YELLOW THUNDER
Our Little Indian Cousin
THEY call him Yellow Thunder. Do not be afraid of your little cousinbecause he bears such a terrible name. It is not his fault, I assureyou. His grandmother had a dream the night he was born. She believed theGreat Spirit, as the Indians call our Heavenly Father, sent this to her.In the dream she saw the heavens in a great storm. Lightning flashed andshe constantly heard the roar of thunder. When she awoke in the morningshe said, "My first grandson must be called 'Yellow Thunder.'" AndYellow Thunder became his name.
But his loving mamma does not generally call him this. When he is a goodboy and she is pleased with him, she says, "My bird." If he is naughty,for once in a great while this happens, she calls him "bad boy."
For some reason I don't understand myself, she rarely speaks his realname. Perhaps it is sacred to her, since she believes it was directed bythe Great Spirit.
Yellow Thunder lives in the forests of your own land, North America. Hisskin is a dull, smoky red, his eyes are black and very bright, his hairis black and coarse. His body is straight and well formed. He can runthrough the woods as quickly and softly as a deer. He lives in a barkhouse made by his mother. His father is strong and well, yet he did nothelp in building it. He thinks such work is not for men. It is fit onlyfor women.
When I tell you how it is made, you will not think it is very hard work.Yellow Thunder's patient mamma chose the place for her home, and thengathered some long poles in the forest. She set these poles in a circlein the ground, bent them over at the top, and tied them. She left asmall hole at the top. The framework of the house was now complete. Whatshould she have for a covering? She went out once more into the woodsand got some long sheets of white birch bark. At the end of each sheetshe fastened a rim of cedar wood. The sheets of bark were hung on theframework, with the rim at the bottom of each one, and the house wasfinished. The rim would be useful in keeping the bark from being liftedby the winds. But, if there should be a severe storm, the Indian womanwould lay stones on the rims to keep the bark down more firmly still.
This is Yellow Thunder's simple home, summer and winter. You wouldprobably freeze there in the cold days of December, but the Indian boywas brought up to endure a great deal of cold.
Let us look inside. We must first lift the deerskin which hangs in thedoorway. Does the family sit on the cold, bare ground, do you think? Oh,no; Yellow Thunder has helped his mamma make good thick rugs out of thebullrushes and flags which they gather every autumn. These rugs are verypretty, for they are woven and dyed with the bright colours the Indianwomen know how to make. There are many of these mats, because they areused for many purposes. Yellow Thunder sleeps on one of them at night.In the day-time he sits on a mat whenever he is in the house. But he issuch a strong lad, he is out-of-doors nearly all the time, both insunshine and in storm.
In the middle of the house you will notice there is a bare spot coveredwith clean sand. This is the place where the fire is made. It iscarefully swept when there is no fire. If you look directly over thefireplace, you can see the sky. On rainy days, unless the mother iscooking, she keeps the hole covered with a piece of deerskin, that theinside of the house may be dry.
But how does she prepare the food for breakfast, for that is theprincipal meal of the day to the Indian? A strong hook is fastened inthe framework of the house, above the fireplace. The Indian mother hangsa pot on the hook, puts in the meat or fish, and it boils quickly overthe burning twigs which her little boy has gathered.
Let us look around the wigwam. Of course, you have long ago heard thatname for the Indian's house. What beautiful baskets of rushes those are!I wonder how the red men discovered the way of making such beautifulcolours. Besides many other things, the jewelry and clothing of thewhole family are kept in these baskets. Look up at the sides of the hutand notice the bows and arrows. And, yes! there is a real tomahawk,with its sharp edge sticking in that corner. Ears of corn braidedtogether are hanging from the framework.
"SHE SWINGS ON THE BRANCH OF A TREE."]
But the prettiest thing we see is the baby's cradle, fastened to a peg.Two bright black eyes are looking out of it, and that is all we can seeof Yellow Thunder's baby sister, "Woman of the Mountain." It took theloving mother a long time to make that cradle. She was very happy whiledoing it, for she loves her baby tenderly.
It is hardly right to call it a cradle. Baby-frame is a better name. Itwas made in three pieces, out of the wood of the maple-tree,--a straightboard about two feet long for the bottom, a carved foot-board, and a bowwhich is fastened to the sides and arches over the baby's head. Theseare all bound together with the sinews of a deer. It is lined with moss,and then Woman of the Mountain is fastened in her queer little bedwith straps, which her mamma has made beautiful with bead work. Moss isplaced between her feet, her hands are bound at her side, her feet arebound down also, and a beaded coverlet is placed over her tiny body. Shelooks like a little mummy.
If it is stormy she is hung up on a peg in the hut to swing, but if itis a pleasant day, she swings on the branch of a tree and watches theleaves flutter and the birds sing. She is a happy little baby, althoughyou would hardly think it possible. She got used to her imprisonmentalmost as soon as she was born. She doubtless thinks it is all right.
When mamma goes out into the forest to gather wood, or into the cornfield to work, Woman of the Mountain goes too. The baby-frame isfastened on her mother's back by a pretty beaded strap bound over thewoman's forehead.
When the Indian baby was only two days old, she was fastened into hercradle and carried all day on mamma's back while she was weeding thegarden. To be sure, the woman stopped two or three times to feed herbaby, but the little thing was not once taken out of her frame.
Perhaps you would like to hear a lullaby the Indian mamma often sings toher little one as she swings in her frame. I fear you could notunderstand the Indian words, so I will give them as Mrs. Elizabeth OakesSmith wrote them in English:
Swinging, swinging, lul la by, Sleep, little daughter, sleep, 'Tis your mother watching by, Swinging, swinging, she will keep, Little daughter, lul la by.
'Tis your mother loves you, dearest, Sleep, sleep, daughter, sleep, Swinging, swinging, ever nearest, Baby, baby, do not weep; Little daughter, lul la by.
Swinging, swinging, lul la by, Sleep, sleep, little one, And thy mother will be nigh-- Swing, swing, not alone-- Little daughter, lul la by.
You can understand from this how dearly the Indian mother loves herbaby,--just as dearly, I do not doubt, as your own mamma has alwaysloved and cared for you.
But what is Yellow Thunder's stern-looking father doing all the time? Hehas no store to keep, no mill to grind, no factory to work in. There areonly three things which deserve his attention. At least that is what hethinks. He hunts or fishes, goes to war, and holds councils with the menof his tribe. Everything else he believes is woman's work, and from theIndian's standpoint, woman is much beneath a man.
After all, the men's work is really the hardest. Sometimes it is easyfor them to find plenty of food. Then Yellow Thunder's father comes homerejoicing with the big load he carries. Perhaps he has a red deerhanging over his shoulder; perhaps it is a bear which he has chased manymiles before he could get near enough to kill it; or it may be someraccoons for a delicious stew.
But, again, it may be stormy weather. The rivers are frozen over andsnow covers the ground. Then, perhaps, the hunter has little successwith his bow and arrow, and searches long and far before he can findanything to satisfy his children's hunger. He feels sad, but not for amoment does he think of complaining or giving up. It is his duty toobtain food for his family. It does not matter how cold he gets or howwet he may be. He keeps travelling onward. He will not give up. If hedoes not at last get enough for all, he will insist on his wife andchildren satisfying their hunger first. He would scorn to show that hehimself is tired, or hungry, or suffering in any way.
We
can understand now why the Indian baby is pinned down in its cradleand not allowed to move freely. It is its first lesson in endurance. Itmust learn to be uncomfortable and not to show that it is so. It mustlearn to bear pain, and neither cry nor pucker its mouth. It must learnto appear calm, no matter how it feels.
The hunt is pleasant sometimes, you see, but at others it is work of thehardest kind.
The second duty of the red boy's father is war. He must protect his homefrom human and wild beast enemies. But I'm really afraid that it is apleasure for him to fight. If Indians had not been at war so much amongthemselves, it would have been far harder for the white people toconquer them. I suppose you children have all heard the story of thebundle of sticks, but I will repeat it.
A certain man was about to die. He gathered his sons around him to givethem good advice. He showed them some sticks fastened tightly together.Then he asked each one to try to break the bundle. No one could do it.When he saw that they failed, he separated the sticks, and showed themhow easy it was to break each one by itself.
"Take a lesson from this," said the man. "If you are united and worktogether, you will succeed in anything you undertake, for no one canbreak your strength. If, however, you quarrel among yourselves and tryto work each for himself, you will be like the separate twigs,--easilybroken."
It has been like this with the Indians. They have fought against eachother, tribe with tribe. They are very brave and have great courage. Butthey have not understood that they should work together. So the whiteman came and was able to conquer them.
Besides hunting and going to war, Yellow Thunder's papa is often busy inthe council. All matters of business are settled here. New chiefs arechosen at the council; wrong-doers are punished according to what itdecides, and treaties with other tribes or the white men are talked overand agreed upon. Sometimes a council will last many days. It is alwaysopened with a prayer to the Great Spirit, thanking him for his goodgifts to the people. Each evening, after the business of the council isover, games are played by old and young. It is a time for feasting andpleasure. No business with other people is really settled by a councilwithout gifts of wampum to bind the bargain. Of course you have heardabout wampum. Perhaps you have been told it is the Indian's money. Thereare two kinds of wampum. One is purple and the other white. The whitewampum is shaped into beads out of the inside of large conch shells,while the purple is made from the inside of the mussel shell. Thesebeads are strung on deer's sinews and woven into belts. A belt of whitewampum is a seal of friendship between two tribes. It is the same as asacred promise which must not be broken. It is the most precious of allthings an Indian owns.
Yellow Thunder's papa is very fond of tobacco. He always carries abeaded pouch filled with it. He believes that the Great Spirit gavetobacco to the Indian. When he smokes it, it opens a way through whichhe may draw near God, and be taught by him. His pipe and tobacco will beburied with him when he dies, as he thinks they will be needed on hisjourney toward heaven. He smokes at the council. He smokes around thecamp-fire when he is away hunting. He smokes in the evening time as hesits with his friends and tells stories of the chase or listens tolegends of his people.
I hardly know what this Indian father would do without his pipe, as itseems to give him so much comfort and pleasure.
See! here he comes now. Yellow Thunder is at the door of the lodge,watching him as he walks quickly down the forest path. He is trulycalled a "brave." He looks as though he would fear no danger. Howstraight is his body, and how strong are his muscles!
He wears leggings of deerskin, finely worked with beads. They arefastened just above his knees. A short kilt is gathered around hiswaist. It is also made of deerskin, but is worked around the edge withporcupine quills stained in several colours. It is bitterly cold to-day,so he wears a blanket over his shoulders. His head is shaved bare,excepting the scalp-lock at the back. It must be this which makes himlook so fierce.
I want you to notice his feet. They step softly and yet firmly. Youcould not walk as he does. Perhaps you have pointed shoes with highheels. The Indian would look with scorn upon these. What! Cramp the toeswith such uncomfortable things! Impossible! He covers his feet in themost sensible manner with the soft moccasins made by his wife. They fithis feet exactly. He can run like a deer, or creep along the ground likea wildcat in these coverings, and no one will hear him coming. Eachmoccasin is made of a single piece of deerskin, seamed at the heel andin front. The bottom is smooth and without a seam, while the upper partis worked with beads.
Yellow Thunder's good mamma uses a curious needle and thread. The needleis made from the bone of a deer's ankle, and her thread is of the sinewsof the same animal. What would the Indian have done without the deer inthe old days before the white man came to this country? I can't imagine,can you?
This animal furnished much of his food and clothing; ornaments were madeof his hoofs; needles and many other things came from his bones. Eventhe brains of the creature were used in tanning skins of animals. Theywere mixed with moss, made into cakes, and dried in the sun. Thismixture will keep a great length of time. Whenever it is needed, a pieceof this brain-cake is boiled in water, and the skin is soaked in itafter the hair is scraped off. Then it is wrung out and stretched untilit is dry. But even then the skin is not ready for use. It will tearvery easily. It must be thoroughly smoked on both sides. This work allbelongs to Yellow Thunder's mamma. His father has nothing to do with it.
Suppose we follow the red man into his home. Ugh! What a smoke there isinside! We can hardly see across the wigwam. We shall need to lie downon the mat as the Indian does. Our eyes will be blinded unless we dothis. The wife has a good meal waiting for her husband, but she will noteat till he has finished. That is Indian good manners.
His wooden bowl and plate, together with a boiled corn-cake, are placedon the mat in front of the man. Venison stew is served him out of thebig pot, and a dish of sassafras tea is also set before him. There is nomilk to put into this queer drink, but if he wishes to sweeten it, hecan add some delicious maple syrup. This is certainly not a bad meal forany one.
The red man eats and drinks, while scarcely a word is said to hiswaiting family. When he has finished his meal, he will light his pipefor a quiet smoke, after which his wife and child satisfy their hunger.
Yellow Thunder's mamma knows how to prepare many a good dish. She canmake several different kinds of corn bread. She prepares soups of deerand bear meat. She boils the hominy, on which our little red cousinpours the maple syrup. She makes teas of wild spices and herbs whichgrow near the hut. But these drinks are not likely to keep YellowThunder awake at night. Neither is there danger of his starving, so longas his father can hunt and his mother can gather her crops. His food issuited to make him strong and healthy, and he does not miss the daintiesof which you are so fond.
The stern-looking father never thinks of interfering in the managementof the home. That is his wife's right. She gives him his sleeping-placeand the corner in which he shall put his belongings. She decides on whatshall be cooked, and what shall be stored away. She is the ruler in thehome.
But, on the other hand, he does not expect her to scold. She shouldalways be obliging and happy in entertaining his friends. She should beready to furnish him a good meal whenever he comes home.
As yet, he does not take much notice of his only son. He does notcorrect the boy's faults. He seldom takes him on his hunts. He has leftall care of the boy to his wife up to this time.
But Yellow Thunder is now twelve years old. He will soon be a man. In ayear or two, at most, his father will begin to make a companion of hisson in hunting and fishing. He will teach him the ways of a brave Indianwarrior. Then there will be no more woman's work for Yellow Thunder.
When the time comes for this great change in his life, he will go outinto the forest to fast. No one will insist on his doing this. He willhimself desire it. It is the same as a baptism to a young Indian. Hisfather will go with him to the lonely spot where he decides to stay. Hew
ill give his son wise words of counsel. He will urge him to be braveand keep his fast as long as possible. He will be able to show by thishow much courage and spirit he possesses, and how great a man he desiresto be. Then he will leave his son alone and go back to the village.
"HE WILL GIVE HIS SON WISE WORDS OF COUNSEL."]
A day passes by, and Yellow Thunder grows faint. Two days now are gone,and the boy's thirst is intense. At the end of three days his fathercomes back and finds his son lying weak and dizzy beneath the trees. Hegives him a little water, but no food, for Yellow Thunder says he canfast still longer.
The father goes away again, leaving the son to watch for the visionswhich will surely come. It will be decided now what the red boy'sfuture will be. The longer he can fast, the greater man he will becomeamong his people. No one can be a chief unless he has fasted many daysat the beginning of his manhood.
We cannot tell what Yellow Thunder will be, but we know that his visionswill always be remembered. He believes that his guardian spirits willappear in some form or another to him, and he will get instruction abouthis future life. He will endure his fast bravely as long as possible.
It sometimes happens that Indian boys die at this time of fasting, butwe feel sure that Yellow Thunder will live and be a joy to his parentsto the end of their lives.
But how is the Indian mother preparing him for this great test? Sheteaches him, first of all, to _obey_. In no other way would it bepossible for him to become a great man. He must heed everything thathis father and mother tell him. He must always be ready to do theirbidding. It is the greatest token of rudeness to appear curious,therefore he must ask no questions. He must love the truth. A lie isalmost unknown among the Indians; they scorn it as the mark of acowardly and mean nature. He must be brotherly to all creatures, andready to give to others always.
Yellow Thunder has never seen a pauper or beggar in his life. Wheneverany one comes to his home, his mother hastens at once to prepare foodfor the visitor. It is almost a law to her to do so. If relatives shouldcome for a visit, they will be made welcome and allowed to stay as longas they desire. If they should remain for the rest of their lives, theywould never be asked to leave. "Be hospitable to all," is a maximplanted in the heart of every Indian child.
Yellow Thunder is taught that everything should be shared in common.The Indian does not say, "My land." It is always "Ours." The people of atribe are truly brothers to each other.
The red boy's mamma does not need to teach him that theft is wrong. Itis almost unknown among his people. The idea of doing such anunbrotherly thing does not enter their heads. No wonder there areneither poorhouses nor prisons among these people. We call them savages,but there are many things we could copy with profit from them. Don't youthink so, children? "Live and learn," is an old saying, and I think wewould do well to remember it when we read the lives of our cousins inmany lands.
Yellow Thunder does not go to church or Sunday school. I doubt if Sundayis any different to him from any other day. But his mamma has taught himthat there is one loving Heavenly Father for all. If Yellow Thunder isgood and brave, he will go to the "happy hunting-grounds" when he dies.At least, this is what he is taught to believe. There will be enoughfood and an abundance of animals to kill. Everything that the Indianloves best to do in this life, he thinks can be found in his heaven. Butthere is no place there for the white man. George Washington was theonly white man who ever lived whom they thought fit to enter theirparadise. The exception was made in his case because he was brave andgood, and treated the Indians fairly and justly.
Yellow Thunder's mother often tells him of a prophecy which was madelong ago by the wise men of her tribe. They said that a great monster,with white eyes, would come out of the East and consume the land. Didthe prophecy come true, you ask? Yes, my dears, it was the white race.
When Yellow Thunder thinks of the great forests which his people onceowned, and of the numbers of animals roaming there, when he remembersthe wars which have been fought and lost with the "great monster," hisheart grows bitter.
Don't blame him, children, but feel sorry for your little Indian cousin.His people have certainly had a hard time. They have been very cruel inwarfare with us, but they felt they were treated unjustly, and we weretaking their homes away from them.
Yellow Thunder believes in the Great Father, as I have told you. Hismother has also taught him that there are many spirits, both good andbad. God made the good spirits to help him in his care of this greatworld. The Indian believes that the wind is a spirit of great power. Thethunder is another spirit, whom he calls Heno. Heno makes the clouds andthe rain. It is he who forms the thunderbolt and sends it to destroythe wicked.
The Great Spirit is very kind to give men such a helper, and when theharvest time comes, Yellow Thunder gives him thanks and prays to himthat he will continue to send Heno into the world.
There is an old legend among the Indians that Heno once dwelt in a cavebehind Niagara Falls. The mighty rushing noise of the water was pleasingto him.
Yellow Thunder pictures the Spirit of the Winds to himself. This spirithas the face of an old man who is always in the midst of discord, forthe four winds are never at peace with each other.
Then there are the spirits of Corn, of Beans, and of Squash. Each one ofthese is looked upon as a friend of the red race, for these vegetablesare prized by them above all others.
It is believed that these spirits have the forms of beautiful women, andthat they dwell happily together and are very fond of each other.
There are many other good spirits. The red boy feels their presence inthe forests and out upon the waters. They are ever around him to protecthim when he is good. But, if he should be bad? Ah! There are many evilspirits, too, who are only too ready to work mischief and harm amongmen, if they have the chance.
Yellow Thunder believes that animals have souls, only they are not aswise as men. Sometimes, when they have done great wrongs, men have beenchanged into animals. Our cousin thinks the wolf was once a little boylike himself, but the poor little fellow was neglected by his parents,and was transformed into an animal. The raccoon was once a shell on theseashore. What curious ideas these are! Where do you suppose they camefrom before they lived in the minds of the red race?
While we are speaking of these things, I will stop and tell you ofsomething that happened at Yellow Thunder's house the other day. Hisfather, Black Cloud, came home from the hunt bringing a big black bear.It was so heavy that two other men had to help in carrying it. They haddiscovered the creature in a hollow tree and had easily killed it. Butnow comes the amusing part of the story. As soon as the bear was laiddown in front of the hut, Yellow Thunder and his mamma went up to it andbegan to kiss and stroke the dead animal's head. Black Cloud did thesame, and then they all begged the bear's pardon for having killed it.Black Cloud said, "I would not have done so, had we not needed food, soI know you will forgive me."
Then the head of the bear was cut off and laid on one of the best mats.It was decorated with all the jewelry owned by the family. There weresilver armlets and bracelets, as well as belts and necklaces of wampum.Tobacco was placed in front of its head, while each one in turn lighteda pipe and blew the smoke into the bear's nostrils. This was to turnaway its anger from those who had killed it. Black Cloud then made aspeech to the bear.
I suppose these people believed that the spirit of some human being hadcome to live in the animal's body, and they looked upon it as a friendwhom they were forced to kill.
After all this ceremony, the fat of the bear was boiled down to oil, themeat was cut up and dried for future use, while the head was put intothe pot to cook for dinner. I do not doubt that when the bear stew wasserved, Yellow Thunder did not give a single thought to the idea ofeating a friend. He had done his duty in asking its forgiveness, andthat was enough.
What kind of a school does Yellow Thunder attend? It is a very largeone. It covers the forests, the rivers, and the lakes. And who is histeacher? The very same one who gives
so many lessons to Anahei in thehot land of Borneo, so far away. Dame Nature is her name. She is usuallyloving and kind, but sometimes she shows her anger in the storms andwinds which rage about our little cousins.
The lessons which Yellow Thunder learns are very different from thosegiven Anahei, for they live in vastly different climates. Anahei, youremember, is near the equator, while Yellow Thunder lives in thetemperate lands. He learns from the ice and the snow, he sees differentanimals, plants, and trees.
He is quicker, stronger, and brighter than Anahei, for the cold wintersmake him so. His eyes are very sharp, his ears will hear sounds thatyours would not notice, his feet can travel many miles without hishaving a thought of being tired.
He has no compass, and yet he can journey in the forest in any directionhe may choose without losing his way. How does he do it? He has learnedto notice that the tops of the pine-trees generally lean toward therising sun. He has discovered that moss grows toward the roots of thetrees on their north side, while the largest branches of trees areusually found on the south side of their trunks.
In fact, Yellow Thunder has learned so many of Nature's secrets that, ifhe should reveal them all, they would fill many books.
This cousin of yours knows nothing about writing as you understand it.He puts all his stories into pictures. He could send you a letter withtwo or three pictures, telling a long, long story, but I don't believeyou could understand one-quarter of it. His little Indian friends wouldbe able to read it all at a glance.
Their eyes are well trained, although they know nothing about youralphabet or vertical penmanship.
Black Cloud often finds a bark picture hanging to some tree while he ishunting. It is better than any guide-post such as we make, because itwill tell him so much. He will know from it that other red men havejourneyed this way, and what kind of experience they had. Perhaps itwill warn him of danger, or explain to him the best direction to go ifhe wishes to find more game.
You may like to see such a picture. I will copy one which Mr. Henry RoweSchoolcraft saw while he was living among the Indians. He was exploringthe country with a party of white men and two Indian guides. They losttheir way during the day and camped out all night in a deep forest.Before they went away on the next morning, the Indian guides hung thispicture on a tree:
They thought it might be of use to others passing there.
Figure I. is the officer who commanded the party. You may know thisbecause he carries a sword. II. has a book in his hand. This shows he isthe secretary. III. carries a hammer, because he is a geologist. IV.and V. are attendants. VI. is the man who interprets to the party thewords of the Indian guides. The group of eight figures marked IX.consists of soldiers. Their muskets stand in the corner, and are markedX., VII. and VIII. are the two Indian guides. You will notice that theyare drawn with no hats, which shows at once that they are not white men.XIII., XIV., and XV. represent fires, showing that each separategroup--officers, soldiers, and Indian guides--had a separate one.Figures XI. and XII. are the pictures of a prairie-hen and a tortoise,which were the only game they had been able to kill that day. The poleto which the piece of bark was fastened leaned in the direction whichthe party was going to travel. There were three notches in the pole toshow the distance they had already journeyed.
Yellow Thunder learns to read these bark pictures, and also to makethem himself. He enjoys this work very much, and can tell a long storyquickly. If I were you, I would write him a letter and ask him to answerit in his own way.
This cousin of yours has many things to keep him busy. I have alreadytold you of the mats and baskets which he helps his mother in making. Hegoes with her to get the bark which she will use in mending the wigwamand making many useful things.
He makes barrels out of red elm bark in which to store groundnuts, corn,and beans. He cuts ladles out of wood, which the family will use ineating their soup and hominy. On the end of each ladle Yellow Thundercarves the figure of some animal. Perhaps it is a beaver or a squirrel.He does it very neatly. Whatever the Indian boy does, he does well.
Yellow Thunder makes sieve-baskets out of splint. His mother can siftthe corn-meal through one of these as nicely as your mamma can do itwith her wire sieve.
He makes salt-bottles out of corn-husks, wooden bowls and pitchers, andmany other things for the simple housekeeping. All this work is doneduring the cold winter months, while his mother is making moccasins andkilts for his father and himself.
When spring opens, she must till the ground for her corn, and YellowThunder can now be of great help. She will miss him greatly when hebegins to hunt with his father. She will then have all this work to doalone.
I wish you could see the Indian woman's garden. It is kept so carefully,I don't believe you would be able to find a weed. Yellow Thunder'smother did a queer thing the first night after it was planted. She stoleout of the wigwam alone into the darkness. She went behind a bush, andtook off all her clothing. Taking her skirt in her hand, she ranswiftly around the field of corn, dragging the garment after her. Shebelieved this would keep away all insects which might destroy the crop,and that now it would be sure to yield well. For what a sad thing itwould be if winter should come with no bread to eat through the longmonths!
Yellow Thunder is very fond of his mother's corn bread. The corn isfirst hulled by boiling in ashes and water. The tough skin will now slipoff easily. After being washed and dried, it is pounded in a mortar intoflour. Then it is sifted and made into cakes about an inch thick. Thesecakes are dropped into boiling water, and are quickly made ready for ourred cousin to eat. Since he was a baby, he has lived almost entirely oncorn bread, together with the game and fish which his father bringshome.
Yellow Thunder eats something on his corn cakes which you like as muchas he does himself. It is maple syrup. The sugar which his mother makesfrom it is the only kind he has ever tasted in his life. It is his workto tap the trees in the spring, and bring home the jars of sap, whichhis mother will boil down to syrup and sugar.
When her husband goes out on a long hunt, he must take food with him, asit may be a long time before he gets any game. He cannot carry theboiled corn cakes, as they would soon crumble and grow sour. His goodwife roasts some corn until it is quite dry. She pounds it into powderand mixes it with maple sugar. It is packed away in Black Cloud'sbearskin pocket. He need not worry about hunger now, even if he is awayfrom home many days. He has everything he needs to keep hunger away.
Yellow Thunder is very proud of the beautiful canoe he has justfinished. He had to search a long time before he was able to find atree which suited him. He wanted to make his canoe of birch bark becauseit is much lighter than the bark of the elm-tree, of which his father'sboat is made.
He needed a strip at least twelve feet long, because the canoe must bemade of one piece. Two of his boy friends went with him and they at lastobtained a strip which was just right. They helped him bend it intoshape, until the side pieces came together in two pointed ends. How doyou suppose they fastened the edges together? They made thread out ofthe bark itself, and with this Yellow Thunder sewed the pieces together.
He next got strips of white ash for the rim of his canoe, because thewood of that tree is very elastic. The boat must be made stronger stillwith ribs of the ash, and the work is done.
The canoe is a little beauty. It is so light that the red boy can liftit out of the water and carry it with the greatest ease from place toplace. I wish you could see him as he shoots down the river in his boat.He moves so rapidly, he will be out of sight in a few minutes.
"HE SHOOTS DOWN THE RIVER."]
The Indians of the northwestern part of our country used to make theircanoes of cedar logs. The cedar trees there grow so large that canoeseighty feet long, and large enough to hold one hundred men, were made ofa single piece. One was exhibited at the Columbian Exposition atChicago. It was twelve feet wide.
Yellow Thunder has taken his bow and arrows with him to-day, as he maycome upon a flock of wild ducks. He would lik
e to surprise his motherwith some birds for supper.
He can shoot well. He will not fail to secure some game. He haspractised archery ever since he was a tiny little fellow. He would feelhimself disgraced for ever if he should disappoint his father when theygo out to hunt.
I can't tell you how many bows and arrows he has already made in hislifetime. He has now grown so large and strong that he uses a bow threeand a half feet long. It has such a difficult spring that I fear youcould not bend it far, but Yellow Thunder can set his arrow to the headwith ease. But it takes skill and great strength to do it.
Perhaps you wonder why the arrow is feathered at the end. This will makeit go straight ahead in the direction in which it is sent. SometimesYellow Thunder uses arrow-heads cut out of flint. They are dangerousthings, and will kill deer and even men. Indians have often been knownto place poison on the arrow-heads they used in warfare. The agonies ofthe men who were shot by them were terrible indeed.
Black Cloud has not been to war since Yellow Thunder was born. Thereare so few of the red race now, and the numbers of the white men are sogreat, that there is not much chance of warfare.
However, many stories are told in Black Cloud's lodge of the good olddays when the war-whoop was commonly heard and the tomahawk andscalping-knife were in constant use. Yellow Thunder often passes by thegrave of a great Indian chief, and thinks about that hero's bravery inbattle. This grave is reverently marked and carefully fenced in. The boywishes he had a chance to leave such a memory.
At the head of the grave there is a stick with the figure of a wolfcarved upon it. It is the symbol, or "totem" of the chief's tribe. Belowthe wolf there are many strokes of red paint, which Yellow Thunder likesto count, for each stroke tells of a scalp taken in warfare.
Not many miles up the river above Yellow Thunder's home, beavers arehunted. Black Cloud likes to catch them, because their flesh is good toeat, and the skin is covered with fine fur. Last winter he allowed hisson to go with himself and a party of men to hunt for this clever littlecreature.
Yellow Thunder believes that the beavers were once people and able tospeak like himself. But they were too wise, so the Great Spirit tookaway this power and changed them into these animals.
I wonder if you have ever seen a beaver's house. He usually makes it ofthe young wood of birch or pine trees, and builds it a short way out inthe river, so that it is surrounded by water. He shows a great deal ofskill in making his home. It has a roof shaped like a dome. It reachesthree or four feet above the surface of the water.
There are generally only two young beavers in the family. The first yearthey live with their parents. The second year they have a room builtnext to the main house for their special use. By this time they are oldenough to help their father and mother get food. They eat greatquantities of roots and wood, but they like the wood of the birch andpoplar trees best of all.
When the young beavers are two years old, they leave their old home, andchoose a new place in which to build houses for themselves. Once in agreat while, hunters find beavers that the Indians call "old bachelors."This is because they live alone, build no houses, but make their homesin holes they find, or dig out for themselves.
The beaver always makes holes in the banks of the river near his house.The entrance to such a hole is below the surface of the water, so thatif the beaver is attacked in his house, he can flee for safety to hishiding-place in the bank.
Now let us return to Yellow Thunder and his beaver hunt. It was a bittercold day and the river was frozen over in some places, but that would beso much the better if the hunters hoped to secure their game. Theyjourneyed by the riverside for several miles. There was a heavy fall ofsnow, but they moved along quickly with the help of their snowshoes,till one of the men whispered: "I see it. Stop!"
Sure enough! A few feet away from them and from the bank rose the roofof a dam above the ice. One of the men tried the ice and found it wasthick enough to bear them.
Yellow Thunder was told to remain where he was on the bank, while therest of the party took heavy tools in their hands and went over to thebeavers' house. They quickly destroyed it. But the beavers? What hadbecome of them? They did not stay in their house to have it broken downover their heads. They were too wise. When the first alarm was given,they hurried through the water, under the icy covering of the river, toa hiding-place in the bank. They had made it long ago to be ready incase of danger.
Would the Indians succeed in finding them? Remember that nothing couldbe seen to show where the beavers had gone. The hunters crept along theice on the edges of the river, and kept striking it with their mallets.If they should hear a hollow sound as they struck the ice, they wouldknow they had discovered the beavers' hiding-place.
Ah! sure enough! It is Yellow Thunder himself who says: "Quick, father,come here; I have found it. I know this is a hole because of the noisethe water makes underneath. Beavers are breathing there, or it would notmove so quickly."
Black Cloud hurries to the spot and the ice is cracked in an instant.Yes, his son is right. A family of beavers is inside the hole. They mustbe taken quickly, or they will escape. There is but one way to do it.The hunter must reach his hands into the hole and pull the animals out.Their teeth are very sharp, and they will do their best to bite him, butBlack Cloud does not think of that. He is quickly at work and pulls outone after another.
There are four beavers in all,--two old ones and their young about twoyears of age. They are soon killed and ready to be skinned. Howbeautiful and glossy the fur is! It is at its very best in midwinter.
This has been a fine day's sport, and Black Cloud has received only onebad bite in his wrist. It must cause him a good deal of pain, yet hedoes not show that he feels any. He binds up his wrist, and nothing issaid about it.
"HIS WIFE IS STANDING IN THE DOOR OF THE WIGWAM."]
When they reach home Yellow Thunder's mamma will take the tails of thebeavers and put them in the pot to boil. The Indians think they are agreat delicacy. They will make a feast, to which Black Cloud has gone toinvite his friends.
His wife is standing in the door of the wigwam, waiting for the returnof her husband and son. She has dressed herself with great care to-day,and has a really beautiful costume. Just imagine your mamma in a dresslike hers. She wears long leggings of red cloth reaching from above herknees down over her moccasins. They are worked with beads around theedges.
A long time ago the Indian women made their clothing of deerskins andembroidered them with porcupine quills, but nowadays they buy cloth andbeads of the white traders in exchange for furs.
Over the woman's leggings a long blue skirt reaches from her waistnearly to the ground. This, also, is embroidered with beads in a flowerpattern. And last, but not least, she wears a bright calico overdresswhich reaches from her throat to a short distance below her waist, isalso beaded, and is gathered in at the belt.
I must not forget to mention her glass necklace, large silver earrings,and the shoulder ornaments of woven grass and beadwork.
She is a graceful woman, and it is pleasant to look at her with thesunset light upon her black hair and eyes.
When her little boy was six years old he was very sick. His cheeksburned with fever. He could not lift his head from the mat on which helay. His dear mamma scarcely left his side through the long hours of theday. She tried to soothe him with low, sweet songs, but it was in vain.The fever grew stronger and fiercer. Black Cloud came home at night.Looking at his little son, he said, "The medicine-man must come. He willcure him."
The medicine-man was at once sent for. He is a very important personamong the Indians. He is considered very wise. He is thought to havewonderful dreams and to get instruction from the Great Spirit. The redpeople think he can cure sickness, unless it is the will of the GreatSpirit for the patient to die.
The medicine-man always carries a bag of charms to help him in makinghis cures. I do not doubt you would laugh at the collection in the bag,if you had a chance to peep in, but no good Indian has a
thought ofdoing such a thing. It is believed to be holy, and nothing inside shouldbe looked upon except as the medicine-man draws it out to work hiscures.
There are medicines, the carved figures of different animals, the bonesof others, and I don't know how many other queer things.
Poor little Yellow Thunder looked up with delight as the great manentered the hut. He believed that he would soon be well and ready towork and play once more.
The medicine-man ordered first that a dog be sacrificed. Next, that thefamily prepare a great feast for themselves. These things would help tosatisfy the Great Spirit and turn away his anger. But this was not all.He took out a rattle from his bag. It was made of the dried hoofs ofdeer fastened to a stick. He began to sing, beating time with hisrattle, and striking himself violent blows. The singing grew louder andlouder. The rattle made a fearful din.
How did our poor sick cousin stand it? I'm sure I can't tell. The littlefellow lay with closed eyes and hardly moved. This queer doctor atlength stopped his song and got ready to go away. He told YellowThunder's papa that his son would be sure to get well. And you knowalready from my story that our red cousin did get over his sickness, andgrew to be a big, strong boy. Whether the treatment he got was any help,or whether Mother Nature did all the work, I leave you to decide foryourselves. I have my own opinion in the matter.
Yellow Thunder is very fond of music. I wonder what he would think of achurch organ or grand piano. His own instruments are very simple. Hemade them himself. He has a tambourine on which he often plays in theevening while other children dance. He cut a section of wood from ahollow tree and stretched a skin over it, and his instrument was made.
He also has a flute. It was a little more work for the red boy to makethis. He carved two pieces of cedar in the shape of half cylinders, andfastened them together with fish glue. He next hunted about in the woodsfor a snake. After he had found one and killed it, he took off the skinand stretched it over the wood. Eight holes were then made in theinstrument, as well as a mouthpiece like that of a flageolet.
When Yellow Thunder blows upon this flute, it makes soft and sweetmusic. It lay by his side when he was sick with the fever, and as soonas he was strong enough to sit up, he amused himself by playing somesimple tunes his mamma had taught him.
Our little friend is very fond of dancing. His people have so manydances that I shall have to tell you about some of them.
They believe the Great Spirit gave them the gift of dancing. They have aDance for the Dead, a Medicine Dance, the War-dance, the Dance ofHonour, and I don't know how many others. In some of them only men takepart, and they have special costumes, while in others there are none butwomen. It seems as though there were always something happening amongthe Indians to give them a good reason to dance.
The War-dance is only performed in the evening and always on someimportant occasion.
Fifteen or twenty men are usually chosen, one of whom must be theleader. All appear in costume and wear knee rattles of deer's hoofs.When the time draws near, the people gather in the council-house andwait quietly for the dancers to arrive. A keeper-of-the-faith rises andmakes a short speech on the meaning of the dance. Hark! The war-whoopsounds outside! It is heard again, and still again. The band is drawingnear. Ah! here they come at last.
To our eyes they look hideous in their war-paint and feathers, but tothe crowd of eager Indians who are waiting, they appear very fair,indeed.
They march in and form a circle. The war-whoop is sounded again by theleader, and answered by the rest of the dancers. At a given sign, thesingers commence the war-song, the drums beat, and the dancers begin tomove. They come down on their heels again and again with the greatestforce, keeping time to the beating of the drums. The knee rattles makenoise enough of themselves. The din is fearful.
The dancers change their positions continually. At the same moment youwill see some of them with their arms raised as though to attack, othersin the act of drawing the bow, others again appear to be throwing thetomahawk, or striking with the war-club. Every position possible inbattle is taken.
Each one is full of the excitement of the moment. The wild music anddancing last for about two minutes. For the next two minutes the dancerswalk around in a circle to the slow beating of the drums. Then there isanother war-whoop, which is followed by another dance and song.
The dance is often stopped by a tap upon the ground by one of theaudience. He wishes to make a short speech. It, maybe, is a funny one tomake everybody laugh. Or perhaps the speaker wishes to inspire thepeople to nobler lives or to greater love for their race. He can sayanything he chooses, on condition that at the end of the speech he makesa present to one of the dancers. This speech gives the dancers a chanceto rest, and at the same time keeps the people interested.
The evening is full of entertainment, and passes only too quickly. I'mafraid, however, if you were present you would be more frightened thanamused by such wild music and motions.
Another strange dance which is performed among Yellow Thunder's peopleis called the Dance for the Dead. Only women take part in it. It isgenerally given every spring and fall, in honour of those of the tribewho have died. The Indians believe that at these times their deadfriends come back and join in the dance.
The music is sad, and the movements of the dancers are slow andmournful. This strange dance is kept up from dusk till the earlymorning. It is believed that the dead friends who have been present mustthen go back to the happy hunting-grounds.
I haven't said very much as yet about our red cousin's playmates andsports. They have many good times together. They have a great number ofgames and many matches of strength and quickness.
Yellow Thunder loves his ball game as much as you boys love baseball. Heand his friends often prepare for a game by a special diet and trainingfor days beforehand. Crowds gather from neighbouring tribes and villagesto see the sport. Those who take part wear no clothing except awaist-cloth. The ball is small and is made of deerskin.
A large open field is chosen, and two gates are made on opposite sidesof it. Each gate is made by setting two poles three rods apart. Six oreight boys play on a side and own one of the gates. The game is won bythe side which first carries the ball through its own gate a certainnumber of times. The white men learned this game from the Indians, andit is a great favourite with them in some parts of the country,especially in Canada. It is now called "lacrosse," but its name in thelanguage of the Iroquois Indians was O-ta-da-jish-qua-age.
Black Cloud has as much interest as Yellow Thunder in the game, andoften takes part in it with his friends. You can hardly believe howexcited these red men get when they are preparing for a set game ofball.
The javelin game is another of the boy's favourites. It is quite simple,and yet one needs to be very skilful. Rings about eight inches across,and javelins five or six feet long are needed in playing it. While aring is set rolling upon the ground by one person, a player on the otherside throws the javelin and tries to hit it. If he succeed, the ring isset up as a target, and each one on the opposite side must throw ajavelin and try to hit it. If he fail, he loses his javelin. Victorybelongs to the side which wins the most javelins.
The favourite game in winter is that of snow snakes. The snakes are madeof hickory. They are from five to seven feet long. The head of thesnake is round and pointed with lead. It is about an inch wide andslightly turned up. The snake is made so that it tapers toward the tail,which is only about half an inch wide.
Yellow Thunder has practised so much that he can throw his snake withgreat skill. It skims along the snow crust like an arrow. He has wonmany a game this winter and his father is very proud of him, because ittakes a great deal of strength and training to be a good player.
There are many other games played by the Indian men and boys, but Ishall have to tell you about them some other time.
I hear one of my little friends say: "I wonder if my red cousin has anyholidays. He certainly cannot understand the glorious Fourth, and Idon't believe he ev
er heard of Christmas. How does he get along?"
Why, my dear children, I can't stop to tell you of all the feasts andfestivals to which the boy is invited. On every possible occasion afeast is given by some one in the village. For instance, if the men arevery successful in one of their hunts, and come home laden down with agood supply of deer, raccoon, or bear, some one of them prepares afeast.
How you would laugh to see them gathering at a party. Each one carrieshis own wooden bowl and plate, for that is the custom. I mean that each_man_ does this, for the women are not expected to sit down. They onlystand around and laugh at the bright sayings they hear. They must noteven join in the conversation. They seem to think that they are having agood time, however, and when the feast is over go back to their ownwigwams, repeating to each other the good things they have heard. Themen remain to smoke and tell more stories.
Sometimes a feast is prepared on purpose for the young people. At sucha time some one who is much older than themselves makes a speech. Heencourages his young friends to be nobler, braver, and better than everbefore. It seems as though Yellow Thunder could never forget the goodwords he has heard at these feasts. Whenever he feels like showing painor being ill-tempered, he recollects them, and they help to keep himcalm.
Each season of the year has its special festival. The longest of all isthe new year jubilee, which lasts seven days. It takes place in themiddle of the winter, about the first of February. Several days beforethe beginning of the celebration, our little cousin gathers with hispeople in the council-hall. They must confess their sins to each otherbefore the new year opens. Yellow Thunder thinks over everything whichhe has done, or not done as he ought, during the past year. He does notwish to forget anything.
When the great day arrives, two keepers-of-the-faith come to his homeearly in the morning. It is their duty to go to every other wigwam, too.They are dressed up in such a way that Yellow Thunder cannot tell whothey are. They wear bear or buffalo skins wrapped around their bodies,and fastened about their heads with wreaths of corn husks. They alsowear wreaths of corn husks around their arms and ankles. Their faces arepainted in all sorts of queer ways. They carry corn pounders in theirhands.
As they enter the hut, they bow to the family, and one of them strikesthe ground with his corn pounder. When every one is silent, he makes aspeech, urging them to clean their house, put everything in order, andprepare for the festivities of the next few days. If any one in thefamily should be taken sick and die, he urges them not to mourn till theceremonies which the Great Spirit has commanded are over. You can seefrom this that the Indian's religion is carried into everything he does.
After a song of thanksgiving, the keepers-of-the-faith leave YellowThunder's home and pass on to the next one. In the afternoon they comeback again, and urge the family to give thanks to the Great Spirit forthe return of the season.
The little boy is most excited on this first day of the festival by thestrangling of the White Dog. It must be spotless, if possible. White isthe emblem of purity and faith. A white deer or squirrel, or any otheranimal that is pure white, is thought to be sacred to the Great Spirit.
The dog, which has been carefully kept for this purpose, is killed withthe greatest care. Otherwise it would not be a fitting sacrifice. Not adrop of blood must be shed. Not a bone must be broken. When it is quitedead, it is trimmed with ribbons and feathers, and spotted in differentplaces with dabs of red paint. Then it is hung up by its neck on a pole.It must stay there till the fifth day. At that time it will be takendown to be burned.
On the second day, Yellow Thunder is dressed up in his very best, andgoes out with his father and mother to make calls on his neighbours. Thekeepers-of-the-faith come to his house three times during the day. Theyare now dressed up as warriors with all their war-paint and feathers.One of them stirs up the ashes in the fireplace and sprinkles themabout. As he does this, he makes a speech, thanking the Great Spiritthat the family, as well as himself, have been allowed to live anotheryear to take part in the festival. There is another song of thanksgivingand they go away.
On the third and fourth days small dancing parties go from home tohome. One party will perform the war-dance, another the feather-dance,still another the fish-dance, and so on. This year Yellow Thunder'sfather let him join a party of boys to give the war-dance. They hadgreat fun dressing up as warriors and decking themselves with paint andfeathers. They went from home to home till they had danced in every hutin the village. They were tired enough to sleep soundly when night came.
"THEY . . . DANCED IN EVERY HUT IN THE VILLAGE."]
I must tell you of some more sport they had during the festival. Some ofthe boys dressed in rags and paint, put on false faces and formed a"thieving party," as it was called. They went about collecting thingsfor a feast. An old woman carrying a large basket went with them. If thefamily they visited made them presents, they handed them to the oldwoman and gave a dance in return for the kindness. But if no presentswere given, they took anything they could seize without being seen. Ifthey were discovered, they gave them up, but if not, it was consideredfair for them to carry the things away for their feast.
Yellow Thunder had great fun hiding the stolen articles in his clothing.He was not once caught.
Every night was given up to dancing and other entertainments. Our Indiancousin got time for a game of snow snakes nearly every day.
On the morning of the fifth day the White Dog was burned. A processionwas formed, the men marching in Indian file. Listen! A great sound isheard. It is something like the war-whoop. It is the signal to start.The dead dog is carried to the altar on a bark litter in front of theprocession. The sacrifice is laid upon the altar. The fire is kindled.As the flames rise, a prayer is made to the Great Spirit for all hisgood gifts to the Indians. The trees and the bushes, the sun and thewinds, the moon and the stars,--none are forgotten that have helped tomake the world better to live in.
As the sacrifice burns upon the altar, Yellow Thunder listens to thelong prayer with reverence. He believes that the dog's soul is nowrising to the Great Spirit. It will be a proof to Him of the faith ofHis people, for the day itself is the day of faith and trust.
During the rest of the festival there is more dancing and more feasting,while favourite games are played by old and young.
"Oh, what a good time it is," thinks Yellow Thunder; "how happy we allshould be that the new year has come." And what a tired boy sleeps onYellow Thunder's mat when the seven days of this glorious time are over.The Fourth of July celebration is slight indeed compared with it.
Yellow Thunder begins already to look forward to the first festival ofthe springtime. It is called by the Indians "Thanks to the Maple." Idon't dare to give it to you in their own language. You would only scowland say, "Oh, dear! what's the use? I can't pronounce those long words,and I will not try."
Just as soon as the first warm days arrive, the red boy's eyes begin towatch the maple-trees. He wishes to be the first one to discover thatthe sap has started and is beginning to flow. Then hurrah for a holidayfor old and young! Thanks must be given to the tree that gives so muchsweetness to boys and girls. The Great Spirit must be thanked, also, forhe gave the maple to the poor Indian.
There must be more feasting and story-telling, more games and dancing.Tobacco must be burned as an offering to the Great Spirit, and prayersmust be said. The great feather dance will be the best thing of all. Itis very graceful and beautiful, and the band of dancers will wearcostumes which belong only to this dance.
You certainly cannot wonder that Yellow Thunder enjoys this festival. Idon't doubt you would like to be there, also, as well as at the greencorn feast, and many others.
At these times your red cousin's heart is full of gladness and gratitudefor the great gifts the Great Spirit has given him.
It is evening time. Let us creep up softly behind him as he listens to alegend one of the story-tellers of the tribe is repeating. It is thetale of the Lone Lightning.
Once upon a time ther
e was a poor little boy who had no father ormother. He lived with an uncle who did not love him. This cruel man madethe child do many hard things and did not give him enough to eat. Ofcourse the child did not grow properly. He was very thin and pitiful tolook upon. After awhile the cruel uncle grew ashamed of the appearanceof the boy. Every one could see that he was ill-treated.
He said to himself, "I will give the child so much to eat that he willdie. I hate him!" Then he went to his wife and said, "Give the boybear's meat, and choose the fat of it for him."
They kept cramming the child. When they were stuffing the food down histhroat one day, he almost choked. Poor little fellow! There was no onewho cared for him or wished him to live. He knew it only too well.
The first chance he obtained, he ran away. He did not know where to go,but wandered around in the forest. Night came. Wild beasts would nowbegin to roam about. They would get him and eat him. The little boy wasafraid when he thought of all this. He climbed up in a tree as far as hedared, and went to sleep in a fork of the branches. He had a wonderfuldream. It was an omen given to him by the spirits.
It seemed as though some one appeared to him from out of the sky. Hespoke to the orphan, and said, "Poor child, I know all about your hardlife and your cruel uncle. Come with me."
The boy awoke instantly. There was his guide. He began to follow him.Higher and higher he rose up in the air till they were both in the uppersky. Then his guide placed twelve arrows in his hands and told him thatthere were many bad manitos (spirits) in the northern sky. He must goforth and try to shoot them.
He did as he was told. He travelled toward the north and shot one arrowafter another, vainly trying to kill the manitos. He now had only onearrow left. As each one had sped forth from his bow, there had been along streak of lightning in the sky. Then all had grown clear again.
The boy held the last arrow in his hand for a long time and tried againto discover the manitos. But these beings are very cunning if theychoose, and they can change their forms at any moment. They were afraidof the boy's arrows, for they had magic powers and had been given him bya good spirit. If the child aimed them straight, the bad manitos wouldbe killed.
At length the boy gained courage and shot his last arrow. He thought itwas aimed at the very heart of the chief of the spirits. But before itreached him, he had changed himself into a rock. The head of the arrowpierced this rock and fastened itself within it.
The manito was enraged. He cried out, "Your arrows are gone now. Youshall be punished for daring to strike at me." As he said these words,he changed the boy into the Lone Lightning, which is still seen in thenorthern sky to this day.
=THE END.=