Chapter 3

He looked a long time for the fourth duck. Then, seeing another flock approaching, he ran toward the lake shore.

Again he was fortunate in choosing the place of their approach. White Cloud saw more arrows fly, and more ducks fall. Swift Elk ran on out of sight.

Then the little girl crawled from her hiding-place and crept along the ground in search of the missing duck. Surely there was something stirring in the long grass ahead. Almost afraid to move, the child crept closer and closer, until she saw a duck with a broken wing hanging useless by its side.

In a moment she had caught it. She held the bird in her arms until its struggles ceased. Then she bound its wing to its body with long pieces of grass.

She crawled to the stream and dropped water in its bill. The duck swallowed the water but refused all food.

White Cloud watched every movement in the distance, not daring to stand lest Swift Elk return. So she worked her way, concealed by high grass, to the home trail.

How she ran until she reached the low wigwam built for her dolls! Here she made a soft bed for the wounded bird. She smoothed its feathers and talked to it. How happy she was when she was able to coax the duck to eat the food she offered!

Swift Elk came home at night with all the game he could carry. His mother praised his hunting, and his father was pleased because he had passed the entire day alone and without a mouthful of food.

"You must endure hunger and thirst, cold and heat, danger and pain, if you would become a great warrior," said his father. "And you must find your way alone through the forest for miles and miles, listening every moment for the footsteps of an enemy or the approach of a wild beast."

A fire had been made in front of the lodge. The ducks were buried, feathers and all, in the hot ashes. White Cloud brought wild berries and water from the spring. As soon as the birds were roasted the feathers and skins were pulled off and the hungry boy enjoyed his meal.

But White Cloud watched her chance to carry part of her own food to the duck. How she hated to leave him when the dark came on! But she fastened the shelter securely, hoping that no lurking fox or weasel would force his way inside.

The next morning White Cloud was up before her brother. She hid in the tiny lodge, to protect her pet until Swift Elk had left for the day.

The duck soon became so tame that it followed her wherever she went. The difficulty in taming the wild creature, and the constant danger of losing it, led the child to be as kind and patient with her pet as an Indian mother is with her papoose.

One day Good Bird was roasting deer meat. She had made a hot fire in front of the lodge. Sticks sharpened at both ends were driven in the ground close to the bed of coals. The sticks were bent toward the fire, and each one held a large piece of raw meat.

When the meat was tender, Good Bird called her little daughter. "My father is old," she said. "He can no longer hunt. Take some of this roast meat to him."

White Cloud took the dish and went to her grandfather's lodge, the duck waddling behind her. After the old man had eaten, White Cloud said, "Grandfather, do you know any stories about ducks?"

"Point to the north, my grandchild, and tell me who live in the land of ice and snow."

"North Wind and Old Winter," answered the child.

"And what do they do, little one?"

"They send the game far from my father's arrows. They freeze our food and try to starve us. North Wind gives the war whoop as he flies in the forest.

"Then Old Winter comes like the Indians on the war trail. We cannot see him, and we cannot hear him. He does not break a twig, and his footsteps make no sound. He crowds into our lodge, and tries to steal our fire and freeze us. I wish he would never come again!"

"We must be brave, my grandchild. We must make ready with food and firewood to fight his power. I will tell you of a brave little duck that even North Wind could not conquer."

A BRAVE DUCK

Far to the north lived Wild Duck. His lodge was by the frozen lake. Winter was beginning, and he had but four logs of wood for his fire.

"Four logs will do," he said. "Each log will burn for many sleeps, and then spring will be on the way."

Wild Duck was as brave as a warrior. On the coldest days he went to the lake to fish. He found the rushes that grew high above the water. With his strong bill he pulled up the frozen plant stems. Then he dived through the holes he had made in the ice and caught the fish swimming beneath.

In this way he found plenty of food. Every day he went home to his lodge dragging strings of fish. North Wind blew his fiercest blasts, but no wind was cold enough to keep Wild Duck in his wigwam.

"This is a strange duck!" said North Wind. "He seems as happy as if it were the moon of strawberries. He is hard to conquer, but I will freeze him."

So the wind blew colder and colder, and great drifts of snow were piled up about the wigwam. But still the fire burned brightly. The duck went daily to the lake, and daily he brought home fish.

"Soon I will visit him," said North Wind. "Then he shall feel my power."

That very night North Wind went to the door of the wigwam. He lifted the curtain and looked in.

Wild Duck had cooked his fish and was lying before the bright fire. He was singing a song to his enemy.

"You may blow as hard as you can, North Wind," he sang. "I dare you to freeze me. You may pile the snow to the top of my lodge. I shall climb the drifts and go fishing just the same."

"How dare a little duck sing like this about me?" blustered North Wind. "I will enter. I will blow my cold breath upon him, and he will freeze."

North Wind pushed his way through the door and sat down on the opposite side of the lodge. Cold blasts filled the hut.

Was Wild Duck afraid? He got up and poked the fire, singing his song louder and louder. Not once did he look at his guest.

"Does he not know that I am here?" thought North Wind.

The little duck stirred the great log until it crackled and snapped.

"I cannot stand this heat," said North Wind to himself. "I am melting. I must go out." The water was dripping from his hair, and tears ran down his cheeks. He crept out of the wigwam and left Wild Duck to his songs.

"What a wonderful duck!" he said. "I cannot freeze him, I cannot even stop his singing. The spirit of the fire is helping him, and I will let him alone."

And to this day you can see the wild duck fishing where the rushes grow. He is warm in his coat of thick feathers, and North Wind can never freeze the brave little duck.

SUMMER SPORTS

Swift Elk and his companions were cutting great chunks of clay from the bank near the stream. Soon a crowd of boys, each armed with a large piece of clay and a long green switch, ran shouting to the near-by forest.

Here they divided into two bands for a sham battle, and all hid behind trees. Balls of clay were pressed on the ends of the slender sticks and thrown, as you would throw green apples.

Swift Elk ran out from behind the tree where he had been hiding. Quickly he threw mud balls at every boy that he saw peeping at him.

Other boys rushed from their sheltering tree trunks to dare the opposing forces. A shower of mud balls filled the air. There were shouts and war whoops, advances and retreats.

Dogs, barking and jumping, rushed into battle with their masters.

When the clay was all used, the boys ran to the bank for more. For half a day the fight went on, many prisoners being taken on both sides.

Here and there were young braves who had been hit in the face and badly hurt. One was suffering great pain with a swollen eye.

Do you think he left the game and ran home? Do you think he cried or told tales? A boy would rather stand pain than be laughed at by his companions. "Tears are for girls and women," they had all heard their fathers say. "A warrior must not notice pain."

At last, heated and mud-stained, they ran to the lake and jumped in. You would have thought they all needed a bath, could you have seen them.

Splashing and swimming, diving and yelling, they continued their battle by wrestling in the water. The day wore on. One by one, tired with action, they left the lake. Some lay on the grass, and others made images of animals with soft clay.

Two or three boys, very hungry, shot some birds, made a fire, and roasted their game. It mattered not to them that their food was far from clean.

Before they went home at night, Swift Elk's band dared the other side to a ball game, to be played the next morning.

"Let us ask Black Wolf to watch our game," said Swift Elk. All agreed. The old warrior could not go on the long hunt or the warpath, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to help the boys and young men in their games of strength or skill.

THE BALL GAME

Early in the morning the boys met on the level piece of ground that had been selected for the game. At each end of the field two upright poles, a little distance apart, were erected for goal sticks.

In the great ball games played by the men, each side is allowed but one goal stick, which must be hit by the ball. As this is very difficult, Black Wolf helped the boys set up two very long sticks, between which the winner's ball was to be thrown.

Each player always carries a ball stick bent at one end into a small hoop or ring. Strips of rawhide are passed through holes in the hoop, making a netted pocket in which the ball may rest half hidden.

The one simple rule that each player follows at all times is: "Keep the ball away from your own goal." Only by sending the ball off the field between the two goal sticks of the opposite side can victory be won.

Swift Elk and Antelope were chosen captains because they were good runners. All the best players stood in the middle of the field. The younger boys were grouped about the goal sticks with orders to send the ball back into the field.

At a signal from Black Wolf, Antelope tossed the ball into the air. It was caught by a player on his own side, who started to run in the opposite direction from his own goal sticks.

The ball was knocked out of his hand and thrown the other way. Back and forth it went until Antelope caught it in his ball stick. He started at full speed toward the goal on Swift Elk's side.

In a moment he was caught and the ball again turned. Running, screaming, throwing, pushing, striking each other's arms with ball sticks, the boys rushed together.

At last Antelope's side gained the advantage. Nearer and nearer the ball came to Swift Elk's goal sticks. One strong throw, and the game would be won. Antelope's players danced and yelled with joy.

Suddenly a younger boy, one of the poor players who was made to stand on guard, caught the ball and sent it whizzing toward Swift Elk.

The other side, sure of success, was taken by surprise. Before Antelope could turn, Swift Elk had the start and was speeding toward the opposite goal.

"Never was there a finer race," Black Wolf thought. All the boys had crowded together at one end of the line to see the victory, leaving an open field for the two fleetest runners.

You would have liked to see the two Indian lads with painted bodies running like the wind. They were followed by a crowd of boys shouting, howling, rushing, pushing, and trying in vain to overtake them.

But not even Antelope could regain the advantage he lost in starting. Swift Elk swung his stick and sent the ball spinning between the two poles of the goal. He had won the game for his side.

After the victors had shouted themselves hoarse, they lay down on the ground near Black Wolf and asked for a story.

"I will tell you," said the old man, "of the most wonderful ball game the world ever saw. It happened long ago when the animals ruled the land and there were no people on the earth."

THE ANIMALS AND THE BIRDS PLAY BALL

Once the animals dared the birds to play a game of ball with them. The birds chose the eagle for their captain, and the animals chose the bear.

They all talked at the same time, trying to make their plans. When should they play? Where should they play? "Leave that to the eagle and the bear," said the deer. And all agreed.

At the appointed time the animals met on a smooth, grassy plain and the birds in a tree top near by.

Captain Bear was so large and heavy that he could pull down anyone who came in his way. All along the trail to the ball ground he tossed up great logs to show his strength; and he bragged of what he would do to the birds when the game began.

The turtle, at that time, was very much larger than he is now. His shell was so hard that the heaviest blows could not hurt him.

He, too, was a great brag. Again and again he rose on his hind feet and dropped heavily to the ground. "Look at me," he said. "See how I will crush any bird that tries to take the ball from me." The swift deer, the mountain goat, and the rabbit were at their best speed. Indeed, the animals had a fine team.

The eagle gathered his forces together. There was the hawk, strong and swift, and the wild geese that can fly without resting. The black martin was there and the crow, with a host of other birds. The blue jay was chosen to scream in the ears of the animal players, and the humming bird to fly in their eyes.

The birds looked at the great animals on the field below, and were afraid. Just then two little things hardly larger than field mice climbed the tree where sat the bird captain.

They begged to join the game.

"You have four feet; why do you not go to the animals, where you belong?" asked the eagle.

"We did," said the little things, "but they drove us off because we are so small."

"Let them play, let them play," called out the birds in pity.

But how could they join the birds when they had no wings? The eagle and the hawk consulted, and it was decided to make wings for the little fellows. What could they find for wings?

At last someone remembered the drum they used in their dances. The head was made of ground-hog skin. So they took the drumhead, cut two wings, and made the bat.

Then they threw the ball to him. The bat dodged and circled about, keeping the ball always in the air; and the birds soon saw that he would be one of their best men.

The other little animal came for wings, but there was no more leather. What could be done? Two birds thought they might enable him to fly by stretching his skin. Thus was the flying squirrel made.

To try him, the bird captain threw up the ball. The flying squirrel sprang off the limb after it, caught it in his teeth, and carried it to another tree below.

All were now ready. The signal was given and the game began. At the first toss the flying squirrel caught the ball and carried it up a tree. He threw it to the birds, who kept it in the air for some time, until it dropped.

The bear rushed to get it, but the martin darted after it and threw it to the bat. By dodging and doubling, the bat kept it out of the way of the swift deer. And now the game was close. The great deer could not turn as quickly as the bat, and so he lost the game. The little bat threw the ball between the posts and won the victory for the birds.

And the bear and the turtle, who had done the most bragging, did not have a chance even to touch the ball.

For saving the ball when it dropped, the martin was given a gourd to build his nest in. And he still has it, for you can often see a gourd on a post near the Indian lodges.

GATHERING WILD RICE

"Have you seen the beautiful new canoe father has just finished?" asked White Cloud.

"Seen it! I helped make it," answered Swift Elk. "I cut nearly all the birch bark."

"Your father has it ready for the wild-rice harvest," said Good Bird. "To-day I go to tie the stalks. You are to help me, White Cloud."

Nothing could have pleased the little girl better. All summer she had hoped for this great pleasure. From a low hill near her home she had watched the growth of the rice.

When the June berries were ripe, the first shoots came up near the shore of the lake. In a few weeks the rice beds looked like beautiful green islands in the water.

And when the yellow-green blossoms opened, she coaxed her father to take her in his canoe to the rice plants. She picked the flowers, shaded with reddish purple, and she saw the spreading mass of blossoms, their straw-colored anthers moving with every breeze.

Swift Elk was very proud of the new canoe. He had made the paddles, and had cut the forked sticks that would be needed to force the boat through the shallow water.

"When the rice is ripe, I'll go with you and manage the boat," he said to his mother. "When you come home to-night, White Cloud, bring some green rice to parch for supper."

"I'll have some all ready for you," promised his sister. "You shoot a deer to-day, and to-night we'll have a feast. We'll ask grandfather, and perhaps he'll tell us a story."

Soon Good Bird was paddling rapidly toward the rice beds. It was a beautiful morning, and White Cloud was as happy as any little girl could ever be.

For many weeks she had helped her mother prepare the string for tying the rice stalks. It was cut from the inner bark of the basswood tree. The narrow bands were wound in a ball so large that the child could hardly reach around it.

"Why do you tie the wild rice stalks, Mother?" she asked.

"So that our little brothers, the birds, can not eat all our grain," answered Good Bird. "All the bunches we have tied are our own, and will be more easily harvested. No friendly Indian ever touches the heads of rice bound together by another."

With a curved stick Good Bird pulled a mass of stalks within her reach and bound the heads firmly together with the narrow strips of bark. For hours she worked, forcing her way through the thick mass of water plants and tying the stalks on both sides of the canoe.

"May I come here again with you when the wild rice is ripe?" asked White Cloud.

"It will take two strong women to gather the harvest, my child; but the canoe is very long and I think you can help."

"How is it done, Mother?" asked the child.

"Swift Elk will sit at one end of the canoe and paddle. Nokomis will bend the stalks over the boat and untie the long pieces of bark, and I shall beat the heads with a stick. The grain will fall until the boat holds as much as it is safe to carry."

"Are we going to take home any to-day?" asked White Cloud.

"Oh, yes; when the rice is not quite ripe it is just right for parching. As soon as my rows are all tied, you shall help me gather the greenish kernels."

Good Bird worked until she had used all her string. The long rows of heads, neatly tied, looked very fine.

New plants were found, and the stalks beaten with a stick. The rice fell into the canoe, and White Cloud found it was good to eat even without cooking. By sunset the bottom of the canoe was covered with grain, and they started home across the quiet lake.

"May we have maple sugar with our rice to-night, Mother?"

"There is very little left, my daughter. I think we would better save it for winter."

"When are we going to the sugar trees to make more?"

"After the winter is nearly over and the first crow comes to tell us that the sap is flowing. Then we will move to our sugar lodge and stay for a whole moon."

"May I take care of a kettle and boil sugar next time we go to the lodge?" asked White Cloud, "By that time I can count eight winters."

"You may if you will cut birch bark and make your own sap dishes. You will need a great many."

"Why can't we eat the sugar we have, Mother? What is the use of saving it?"

"There may be little food on the cold, snowy days that are coming. We shall need the sugar more then than we do now. Have you forgotten the story of the ant and the katydid?"

"Tell it again. Tell it now before we get home, Mother."

"I think there is time, as it is a short story," said Good Bird. And White Cloud listened to the tale of the lazy katydid and the hard-working ant while the canoe moved slowly across the quiet lake.

THE ANT AND THE KATYDID

The oldest ant was building an underground home. Through the long summer days she worked, carrying out a grain of sand at a time. Then she filled her storehouse with food for the winter.

Her work was finished just as the frost came to mow down the growing plants. All summer the katydid called from the trees, and the locust danced and buzzed in the sunshine.

When winter came, the oldest ant was warm and comfortable and she had enough food for her daily needs.

But the locust and the katydid were cold and hungry. "Why should we freeze?" chirped the katydid. "The ant has a warm house." "And why should we be hungry?" said the locust. "The ant has plenty of food." So together they went to the home of the oldest ant.

"Let us in, let us in, kind ant," they cried. "We are cold and hungry."

"What did you do through the warm weather?" asked the oldest ant.

"We played in the sunshine. We chirped and buzzed and sang."

"Did you build no lodge? Could you not store food for the time of frost and storm?"

"We had no need to work when the summer was here with its warmth and beauty. We danced away the happy hours."

"Go dance away the winter, then," said the oldest ant. "I worked hard through all the long summer days, and I had no time to dance or sing."

The locust and the katydid turned away shivering. "It is not fair," they said, "that the ant has plenty and we have nothing. She should be forced to let us in."

HOW WILD RICE WAS DISCOVERED

When Good Bird and White Cloud reached home, they found great rejoicing. Swift Elk had shot his first deer, and the meat was already roasting by an outdoor fire.

The hunters had found game in abundance that day, and many feasts were already called in the village.

Swift Elk had chosen to invite only his grandparents, and they were already listening to his story of the hunt.

White Cloud made haste to parch the rice, and soon a very hungry family was enjoying the fresh and abundant food.

After the supper the children asked their grandfather to tell them stories about wild rice.

The old man remembered more than one fierce battle for the possession of the rice fields. Many years had passed since the peace pipe was last smoked, and the children had lived without being in constant fear of war.

"My grandchildren," he said, "I will tell you how rice came to be used in the earliest times. There are many stories about Manabush, and you have heard how he wrestled with Mondamin and obtained the gift of corn.

"In his early youth Manabush lived with his grandmother, who taught him his duty to his people.

"One day she said to him: 'My grandson, you are old enough to prove yourself a man. Before you can become a great warrior you must show that you are able to endure many hardships without complaint.

"'Set forth on a long journey alone and without food. Travel through unknown forests, enduring hunger and thirst. Sleep on the cold ground, and pray for a vision that shall be your guide through life.'

"Manabush took his bow and arrows and went out into the forest. He fasted many days until he became weak and faint from hunger.

"In his wanderings he drew near the shore of a lake. Great beds of wild rice filled half its waters, but Manabush did not know that the seeds were good to eat.

"As he walked along within reach of the growing plants, he heard a soft voice say, 'Sometimes they eat us.'

"'Who is speaking?' he asked. All the bushes that grew so thickly in the water seemed full of whispers. He looked about and saw birds of many kinds feeding on the tall grass-like plants.

"So he picked some of the grain and ate it. 'Oh, but you are good! What do they call you?' he asked.

"Again the rustling whispers in the tall grass seemed to say, 'Wild rice. They call us wild rice!'