Suddenly, from the branches of the tree nearest him, he heard the woodp.e.c.k.e.r calling to him: "Hiawatha, Hiawatha," said the woodp.e.c.k.e.r, "aim your arrows at the tuft of hair on Pearl-Feather's head. Aim them at the roots of his long black hair, for there alone can you do him any harm." Just then Pearl-Feather stooped to pick up a big stone to throw at Hiawatha, who bent his bow and struck Pearl-Feather with an arrow right on the top of the head. Pearl-Feather staggered forward like a wounded buffalo. "Tw.a.n.g!" went the bowstring again, and the wizard's knees trembled beneath him, for the second arrow had struck in the same spot as the first and had made the wound much deeper. A third arrow followed swiftly, and Pearl-Feather saw the eyes of Death glare at him from the darkness, and he fell forward on his face right at the feet of Hiawatha and lay there dead.

Then Hiawatha called the woodp.e.c.k.e.r to him, and as a mark of grat.i.tude he stained the tuft of feathers on the woodp.e.c.k.e.r's head with the blood of the dead Pearl-Feather, and the woodp.e.c.k.e.r wears his tuft of blood-red feathers to this day.

Hiawatha took the shirt of wampum from the dead wizard as a sign of victory, and from Pearl-Feather's wigwam he carried all the skins and furs and arrows that he could find, and they were many. He loaded his canoe with them and sped homeward over the pitch-water, past the dead bodies of the fiery serpents until he saw Chibiabos and Kwasind and Nokomis waiting for him on the sh.o.r.e. All the Indians a.s.sembled and gave a feast in Hiawatha's honor, and they sang and danced for joy because the great wizard would never again send sickness and death among them.

And Hiawatha took the red crest of the woodp.e.c.k.e.r to decorate his pipe, for he knew that to the woodp.e.c.k.e.r his victory was due.

X

HIAWATHA'S WOOING

"WOMAN is to man as the cord is to the bow," thought Hiawatha. "She bends him, yet obeys him; she draws him, yet she follows. Each is useless without the other." Hiawatha was dreaming of the lovely maiden, Minnehaha, whom he had seen in the country of the Dacotahs.

"Do not wed a stranger, Hiawatha," warned the old Nokomis; "do not search in the east or in the west to win a bride. Take a maid of your own people, for the homely daughter of a neighbor is like the pleasant fire on the hearth-stone, while the stranger is cold and distant, like the starlight or the light of the pale moon."

But Hiawatha only smiled and answered: "Dear Nokomis, the fire on the hearth-stone is indeed pleasant and warm, but I love the starlight and the moonlight better."

"Do not bring home an idle woman," said old Nokomis, "bring not home a maiden who is unskilled with the needle and will neither cook nor sew!"

And Hiawatha answered: "Good Nokomis, in the land of the Dacotahs lives the daughter of an Arrow-maker, and she is the most beautiful of all the women in the world. Her name is Minnehaha, and I will bring her home to do your bidding and to be your firelight, your moonlight, and your starlight, all in one."

"Ah, Hiawatha," warned Nokomis, "bring not home a maid of the Dacotahs!

The Dacotahs are fierce and cruel and there is often war between our tribe and theirs." Hiawatha laughed and answered: "I will wed a maid of the Dacotahs, and old wars shall be forgotten in a new and lasting peace that shall make the two tribes friends forevermore. For this alone would I wed the lovely Laughing Water if there were no other reason."

Hiawatha left his wigwam for the home of the old Arrow-maker, and he ran through the forest as lightly as the wind, until he heard the clear voice of the Falls of Minnehaha.

At the sunny edges of the forest a herd of deer were feeding, and they did not see the swift-footed runner until he sent a hissing arrow among them that killed a roebuck. Without pausing, Hiawatha caught up the deer and swung it to his shoulder, running forward until he came to the home of the aged Arrow-maker.

The old man was sitting in the doorway of his wigwam, and at his side were all his tools and all the arrows he was making. At his side, also, was the lovely Minnehaha, weaving mats of reeds and water-rushes, and the old man and the young maiden sat together in the pleasant contrast of age and youth, the one thinking of the past, the other dreaming of the future.

The old man was thinking of the days when with such arrows as he now was making he had killed deer and bison, and had shot the wild goose on the wing. He remembered the great war-parties that came to buy his arrows, and how they could not fight unless he had arrow-heads to sell. Alas, such days were over, he thought sadly, and no such splendid warriors were left on earth.

The maiden was dreaming of a tall, handsome hunter, who had come one morning when the year was young to purchase arrows of her father. He had rested in their wigwam, lingered and looked back as he was leaving, and her father had praised his courage and his wisdom. Would the hunter ever come again in search of arrows, thought the lovely Minnehaha, and the rushes she was weaving lay unfingered in her lap.

Just then they heard a rustle and swift footsteps in the thicket, and Hiawatha with the deer upon his shoulders and a glow upon his cheek and forehead stood before them in the sunlight.

"Welcome, Hiawatha," said the old Arrow-maker in a grave but friendly tone, and Minnehaha's light voice echoed the deep one of her father, saying: "Welcome, Hiawatha."

Together the old Arrow-maker and Hiawatha entered the wigwam, and Minnehaha laid aside her mat of rushes and brought them food and drink in vessels of earth and bowls of ba.s.swood. Yet she did not say a word while she was serving them, but listened as if in a dream to what Hiawatha told her father about Nokomis and Chibiabos and the strong man, Kwasind, and the happiness and peace of his own people, the Ojibways.

Hiawatha finished his words by saying very slowly: "That this peace may always be among us and our tribes become as brothers to each other, give me the hand of your daughter, Minnehaha, the loveliest of women."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "PLEASANT WAS THE JOURNEY HOMEWARD"--_Page 199_]

The aged Arrow-maker paused before he answered, looked proudly at Hiawatha and lovingly at his daughter, and then said:

"You may have her if she wishes it. Speak, Minnehaha, and let us know your will."

The lovely Minnehaha seemed more beautiful than ever as she looked first at Hiawatha and then at her old father. Softly she took the seat beside Hiawatha, blushing as she answered: "I will follow you, my husband."

Thus did Hiawatha win the daughter of the ancient Arrow-maker. Together he and his bride left the wigwam hand in hand and went away over the meadows, while the old Arrow-maker with shaded eyes gazed after them and called out sadly: "Good-bye, Minnehaha! Good-bye my lovely daughter!"

They walked together through the sunlit forest, and all the birds and animals gazed at them from among the leaves and branches.

When they came to swift rivers, Hiawatha lifted Minnehaha and carried her across, and in his strong arms she seemed lighter than a willow-leaf or the plume upon his headgear. At night he cleared away the thicket and built a lodge of branches; he made a bed of hemlock boughs and kindled a fire of pine-cones before the doorway, and Adjidaumo, the squirrel, climbed down from his nest and kept watch, while the two lovers slept in their lodge beneath the stars.

XI

HIAWATHA'S WEDDING FEAST

A GREAT feast was prepared by Hiawatha to celebrate his wedding. That the feast might be one of joy and gladness, the sweet singer Chibiabos sang his love-songs; that it might be merry, the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis danced his liveliest dances; and to make the wedding guests even more content, Iagoo, the great boaster, told them a wonderful story. Oh, but it was a splendid feast that Nokomis prepared at the bidding of Hiawatha! She sent messengers with willow-wands through all the village as a sign that all Ojibways were invited, and the wedding guests wore their very brightest garments--rich fur robes and wampum-belts, beads of many colors, paint and feathers and gay ta.s.sels. All the bowls at the feast were made of white and shining ba.s.swood; all the spoons were made of bison horn, as black as ink and polished until the black was as bright as silver, and the Indians feasted on the flesh of the sturgeon and the pike, on buffalo marrow and the hump of the bison and the haunch of the red deer. They ate pounded meat called pemican and the wild rice that grew by the river-bank and golden-yellow cakes of Indian corn. It was a feast indeed!

But the kind host Hiawatha did not take a mouthful of all this tempting food. Neither did Minnehaha nor Nokomis, but all three waited on their guests and served them carefully until their wants were generously satisfied. When all had finished, old Nokomis filled from an ample otter pouch the red stone pipes with fragrant tobacco of the south, and when the blue smoke was rising freely she said: "O Pau-Puk-Keewis, dance your merry Beggar's Dance to please us, so the time may pa.s.s more pleasantly and our guests may be more gay."

Pau-Puk-Keewis rose and stood amid the guests. He wore a white shirt of doeskin, fringed with ermine and covered with beads of wampum. He wore deerskin leggings, also fringed with ermine and with quills of Kagh, the hedgehog. On his feet were buck-skin moccasins, richly embroidered, and red foxes' tails to flourish while he danced were fastened to the heels.

A snowy plume of swan's down floated over his head, and he carried a gay fan in one hand and a pipe with ta.s.sels in the other.

All the warriors disliked Pau-Puk-Keewis, and called him coward and idler; but he cared not at all, because he was so handsome that all the women and the maidens loved him. To the sound of drums and flutes and singing voices Pau-Puk-Keewis now began the Dance of Beggars.

First he danced with slow steps and stately motion in and out of the shadows and the sunshine, gliding like a panther among the pine-trees; but his steps became faster and faster and wilder and wilder, until the wind and dust swept around him as he danced. Time after time he leaped over the heads of the a.s.sembled guests and rushed around the wigwam, and at last he sped along the sh.o.r.e of the Big-Sea-Water, stamping on the sand and tossing it furiously in the air, until the wind had become a whirlwind and the sand was blown in great drifts like snowdrifts all over the sh.o.r.e.

There they have stayed until this day, the great Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo.

When the Beggar's Dance was over, Pau-Puk-Keewis returned and sat down laughing among the guests and fanned himself as calmly as if he had not stirred from his seat, while all the guests cried out: "Sing to us, Chibiabos, sing your love songs!" and Hiawatha and Nokomis said: "Yes, sing, Chibiabos, that our guests may enjoy themselves all the more, and our feast may pa.s.s more gayly!"

Chibiabos rose, and his wonderful voice swelled all the echoes of the forest, until the streams paused in their courses, and the listening beavers came to the surface of the water so that they might hear. He sang so sweetly that his voice caused the pine-trees to quiver as if a wind were pa.s.sing through them, and strange sounds seemed to run along the earth. All the Indians were spellbound by his singing, and sat as if they had been turned to stone. Even the smoke ceased to rise from their pipes while Chibiabos sang, but when he had ended they shouted with joy and praised him in loud voices.

Iagoo, the mighty boaster, alone did not join in the roar of praise, for he was jealous of Chibiabos, and longed to tell one of his great stories to the Indians. When Iagoo heard of any adventure he always told of a greater one that had happened to himself, and to listen to him, you would think that n.o.body was such a mighty hunter and n.o.body was such a valiant fighter as he. If you would only believe him, you would learn n.o.body had ever shot an arrow half so far as he had, that n.o.body could run so fast, or dive so deep, or leap so high, and that n.o.body in the wide world had ever seen so many wonders as the brave, great, and wonderful Iagoo.

This was the reason that his name had become a byword among the Indians; and whenever a hunter spoke too highly of his own deeds, or a warrior talked too much of what he had done in battle, his hearers shouted: "See, Iagoo is among us!"

But it was Iagoo who had carved the cradle of Hiawatha long ago, and who had taught him how to make his bow and arrows. And as he sat at the feast, old and ugly but very eager to tell of his adventures, Nokomis said to him: "Good Iagoo, tell us some wonderful story, so that our feast may be more merry," and Iagoo answered like a flash: "You shall hear the most wonderful story that has ever been heard since men have lived upon the earth. You shall hear the strange and marvelous tale of Osseo and his father, King of the Evening Star."

XII

THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR

"SEE the Star of Evening!" cried Iagoo; "see how it shines like a bead of wampum on the robes of the Great Spirit! Gaze on it, and listen to the story of Osseo!