganyadjigowa. “No; I was going back soon,” retorted the old man. “Well, let us go,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Very well,” said the old man. Soon they went back, whereupon Ganenaitha said: “Now go to sleep. I want you to stay until morning.” But Ganyadjigowa did not sleep, but watched the old man until morning. Then he said, “Now, let us start. Wait until I say ‘Go.’ ” Having gotten into their canoes, the old man said “Go!” They both went very fast—the new boat faster than the other. Getting back to the starting place first, Ganyadjigowa looked back—away off was a speck; this was the old man returning. When he came in the latter asked, “Do you know what this lake is called?” “No,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Its name is Ganyodaigowane, ‘Great Lake.’ ” Taking out a basswood knife, Ganyadjigowa thereupon cut off the old man’s head.

Traveling on, Ganyadjigowa came to the lodge of Gaasyendietʻha, in which he saw an old man asleep. Ganyadjigowa went in. The old man, waking up, began to sing, “Now he has come.” Ganyadjigowa thought, “Why does he sing about me?” Gaasyendietʻha said to himself: “Oh! I have the backache. Why have I got it? Where is my friend, Ganyadjigowa? I would like to see him—he is such a strange fellow.” Ganyadjigowa looked around the room, and seeing a mallet, began to hit the old man on the head with it. The latter said, “I believe mosquitoes are biting my head,” whereupon Ganyadjigowa hit him again. “Well, it seems to me I hear Ganyadjigowa talking,” said the man. He turned over—sure enough there was Ganyadjigowa. The old man said: “What are you doing to my head? Why did you hit me? Do you suppose I will let you pound me?” “Oh, no! I did not strike you. I will call you my grandfather, and we will be good friends,” said Ganyadjigowa. “Very well; sit at the other end of the fire and be quiet,” replied Gaasyendietʻha. Ganyadjigowa sat down. After a while he asked, “Do you know who planted the trees?” “Yes; the man in the blue sky,” was the reply. “Oh, no! I planted them all,” said Ganyadjigowa. The men talked along as they had done the first time at Gaasyendietʻha’s house. At length Ganyadjigowa asked, “What can kill you?” “Oh! a flag stalk that grows in swamps. If you strike me with that it will kill me,” answered the old man. Ganyadjigowa went out to hunt for the flag and found a stalk. When he came back, the old man was eating wild cranberries. Ganyadjigowa hit him with the flag, which he thought went into his body, for the old man’s face was all red from the cranberries. Turning, Gaasyendietʻha asked: “Why do you strike me? You hurt me.” Ganyadjigowa, laughing, said, “The old man’s mouth is all bloody.” Thereupon he ran away because he thought the old man was going to die.

Ganyadjigowa now went home. He was proud and said: “I killed the old man who was called so powerful magically. I must go to-morrow to see him.” The next morning he went to Gaasyendietʻha’s lodge, where he heard singing. “What kind of man is he? I thought I killed him,” mused Ganyadjigowa. The song ran, “I shall kill Ganyadjigowa as soon as I see him.” In a little while the old man, ceasing his song, began to talk. “Now I will go to see Ganyadjigowa and kill him.” Thereupon Ganyadjigowa said, “My grandfather means to kill me, but I will burn his lodge,” and piling up a great quantity of brush, he set the lodge on fire. The blaze mounted very high. Gaasyendietʻha said: “I believe the lodge is burning. I think Ganyadjigowa is doing this.” He was very angry, and sprang through the fire. The first thing Ganyadjigowa knew there was the old man, who asked, “Why did you make this fire?” “Oh! I did not make it. I came to blow it out,” he answered. Gaasyendietʻha continued, “Who made it?” “I do not know. I have just come,” said Ganyadjigowa. They kept on talking, but the old man did not believe Ganyadjigowa and pounded him to death. Thereupon Gaasyendietʻha whooped: “That is the kind of a man I am. I am the most powerful man under the blue sky because I have the most powerful orenda.” The people all over the world, hearing his outcry, exclaimed, “Ganyadjigowa is dead!”

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In old times two young men living in a village were great friends, and on this account everybody disliked and shunned them. They could find no lodge in which to live, hence they said to each other: “Since everyone dislikes us, the sooner we get out of this place the better.” So at last they went toward the south.

On the way, whenever night overtook them they looked around for some place where dry leaves had fallen, so that there they might rest comfortably. All they had to eat at first was evergreens and lichens. Having made bows and arrows, they killed small birds. The young men were at this time about 20 years old. After they got out of the thick woods they came to marshy ground, but they still kept on. Occasionally one would say to the other, “I am afraid we shall never get through this rough place,” but his companion would encourage him, and on they would go.

One day about noon they came to a large hemlock tree. “Climb up and look around,” said one; “see if there are any people in sight.” The limbs of the tree came almost to the ground, hence he climbed it easily. From the top he saw a beautiful trail leading from the tree through the air. He called to his companion, “Throw down your bow and arrows and come up to see what a splendid trail I have found.” The latter went up, and looking at the trail, said, “Let us try it and see where it leads.” They looked in every direction but saw no woods in any direction. It had been necessary that in whatever they undertook to do they should be of one mind. As they were now of one mind, they started off. The trail proceeding from the tree seemed as solid as if on the earth, and it extended as far away as they could see.

The young men traveled on without knowing that they were going up until they had reached another world, which seemed very pleasant. The leader said, however: “Do not stop. Let us go on and see where the trail will take us.” On the road there was plenty of game, but they gave no heed to it. After a while they came to a bark lodge out of which smoke was rising. One of the young men said, “It is customary for travelers to call at a lodge on the road and find who is living there; let us look in here.” The elder went in first. The lodge was of bark with a piece of bark suspended for a door. Pulling this aside, they saw an old man sitting within, who saluted them with: “I know the trouble you have had to undergo and how people disliked you; it is I who have called you. You shall stay with me a short time. You have come from the lower world. When there, you often spoke of the higher world, and I influenced you to follow the trail that leads up here. Now, come into my lodge and make a short stay, for I have promised to go elsewhere. As soon as you are gone, I shall go.” The young men went into the lodge. The speaker, who seemed about middle-aged, continued: “You people down there often speak of an Elder Brother in the sky. I am he who makes light for you. I am Kaahkwa, the Sun. Hawenniyo commands me, saying that I must give you light. This is my resting place, but I can stay here only a short time. Whenever you come this way, you must stop. I am always here at midday.” Thereupon he started toward the west, saying, “I go under the earth and come out in the east, and when you reach the next lodge you must stop.”

They parted, and the two men soon came to the second lodge. One said to the other, “We must call at this lodge, as the Sun told us to do.” The lodge looked exactly like the other. Entering, the young men saw an old woman, to whom they said, “How do you do, grandmother?” “I am thankful that you have come,” said she; “it was your brother who sent you here. It is now time for you to eat. You have been long without food.” In one part of the room they saw a bark bowl containing boiled squash, which was evidently just out of the pot. They sat down, and the old woman gave each of them half a squash and a quarter of a loaf of corn bread, saying, “This will be enough for both.” “No,” answered one of the young men; “there is not more here than I can eat.” The old woman replied: “It is enough; when you return, stop and I will give you more. It is I whom people down below call the Moon.” When they entered her lodge, she was sewing skins. She continued: “It is the order of Hawenniyo that I make light for people on the earth, so that they can see at night. It is only at certain times that you see me completely. I tell you now that you must be on your guard, for the path before you is full of danger and difficulties. You must be brave and must never look at anything not in your path, for your enemy is outside of it; never heed anything you see or hear, for if you do, you are lost. You will soon pass this dangerous path, but remember my advice.”

After passing the first place they came to another. The first fruit was full of witchcraft or enchantment; if they had eaten of it, they would have become bewitched. At the second place, however, after eating plums and huckleberries they felt refreshed. The old woman had told them that animals were numerous along their path, but they passed these without harm.

The other young man, looking steadfastly at his uncle, was not frightened nor discouraged. The old man, going to another part of the lodge, brought a long strip of bark, which he laid out lengthwise, saying, “The first that came shall be transformed first.” Thereupon he called him to come and lie on the bark. When the latter had done so, the man asked, “Are you ready?” “Yes,” was the young man’s reply. At that moment the uncle blew through his hand on the young man’s head, separating the bones and flesh, which fell in two heaps. The other nephew, who stood looking on, saw that the uncle separated the parts of every bone, and after wiping them, put them aside, cleaned; and he thought, “My luck is hard. I am alone here; my friend is gone. That must have been very painful.” After every bone had been wiped and put in place, the old man said to the one yet unchanged, “Now, be ready.” Then he blew through his hands on the head of the skeleton with force sufficient to send the skeleton a long distance. Thereupon the skeleton again became a man, ready for the assembly. This was the way in which each man had to be purified.

The second nephew, not wishing to be treated in that manner, did not go forward willingly. But when the uncle was ready he gave the word, when it seemed that the nephew could not hold back. Lying on the bark, he was treated as his friend had been, while the latter in turn looked on. Because he was not so willing to submit, the body of the second youth was more difficult to clean. The old man washed and wiped each bone. The flesh remained in a heap by itself. The uncle took more uncleanness from this nephew than from the first. After he had finished the cleaning, he put the bones in place again, and saying, “Take care,” blew on the skull with such force that the skeleton was shot off a long distance, becoming a beautiful young man. The uncle said: “Sit down. You are now transformed. Now let us go outdoors and I will try you.”

Going outside the lodge, the three stood in the clearing. At that time a deer was feeding on the grass, and the uncle told one of the young men to catch it, while to the deer he called out, “Be on your guard; my nephew is going to kill you.” The deer sprang off, but had made only a few bounds when the young man seized it. Seeing how he caught the deer, and knowing that if he could catch a deer he was fit for any race, the uncle said, “You are now ready to join the people of this world.” Then he told the second nephew to catch the deer, at the same time calling to the deer, “Look out! if you are caught, you will lose your life.” The deer sprang off, but the young man, soon overtaking it, brought the animal to the old man, who said: “You also are ready. You can now go to this great assembly and see what you can do.”

The youths traveled very swiftly, calling at each place at which they had stopped when coming, but only to return thanks, as they were now on the way home. On reaching the Sun’s lodge, the Sun said: “You are going home now. It is I who caused you to come hither. You have been traveling 10 days. What we call one day here is a year in the other world. Ten years ago you started from your home below.” When they got back to the lower world they were 30 years old. The 10 years seemed no longer than the interval between going in the morning and coming in the evening. The Sun took them as far as the hemlock tree from which the trail began, where they found their bows and arrows sticking in the ground, covered with moss. As the Sun took them in his hand he wiped off the moss, and immediately they were as new as if just made. He said that the people of the place where these travelers lived had moved away, adding: “I will direct you to them.” In those times a mile was as far as a man could see, and it was 12 “looks” from the hemlock tree to the site of the settlement. When they came to the end of 12 “looks” the Sun said, “This is where you started.” Here clearings and little hillocks where corn had grown were still to be seen where formerly grass was growing everywhere. The Sun said: “You will find your people 12 ‘looks’ farther on; when you come to the first lodge you must ask the old man whether he had heard years ago of two boys who were lost, and learn the number of years from that time until the settlement moved. If he gives you no information, go to the next lodge, where you will find an old woman; ask her the same questions. Now we must part.”

After a time the two young men said, “Let us continue our journey.” Going on, they found many villages, and spoke to their people. This is why the people are religious today. These men were good, doing right in all things that the people might follow their example. At length they said: “We have finished our work, for we have been over the entire land. We have spoken righteousness and justice to all the tribes.”

After returning to their birthplace they said: “Let us go southward—south of the hemlock tree. All the people north of it have been visited.” On the journey they said, “Our food must be game.” They built a fire after deciding to camp and to go out to hunt. Then they hunted in many places. On one of these expeditions the speaker saw among the trees a strange being dodging around somewhat like a man. As he approached, the stranger stopped, saying, “I am glad to see you, grandson; let us sit down. (The stranger was very youthful in looks, though he thus indicated himself as grandfather.) I have been sent to tell you that you and the other people are in great danger. This is all I am permitted to tell you; but come!—we will visit an old man, who will answer all questions.” The speaker, arising, followed the stranger, for he was curious to know whether there were really people so near. On coming to a cliff, the stranger said, “We live down there.” Looking closely, the man saw an almost invisible trail, which they followed to the bottom of the ravine, where they came to an opening in the rocks. When about to enter, the stranger said, “Leave your bows and arrows as you do when you go into other lodges.” They went through the first opening, then through a second. In the second room they found sitting an old man and woman, to whom the stranger said, “I have brought your grandson.” The old man answered: “We have met several times, but you have never been able to know it. I wish now to caution you, for you and your people are in great danger. The danger comes from your companion, who has gone far into the forest. The Ganiagwaihegowa is on his trail, and is coming to devour you. You are in my lodge now, so I may tell you to defend yourselves. Tomorrow at noon the enemy will be at your camp. He is filled with powerful orenda (magic power), and we shall have to suffer on your account. If you do not act as I tell you, we shall all die. We have tried many times to destroy this Ganiagwaihegowa, but he is so filled with magic power that we can not kill him. My advice is this: ‘Go home and make some basswood manikins; your friend has returned to camp and will help you. When the manikins are finished, put them at the door in front of your brush lodge, each holding a bow and arrows. When Ganiagwaihegowa approaches you will know the creature by his roar. Be ready with your bows and arrows; you must have trees felled in the path in front of the manikins. Ganiagwaihegowa’s life is assailable only in the soles of his feet. When he comes near, he will be raving with anger. As he raises his foot in crossing the log piles, you will see a white spot in the sole; there is his heart. Strike it, if you can, for there only will a shot take effect.’ ”

After this adventure the young men continued to hunt. While one of them was out he met a man, who said to him, “Come with me.” Going with him, he found that the stranger was one of the Gadjiqsa people. The old man who had told him how to kill the great bear had said: “You have saved all the people; after killing you the bear would have killed us and would have gone to your village and destroyed everybody. Hawenniyo has given us power to aid men; it is my wish that you and your people should prosper. If this bear had destroyed you, he would have destroyed all the people in the world. If I had not told you, we should all be dead now. It is for you to thank us, as well as for us to thank you.” He added: “But there is another enemy to conquer. When you leave your present camp you will go on until you come to a river. There you will camp again, but be on your guard as you travel.”