About midnight, he noticed they had stopped talking. He called out, "How are you feeling now? I am very warm." They did not answer him, so he arose and walked to where they were lying. They were frozen stiff. He went back to the camp and told the other Indians. Everybody declared that he was the bravest warrior, since he had not been frozen.

The chief was so pleased with him that he gave him his daughter. The Indians went to fetch the bodies of the frozen men, but were surprised to find them changed into buffaloes. These animals went to live in the other side of the village; and after that, every one Anishinaba killed was changed into some kind of an animal and went into that part of the village to live. Very shortly the empty lodges were filled.

One day Anishinaba lay down on the gra.s.s to have a sleep. He had taken off his belt, and it lay in the long gra.s.s beside him. When he wakened, he forgot about it. This was the first time he had ever gone without the little animal since he came to the village. That night some Indians who were unfriendly to him, asked him to try the freezing trial again. He consented, for he was not at all afraid. But still he did not think of his belt, and so the freezing water benumbed his body and in a short time he was frozen stiff. His enemies then cut his body into many pieces and scattered them over the village. His wife wept bitterly for many days. Then suddenly she remembered his belt, and went in search of it. She found it in the gra.s.s where he had slept.

As she picked it up, the tiny voice said, "Unpin me." She opened the little seam where the animal lay and out he came. He began to shake himself, and at each shake grew larger, until at last he was the size of a small dog.

The queer-looking animal ran away then as fast as he could go. All around the village he went, gathering up the pieces of his master's body. When he had them gathered, he laid them together in their right places. Then he uttered a loud howl, and the pieces joined together.

He uttered another, and the body began to breathe. Then he uttered one that reached to the skies, and his master arose and stood before him.

The animal then spoke. "You should not have parted with me," he said.

"That was why you lost your life. Now, I shall reveal myself to you."

He began shaking himself like a dog, and at each shake he grew larger, until at last he was immense. Then a long snout grew from his head, and two big, shining teeth from his mouth. His skin was still smooth, without one hair excepting the bunch on the end of his tail.

"I am going to give my gift to you," said the wild boar. "After this you shall live on the meat of animals, instead of the animals eating you. But you and all mankind must respect me and must not eat my flesh nor that of any of my kind."

THE DORMOUSE

Many years ago the animals ruled the earth. They had killed every one but a brother and a sister. These two lived in a lodge far away in the forest, where the animals could not find them. The boy was a tiny, little fellow,--he had never grown any larger than a baby,--so the girl had to do all the work. Each day she would go out into the bush and gather wood for the lodge fire. She always took her brother with her, for he was too small to leave alone. A big bird might fly away with him.

One day she gave him a little bow and arrows, and said, "You stay here while I take the wood home. When the snow-birds come to get the worms out of the wood, see if you can shoot one." So she went home and left him. He did not come until nearly evening. He looked very sad and tired, for he had been unable to shoot even one bird.

"Never mind," said the sister, kindly. "Try again to-morrow."

The next day he went again with her, and when he came back in the evening, he said, "I shot this bird, and now, sister, strip the skin off it, stretch, and cure it. Then when I have killed enough birds, I shall have a coat made of the skins." At last when he had ten skins, his sister made him a coat of them. He was so tiny that it fitted him nicely. Of course he was very proud of it.

One day he said, "Sister, is there no one living in this world except ourselves?"

"Yes," she answered. "Many miles from here live the animals we are afraid of. But never go near their village, for they will kill you."

"Oh, I am not afraid," he said; and in spite of all her coaxing he made ready to go on his journey.

One morning he set out, and by noon had walked quite a distance. He felt very tired and threw himself down on a plot of gra.s.s where the sun had melted the snow. He fell asleep, and while he was lying there the hot sun dried the skins of his bird coat. When he awoke, he felt as though he were b.u.t.toned up in a coat much too small for him.

He was very angry at the sun, for he knew it had done this. "I shall punish you," he cried up to it. "You think you are so high up there, and I am so small, that you do not care, but I shall show you."

Then he went home to his sister and showed her the coat, and told her all about it. She begged him not to feel so angry. He would not listen to her, but went and lay down on the bed. For ten days he stayed there without eating a bite. Then he turned over on his other side and lay for ten days more.

At last he arose and said, "Sister, please make me a snare. I want to catch the sun." She told him she had nothing with which to make the snare. He nearly cried when she said this. Then she remembered some bits of deer sinew that were in the lodge. She made a snare of this, but he said, "That will not do," and began to cry again. Then she asked him if her hair would do.

"No, it will not," he said.

"Well, I have nothing else," she told him, and went out of the lodge.

She thought and thought, and at last she said to herself, "I shall use my hair, and perhaps he will never know." So she made a snare like the one used to catch moose. When she took it in to him, and asked, "Will this do?" he looked very pleased, and said, "Oh, yes, that is the very thing." He took it, and drew the threads through his lips. They changed at once into red, metal cords, which he wound around his waist.

Then he made ready for his journey, and about midnight he set out. He walked on for a long time, until he came to the spot where the sun came up. He fixed the snare, and then hid behind some bushes.

In a little while the sun began to rise, and was at once caught in the snare.

The animals, who ruled the earth, were greatly excited because the morning did not come. They knew it was time for the sun to be up, so they called a council.

"What is to be done?" asked the bear.

"Some one must go and see what has happened," replied the wolf.

"Let the dormouse go," said the beaver, "as he is the largest of us all."

In those days the dormouse was very large. He looked like a mountain when he stood up.

"Yes," said the wolf, "let the dormouse go. He is proud of his size and his strength. Let him show us what he can do when there is danger before him."

They all looked around for the dormouse, but there was no sign of him.

"He thinks that we shall send him to find the sun," said the fox. "He is afraid and has hidden himself."

"Not so," returned the beaver. "The dormouse is not a coward. Let us call him. He cannot be far away."

With that, they all began to call the dormouse. In a moment there was a crackling of branches and the sound of heavy footsteps, and a huge figure loomed up in the darkness.

"Brother dormouse," said the fox, "you are so brave that we have chosen you to go in search of the sun. What is your answer?"

"I am quite ready to go," replied the dormouse, "and if I cannot find the sun and send it to you, I shall not return myself."

At once the dormouse started towards the sun. As he came close to it, the hot rays began to burn his back, but he kept on, and began to chew the cords, which bound it. In a few minutes the top of his back was a heap of ashes, and he felt himself shrivelling with the heat. He kept on bravely, and at last the cords were sundered and the sun free. But by this time the dormouse was a very small animal, and has remained so ever since.

All this time the brother, who was lying hidden, had been watching what was happening. As the dormouse began to smoke, he grew a little frightened, and when it began to shrivel he was terrified. All he wished for was to escape from this glaring sun, which surely would quickly consume him too.

Lying flat on the ground, he wriggled through the bushes for a long distance along the bank. Reaching the plain, he made a dash for home.

His face and arms were scratched and bleeding, and when he told his sister what had happened, she was grieved to think that she had made the snare which had brought so much sorrow to the innocent dormouse.

THE WINDMAKER

Once there was a tribe of Indians who had always lived in the mountains. Their village was built at the foot of a very large mountain, and their lodges were made from branches of the pine-trees, covered with the skins of animals.

One day one of their hunters followed a bear's track for many miles.

By evening he found himself a great distance from the village. He noticed that the hills around him were much smaller than those he had left, so he made up his mind to continue in the direction he had been going, which was eastwards, to see if the hills would grow smaller as he went. He rested during the night, and when the sun rose next morning, he continued walking towards the east. For several days he travelled, and at last he found himself on the edge of a very large plain. Miles and miles of green prairie lay before him, and he wondered what was beyond, on the other side of this vast plain.

He travelled back joyfully to the village and told the others of the tribe what he had discovered. As they listened they became anxious to see this great prairie and what lay beyond it. So they went to their chief and begged him to let them all go and travel until they should reach the other side of the prairie. The chief told them that this was a wrong thing to ask, because they were mountain Indians and so would never be happy away from the mountains. Still they begged and coaxed, and at length he said:

"I shall grant your request, my children, because my greatest wish is to see you happy. To-morrow we shall all make ready for our journey to this great prairie. I shall go with you, although it grieves me very much to leave my mountains, but your wish shall be granted."

By evening the next day the tribe was ready for the journey. They had taken down their lodges, and the branches of the pine-trees and the skins of the animals were packed on the mountain ponies. The chief rode in front on a small, white pony. His face looked very sad as they set out.

For many days they travelled, and at length they reached the edge of the prairie, as the hunter before them had done. They were all much astonished to see the great plain of green gra.s.s, and they told their chief that this land was much more beautiful than their mountains. He did not make them any reply. For several days they travelled across the prairie in the daytime and camped at night. Each morning they said as they prepared to move forward, "To-day we shall surely reach the other side of this prairie."

Each night, however, found them with as many miles in front of them as there were behind them. At last they grew weary, and began to wonder how long they would have to travel before they could see what was beyond this prairie. They had made their camp for the night on the bank of a river. This river was too wide and deep for them to cross, and they did not know what they would do. During the night a strange thing happened. Their lodges were caught as if by unseen hands, lifted high in the air, and tossed into the river. The little children clung to their mothers in terror, while these unseen hands seemed trying to pull them away and toss them after the lodges. The Indians, terrified, gathered around their chief.