Two Indian Children Of Long Ago Part 4

Once, twice, thrice, did the eager child outrun his playmate amid shouts and laughter. His little feet seemed to fly over the ground.

"He is as swift as a young elk," said the bystanders. And before the racing was ended, the child was called again to the trial of speed, this time with an older lad. Again he was first at the goal.

"He will be a runner like his father," said the warriors who had come near to watch the sports of their children.

Fleet Deer, when a young man, was the fastest runner in his tribe. And now his little son had won a race and the father was proud. He walked slowly toward his lodge and entered the curtained opening.

"Prepare a feast in honor of our son," he said to Good Bird, his wife.

Standing in front of his wigwam, he called in a loud voice the names of his brothers and kinsmen in the camp.

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They came, one by one, entered the low doorway, and were seated in a circle close to the inner wall of the wigwam, some on the low beds and some on mats.

Nokomis and Good Bird pa.s.sed to each a wooden dish containing meat, dried berries, parched rice, and maple sugar.

There were many prayers and much smoking of the long pipe which was pa.s.sed from host to guest. Then Fleet Deer led his son to the middle of the wigwam. The child's face and body were painted, and his long hair was braided and wound around his head.

"You have seen my son outrun his playmates," said the father. "You know that he has taken the honors of victory from a companion that is older and larger. One and another who watched the race have said that my son is like a young elk in his running.

"I was but a lad, my kinsmen, when your former chief, my father, gave me the name I bear. He has taken the long journey to the land of spirits. Will you agree that his grandson bear the name of Swift Elk?"

The warriors gravely bowed their heads in approval. Again the pipe was pa.s.sed, and the smoke curled and rose in the lodge.

Swift Elk, the grandson of a great chief, had earned his name.

FIRE AND THE FIRE MAKERS

"Are you going away, Grandmother? Take me with you."

"I am on my way to the forest, White Cloud. It will be a long walk for you. We need dry moss and decayed wood for tinder. Some cold morning we shall wake and find no red coals in the ashes. Then we shall need some pieces of the driest of wood to kindle a new fire."

"Let me go, and I will help you look for dry wood. I know I am big enough to be a fire maker. Haven't I seen seven winters?"

So Nokomis and White Cloud started on the trail that led to the wild forest. There great trees had died and fallen, and the branches had been decaying for many moons--no one can tell how many.

"Is the fire always lost when we move our camp, Grandmother?"

"Not always. Some lodge keepers try to carry a few coals, and the one who succeeds is glad to share with others. But one person is often sent ahead to the new camp to make a central fire out of doors. You know it takes a long time to get a spark by rubbing two sticks together."

"How did the Indians get fire in the first place? And how did fire get into wood?" asked White Cloud.

"I will tell you, my child. I have heard all about it from the story-tellers.

"Once there was only one fire in all the world. It was kept in a sacred wigwam and guarded by an old blind man.

"All the Indians had heard about fire and wanted very much to get it.

But no one knew where it was hidden.

"The old man had two daughters who gathered his wood. He used only the driest branches, so that no smoke could be seen, and no odor from the burning of green boughs be lifted to the wind.

"But one day a tiny, curling wreath of smoke rose above the lodge opening.

"Of course the birds saw it, and flew over the lodge poles until they discovered the secret. You may be sure that they chirped the news wherever they flew.

"A woodp.e.c.k.e.r went into a hole in a tree to carry his mate some food and told her where fire was kept. He was overheard by a squirrel running up the tree trunk.

"'Chip, chip! chatter, chatter! Hear the squirrels in the tree tops,'

said a rabbit. 'What are they talking about?' By listening he soon found out.

"Then Bruin heard the rabbits, and the bear teased the wolf by letting him know that the birds had a great secret.

"A flock of sparrows settled in front of the wolf's den, and the wolf soon heard all he wanted to know. He, in turn, told a dog that sometimes ran with him at night.

"Of course the dog told the boy he loved best, and so the Indians found out where fire was hidden.

"'We must have fire,' they said. 'Who will get it for us?'

"At last Manabush said that he would try to get fire for his tribe.

"Manabush was a daring young Indian hunter. Like Hiawatha, he spent his life trying to help his people. He saw how fire was needed to warm the lodges in winter, and to cook the raw meat freshly killed in the hunt.

"So Manabush made a birch canoe and started across the great lake.

When he reached land he pulled his light canoe out of the water and carried it on his back to a near-by thicket. Then he changed himself into a rabbit and hopped away into the long gra.s.s.

"Soon there came up a great storm. The old man guarded the sacred fire with the utmost care until the rain was over. Then he went to sleep near the glowing coals.

"His daughters came out of the lodge to look at the sky. As they bent down to enter the low door, they saw a little rabbit lying on the gra.s.s. His fur was wet, and he was trembling with cold.

"One of the daughters carried him in and laid him down where it was warm. The rabbit hopped nearer the fire.

"The old man started from his sleep. 'What do I hear?' he asked.

"'You have heard nothing, Father. We picked up a little wet rabbit and brought him in to dry.'

"The old man closed his eyes again. His daughters turned and went on with their work. Quickly the rabbit seized a burning stick and hopped away by leaps and bounds.

"Up jumped the old man. 'My fire, my sacred fire, is stolen!' he cried. His daughters ran out of the lodge to chase the thief.

"But the old blind man thought that someone was in the wigwam. So he s.n.a.t.c.hed a long stick and pounded so hard on every side that he beat some of the fire into a log. This is the way that fire came to be in wood."

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