Part 2

At last, for little Waso, came the time when an Indian boy goes away from his family and fasts and calls on the Great Spirit to show him a vision of his future life and teach him how to live wisely and well. So the chieftain built a little wigwam for Waso, at some distance from the others, and the boy went to it, and began the solemn rites.

That first night in his tent alone, he dreamed that the Great Spirit sent a new gift to his people, a food by means of which it would be easier for them to live and which would provide against days of famine. This gift was called Mandowmin and was to grow out of the black soil. But the manner in which he should find it was not revealed to Waso and after he awoke he could think of nothing else but the mysterious gift.

He fasted for three days in his lonely tent, sleeping at night on a bed of skins. The third day, weak from lack of food, he looked out of his doorway at sunset, and saw a splendid young brave flying down from the sky. He was clad all in green and yellow, and a tuft of green plumes nodded on his head.

“I am come, oh Little-Chieftain-Who-Loves-His-People, from the Great Spirit,” said the stranger. “He looks with favor upon you and your father the Chieftain, because you contend not with arrows and spears, but seek only the good of your people. I have great news for you, news of a wonderful gift from the Great Spirit; but first you must wrestle with me, as it is only by overcoming me that you may learn the secret.”

Now Waso was so faint and weak that he swayed as he stood, but without hesitation he began to wrestle with the mysterious stranger. It was an unequal struggle, however, and soon the boy lay on his back, panting for breath.

“I will come again tomorrow,” said the stranger, and vanished.

The next day at the same hour the young brave appeared at Waso’s tent, and again they wrestled. Once more Waso was vanquished, but the stranger only smiled his kind friendly smile and said: “Be brave, little Waso! You have another chance--tomorrow--but your last--remember.”

On the third day Waso was so weak that he could scarcely stand, but he said to himself that he must win in order to learn the great secret for his people. And so much did his strong will help his weak body that at last he overthrew the young brave in green.

“Well done, Little Chieftain,” said the stranger, as he arose from the ground, where Waso had thrown him in the struggle, and dusted off his garments. “Tomorrow at set of sun I will come again for the last time. If I am vanquished I shall die. You must then strip off my garments, clear a spot of earth free from all stones, weeds and roots, soften the earth, and bury me in that spot. Then come often to my grave, and see if perchance I have returned to life once more; but let no weeds grow over me. Promise that you will do all as I tell you, and then you shall know the secret of the Great Spirit.”

Waso promised though with tears in his eyes. He had grown to love the handsome stranger with whom he had wrestled on three days at sunset, and the thought of his death saddened the boy, but he gave him his word.

The next morning the chieftain came to his son’s tent with food.

“You have proved yourself a man, my son,” he said. “A longer fast may do you harm.”

But Waso answered: “Wait only, oh my father, until evening, and when the sun goes down I shall return to your fireside.”

So the chieftain went home alone.

At sunset the strange brave returned and appeared once more at Waso’s tent. For the last time they fought. Steadily Waso gained and finally the stranger sank weakly to his knees. He arose again, and once more Waso put forth all his strength and threw his foe to earth. The stranger murmured faintly: “Your promise--remember,” and spoke no more.

Gently, tenderly, with tears streaming down his cheeks, Waso obeyed the instructions. Drawing off the beautiful green and yellow garments, he buried his strange friend in the soft black soil. Then he returned to his father’s home. But every day he visited the lonely grave far away at the edge of the forest. Carefully he pulled away the weeds and in the dry season he carried water in gourds to keep the earth soft and moist. Then one day, to his joy, he saw that the green plumes of the stranger’s head-dress were pushing through the soil. His friend was coming back to him.

All this time Waso had kept these things a secret, but as the summer drew to a close, he led his father to the distant grave. He told the chieftain the strange story, and, when he had finished, pointed to where there rose from the center of the stranger’s grave a plant whose like had never been seen before by the chieftain. As tall as a man it stood, straight and green, with broad shining leaves waving in the autumn breeze, topped by silky bright brown hair and nodding green plumes. From either side grew long green husks full of pearly white grains, sweet and juicy to the taste.

“It is my friend come back to me,” cried Waso. “It is Mandowmin, the Indian corn. It is the gift of the Great Spirit, and so long as we renew it from year to year, and watch and tend it, we need never fear the famine.”

That night, round the grave of Mandowmin, the members of the tribe held a feast and thanked the Great Spirit for his goodness.

Awahnee and the Giant

Awahnee and the Giant

Years and years ago, when there were no white men in all the great land we now call North America and the Indians were free to roam the woods, living by the fish they speared and the deer they shot, men knew very little about the world in which they lived. They did not understand why we have day and night, sun and moon, summer and winter, and so they made up all sorts of pretty stories about these strange facts.

When the last leaves of autumn had fallen, and the Indians were glad to huddle around the fires in their wigwams, little Indian boys and girls would ask their elders:

“Why does it grow colder?” “Will it ever be warm again?” and dozens of other questions. And here is the tale that the old men of one tribe always told the little folks in answer.

Long ago, there lived a great hunter, A-wah-nee, a tall young brave. No one in all his tribe could shoot an arrow so far or so straight as could A-wah-nee. When he was still a very young man, his fame had spread even beyond his own land to other tribes.

He kept two great pet wolves as hunting dogs, huge fierce animals that were the terror of the tribe. And well they might be, too, for they were under a spell. When A-wah-nee was deep in the forest and saw a deer near him, he had only to say “Up wolves” and in an instant they were as big as bears and had pounced upon the deer. Then he would say “Down wolves” and once more they would be their own proper size.

In a few years the deer in the forest, on the edge of which A-wah-nee and his grandmother lived in a small wigwam, had grown so clever and wary that they kept themselves hidden away all the day and roamed only at night. Presently A-wah-nee began to long for other forests where the deer were not so shy. At last one day he brought in from the hunt a half dozen fine deer.

“Dry that meat in the sun,” he said to his grandmother, “and you will have food in plenty until I return. I am going on a journey to other hunting grounds where game is bigger and more plentiful.”

Then he slung his snow shoes over his shoulder, for it was nearing the cold days, caught up his bow and arrows and his hunting knife, and strode off toward the north. As he journeyed he saw many a fine deer and moose. Some he shot, others he let go unharmed, for he was always seeking bigger game. Ever the wind grew more cold and cutting, the grass and leaves began to wither and disappear, and soon there was a covering of ice on the water and a blanket of snow on the ground.

But A-wah-nee put on his snow shoes and went skimming away, until at last he came to a huge wigwam almost buried in the drifts of snow. There was a thread of smoke curling up from the top, and A-wah-nee, who had begun to feel cold and weary, lifted the tent flap and walked in.

There was but one person in the wigwam, a very old giant, with deep wrinkles in his face, and snow white hair and beard. When he spoke, his great voice sounded like the howling of the north wind in the pine trees.

“Ho! young brave,” he cried. “Who are you? Whence come you? What do you want in my wigwam?”

“I am A-wah-nee,” answered the young man proudly; “mightiest hunter of my tribe. I have killed all the game worthy of my bow, and now seek new quarry, bigger and fleeter. But tell me your name, old man.”

“Winter!” roared the white haired giant in such a fierce tone that A-wah-nee began to feel afraid of him. “I rule the Kingdom of Cold. I bring the snow and ice. My breath kills all it touches. But sit down if you are not afraid of me. I bid you welcome.”

A-wah-nee was ashamed to show his fear after the boasting remark he had made at first, so he sat down by the giant’s fire, took a bit of moose meat from a leather pouch at his side, and began to eat it. While the old man related tales of great hunts and battles of his younger days and told of the wonderful deeds the frost giants had wrought at his bidding.

A-wah-nee was amazed at these stories, which made him feel that perhaps, after all, he was not as great a hunter as he had believed. Presently, in spite of the glowing fire beside him, the young brave began to feel very chilly. His teeth chattered and he tried to jump up and run about to warm himself.

But he could not move. Something seemed to hold him hand and foot; his head fell forward and he rolled over on the ground, fast asleep. The giant laughed until he fairly shook the forest, and the echoes went rolling along like distant thunder.

“You’ll have a good sleep, my boy, before you hunt again,” he laughed, as he strode out of the wigwam, chuckling.

He had spoken the truth indeed, for it was six months before the charm was over and young A-wah-nee awoke. When at last he stretched his limbs and opened his eyes, the old man, who was sitting beside him, burst into roars of laughter, and told him of the joke he had played.

A-wah-nee was furious, but he kept his anger to himself. Courteously he thanked the giant for his welcome and for the interesting stories, and bade him good-bye; but as he set out for the southland, he was saying in his heart: “The day will come when I will mock you, old man.”

He traveled on for many weeks. Gradually the snow melted away, grass and flowers began to appear, and when he reached the southland, thousands of birds were twittering and singing in the trees.

People were singing too, there in the southland, singing and dancing around their beloved Queen of Summer. At first A-wah-nee laughed when he saw her, for she was only a mite of a creature scarcely as tall as A-wah-nee’s foot, with long black hair waving about her shoulders and dark eyes flashing fire. But as he looked at her, an idea leaped into his mind, and grew and grew into a great plan to fool the giant Winter.

Carefully the young brave carried out his scheme. First he went deep into the heart of the forest and killed a deer. Then he skinned it carefully, and made its hide into long thin strips which he rolled into a tight ball.

Returning to the place where the men of the southland were singing and dancing about their little Queen of Summer, A-wah-nee waited his time. In a moment when they were not on guard, he caught up the tiny figure, tucked her out of sight in a fold of his blanket, and went striding away into the forest. As he fled he took care to unwind some ten or more turns of the deer-skin string ball, and let the loose ends dangle several yards behind him.

A-wah-nee was very fleet of foot and, too, he had taken the men of the south so entirely unawares that before they had planned how to rescue their stolen Queen, the thief was already deep in the forest and quite out of sight. But presently they came upon the deer string and, winding it up as they went, began to follow where it led.

In the meantime A-wah-nee had traveled far and reached, at last, the wigwam of the giant Winter. As before, the old man welcomed him pleasantly and bade him enter, for he meant to exert his spell over the young hunter once more.

“Sit by my fire and rest,” he roared in his great voice. “You must be weary after your long hunt. I will tell you tales of the giants while you refresh your tired limbs.”

“Ah no!” laughed A-wah-nee. “This time, oh giant, I will tell the tales to you,” and he smiled knowingly and began to speak.

As he talked, a strange thing happened to the giant. His head nodded, his voice grew weak, he shook all over, and tears began to run from his eyes, for little by little A-wah-nee had been drawing the folds of his blanket away from the little Queen of Summer, and she had been watching the old man with bright black eyes. At last she stepped out boldly on A-wah-nee’s knee, and smiled at Winter. Under that smile he grew weaker and weaker until at last he fell to the floor of the wigwam, and melted away until nothing was left of him but a pool of water from which came a hoarse, moaning cry.

A-wah-nee and the little Queen turned away from him and stepped out doors. A great change had come over the scene. The snow had gone, the grass was fresh and green, the ice had melted away, and the brooks were trying to sing even louder than the happy birds. Everything was as beautiful as the southland itself, even more so, for there was a cool, sweet fragrance in the air that had come from the pure snow as it melted.

Soon A-wah-nee and the little Queen found themselves surrounded by the men of the southland, and they were rejoiced to see their beloved ruler once more, safe and unharmed. When A-wah-nee told them why he had borrowed their little Queen, they were quite ready to forgive him.

Indeed, they found the northland so beautiful they longed to make it their home, but A-wah-nee warned them that the Summer Queen’s power could last but six months. At the end of that time the old giant Winter would rise from the pool of water, resume his former shape, and with his breath freeze all the country, over which he ruled.

So from that time on, the men of the southland came each year to the frozen realm of the old giant Winter, bringing their little Queen of Summer, and with her approach the old man was forced to take a six months’ nap. And so it has been even to this day. While the giant sleeps, the world is bright and sunshiny; the flowers and the birds sing; but when he awakens, he freezes the rivers and covers the earth with a blanket of snow.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.