Wigwam Evenings Part 12

"Ugh, you liar! we don't believe a word you say! Get away with you, do!"

Since they refused to take the child, and it was now almost night, the kind-hearted young man wrapped the boy in his own blanket and lay down with him to sleep. The next morning, when he awoke, he found to his surprise that the child had grown up during the night and was now a handsome young man, so much like him that they might have been twin brothers.

"My friend, we are now comrades for life!" exclaimed the strange youth.

"We shall each go different ways in the world, doing all the good we can; but if either is ever in need of help let him call upon the other and he will come instantly to his aid!"

The other agreed, and they set out in opposite directions. Not long after, the Rabbit heard a loud groaning and crying as of some person in great pain. When he reached the spot, he found a man with his body wedged tightly in the forks of a tree, which the wind swayed to and fro.

He could not by any means get away, and was in great misery.

"I will take your place, brother!" exclaimed the generous young man, upon which the tree immediately parted, and the tree-bound was free.

Mashtinna took his place and the tree closed upon him like a vise and pinched him severely.

The pain was worse than he had supposed, but he bore it as long as he could without crying out. Sweat beaded his forehead and his veins swelled to bursting; at last he could endure it no longer, and called loudly upon his comrade to help him. At once the young man appeared and struck the tree so that it parted and Mashtinna was free.

He kept on his journey until he spied a small wigwam quite by itself on the edge of a wood. Lifting the door-flap, he saw no one but an old blind man, who greeted him thankfully.

"Ho, my grandson! you see me, I am old and poor. All the day I see no one. When I wish to drink, this raw-hide lariat leads me to the stream near by. When I need dry sticks for my fire, I follow this other rope and feel my way among the trees. I have food enough, for these bags are packed with dried meat for my use. But alas, my grandson, I am all alone here, and I am blind!"

"Take my eyes, grandfather!" at once exclaimed the kind-hearted young man. "You shall go where you will, and I will remain here in your place."

"Ho, ho, my grandson, you are very good!" replied the old man, and he gladly took the eyes of the Rabbit and went out into the world. The youth stayed behind, and as he was hungry, he ate of the dried meat in the bags.

This made him very thirsty, so he took hold of the raw-hide rope and followed it to the stream; but as he stooped to the brink, the rope broke and Mashtinna fell in.

The water was cold and the bank slippery, but after a hard struggle he got out again and made his way back to the teepee, dripping wet and very miserable. Wis.h.i.+ng to make a fire and dry his clothes, he seized the other rope and went to the wood for sticks.

However, when he began to gather the sticks he lost the rope, and being quite blind he did nothing but stumble over fallen logs, and bruise himself against the trunks of trees, and scratch his face among the briers and brambles, until at last he could bear it no longer, and cried out to his comrade to come to his aid.

Instantly the youth appeared and gave him back his eyes, saying at the same time:

"Friend, be not so rash in future! It is right to help those who are in trouble, but one must also consider whether he himself is able to hold out to the end."

TWENTY-FIRST EVENING

THE LAUGH-MAKER

TWENTY-FIRST EVENING

"You remember the young man who married among the Bear people," begins Grandfather. "Now to us the Bear seems at times almost human; he can stand and even walk erect; he will cry and groan very like a man when hurt, and there are those who say that he laughs. In the old stories the Bears are a powerful nation; and there is a young man, perhaps the same one I told you of before, who is said to have been living among them at one time with his wife, Woshpee, and their little son."

THE LAUGH-MAKER

The village of the Bears was a large one, and the people were well-fed and prosperous. Upon certain days, a herald went the round of the lodges, announcing in a loud voice that the time had come to "go a-laughing." Not a Bear was left in the village at such times, for every one went, old and young, sick and well, the active and the lame. Only the stranger remained at home, although his wife, Woshpee, always went with her kinsfolk, for somehow he did not feel inclined to "go a-laughing;" and he kept with him his little son, who was half Bear and half human.

One day, however, a curiosity seized him to know what this laughing business might be. He took his boy and followed the Bears at a distance, not choosing to be seen. Their trail led to the sh.o.r.e of the Great Water, and when he had come as near as he could without exposing himself, he climbed a tall pine from whose bushy top he could observe all that took place.

The gathering of the Bears was on a deep bay that jutted inland. Its rocky sh.o.r.es were quite black with them, and as soon as all had become quiet, an old Bear advanced to the water's edge and called in a loud voice:

"E-ha-we-cha-ye-la, e-ha-un-he-pee lo! (Laugh-maker, we are come to laugh!)"

When he had called four times, a small object appeared in the midst of the water and began to swim toward the sh.o.r.e. By and by the strange creature sprawled and clambered out upon a solitary rock that stood partly above the water.

The Laugh-maker was hairless and wrinkled like a new-born child; it had the funniest feet, or hands, or flippers, with which it tried to walk, but only tumbled and flopped about. In the water it was graceful enough, but on dry land so ungainly and ridiculous that the vast concourse of Bears was thrown into fits of hysterical laughter.

"Ha, ha, ha! Waugh, waugh!" they roared, lifting their ugly long muzzles and opening their gaping jaws. Some of them could no longer hold on to the boughs of the trees, or the rocks on which they had perched, and came tumbling down on the heads of the crowd, adding much to the fun.

Every motion of the little "Laugh-maker" produced fresh roars of immoderate laughter.

At last the Bears grew weak and helpless with laughing. Hundreds of them sprawled out upon the sand, quite unable to rise. Then the old man again advanced and cried out:

"E-ha-we-cha-ye-la, wan-na e-ha un-ta-pe ktay do! (Laugh-maker, we are almost dead with laughing!)" Upon this the little creature swam back into deep water and disappeared.

Now the stranger was not at all amused and in fact could see nothing to laugh at. When all the Bears had got up and dispersed to their homes he came down from the tree with his little son, and the child wished to imitate his great-grandfather Bear. He went out alone on the sandy beach and began to call in his piping voice:

"Laugh-maker, we are come to laugh!"

When he had called four times, the little creature again showed its smooth black head above the water.

"Ha, ha, ha! Why don't you laugh, papa? It is so funny!" the boy cried out breathlessly.

But his father looked on soberly while the thing went through all its usual antics, and the little boy laughed harder and harder, until at last he rolled and rolled on the sandy beach, almost dead with laughter.

"Papa," he gasped, "if you do not stop this funny thing I shall die!"

Then the father picked up his bow and strung it. He gave one more look at his boy, who was gasping for breath; then he fitted a sharp arrow to the bow and pierced the little Laugh-maker to the heart. He went out and took the skin, and they returned in silence to the camp of the Bears.

Now the next time that the herald called upon the Bears to "go a-laughing," the skin of the Laugh-maker was almost dry, but they knew nothing of it. They went away as usual, and left the young man alone with his son. But he, knowing that his wife's kinsfolk would kill him when they discovered what he had done, took the skin for a quiver and went homeward with his child.

TWENTY-SECOND EVENING

THE RUNAWAYS

TWENTY-SECOND EVENING

"Some say," remarks Grandfather, "that the hero of the story I am about to tell you is the same as the kind-hearted young man of whom you heard not long ago--Mashtinna, the Rabbit. You will remember that he was uncommonly handsome as well as generous. This time he falls in love, and there is a wicked old woman in the way; but you will learn some day that true love is able to defy and to outwit all its enemies!"