Part 7 (2/2)

”Leave me,” cried Manabozho, ”don't trouble me.”

”Tell me,” said the man, ”where is the woman?” Manabozho was silent, and the husband, at last getting angry, abused him with all his might.

”The woman went that way,” said Manabozho at last. ”Run after her, but you shall never catch her, and you shall be called Gizhigooke (day sun), and the woman shall be called Tibikgizis (night sun).”

So the man went on running after his wife to the west, but he has never caught her, and he pursues her to this day.

THE SNAIL AND THE BEAVER.

The father of the Osage nation was a snail. It was when the earth was young and little. It was before the rivers had become wide or long, or the mountains lifted their peaks above the clouds, that the snail found himself pa.s.sing a quiet existence on the banks of the River Missouri. His wants and wishes were but few, and well supplied, and he was happy.

At length the region of the Missouri was visited by one of those great storms which so often scatter desolation over it, and the river, swollen by the melted snow and ice from the mountains, swept away everything from its banks, and among other things the drowsy snail.

Upon a log he drifted down many a day's journey, till the river, subsiding, left him and his log upon the banks of the River of Fish.

He was left in the slime, and the hot sun beamed fiercely upon him till he became baked to the earth and found himself incapable of moving. Gradually he grew in size and stature, and his form experienced a new change, till at length what was once a snail creeping on the earth ripened into man, erect, tall, and stately. For a long time after his change to a human being he remained stupefied, not knowing what he was or by what means to sustain life. At length recollection returned to him. He remembered that he was once a snail and dwelt upon another river. He became animated with a wish to return to his old haunts, and accordingly directed his steps towards those parts from which he had been removed. Hunger now began to prey upon him, and bade fair to close his eyes before he should again behold his beloved haunts on the banks of the river. The beasts of the forest were many, but their speed outstripped his. The birds of the air fluttered upon sprays beyond his reach, and the fish gliding through the waves at his feet were nimbler than he and eluded his grasp. Each moment he grew weaker, the films gathered before his eyes, and in his ears there rang sounds like the whistling of winds through the woods in the month before the snows. At length, wearied and exhausted, he laid himself down upon a gra.s.sy bank.

As he lay the Great Spirit appeared to him and asked--

”Why does he who is the kernel of the snail look terrified, and why is he faint and weary?”

”That I tremble,” answered he, ”is because I fear thy power. That I faint is because I lack food.”

”As regards thy trembling,” answered the Great Spirit, ”be composed.

Art thou hungry?”

”I have eaten nothing,” replied the man, ”since I ceased to be a snail.”

Upon hearing this the Great Spirit drew from under his robe a bow and arrow, and bade the man observe what he did with it. On the topmost bough of a lofty tree sat a beautiful bird, singing and fluttering among the red leaves. He placed an arrow on the bow, and, letting fly, the bird fell down upon the earth. A deer was seen afar off browsing.

Again the archer bent his bow and the animal lay dead, food for the son of the snail.

”There are victuals for you,” said the Spirit, ”enough to last you till your strength enables you to beat up the haunts of the deer and the moose, and here is the bow and arrow.”

The Great Spirit also taught the man how to skin the deer, and clothed him with the skin. Having done this, and having given the beasts, fishes, and all feathered creatures to him for his food and raiment, he bade the man farewell and took his departure.

Strengthened and invigorated, the man pursued his journey towards the old spot. He soon stood upon the banks of his beloved river. A few more suns and he would sit down upon the very spot where for so many seasons he had crawled on the slimy leaf, so often dragged himself lazily over the muddy pool. He had seated himself upon the bank of the river, and was meditating deeply on these things, when up crept from the water a beaver, who, addressing him, said in an angry tone--

”Who are you?”

”I am a snail,” replied the Snail-Man. ”Who are you?”

”I am head warrior of the nation of beavers,” answered the other. ”By what authority have you come to disturb my possession of this river, which is my dominion?”

”It is not your river,” replied the Wasbasha. ”The Great Being, who is over man and beast, has given it to me.”

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