Chapter 2

"Wau wau tay see, wau wau tay see, Flitting white fire insect, Waving white fire bug, Give me light before I go to bed, Give me light before I go to sleep! Come, little dancing white fire bug, Come, little flitting white fire beast, Light me with your bright white flame, Light me with your little candle."

SWIFT ELK, THE INDIAN BOY

Four years have passed since the summer evening when Good Bird watched her children in the firefly dance. Her son, Swift Elk, is now a tall, straight lad of eleven winters. His sister, four years younger, is a sturdy little girl, already able to help her mother in many ways.

The boy is the pride of the lodge. From his earliest babyhood he has been trained to be strong and fearless.

"Lay him very straight," his father used to say when the baby boy was placed on his cradle board. "Do not make his bed too soft. My son must grow tall and strong, for he will sometime be a great warrior."

Since he could first walk he has gone with his father each day to the lake to take an early morning bath. Like all Indians, he learned to swim when he was very small, and he loves to splash and dive and play in the water.

Do you suppose that Swift Elk dresses himself after his bath? He does not think clothing at all necessary except in winter.

Does he help his mother in her work about the lodge? Never! "A boy does not do squaw's work," he says. "A boy must learn to hunt and shoot."

Is he not made to mind? Is he never punished? Oh, no; he will be a great warrior some day, and his father says he ought not to be afraid of any one. And so he lives the wild, free life of the Indian boy. He spends his day in play, with no school, no lessons, and no work to do.

When the father is at home he teaches the boy to notice very carefully everything he sees. He must learn the names of plants and birds. He must know the habits of animals and how to hunt them. Above everything, he must be brave and daring.

While the men are away hunting, the younger boys spend the day shooting, fishing, swimming, and playing games. If they wish to throw mud balls at each other, no one scolds them for being dirty. But if one of them whimpers or cries, his companions will not let him play. So the Indian boy learns early in life to bear pain without complaint.

Swift Elk's father made a little bow and arrow for his son as soon as he was old enough to run out of the wigwam. Each summer he received a larger bow and more destructive arrows.

Wherever the boy goes he carries his weapon, and he is always watching for the chance to shoot a bird, rabbit, squirrel, or any wild animal.

How his mother and grandmother praise him when he brings home game! "You will be a great hunter," they say. "Soon you will be able to go with your father to shoot bear and deer."

Swift Elk sleeps on a bed of cedar boughs covered with skins. As the first-born son, he has the place of honor. His bed is next to his father's, close against the inner lining of the lodge, and nearly opposite the entrance.

This is the boy's own place, and he is allowed to decorate it as he wishes. Birds' wings, feathers, and squirrels' tails show his skill in hunting.

Here he keeps nearly everything that he owns. He has hung his bow and arrows on the lodge pole above his bed. His snowshoes, tops, and balls are in a bag of skin high above the reach of baby hands.

Swift Elk looks forward to the time when he shall be admitted to the councils of his tribe and take part in their dances and yearly feasts.

Like other Indian children, he has been trained to count time by winters, moons, and sleeps, and so he does not know his exact age. He has never heard of keeping birthdays; but he has had many feasts given in his honor, which are the same to him as a party would be to you.

When an Indian boy wins a game which requires great skill, or shows himself brave in time of danger, his companions shout his praises.

They go with him to the door of his lodge, telling of the brave deed he has performed. Then they sing and dance in his honor.

It is expected that the women of the lodge will show their pleasure by giving each boy some dainty from the stores of food packed away for feasts.

On the day that Swift Elk first shot a rabbit his father gave a feast for him, inviting all his relatives. But the most important celebration of his whole life was when he won a victory in racing and received his name.

THE NAMING OF SWIFT ELK

Unlike their sisters, Indian boys are seldom named in babyhood. Some are known only as the sons of their fathers. Others bear the nicknames given by their companions. But often a boy's name is decided upon by reason of some important action of his own.

For the first few years of Swift Elk's life he was spoken of as the son of Fleet Deer. When he was quite small, he stood, one evening, watching the older boys race. They ran in couples, their companions standing on either side of the race course. There were yells of joy for the victors, and jeers and howls for those who were so unlucky as to trip or stumble in the way.

A young hunter standing near noticed the shining eyes of the little watcher and shouted, "Give the younger boys a chance!" And so the son of Fleet Deer was started in the race with a boy of his own size.

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.

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 passed 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 passed 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 passed, 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 woodpecker 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 grass.

"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 grass. 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 snatched 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."

"What did the rabbit do, Grandmother?"

"He ran to the canoe, changed back to a man, put the fire in a magic bag, and paddled as fast as he could to his own camp.

"There he lighted a pile of wood for his grandmother, and then hurried away to the Thunderers. They have kept the sacred fire for the Indians since that day."

"Who are the Thunderers, Grandmother?" asked White Cloud.

"After we have had our dinner I will tell you the story. Now we will use some of our dry wood and make a fire."

"Can I learn to get the fire out of wood?" asked White Cloud.

"You will need to try again and again, for it is not an easy task. Watch me, my child, and see how it is done."

Nokomis soon had a pile of dry grass and twigs. Then she rubbed two pieces of wood together for a long time. At last a spark flew from the dry wood and the grass was lighted.

Meat and birds' eggs were soon roasted in the hot ashes. After the meal Nokomis and White Cloud started for home, each with a bundle of wood strapped to her back.

"Now I'm ready for the story you promised me," said White Cloud.

THE THUNDERERS

"Far in the east, above the sky, the great Thunderer lives with his two sons. They are the friends of the whole world. When you hear their voices be glad, for they are bringing the gift of rain.

"In the spring they come from their sky home with the showers that make the grass grow and the little plants peep out of the ground.

"They water the earth; and the corn comes up, the sap flows for our sugar, the trees open their leaves and blossoms, and the berries ripen.

"Without their help every growing plant would turn brown and fade away. The wild rice and the sugar trees would die. Animals would search in vain for food, and they would crawl into their dens and perish.

"There would be no game for the hunter to shoot. Then the terrible famine spirits would enter our lodges, and we would sicken and die.

"We should never fear the loud voices of the Thunderers, for they are always good and kind.

"They are the war chiefs of the world. When we see the rainbow, we catch a glimpse of the splendid robes they wear.

"In the middle of their great lodge burns the sacred fire, which they guard for all the people of the earth."

"I will never be afraid again when I hear them speaking," said White Cloud. "But I like to be in the lodge when they bring their rain storms. If they come to-day perhaps we can find a cave in the hills our trail crosses."

"It would not be safe for us to enter a cave in the forest," replied Nokomis. "The Little People might be in it, and they would be displeased."

THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE FOREST

"And now," said White Cloud, "I want to hear all about the Little People."

"Speak low, White Cloud. We are coming to the rocky hillside. We must listen, for we may hear them drumming."

"I wish we could! We would run and try to see them."

"It would be far better for us to turn and run the other way. The Little People do not like to be disturbed. If they should see us, they might cast a spell on us."

"What harm would that do us?" asked the child.

"We would forget where we are going and who we are. We might wander in the woods until we starved, for we could never find the trail home."

"How do the Little People look, and what do they do? Does anyone know?"

"They are handsome little men, smaller than the tiniest babies. By daylight they drum and dance, for they are very fond of music.

"If they are not disturbed, they are very kind and helpful, especially to those who are in trouble. They do not like to be seen, and will never work if a man or woman, or even a child, is in sight.

"Sometimes they come to the cornfield when it is very dark. If they are heard, no Indian goes out of the lodge. Often the field will be found well weeded in the morning and the earth loose about the growing plants.

"Once, in the moon of ripe corn, there was a woman alone with a sick child. She heard the Little People near her lodge, and she remembered to be very quiet. In the morning her corn was all picked for her.

"If a hunter finds an arrow near the cornfield, he must say very loud: 'Little People, will you let me have this arrow?' for it may have been shot from their bows.

"If he takes it without asking, he may be hit with stones as he is walking home."

"Tell me about the boy who was changed into a hunter spirit," said White Cloud.

"There was once a boy," began Nokomis, "who ran away from home. He grew smaller and smaller until he became like the spirits of the woods.

"But he is full of mischief. You can sometimes tell what he is doing, although he himself is never seen.

"Have you not noticed your dog jump up quickly from the place where he has been sleeping? The spirit of the runaway boy is whipping him with nettles.

"You will often see a flock of birds suddenly leave their food and fly away. The little hunter spirit has frightened them.

"When the tired hunter stops, far from his lodge, to roast his meat, the little mischief-maker blows out his fire and fans the smoke into his eyes.

"He catches the arrows which are aimed at the birds and hides them. He puts slippery clay in the path and laughs when the children fall. No one can tell all his tricks of mischief."

"Grandmother, look! Here is an arrow on the ground."

"Let it be. We will not annoy the spirits. Now we must hurry home, for the clouds darken and I can hear the loud voices of the Thunderers starting out from their sky home."

BLACK WOLF TELLS A STORY

The boys were practicing with their bows and arrows. After a few trials, in which little skill was shown, Swift Elk threw down his bow. "I'm tired of shooting," he said. "Come on, boys, let's go to the lake for a swim."

Black Wolf, the oldest warrior of the tribe, was sitting on the ground near by, watching the sport.

"Do not give up," said the old man. "You are a big boy now. Only by skill in shooting can you become a brave warrior. Let no one know you are tired or weak. Remember the boy who was changed to the lone lightning of the North."

"Tell us the story," Swift Elk begged. "Then we will practice again and do our best."

The boys threw themselves on the ground near Black Wolf, and he began the story.

"There was once a little boy who had no one to care for him. His father had been killed in war, and his mother taken captive by the enemy.

"Minno, the lonely boy, lived in his uncle's wigwam, but he was not wanted there. He had hard work to do and very little to eat.

"He was too weak to join the rough games of his playmates, and he did not become skillful with his bow and arrows like the other boys of the tribe.

"At last he became so thin from hunger that the uncle feared his cruel treatment would become known.

"So he told his wife to feed the boy with bear's meat. 'Give him plenty of fat,' he ordered. 'Cram him with bear's fat.' It was now the uncle's plan to kill the boy by overfeeding.

"One day when Minno had been nearly choked with fat meat, he ran away. He wandered about in the woods, and when night came he was afraid of the wild beasts. So he climbed into a tall tree and fell asleep in the branches.

"In his dreams a person came to him from the upper sky and said: 'My poor little lad, I pity you. Follow me, and be sure to step in my tracks.'

"So the lad arose and followed his guide up, up, into the upper sky. There he was given twelve magic arrows and told to shoot the manitoes of the North.

"'They are the evil spirits of the air,' said his guide. 'You must go to war against them. I have given you magic arrows that will kill them if your aim is true.'

"The boy placed an arrow with great care, but failed to kill a manito. One, two, three, four, five, six arrows had left his bow, each leaving behind it a long streak of lightning. But not one had reached its mark.

"Carefully he aimed; seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. Alas! his skill was not equal to his task.

"Long he held the twelfth arrow. He looked around on every side. The evil spirits had wonderful power, and they could change their forms in a moment.

"The boy let his last arrow fly toward the heart of the chief of the manitoes. But the evil spirit saw it coming and changed himself into a rock.

"'How dare you try to kill me!' cried the angry manito. 'Now you shall suffer. You shall evermore be like the trail of your arrow.'

"And he changed the boy into the lone lightning which you so often see, my children, in the northern sky."

"I wish I could shoot as well as I can run," Swift Elk said. "It is easy to win in the races, but I can never beat in a shooting match."

"You can if you will practice more than the other boys. You remember how the crane beat the humming bird in a race."

"Tell us about it, tell us," begged all the boys. "Then we will shoot our arrows all day long until the sun hides his face."

The old man was silent for a time. Then he said, "I will tell you just one more story. And you shall keep your word and practice until the darkness creeps over the earth."

THE RACE BETWEEN THE CRANE AND THE HUMMING BIRD

The crane dared the humming bird to a race. The humming bird was as swift as an arrow, but the crane flew slowly.

At the word they both started. The humming bird was far ahead and he stopped to roost on a limb; but the crane flew all night.

The humming bird woke in the morning, thinking it would be no trouble to win the race. He was very much surprised when he passed the crane spearing fish for his breakfast!

"How did the Slow One get ahead?" he thought. "I must start earlier in the morning." He flew swiftly until dusk, when he stopped to roost on a tree.

The crane flew all night. Before morning he was again ahead, and he had finished his breakfast when the Swift One passed him.

"This is indeed strange," thought the humming bird. "But I can fly a little faster, and it will be no trouble to win." So he stopped again, far ahead, to take his usual sleep.

The crane flew all night, as usual. He passed the sleeping humming bird at midnight and was well on his way before he was overtaken. The humming bird flew as long as he could see, and before midnight he was again ahead.

Each night the humming bird slept. Each night the crane flew. "Gaining a little; gaining a little!" he said to himself.

Later and later in the day did the Swift One pass the Slow One. Earlier and earlier in the night did the Slow One pass the Swift One.

On the last day of the race the crane was a night's travel ahead. He took his time at breakfast. The humming bird passed him at sundown and stopped to sleep.

The next morning the humming bird flew like the wind and reached the goal early in the day. But there stood the heavy crane waiting, for he had flown all night!

HUNTING WILD DUCKS

Swift Elk had sharpened his arrows and taken his strongest bow from the wooden peg over his bed.

"I have seen wild ducks flying by the lake," he said. "I am going to hide in the long grass and watch for them. If they come again, they shall feel my arrows. To-night we eat roast duck."

The boy ran toward the lake. His sister, White Cloud, watched him until he was out of sight. "Why can't girls go hunting?" she said. "I have seen seven winters. I shall follow his trail."

The child ran along, hiding behind trees and bushes, and stepping softly so that no broken twig could tell of her approach.

Indian children can see farther and hear far better than we can. Although the old-time Indian never went to school, yet he trained his children to listen to every sound in the forest, and to notice all signs of animal life.

When White Cloud was near the lake, she hid in a clump of bushes and watched. Just in sight was a little stream winding through the low meadow.

She saw Swift Elk run along its banks. She waited without moving--waited as only an Indian child knows how to wait.

At last, far off, she saw a speck in the sky, then another and another. The specks grew larger. She held her breath.

A flock of wild ducks flew across the lake. Near the shore they turned and flew over the low meadow where the boy hunter was hiding in the high grass.

Suddenly the swift arrows flew. One, two, three, four ducks were hit and fell to the ground. Swift Elk picked up three and swung them over his shoulder.