Part 5

This was the spot where he and his followers had their camp, and it was here he intended to keep Iola until she consented to become his wife. He spoke to her in the softest voice he could manage, telling her that this was to be her home, but Iola would not look at him, nor answer. She only turned away, wringing her hands and weeping bitterly.

But the buffalo king was not discouraged. He had the power to take the shape of a man when he chose, and it was in this shape that he meant to woo her and win her to be his wife. And this he had no doubt of being able to do before long.

Meanwhile Agodaguada had been trying to fish, but he found his enemies more tormenting than ever. Their hoarse voices sang after him wherever he went:

“You lame mannikin, Don’t you think it a sin To shut up your daughter? —Say, Agodaguada— To shut up your daughter? Do you think she is in? Are you sure she is in?”

As Agodaguada listened, he became thoughtful. He rolled up his line and started back through the forest toward the lodge. As he came near his home he quickened his steps. He noticed that the small trees and underbrush had been trampled down as though a great herd had passed that way. Presently he began to run, and he was still running when he broke into the open where his lodge had stood. But the lodge was there no longer. Instead, he saw only the ruins that the buffaloes had left behind them. Iola was gone.

Agodaguada did not at once follow the enemy, however. He ran to the ruins and began tearing the logs aside and burrowing under them. Presently he gave a cry of joy and drew out from beneath them an old worn pouch of deerskin. From this pouch he took a pair of moccasins and put them on his feet. They were magic moccasins and were Agodaguada’s greatest treasure. And now he was ready to follow Iola and save her from the buffaloes.

It was not hard to trace the way they had gone. The herd had left a broad track of broken trees and branches through the dark forest.

The magic moccasins leaped a hundred yards at each step. They carried Agodaguada along faster than a bird can fly. The buffaloes had gone at full speed, and had had the start of him by several hours, but so swiftly he went that by twilight he found himself close to their camp.

Here he slipped the moccasins from his feet. As silently as a snake he crawled past the other wigwams toward the lodge of the king.

As he came near it he heard the sound of a flute, and soon he was close enough to look inside and see who was playing. It was the king himself. He had taken his human form and was playing upon his flute a love song to Iola, but as a man he was even more hideous than he was as a buffalo.

Iola sat with her back turned toward him. She looked very sad. Her head was sunk on her breast, and she took no notice of his love song or of his languishing glances.

Suddenly Iola started. From the thicket outside had sounded the whistle of a partridge. It was the whistle her father always gave as he came near home after a day of hunting. The buffalo, playing on his flute, had heard nothing.

Iola sat still a few moments longer, and then she rose. “I will go down to the spring,” she said, “and fetch the water for the cooking.”

When the buffalo heard her say this he was filled with joy. He took it as a sign that she was now ready to live with him in his wigwam and be his wife. Believing this, he was quite willing to allow her to go down to the spring by herself.

Iola stepped outside, and as soon as her father saw her alone there he rose up from among the bushes. His magic moccasins were once more upon his feet. He motioned her to follow. “Quick!” he whispered. As soon as they were clear of the bushes Agodaguada lifted his daughter in his arms and leaped away with her through the forest.

In the lodge the buffalo waited for Iola a long time. Sometimes he listened for her footsteps, and sometimes he played upon his flute. At last he began to grow suspicious and went out to look for her. Everywhere he looked and hunted, and at last he came to where her father had hidden in the bushes, and there he saw the marks Agodaguada had made as he had leaped away with Iola in his arms.

Then the buffalo knew he had been tricked. With a bellow of rage he called his herd together and started after Iola and her father.

Agodaguada had already gone some distance, but his daughter weighed him down, and the moccasins could not move as swiftly as when they had only himself to carry. He had only just reached the edge of the forest when he heard the buffaloes behind him. They had caught sight of him. The king gave a bellow of triumph. But now Agodaguada was out of the forest and leaping swiftly over an open plain. The whole herd were thundering after him at full speed, but just as the leader reached him Agodaguada leaped aside. Before the buffaloes could stop themselves they had charged on past him.

They turned and again rushed at him. But suddenly a flight of arrows darkened the air. Several buffaloes fell dead upon the plain, and the king was wounded. These arrows were shot by a band of hunters who had come to this plain in search of game, and had hidden themselves in a thicket. From there they had seen Agodaguada race with the buffaloes.

Though the king was wounded, he would still have pursued Agodaguada, but his followers had turned tail and were fleeing back into the forest. He stood pawing the earth and frothing until another arrow struck him, and then, bellowing with rage, he turned and followed his herd.

He did not stop at the camp, however. He was so full of anger and chagrin that he went on and on until he reached the wide plains of the West, where he had never been seen or heard of before.

But Agodaguada joined the band of hunters who had saved him, and Iola was married to their young chief and lived happily with him in his lodge for ever after.

THE JACKAL AND THE ALLIGATOR

A HINDU FAIRY TALE

THERE was once a little jackal who lived near the banks of a great river. Every day he went down to the water to catch the little crabs that were there.

Now in that same river there lived a cruel alligator. He saw the little jackal come down to the river every day, and he thought to himself, “What a nice, tender morsel this little jackal would be if I could only catch him.” So one day the alligator hid himself in the mud of the river so that just the tip of his nose stuck out, and it looked almost exactly like the back of a crab.

Very soon the little jackal came running along the bank of the river, looking for crabs. When he saw the end of the alligator’s nose, he thought, “That looks like the back of a fine big crab,” and he put in his paw to scoop it out of the mud.

As soon as he did that, snap!—the teeth of the alligator came together, and there he had the jackal by the paw.

The little jackal was terribly frightened, for he was sure the alligator would pull him into the river and eat him. However, he began to laugh, though the alligator’s teeth hurt him terribly. “Oh, you stupid old alligator,” he cried. “You thought you would catch my paw, and you didn’t catch anything but a bulrush root that I stuck down there in the water to tickle your nose. Ah, silly, silly alligator!”

When the alligator heard that, he was much disappointed. “I certainly thought I had caught that little jackal,” he said to himself, “and it seems I have caught nothing but a bulrush root. There is no use in holding on to that.” So he opened his mouth.

Then the little jackal snatched his paw out. “Oh, stupid one!” he cried. “You did have me, and you let me go again. Oh, ring-a-ting! ring-a-ting! You’ll never catch me again.” So saying, away he ran up into the jungle.

The alligator was furiously angry. “Well, he tricked me that time,” he said, “but the next time I catch him he will not get away so easily.” So he hid himself again in the mud and waited and watched. But the little jackal came no more to the river. He was afraid. He stayed up in the country and lived on figs that he gathered under a wild fig-tree.

But the alligator was determined to have the jackal, so when he found the jackal came no more to the river he crawled out one morning very early, and dragged himself to the wild fig-tree and gathered together a great heap of figs, and hid himself under them.

In a little while the jackal came running toward the fig-tree, licking his lips, for he was very hungry. When he saw the great heap of figs he was delighted. “How nice!” he said. “Now I will not have the trouble of gathering the figs together; they are there all ready for me.”

He went nearer and nearer to the heap of figs, and then he stopped. “It really looks almost as though something might be hidden under those figs,” he thought. Then he cried out loud, “When I come to the fig-tree all the figs that are any good roll about in the wind, but those figs lie so still that I do not think they can be fit to eat. I will have to go to some other place if I want to get good figs!”

When the alligator heard this, he thought, “This little jackal is very particular. I will just shake myself and make the figs roll about a little, or he will not come near enough for me to catch him.” So he shook himself, and away the figs rolled this way and that.

“Oh, you stupid old alligator!” cried the jackal. “If you had stayed quite still, you might have caught me. Ring-a-ting, ring-a-ting! Thank you for shaking yourself and letting me know you were there!” And then he ran away as fast as his legs would carry him.

The alligator gnashed his teeth with rage. “Never mind! I will have this little jackal yet,” he cried, and he hid himself in the tall grass beside the path that led to the fig-tree. He waited there for several days, but he saw nothing of the jackal. The jackal was afraid to come to the fig-tree any more. He stayed in the jungle and fed on such roots and berries as he could find there, but as he could find but little, he grew very thin and miserable.

Then one morning the alligator made his way to the jackal’s house while the jackal was away. He squeezed himself in through the doorway (for it was very narrow), and hid under the heap of dead leaves that was the jackal’s bed.

Toward evening the little jackal came running home, and he was very hungry, for he had found little to eat all day, and he was very tired too. He was just about to go in and throw himself down on his bed when he noticed that the sides of the doorway were scraped and broken as though some big animal had forced its way in.

The little jackal was terribly frightened. “Is it possible,” he thought, “that the wicked alligator has come to hunt for me here in my own house and is waiting inside to catch me?” Then he cried out aloud, “What is the matter, little house? Every day when I come home you say ‘All is well, little jackal,’ but to-day you say nothing, and I am afraid to come in.”

This was not true; the little house did not really speak to him, but he wanted to find out whether the alligator was there. But the stupid alligator believed him. He thought to himself, “I will have to speak in place of the little house, or this tiresome little jackal will not come in.” He made his voice as small and soft as he could, and said, “All is well, little jackal.”

When the jackal heard the alligator speak, and knew he was really inside the house, he was more frightened than ever. However, he answered quite cheerfully, “Very well, little house! I will come in as soon as I have been to the brook for a drink of water.”

When the alligator heard that he was filled with joy, but he lay quite still under the leaves without moving. “Now I will have that little jackal at last,” he thought. “This time he shall not escape me.”

But while he waited the little jackal gathered together a great heap of dead-wood and underbrush and piled it up against the door of the house. When it was big enough he set fire to it, and it blazed up with a great noise and burned the wicked alligator to death, and that was the end of him. But the little jackal danced about and sang:

“The alligator’s dead, and I am so glad! The alligator’s dead, and I am so glad! Ring-a-ting, ring-a-ting! Ring-a-ting, ring-a-ting! The alligator’s dead, and I am so glad!”

And always after that the little jackal could go wherever he pleased in safety, and he ate so many ripe figs and so many crabs that he grew as fat as fat could be.

THE BABA YAGA

A RUSSIAN FAIRY TALE

THERE were once a man and wife who had no child, though they wished for one above all things.

One day, when the husband was away, the wife laid a big stick of wood in the cradle and began to rock it and sing to it. Presently she looked and saw that the stick had arms and legs. Filled with joy, she began to rock and sing to it again; she kept it up for a long time, and when she looked again, there, instead of the stick of wood, was a fine little boy in the cradle.

The woman took the child up and nursed him, and after that he was to her as her own son. She named him Peter, and made a little suit of clothes and a cloth cap for him to wear.

One day Peter put on his little coat and went out in a boat to fish on the river.

At noon his mother went down to the bank of the stream and called to him, “Peter, Peter, bring your boat to shore, for I have brought a little cake for you to eat.”

Then Peter said to his boat:

“Little boat, little boat, float a little nearer. Little boat, little boat, float a little nearer.”

The boat floated up to the shore; Peter took the cake and went back to his fishing again.

Now it so happened that a Baba Yaga, a terrible witch, was hiding in the bushes near-by. She heard all that passed between the woman and the child. So after the woman had gone home, the Baba Yaga waited for a while, and then she went down to the edge of the river and hid herself there, and called out:

“Peter, Peter, bring your boat to the shore, for I have brought another little cake for you.”

But when Peter heard her voice, which was very coarse and loud, he knew it must be a Baba Yaga calling him, so he said:

“Little boat, little boat, float a little farther. Little boat, little boat, float a little farther.”

Then the boat floated away still farther out of the Baba Yaga’s reach.

The old witch soon guessed what was the matter, and she rushed off to a blacksmith, who lived over beyond the forest.

“Blacksmith, blacksmith, forge me a little fine voice as quickly as you can,” she cried, “or I will put you in my mortar and grind you to pieces with my pestle.”

The blacksmith was frightened. He made her a little fine voice as quickly as he could, and the Baba Yaga took it and hastened back to the river.

There she hid herself close to the shore and called in her little new voice, “Peter, Peter, bring your boat to the shore, for I have brought another little cake for you to eat.”

When Peter heard the Baba Yaga calling him in her fine, small voice, he thought it was his mother, so he said to his boat:

“Little boat, little boat, float a little nearer. Little boat, little boat, float a little nearer.”

Then the little boat came to the land. Peter looked all about, but saw no one. He wondered where his mother had gone, and stepped out of his boat to look for her.

Immediately the Baba Yaga seized him. Like a whirlwind she rushed away with him through the forest and never stopped till she reached her own house. There she shut him up in a cage behind the house to keep him until he grew fat.

After she had shut him up, she went back into the house, and her little cat was there. “Mistress,” said the cat, “I have cooked the dinner for you, and I am very hungry. Will you not give me something to eat?”

“All that I leave, that you can have,” answered the Baba Yaga. She sat down at the table and ate up everything but one small bone. That was all the cat had.

Meanwhile at home the mother waited and waited for Peter to come back from the river with his fish. Then at last she went down to look for him. There was his boat drawn up on the shore empty, and all round it were marks of the Baba Yaga’s feet, and the trees and bushes were broken where she had rushed away through the forest. Then the mother knew that a witch had carried off the little boy.

She went back home, weeping and wailing.

Now the woman had a very faithful servant, and when this girl heard her mistress wailing, she asked her what the matter was.

The woman told her all that she had seen down at the river, and how she was sure a Baba Yaga had flown away with Peter.

“Mistress,” said the girl, “there is no reason for you to despair. Just give me a little wheaten cake to keep the life in me, and I will set out and find Peter, even though I have to travel to the end of the world.”

Then the woman was comforted. She gave the servant a cake, and the girl set out in search of Peter.

She went on and on, and after a while she came to the Baba Yaga’s house. It stood on fowls’ legs, and turned whichever way the wind blew. The girl knocked at the door, and the Baba Yaga opened it.

“What do you want here?” she asked. “Are you seeking work or shunning work?”

“I am seeking work,” answered the girl. “Can you give me anything to do?”

The witch scowled at her terribly. “You may come in,” she said, “and set my house in order, but do not go peeping and prying about, or it will be the worse for you.”

The girl went in and began to set the house in order, while the Baba Yaga flew away into the forest, riding in a mortar, urging it along with a pestle, and sweeping away the traces with a broom.

After the witch had gone, the little cat said to the girl, “Give me, I beg of you, a little food, for I am starving with hunger.”

“Here is a little cake; it is all I have, but I will give it to you in Heaven’s name.”

The little cat took the cake and ate it all up, every crumb.

“Now listen,” said the cat. “I know why you are here, and that you are searching for the little boy named Peter. He is in a cage behind the house, but you can do nothing to help him now. Wait until after dinner, when the Baba Yaga goes to sleep. Then rub her eyes with pitch so that she cannot get them open, and you may escape with the child through the forest.”

The girl thanked the little cat and promised to do in all things as it bade her.

When the Baba Yaga came home, “Well, have you been peeping and prying?” she asked.

“That I have not,” answered the girl.

The Baba Yaga sat down, ate everything there was on the table, bones and all. Then she lay down and went to sleep. She snored terribly.

The girl took some pitch and smeared the witch’s eyelids with it. Then she went out to where Peter was and let him out of the cage, and they ran away through the forest together.

The Baba Yaga slept for a long time. At last she yawned and woke, but she could not get her eyes open. They were stuck tight with pitch. She was in a terrible rage; she stamped about and roared terribly. “I know who has done this,” she cried, “and as soon as I get my eyes open, I will go after her and tear her to pieces.” Then she called to the cat to come and scratch her eyes open with its sharp little claws.

“That I will not,” answered the cat. “As long as I have been with you, you have given me nothing but hard words and bones to gnaw, but she stroked my fur, and gave me a cake to eat. Scratch your own eyes open, for you shall have no help from me.” And then the little cat ran away into the forest.

But the faithful servant and Peter journeyed safely on through the forest, and you may guess whether or not the mother was glad to have her little Peter safe home again.

As to the old Baba Yaga, she may be shouting and stamping and rubbing the pitch from her eyes yet, for all I know.

TAMLANE

A STORY FROM AN OLD SCOTCH BALLAD

FAIR Janet was the daughter of the Earl of March, and she was so beautiful that many knights and noble gentlemen had asked her to marry them, but she would say yes to none of them.

One day she sat at her window sewing a seam, and she heard the sound of a horn down in the forest. It blew so sweet and it blew so clear that she laid down her seam to listen, and it seemed to her that it called “Janet, fair Janet, come hither!”

Fair Janet dropped her sewing and down to the wood she ran. She looked about her, and there stood a handsome knight. From head to foot he was dressed in green, and in his hand he held a silver horn, and when he saw her he raised it to his lips and blew again so soft and clear that Janet had never heard anything like it.

“Now tell me,” said she, “is that a fairy horn that it blows so sweet a note?”

“It is indeed a fairy horn,” answered the stranger, “and it was in Fairyland that I learned to wind it. In many a forest have I blown it, north and south, and east and west, and you are the first to hear and answer it.”

Then fair Janet was afraid, for she thought the stranger must be a fairy knight, and she did not know what charm he might cast about her.

The knight saw she was frightened, so he said, “From Fairyland I brought it, yet I am of human flesh and blood like you. I am the son of the Earl of Murray, and once my name was John, though in Fairyland they call me Tamlane. When I was a child, the fairies stole me, and they have kept me with them ever since. Bright and fair it is in Fairyland, and I am the Queen’s favoured knight, but my heart wearies to be back in my own country and living with my own kind once more.”

“And will not the fairies let you go?” asked fair Janet, and now she was not afraid.

“That they will not of their own wills, and only a lady brave and true can set me free. You yourself are that lady, fair Janet, for you alone have heard and answered my horn.”

Then Janet promised she would do whatever Tamlane bade her do, if by so doing she might bring him back from Fairyland, for he was very good to look upon. She let him put a ring upon her finger, and they kissed each other as a sign that they were betrothed.

Then Tamlane told her what she must do. On every Hallowe’en at midnight the fairies ride abroad, and on that night she must go to Milescross and wait for them to pass. At midnight they would come.

First would ride the Fairy Queen, her horse hung round with bells. After her would come all her ladies and esquires, and then her band of knights, and it was among these that Tamlane would ride.

“You’ll know me from among them all,” said he, “by the snow-white horse I ride. Moreover, I’ll wear a glove on my right hand, but my left hand will hang bare. Then is the time for you, Janet. Spring up and pull me from my horse and hold me tight. There will be a loud cry raised, and they’ll change me into many shapes in your arms, but hold me tight, whatever I seem to be. Always it will be I, and I will not harm you. Do this, and when I take my own shape again I will be free of the fairies for ever.”

Janet promised to do all that he told her to, though she was terrified at the thought of what might happen, and then they kissed each other again and parted.

Now three nights after it was Hallowe’en, and Janet went out to Milescross, and hid herself there and waited.