CHAPTER XVI

FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLE BROWN OWL

Now what of the little brown owl? We last heard of him, foiled in his sneaking enterprise against Whispering Grass, escaping from the fox with the most desperate and painful efforts. For the whole of the following day he remained hidden among the branches of the little tree; and by nightfall he was able to fly again, though slowly and not without pain. He found hunting a difficult matter for days after the blow from the old woman’s arrow, so stiff and sore were his muscles; but a worse matter than this was the enmity of the big lynx, whom he had enticed to the store-house of the herb-doctor. For the lynx, having found a roof of strong poles where he had been told to expect nothing but bark, and having received a painful wound in the side from a flint-headed arrow, now proclaimed the treachery of the little brown owl to every bird and beast of that part of the wilderness.

So the owl that had once been Bright Robe, that great and evil magician, lived in fear of his life, in the very country over which he had so often cast the shadow of his evil deeds. None feared him now save the smallest creatures of the wood; and even they found him to be the least dangerous of all the birds of prey. To hide his identity as that particular owl so widely condemned by the lynx, he was compelled to cease his efforts against Whispering Grass and refrain entirely from telling the story of his great past to the forest creatures. For the word had gone abroad that the _small, brown owl that says it is a great magician, and has no modesty of speech, has been proved a traitor by No-Tail, the lynx, whom it led into a dangerous trap_. _So beware of the owl that talks overmuch, and lies more than is usual even among such birds. Kill him, if you can, for the credit of the forest._

With every claw, and tooth, and beak in the country ready to rend him, ’tis small wonder that the little owl was utterly discouraged. It was not safe for him even to exchange a word with another owl, so bitter against him were the birds of his kind for the discredit he had brought upon them. Their reputation for wordiness and untruth was so bad already that they lusted for the blood of the stranger who had made it worse. But, for several days, he escaped the anger of the creatures around him by keeping out of their sight. One twilight-time, however, he was attacked suddenly by an owl of his own size; and, for all the fierce heart in his body, he was knocked about disgracefully. He sought safety in flight, at the first opportunity, and travelled many miles, at his best speed, before his antagonist gave up the chase. He pitched into the top of a bushy tree, to recover his breath and his wits. In his cowardly heart he vowed that every bird and beast within ten miles of that mountain should be slain when he recovered his power. He continued his flight, heading southward, and at last had out-flown the lynx’s story; and he found a splendid hunting-ground, and fairly stuffed himself with mice. His evil little brain began to plot and plan again, now that he had the comfortable sensation of food inside him. He remembered people who had been his followers, men after his own heart, scattered about the country. They had often been his tools in past troubles; why should they not serve him again as instruments of destruction and revenge? And now the need of them was greater than ever, for he realized how impotent he was, in his miserable owl-body.

These men whom the enchanted magician remembered, were all small workers of magic, sly, greedy folk without courage or principles, and with but sufficient knowledge of the secret science to enable them to destroy their simpler fellows and pass as great warriors. They could increase, by a little, the strength and deadliness of weapons; blind a man’s vision, for a short time, by the flashing of bright stones and mumbling of words, and many such pretty tricks as these. But they were all evil, in various degrees, and looked upon Bright Robe as their master.

The strongest of these, the one most advanced in magic, wickedness, and wealth, was Fang. Fang lived in a big village in the south, and was second in power to the chief. The chief was an honest man, ignorant of any hidden arts, but a wise and a mighty warrior. Bright Robe, the little owl, knew that Fang had been plotting that good chief’s destruction for many years. Why should he not join in the wickedness? It would be a beginning, and quite amusing, much more amusing than being beaten and chased by owls. He would whisper cunning advice into Fang’s ears, and encourage him with his mighty presence, and there would soon be one honest man the less in the world; and that meant one enemy the less.

The little brown owl spent several days in finding the village in which lived his old friend Fang; and when he came to it, at last, and perched on a near-by tree, he was surprised to find all the inhabitants clustered together, every man talking at the top of his voice and no man listening. He saw Red Eye, Fang’s brother, in the middle of the crowd; but Fang and the chief, and the chief’s son were not there. He listened to the angry voices and soon learned that the people were trying to divide the chief’s and Fang’s properties among them,--the lodges and furs, the wampum and weapons and stores of food.

Ah, so the chief had already been settled with. And Fang, too, it would seem. But what of Jumping Wolf, that upright young warrior who had never shown fear or respect? But the matter in hand drove these questions out of his mind, for the time. He listened to Red Eye, whose voice outshrieked all the others.

“My brother’s goods are now mine,” screamed Red Eye, “and as the chief’s goods became Fang’s when he struck the blow, so did they pass to me when he was killed.”

The air was filled with shouts of rage and derision. Hands (most of them containing clubs and knives) were brandished on all sides.

“We chased the young man, and were wounded by his arrows,” cried a warrior at the edge of the crowd. “Are we to have nothing for our blood and weariness?”

“While you sat at home,” bawled another.

“We feared Fang, for we thought him full of magic power, and yet Jumping Wolf killed him with one blow,” cried a third.

Then they all surged about Red Eye, shouting like mad men.

“No one fears you,” they roared. “The old chief used to treat you like dirt under his moccasins.”

Now the little owl saw that Red Eye was inwardly quaking. All his false courage was quenched by the angry faces, as a little fire is quenched by a dash of water.

“Share the goods as you will,” he cried, “for I am weary of such ingratitude;” and with that, he made his way quickly from the crowd and entered a lodge. Jeering shouts were hurled after him; even the women were not silent in their scorn, and children capered after him with impertinent whoops and gestures.

The owl did not like the state of affairs in the village at all. Fang had been an apt pupil, and a sure man in an evil enterprise. And behold! he was now less than a shadow among his people. Listen! They reviled his name even while they fought over the division of his goods. One warrior, snatching a skin of pemmican from the store-house of the departed Fang, proclaimed his satisfaction at Jumping Wolf’s escape. The sentiment was favourably received, and repeated on all sides.

“Truly, he did us a good turn,” cried one, “when he broke Fang’s skull with his club; for Fang would have been a cruel master, for all his fine promises. Now we are free and rich, with two fortunes to share among us. Ah, I am glad that we did not catch the boy while Fang’s evil spell was on our hearts and brains.”

“And he did but avenge the old chief’s death,” said another.

“You are full of fair words now,” cried an old hag; “but you hunted him out, with clubs and spears. I know the breed; and I think that cub may return, to strike another blow at the murderers of the old wolf.”

Men and women ceased their wrangling and looked at the old woman who had spoken, with various emotions depicted on their faces. Some looked ashamed, some afraid, some angry; but all showed uneasiness.

A young woman with a child in her arms laughed shrilly.

“You are for ever trying to frighten us,” she cried.

“Jumping Wolf is a warrior,” said the old woman, gazing fixedly at one of the men. “He and the chief were the only warriors in this village,--two warriors among a crowd of cowards and traitors.”

Her voice became higher and shriller. “You listened to Fang, and thought him a great magician; and you watched him slay your chief with his hidden knife. But, ah! In a second Fang, too, lay dead. Then you hunted the lad; and he turned you back. Again your picked men went on his trail; and again he outwitted you. You saw him taken from the pan of ice, alive, by a strong man and a young girl, in a canoe that was not like your canoes. Then sleep light, oh, warriors, for Jumping Wolf has you in his mind. Sleep light, with your spears and your clubs at your side, for you may taste the heat of his arrows again.”

It was quite evident to the owl that the old woman’s remarks struck home. Some men scowled; some shook their fists at her; and one commanded her to keep silent. She laughed, long and harshly.

“You should thank me for the warning,” she cried. “If you but heed it, it may save you your lives. I warned Fang, for he was my daughter’s child, against the evil temptings of that blustering Bright Robe; but his heart was wicked and greedy. And now he is dead. So I warn you to choose an honest chief, though you should have to make a three-days’ journey to find one. I warn you to deafen your ears against the wiles of the treacherous Bright Robe, for he is less dangerous as an enemy than as a seeming friend. And, again, I warn you against the son of the chief whom you murdered.”

The people were now thoroughly frightened by the woman’s free and disrespectful use of the name of Bright Robe. They gazed fearfully about them, as if expecting that awful magician to leap upon them from the woods or the sky. He had visited them several times during the period between his return from exile and his fight with Wise-as-a-she-wolf, and of that fight, and its result, they knew nothing. The children gazed around also, but with curiosity rather than fear, for they did not understand the gravity of the situation. And in so doing, a small boy with a bow in his hand espied the owl in the tree. With a cry of delight, he fitted an arrow to the string and let fly. The shaft rattled among the branches within a few inches of the bird’s head; and the villagers, looking in that direction, saw something like a tiny shadow drift away into the forest.

The owl was furious at what he had heard from the old woman. It seemed that every old woman was his enemy. If she continued to preach in that vein, and with Fang dead, the entire village would be lost to him in but a short time.