Part 20

“I have luck now,” was the answer.

The feast day came and people flocked from distant villages to hear the news and receive the presents.

Donya´dassi arose and said, “I have come to tell our great chief that his daughters have been found and are now safe and near here and shall be restored on one condition, that he remove his spell from a certain young man whom he has conjured.”

The chief was greatly angered that any condition should be given and refused to grant it.

Meanwhile Donya´dassi was arranging long strings of wampum and piles of skins in piles on the council house floor, one for each person present.

“These cannot be distributed until our chief grants my condition,” he said.

The chief remained obdurate. The people were anxious for their feast and gifts. The chief’s wife begged him to consent and regain his lost children. So, fearing the anger of his people and fury of his wife, he at last asked that the young man who rested under the spell be brought to him. Sogogo entered. The chief looked ashamed and then frowned in anger. “Come,” he said and led the way to a small dome-shaped lodge, pushed Sogogo in and then entered himself. Heating some round stones he threw a handful of magical herbs upon them. Then taking his rattle chanted a song. The smoke from the herbs enveloped Sogogo and when the song ended he had become a handsome young warrior. The chief and the transformed Sogogo reëntered the council.

“Where are the daughters!” shouted the people.

Drawing out a red bark box from his pouch he opened it and out fell the two girls. There was a great shout and the chief’s wife rushed forward and embraced her children.

Donya´dassi distributed his presents.

Donya´dassi then advanced to the chief who gave him the reward, but so small was it in comparison with Donya´dassi’s liberal gifts that it seemed a mere trifle.

The chief soon lost his influence but Donya´dassi, who had grown rich and successful, succeeded him in the hearts of the people but Sogogo, the transformed, was happy with his two wives, the chief’s daughters. He took both, that was all right in those days.

29. THE FLINT CHIP THROWER.

Long ago Tĕg´wandă’[37] married a beautiful maiden and went far away with her to his hunting grounds.

Tĕg´wandă’ was famous as a successful hunter but his wife’s family had “dry bones”,[38] so her elder sister and mother took council together and said, “Come, let us go and live with Tĕg´wandă’ and we shall ever be filled.” The prospect of a never failing supply of venison and bear was tempting to those who had long subsisted on tubers and maize.

The wife of Tĕg´wandă’ was kind and never questioned his actions. He never went long from the house, yet he ever had game in abundance and skins piled high in his stores. This made her marvel, but she never made inquiries. The lodge was divided in two compartments but the couple lived only in one. The other was almost empty, but Tĕg´wandă’ often went there. She would hear him singing alone in the room, then there would come a crash like a splintering tree and soon afterward Tĕg´wandă’ would bring in a new pelt and the carcass of some beast. This made her marvel but she never questioned.

The young couple lived contentedly and never quarreled. No trouble or sorrow came to mar their happiness until one day, unheralded, came two women to the door of the lodge. These were the wife’s mother and sister. When the unbidden guests had eaten their fill of good and mealy nut pudding they began to seek the excuse for complaint. Then, oh the railing, the endless rebukes, the sneers and sarcasm! At last the matters turned from the lodge to the couple themselves.

“How does Tĕg´wandă’ obtain his meat? Surely he must be a wizard and likely to eat all of us women when his charms fail. He is evil, he is lazy! Let us drive him away.” These and other things the mother said to her daughter. So it came to pass that the sister insisted she must go with the husband wherever he went and learn something of his habits.

“If you must go,” said the wife, “obey him implicitly, else evil will occur.”

The husband was downcast but would not yield to his fear of the woman. Taking a basket of salt he sprinkled the white crystals upon a flat rock and entered the closed room with the woman.

“Do not move or touch a thing,” he commanded. “Let no fear, let no surprise cause you to stir!”

Then he commenced to sing. The woman looked about critically. In one corner was a pile of quarry flakes, beside them a bench and in a heap before it was a pile of keen edged flint chips. A sudden sound drew her attention from the lodge. Tĕg´wandă’ ceased singing. Outside some creature was snorting, “swe-i-i-i-sh, swe-i-i-i-sh!”

Picking up a handful of flint chips the man flung them with all his strength against the wall nearest the flat rock. The woman was now curious to find what was outside and pushed aside the curtain to get a glimpse of the mysterious things. Instantly the entire door curtain was torn from its fastenings and a monstrous elk rushed in and trampled upon Tĕg´wandă’. Then tossing him upon its antlers, bounded out and fled through the forest. The frightened woman ran after the elk, but fell back dispairing. Moaning she crept back to the lodge and confessed to the wife.

The wife burst into tears and then bitterly chided her sister for her meddlesome ways. Throwing on her robes she hastened to rescue her husband. Carefully she tracked the elk and after many days journey she heard a low trembling song. She knew her husband was near, so cautiously advancing she came to a spot where she could see a herd of elks feeding in an open. A deer was grazing near by. Gently she whispered. “Come, good brother, lend me your coat. You can do me good service thereby.” “Certainly,” responded the deer with alacrity, and, walking inconspicuously into the bushes, she removed her coat and threw it upon the woman. In her new habiliments the wife bounded off into the midst of the elks. In the middle and surrounded by the rest was a large reclining elk whose antlers held the emaciated form of Tĕg´wandă’. In a feeble whisper the husband sang.

Walking toward the elk she made a sudden dash and inserting her horns beneath her husband’s body lifted him off and dashed away before the astonished animals could remonstrate, and indeed, they were too frightened to do so. Galloping breathlessly into the thicket she set down her husband, removed the deer’s skin and gave it back with expressions of gratitude. Then lifting her husband upon her shoulders, she carried him homeward.

On her journey she pondered how she could restore him. He was exhausted and covered with bruises and wounds, his body had wasted away to a skeleton covered with skin and his mind was turned with his sufferings. Sitting down upon a hollow log she pondered. A sudden inspiration came. Quickly she pushed her husband into a hollow log and gave him a shove with her foot that sent him sliding through. When he emerged from the other end he was completely restored.

Together they tramped back home happy to be together once more. Entering the lodge the husband cast out the inquisitive sister and quarrelsome mother and sent them running down the trail.

“One woman is sufficient female company for any man,” he said. “More in one house make great trouble.”

VII. HORROR TALES OF CANNIBALS AND SORCERERS

[Illustration:

HADUI MASK OF THE FALSE FACE COMPANY. ]

30. THE DUEL OF THE DREAM TEST BETWEEN UNCLE AND NEPHEW.

There was a great long house built of poles and bark. This long house was in a secluded place where men were not accustomed to come, but there were sorcerers who knew its location, but shunned it, for there lived Shogo^n‘´gwā‘s and his nephew Djoñiaik. The nephew was young when the uncle assumed charge of him, and he had no real regard for the boy, for he had slain by sorcery all his near relatives, and knew that he must some day overcome the orenda (magic) that had accrued to the boy, or he himself would be undone.

Djoñiaik was carefully reared, for the uncle wished to make him suffer at the end and cry out his weakness, thereby more greatly enjoying the triumph over him.

When the boy had grown to the age just before he became eligible for his dream fast, the uncle said, “Now my nephew, the time has come when you should hunt for yourself without me. Go into the forest and bring me meat.”

Thereupon Djoñiaik took his small bow and after a time found a partridge which he shot. Bringing it to the lodge of his uncle he presented it to the elder man. “Oh now, my nephew,” said Shogo^ngwas, “what is the name of this thing?”

“Oh my uncle,” replied the boy, “I have never known the name of this kind of a thing.”

“Ho!” exclaimed the uncle, “How then do you expect to be able to eat it?”

The boy then was given the task of cleaning the bird for soup, and when it was ready the older man put it in a clay kettle and boiled it with a gruel of corn meal. Then he lifted out the meat and placed it with the fat gravy in a bark bowl which he laid aside for himself. Taking another bowl he filled it with the thin soup from the middle of the kettle and handed it over the fire to the boy. The boy reached from his seat, stretching his arms and finally grasped the bowl, but as he did so the uncle pulled on the bowl and the boy fell face forward into the fire, scorching his chest and burning his hands. At this the uncle roared and called him clumsy, asking moreover, “Where is your soup? You have tried to put out the fire with it!”

With great gusto the uncle devoured the partridge, picking the bones clean and casting them into the fire. Djoñiaik had nothing for his meal and was very hungry. Wearily he wandered out into the thicket, coming at length to an unfamiliar spot where there was a low mound, as if a mud hut had fallen down and become overgrown. As he looked at the spot he heard a sound, “Ketcuta, ketcuta!” Peering more closely in the snow-covered moss he saw the face of a tcis´gä (skull) looking at his with open mouth.

“I am your uncle,” said the skull. “Give me tobacco.”

Djoñiaik obeyed, and when the skull had smoked a pipeful, it coughed and said, “I am your uncle, bewitched by my brother who has stolen you in order to work vengeance on you for the power you inherit from your relatives who have been killed by sorcery. You must remember the names of the animals you kill and the next one you shall find will be a raccoon. Remember its name and when your guardian asks you its name tell him ‘raccoon’.”

In time the boy went hunting again and finding a raccoon shot it. Greatly excited he began to repeat the name raccoon over and over. “Raccoon, raccoon, raccoon, raccoon,” he shouted as he bore it to his uncle’s lodge. But so rapidly was he running that he fell over the door-sill and sprawled into the lodge.

“Oh now nephew, what have you this time?” inquired the uncle, but so excited and chagrined was the boy that he totally forgot the name. “Wa!” exclaimed the old man, “If you cannot speak the name of this thing you shall not eat of it. Dress it for me and I will cook it as a soup.”

When the raccoon was cooked the old man skimmed off the fat and poured out some thin soup for Djoñiaik, who by this time was very hungry. Uncle and nephew sat on seats opposite each other with the lodge fire between. Passing over the bowl of soup the uncle gave a quick jerk as the boy grasped the rim and again pulled him into the fire.

“Oh nephew, I am sorry,” said he, laughing, “I am always in a hurry.” But Djoñiaik was sadly burned about the face and made no reply. With hungry eyes he watched his uncle stow away the uneaten portion of the raccoon. He had not a mouthful.

That afternoon he again visited his skeletal uncle and related all that had happened. He was thoroughly afraid now for his uncle was most ugly. But the skull, when it had smoked, only advised him to remember the names of the animals killed. “Today, I believe, you will shoot a turkey. Remember the name and begin to use your power to retaliate,” said the skull.

After watching quietly Djoñiaik saw a turkey,—a very large and fat turkey, which he shot. Tying its feet together he held it to his back by a burden strap and lugged it home, rushing into the lodge saying, “Turkey, turkey, turkey, turkey.”

This time the uncle asked no questions, but with a frown watched his nephew pluck the turkey and prepare it.

“This time I shall prepare a roast of meat,” said the boy. “I shall not make soup as my uncle does.” So he cooked the turkey in a pot and when done he divided the meat in two portions, putting each in a bark bowl. “Now come eat, Uncle,” said the boy handing the bowl over the fire to his uncle.

As the old man’s hand grasped the bowl, Djoñiaik gave it a quick pull, overbalancing his uncle and pulling him into the fire.

“Oh nephew!” exclaimed the uncle. “You have purposely abused me and burned my face and stomach. My hair is on fire. You have distressed me.” But the boy said only, “Oh I was in such a hurry.” And then he fell to eating the turkey, putting the uneaten portion on the shelf over his bed. This time the old man ate nothing.

The next morning very early the boy said, “I shall now arise and hunt game which comes to feed early in the morning.” So saying he arose, dressed and took his bow and went out. The old man was awake and looked very angry.

So Djoñiaik went directly to the skull and gave it tobacco. When it had smoked it said, “You shall hunt today and shoot a deer, but when you go back to the lodge your uncle will say, ‘It will be a cold night and I will gather large logs for a night fire.’ He will awaken at midnight with a dream and you must hit him on the head to awaken him, when he will relate his desire, it being to barter meat for fat bear casings. You must prepare yourself by taking a grape vine and transforming it as desired.” So instructed the boy went upon his hunt and killed a deer, bringing it home saying, “I have furnished a deer for the larder.” That night after they had eaten of the deer, the old man looked very angry.

“This will be a very cold night, I think,” said the old man. “I shall gather logs to burn during the night.” And so saying he made a roaring fire and went to bed.

Cautiously the nephew arranged his buffalo skin coverlet so that he had a peep-hole through a worn spot. At midnight the uncle arose and walking on his knees to the fire began to utter a worried sound, “Eñh, enh, enh, enh!” Then he threw one of the burning logs upon Djoñiaik, his nephew. Immediately the boy leaped up, being awake, and threw the log back into the fireplace, at the same time crying, “What is your dream, my uncle?” and then tapping the old man on the head with a club.

“It has now ceased,” answered the uncle, rubbing his head and becoming awake.

“The roof must be removed,” said the uncle, meaning that he had dreamed that the two must engage in a duel of wits. “Tomorrow we must barter, and I shall give, and you, Oh nephew, shall repay me with that which I must not tell you, but which you must guess, and failing great calamity will befall us.”

“That is very easy,” answered the boy. “Go to sleep; in the morning I will be ready.”

Morning came and the old man began to sing. “Yoh heh, yoh heh, yoh heh, I shall trade with my nephew Djoñiaik, and he shall give me my desire.” So did he sing continually.

It was a song that only a sorcerer would sing and its sound traveled far, so much so that all the wizards heard it and said, “Shogo^n‘´gwā’s is singing again and this time has chosen his own nephew as a victim.” So they all came and perched about in the house, being invisible, to watch the duel of orendas (magic powers).

Djoñiaik was bidden sit at the end of the long house, and it was very long indeed, there being many abandoned fireplaces in it. Far at the end he sat on the far side of an old fire bed. His uncle began to sing again, and walked forward with a bark tray in which were pieces of meat. “I offer these to you,” he said. “You shall give me what I am thinking about.”

“Only give me a clue, uncle,” begged the boy. “How can I divine what is in your mind?”

“Torture by fire awaits you if you guess not by mid-sun,” sang the old man still holding out the meat, while the boy pretended to be thinking deeply.

“Oh, uncle,” said the boy, “you desire raccoon meat.”

“No, not raccoon meat. Oh nephew, you must divine my word.”

“Oh uncle, you want turkey.”

“No not turkey. Oh nephew, you must divine my word.”

“Oh uncle, you want partridge.”

“No not partridge. Oh nephew you must divine my word.”

Again the boy sought to evade his uncle by exclaiming, “How can you expect me to guess your dream unless you give me some clue to your desire?”

Again the uncle fell to singing the charm song that conjures up flames, and suddenly they burst forth from the ground with a loud sound enveloping the poor nephew who wrestling with them, cried, “Oh uncle your desire is for the bear casings enclosed in deep fat.”

“Niio‘!” exclaimed the uncle, and the flames died down, whereupon Djoñiaik brought forth his grape stalk which he had conjured to look like the casings of a bear. Then was the uncle satisfied.

That afternoon the boy retired to the forest and sought his skeletal advisor, telling him all that had happened.

“Once more,” said the skull, “your uncle will make a demand and all the circumstances will be similar. This time he will desire a bear’s liver. Go to a log in the swamp, pluck a red tree fungus and rub it with your hands until it becomes a liver.”

So instructed the boy was ready for his wizard uncle. As before the logs were gathered and a great fire made, and in the middle of the night the old man flung fire upon the boy again.

When the dialogue was over the boy found that once more a test was to come. “It is nothing,” said he. “Go to sleep.”

Morning came and the old wizard sang his charm song. The boy took his seat as before and when pressed by the flame he cried out, “You wish a liver of a bear, Oh uncle.”

The uncle was not at all pleased with his nephew’s power for he wished to consume him with fire, after the manner prescribed for torture, but he could not.

Reporting the event to the skull, the boy asked for further help. “Tonight you must dream, and when your guardian has struck you with a club to awaken you, you must crave the guessing of your word, which shall be one of the squashes that grow in a sand box under your uncle’s bed. It is a great prize. Have no mercy but get what you demand.”

That night the boy gathered firewood, remarking that he expected the night to be very cold and wanted to warm the lodge. The uncle only scowled.

Midnight came, and the invisible wizards and sorcerers were watching. Stealthily the boy arose, and creeping on his knees, he approached the fire, grasping a blazing log and throwing it upon his uncle, as sleeping persons do. Then he began to grunt, “Eñh, enh, enh, enh,” as if in distress.

The uncle awoke, being severely scorched and his bed set afire. “Oh nephew,” he called as he gave the boy a knock on the head to awaken him. “What do you wish?”

“It has now ceased,” said the boy. “Oh uncle, I have dreamed that you and I must exchange gifts, and that you must give me what I desire.”

“It shall so be,” answered the uncle. “This is nothing.”

The two then retired and early in the morning the boy awoke and took his seat. In a tray he had some turkey meat.

Commencing his song he called out, “I am trading a gift with Shogo^n‘´gwa‘s, my uncle. He shall give me in exchange what I most desire.” So saying he sang the charm song that conjures flames from the earth.

The old man took his seat and when approached said,

“I shall divine your word if you will give me a clue.”

“Any clue would spoil the intention of the dream, uncle.”

“Then tell me at once what you wish,—be quick about it!”

“To utter one word would be fatal to my desire.”

“Then the word is deer meat.”

“No not deer meat, uncle. Hurry for I shall sing.”

“Then you wish moose meat.”

“No not moose meat, uncle. Hurry or I shall sing.”

“Then you wish my coonskin robe.”

“No not your coonskin robe. I now commence to sing.”

“Then you wish my otterskin robe,” hastened the uncle, naming one of his prized possessions.

“No uncle, not your otterskin robe. I now sing.”

With a burst of the conjurer’s song, the boy began to sing, “Yoh heh, yoh heh, yoh heh. My uncle and I are exchanging. He shall give me what I most desire.” As he sang his flames leaped from the ground, for Djoñiaik was now an adept in magic. Surrounding the uncle the flames began to singe him. With a shriek he leaped to the platform above his bed, but the flames followed, until he called out, “Oh nephew I yield!”

Descending he said, “You desire the squash beneath my bed,” and the boy exclaimed, “It is so.”

With great reluctance the old wizard opened the bed, lifting up the bottom boards like the top of a chest. Beneath in boxes of sand were vines with squashes growing upon them, though it was winter outside. Taking a look at the largest, the old man shut down the cover and exclaimed:

“Oh nephew, it is the custom to simulate what is desired in a dream. I shall now carve you from wood a squash that you may preserve as a charm.”

“Only the real object desired shall satisfy me,” answered the boy. “Must I sing again?” And he started his song which brought forth flames that enshrouded the old man, causing him to cry out, “Oh nephew, I yield!”