Aboriginal America

Chapter 8. Indian Legends and Tales

Travelers Among the Indians

In every period since the first arrival of Europeans in the country there have been many persons who have taken great pleasure in visiting the Indian tribes, and even in living among them for considerable periods, for the purpose of studying their manners and customs, learning their language, and listening to their legends and tales; and many of these visitors, on their return to the civilized world, have published what they have thus discovered.

The tales and legends which some of these travelers say were related to them from time to time, as they sat on some summer evening in the open air amid a little circle of listeners gathered from an Indian encampment, or assembled in winter around the wigwam fire, are, or at least many of them are, exceedingly curious, and they give us considerable insight into the manners and customs, And still more into the ideals and sentiments which prevailed among the different nations. The following are among some of these legends. The first is an account of the origin of man, as given by a tradition handed down by one of the western tribes:

Origin of Man

In ancient times there was a snail living upon the banks of the Mississippi. He lived there in peace and quietness for some time, until at last a great inundation came and he was in danger of being drowned. He crawled upon a log to save his life, and while he was upon it the log was lifted up by the water and borne away down the stream.

At length it was cast upon a bank and the snail crept off from it to the shore; but instead of landing upon hard ground he found only mud and slime. He crawled along over the soft surface a little way, but presently the sun came up, and shining very hot, it suddenly dried up in the mud, and, as it were, baked the poor snail in.

He struggled for some time to get free, and at last, faint with hunger and exhausted with fatigue, he was about giving up in despair when suddenly he found himself undergoing a strange transformation, and at the same time increasing marvelously in a size. Legs were growing out from him below and a head and arms above. In short, he found himself turning into a man.

The transformation was soon complete, and he stood out upon the bank changed into a perfect human form, but emaciated and weak, and more hungry than ever. Indeed, he was almost starved. He was naked, too, as well as hungry, and thus his limbs were exposed and defenceless. Though he saw birds flying around him in the air, and land animals moving to and fro, he did not know how to proceed in order to procure food and clothing from them.

At length the Great Spirit appeared to him and called him by name, expressing, at the same time, a feeling of kindness and sympathy for him in his destitute and helpless condition.

The Great Spirit brought him a a bow and arrow and showed him how to shoot a deer with it. When the deer was killed he showed him that the flesh was good for food.

When the man had cooked his food and eaten it and thus appeased his hunger, the Great Spirit told him that cold winds and rains would come, and that he must make himself some clothing to protect his limbs from them; and he taught him how to make a garment from the skin of the deer which he had killed.

The Great Spirit also put a string of wampum round his neck, saying to him as he did so, "This is the badge of your authority over all the animals of creation."

The Great Spirit then disappeared.

The man, after this, in rambling on through the country, met the beaver. He commanded the beaver to submit to him, and showed him the necklace of wampum which the Great Spirit had given him as the badge of his authority.

But the beaver, instead of simply complying with this demand, took the man home with him to his lodge. The man was very kindly received by the beaver's wife and children, and he learned from inspection of the lodge in which they lived how to build a house for himself.

Very soon he fell in love with the beaver's daughter and demanded her in marriage. His demand was acceded to, and in due time the marriage was celebrated.

It was a very great wedding. All the birds in the air and all the animals in the woods were invited to it, and great were the festivities and rejoicings. From this union all the races of men were descended.

The narrator of the legend, by way of giving his authority for it to the traveler who recorded it, closed with these words:

There is among the other stories one which seems designed to illustrate the value of a contented and happy disposition.

Old Boreas and Shingebiss

In ancient times there was a man named Shingebiss. He lived in a lodge which he had built for himself on the margin of the water.

When the winter came it was very cold. Shingebiss had four logs of wood, and as the winter was to be four months long, he had just one log for each month, and he was consequently obliged to keep very little fire, so as to burn his logs very slowly, in order to make them last until the spring.

He had nothing for food but the fish which he could catch in the stream. But the stream was frozen over so hard that it was impossible to break through the ice. He, however, looked about and found openings or weak places where the flags and rushes grew, and through these openings he caught his fish. When the fish were caught he dragged them home across the ice, strung together upon a string.

At last old Boreas saw him and said to himself, "This man is as contented and happy in this cold season as if it were June. He seems to despise me. I'll go and pay him a visit, and see what I can do to make him feel my power." Note: The name in the original is the Indian name for the north wind.

So old Boreas blew upon him and made him very cold on the side that was turned away from the fire. So Shingebiss turned first one side and then the other to the fire, but still went on singing his song.

Then old Boreas went out upon the stream and froze up all the openings which the flags and rushes had made.

"Now," said he to himself, when he had done this, "he can get no fishes, and will starve."

But Shingebiss did not despair. He continued his search upon the ice till he found new openings, and by patience and perseverance he broke open those that Boreas had closed up, and so caught more fishes; and when he had caught them he dragged them home to his lodge, over the ice, as happy as ever.

"He must be helped by the Great Spirit," said old Boreas. "I can neither freeze him nor starve him. I will let him alone."

There is a love story, which shows that the instincts and sentiments of woman were the same in those rude states of society as among the most highly civilized nations on the globe. It is as follows:

The Story of Ampata

Ampata was the wife of a brave young warrior. She had two children. She lived for a time with her husband and children in great happiness. Sometimes their home was on the prairie, sometimes they built their wigwam in the forest near the banks of a stream. Ampata used to paddle her canoe up and down the rivers in search of bulrushes for mats, or bark for her wigwam, or fuel for her fire. In summer they lived in open ground, but in the winter they chose a more sheltered position on the margin of a wood, where it opened toward the sun. Thus their lives flowed on a very smoothly and happily.

Ampata's husband gradually increased in influence in his tribe, until finally he came to be a chief. This filled Ampata's heart with pride and she loved her husband more than ever.

But the increased rank and importance to which her husband attained, as Ampata soon discovered, interfered very much with the domestic peace and quietness which they had before enjoyed. He now became a public man. His wigwam was always filled with visitors, and as his consequence in the nation increased, his ambition, instead of being satisfied, became excited more and more. At length, in order to widen and extend his influence, he conceived the idea of taking a second wife, the daughter of a noted chieftain who lived near.

When Ampata heard this she was greatly alarmed. She remonstrated with her husband, but he would not listen to her. It would give him greater influence in the tribe to marry another wife, he said, and marry her he would.

When Ampata heard this she was greatly alarmed. She remonstrated with her husband, but he would not listen to her. It would give him greater influence in the tribe to marry another wife, he said, and marry her he would.

Ampata immediately resolved that she would not stay in the lodge to be thus humiliated by her husband. Accordingly, before he brought his new wife home, she fled, taking her two children with her, and returned to her father's lodge almost broken-hearted.

She remained with her father and with his connections during the winter, but her grief and despondency were not at all relieved by the lapse of time. In the spring, when her farther's party were coming down the Mississippi with the furs which they had taken during the winter, she came with them. She had her two children with her in her canoe. When at length the boats began to draw near the falls of St. Anthony, and turned aside at the commencement of the rapids to go to the land, She did not turn with them, but pressed on into the middle of the stream.

The whirl and turmoil of the water became now so violent that the boat was borne onward with great speed, and the paddle was no longer of any avail. So Ampata rose from her seat, and holding the paddle extended in her arms made her farewell lament in the following terms:

"It was him only that I loved, and I loved him with all my heart. It was for him that I prepared the fresh-killed game, and swept with boughs the hearth before my wigwam fire. It was for him that I dressed and sewed the skin of the deer, and embroidered the mocassins that adorned his feet. "How I waited in my lodge the live-long day for his return from the chase, and how my heart was filled with joy when I heard his footsteps coming!

"My heart was bound up in him. He was all the world to me. But he has left me for another, and life is now a burden which I cannot bear. Even my children add to my grief. I see in their faces him image, and they bring him continually to my mind.

"I have prayed to the Great Spirit to take back the life that he gave, as I do not desire it any longer, and I am now on the current by means of which he is going to fulfill my prayer. I see the white foam of the water - it is my shroud. I hear the roaring of the fall - it is my funeral song. Farewell."

It was too late for her friends to arrest her course. They saw the canoe enter the foam; they saw it poise itself for a moment on the brink of the cataract, and then it disappeared in the awful abyss below.

The story concludes by saying that sometimes now, the benighted traveler, standing at midnight on the shores of the river, sees by the light of the moonbeams, in the opening of the mist and spray, the form of Ampata's canoe just ready to take the fearful plunge. It appears there for a moment on the brink, and then the mist closing over it shuts it out from view.

This story of the poor, disappointed, and forsaken wife may have been true, precisely as it is here related. The next is of a very different character, being an old tradition of a very decidedly marvelous type. it explains how it happens that the dormouse is so small.

Trap Set for Catching the Sun

In former times, when the animals that lived on the earth were more powerful than men, they killed and devoured all but two persons - a girl and her little brother. These two made their escape, and, flying far away into the forests, they lived there in a secret place, in great fear.

The girl was the oldest of the two, the boy being so small that he was utterly helpless. A big bird might have flown away with him, The girl took all the care of providing food for both, but when she went into the woods to get food or fuel she always took her little brother with her, for he was too small to be left alone.

At last she made him a bow and arrow of a size adapted to his strength, and when she went next into the woods she said to him: "When I have done chopping in the woods and am ready to go home, I will leave you behind a little while with your bow and arrow, to shoot little snow birds that come to pick up the worms that drop out of the wood that I have been chopping."

The Child and the Snow Birds

So she left him in the woods and went home. He staid and did his best to kill the snow birds, but he did not succeed.

When he came home he looked disappointed and discouraged, but his sister told him that he must not despair. "You must try again to-morrow," said she. The next day she left him in the woods again, and toward nightfall she heard his little footsteps on the snow, outside the lodge, as he was coming home. When he came in he threw down a snow bird that he had killed, and seemed very much pleased.

His sister cut the bird in two and used it, half one day and half the next, to season the broth or porridge which she made for supper.

After a time the boy killed ten birds, and their skins, sewed together by his sister, made him a little coat.

He was very much pleased with his coat, but one day having lain down in the sun and gone to sleep in a place where the snow had been melted away and the ground was dry, the sun singed his coat and made it shrink, so that when he woke up it was too tight for him.

He was very angry with the sun for this, and he declared he would set a snare for him and catch him, to prevent his doing such mischief any more. he asked his sister to make him a cord.

After several trials she succeeded in making a cord that he though would do, and so he set out one night a little after midnight and went through the woods to a place where the sun rose. He made a slip noose in one end of his cord, and then set it slyly in the trees, in the place where the sun was to come up.

He succeeded very well in his design. The sun, in coming up through the trees, got caught in the noose, and his beams became so entangled in it that he could not rise.

The animals in the forests were all very much frightened when they found that it continued dark that day. They ran to and fro and made great inquiry, and at last they found out what the difficulty was. The sun had been caught in a snare.

At first they did not know what to do. They soon concluded, however, that the only remedy was for them to send some gnawing animals to gnaw off the noose. But none dared to go for fear of being burnt to death by the sun.

At last, however, the animal now called a dormouse, which was then the largest gnawing animal existing, was persuaded to go. He was selected because, being large, he would be better able, they thought, to endure the heat. So he went and gnawed off the noose and set the sun free; but he was so dreadfully burnt in the operation that, when he returned, from being the largest it was found that he had become the smallest animal of all. There was very little left of him. And that is the reason why the dormouse is now so small.

This story suggests another legend in which the incident of the sun being caught in a trap occurs in a somewhat different form. The story is one which a French Catholic missionary learned from an Indian tribe upon the banks of the St. Lawrence, more than two hundred years ago. In respect to the state of intellectual development to which it is adapted, it stands very nearly on a level with the English nursery tale of Jack and the Beanstalk, which, indeed, in some respects, it closely resembles.

Hunting in Heaven

There was once a man and woman traveling together in the woods, when suddenly they were set upon by wild beasts. The man was seized and devoured by a bear. The woman was also in the same manner eater up by another monstrous animal. But their little child, who was just then born, the wild beasts left untouched.

A woman passing by a short time afterward saw a child lying alone in the woods, and was very much astonished at the sight. She wondered where its parents could be, but on looking all around and seeing nothing of them, she took the child and carried it home to her lodge.

The boy lived, but he did not grow. He increased marvelously in strength, it is true, but not in size; so that, although he remained to all appearance a child, he became strong enough to root up great trees, and to perform other marvelous exploits. His name was an Indian word sounding as much as possible like Jackabeck.

The first thing that he undertook was to seek out and attack the monstrous beasts which had devoured his father and mother. He found them and killed them both, and he identified them as the real devourers of his parents by finding his father's beard in the stomach of one, and his mother's hair in that of the other.

In addition to his great strength he was possessed of a certain mysterious power, through which whatever he blew upon was changed by some sort of magic, just as he wished.

After a while he felt a desire to go to heaven to see what there was there. So he began to climb a tall tree, and when he got to the top of it he blew upon it, and that made it shoot out and grow up higher. He climbed up to the top again and then blew as before, and so on continually. He thus mounted higher and higher, until at last he ascended into heaven.

He found here a delightful country, with green fields and pretty trees and flowers, and ever thing charming. After walking all about the place he returned to the tree and began to descend it, intending to tell the story of what he had seen to his sister - for it seems he now had a sister - and bring her up with him to heaven, in order that they might live there for ever.

As he came down the tree he stopped occasionally by the way to build wigwams in the branches, as places of rest for himself and sister in ascending.

When he had reached the ground and had related to his sister what he had seen, she was at first very unwilling to go with him, being afraid to attempt to climb such a tall tree. But she was at last persuaded to make the attempt, and they set out together.

This sister and a little nephew whom she concluded to take with her in the ascent, and they all three began to climb the tree. The sister and her little nephew went first, and Jackabeck came on after them, in order to catch them if they should chance to fall.

Thus they went on up the tree, and whenever they were tired of climbing they stopped to rest at the wigwams which Jackabeck had made among the branches in coming down.

After they had arrived at the top, in order to prevent any other persons from coming up after them, Jackabeck reached down and broke off the stem of the trees as low as he could.

After admiring the beauties of the country for a time with his sister, and congratulating each other on their safe and happy arrival in it, Jackabeck went off into the woods to set traps, as he had been accustomed to do on the earth below, in hopes to catch some animals.

Very early the next morning he went to visit his traps to see what he had caught. As he drew near one of them he saw in it a great glowing ball of fire. It was so bright and so hot that Jackabeck did not dare to go near it. So he ran back to his sister to inform her of this prodigy.

"Sister," said he, "there is a big fire in one of my traps, so fierce and hot that I do not dare to go near it."

"Ah! Jackabeck," said his sister, "you must have caught the sun. He was wandering about undoubtedly in the night, and has fallen into one of your traps. Go and let him out as quick as you can." So Jackabeck went back, but he found the sun so hot and dazzling that he could not get near enough to let him out of the trap. He was greatly at a loss what to do, but presently on looking around him he found a little mouse, and he blew upon him and made him so large and strong that he could go the the trap and open it in some way so as to let the sun go free.

The story that follows, it is supposed, may have been intended to present to the Indian belles the example of a species of mistake which is often exemplified in tales written for young ladies in civilized life, namely, that of acting in a spirit of proud and disdainful coquetry toward an honest lover, and so, as the proverb expressed it, going further and faring worse. It is as follow:

The Story of Moowis

There lived a certain village an Indian girl who was distinguished for her grace and beauty, and was the admiration of all the young hunter and warriors of the tribe. Indeed, she was quite a belle.

Among her admirers there was a very worthy and much respected young man, who went to visit her one day, with the intention of asking her hand. I will call him Ma-mon, that being a portion of his name. The belle, instead of received kindly Ma-mon's well intended attempts to please her, and giving him a respectful and proper answer, turned away from him in disdain, and dismissed him with a peculiar gesture, which, according to the Indian customs, was expressive of the utmost contempt. The young man went away very deeply wounded.

He was indeed so sensitive, and his mind was so much disturbed by this insult, that he could not recover from the effects of it. He was the more deeply and permanently affected by it from the fact that the insult was put upon him in the presence of others, so that the affair was noised abroad throughout the village, and became the common talk of the young men of the tribe.

At last the sense of shame and vexation so preyed upon him that he lost his health and strength, and almost his reason. He would lie upon his mat in his lodge all day long, silent, dejected, and with his eyes fixed on vacancy. He would take little or no food. No efforts could rouse him from this condition. He felt abashed and dishonored even in the presence of his relatives and best friends, and no persuasions could induce him to rise.

At length the time arrived when the family to which he belonged were to take down the lodge , in order to remove to another station; but still he could not get up. So they took down the lodge from over his head, and left him there lying on his couch in the open air.

It was early in the spring of the year, and the ground was covered with snow, but the snow was hard, as is usual at that season, so that they party could travel upon it, their feet making a crackling noise as they walked along over the frozen surface. The young man remained on his couch until the last sound of the departing footsteps died upon his ear, and then he arose.

The ground that the encampment had occupied was covered with remnants and fragments of all kinds, which had been left there by the families which had occupied it. There were bits of soiled cloth, worn and tattered garments, draggled feathers, and old abandoned ornaments of all sorts, some lying on the frozen ground, and some trampled into the snow. At the sight of all this finery Ma-mon conceived a plan of revenge.

"She thinks more of the dress than the man," said he to himself, " and I will make her a husband that will please her.'

So he began to collect the old garments together, and after putting them in proper form he filled them with earth and snow, which he pressed firmly in, and thus finally produced the figure of a man. This figure he decorated with old beads, feathers, and other things which he found upon the ground, and which, by some sort of magic, he redeemed from their damaged condition and restored to their pristine beauty. The man, too, when he was finished, was endowed with the power of life, and motion, though his body and limbs still consisted of nothing but frozen mud and snow.

Ma-mon put a bow and a quiver of arrows in the image's hand, and then ordered it to follow him. He gave it the name of moowis.

Ma-mon now went on with moowis to the new encampment of the tribe. When they arrives there Moowis attracted great attention. So well formed a man and one dressed so very elegantly had seldom been seen. No one was more pleased with him than the belle. She fell in love with him at first sight, and invited him to her mother's lodge, where he was received with much honor.

Among other marks of attention they assigned the stranger a place very near the fire. But Moowis was afraid to take this place for fear that he might be melted by the warmth, and so, notwithstanding the urgency of their invitations, he insisted on remaining near the door.

This only increased the bell's admiration for him, as she considered it a proof of his great hardihood and power of endurance; and these are qualities which, next to courage, the Indian damsels most highly prize in their lovers.

But we must not make the story too long. The belle accepted Moowis as her lover, and they were married. Very soon after the ceremony was performed Moowis said that he must go away for a time, for there was a journey that he must take. His bride said that she would go with him. He attempted to discourage her, but she was not willing to be left.

So he set out upon his journey, his bride, according to the Indian custom in the case of man and wife, following him at a little distance. He went on at a very rapid rate. She tried very hard to keep up with him, but she found it extremely difficult to do so. She called to him incessantly to wait for her, but he paid no heed to her cries.

Soon, too, the sun came up and Moowis began to melt away. The feathers and beads and other ornaments began, one after another, to drop off from him to the ground, and, as they fell, they returned to their original soiled and tattered condition. Still the bride pressed on, following her flying husband over rocks and windfalls, and through all sorts of rough and marshy ground. She called incessantly to him and looked for him everywhere, but there was nothing to be seen along the path where he had gone but rags, bones, old worn-our skins, broken beads, soiled feathers, and remnants of torn and tattered garments. The bride wandered on past all these things, calling continually to her husband and crying that she was lost, until at length she became perfectly bewildered and wholly uncertain which way to go. She however continued to wander about in her despair, and is wandering still, singing all the time a mournful song, in which she calls continually to Moowis, saying that she is lost, and begging him to come and save her.

Old Red Head

In ancient times there was a famous chieftain named Old Red Head, who was so violent and lawless in his life and character, and was so great a robber and murderer, that he was feared by the whole country around. he lived on an island in a like, and he had a boat with which he used to communicate with the shore.

He was so much dreaded by the people of the country on account of his great strength and ferocity, that even his name became a bugbear, and a great many designs were formed and plans laid for killing him. But thus far none had succeeded.

Not far from the lake where Old Red Head lived there was a family that consisted of a man and his wife, and a boy about fifteen years old.

One evening, when the man had been out all day hunting, he came home to the lodge, bringing a deer. He was very tired and very hungry. His wife began to prepare the deer for supper, and while she was doing it she asked the boy to go down by a path through the woods to the river and bring some water.

But it was dark and the boy said that he did not like to go. The father, when he heard this, accused his son of cowardice, and said, in a sneering and contemptuous manner:

"I don't think you will ever kill Old Red Head." This taunt stung the boy to his inmost soul. He said nothing, but he felt very deeply wounded. All that night he lay revolving in his mind what he would do.

The next morning he asked his mother to make him a pair of moccasins from the skin of the deer which his father had killed. While she was doing this he went into the woods and made himself a bow and four arrows.

The next morning after this he rose before sunrise, and putting on his moccasins and taking his bow and arrows in his hands, he went out and shot one of his arrows into the air. It went up very high. He observed which way it inclined as it ascended, and then walked off through the woods in that direction, intending to go to the spot where it would come down.

He traveled on all day long, and at night he came to the arrow. He found that it had fallen upon a deer and killed him. The boy cut off as much of the flesh of the deer as he required, ate his supper from it, and then lay down and went to sleep.

The next morning he rose early and shot another arrow into the air. He followed this arrow, as he had the other, and found this one, too, at night in a deer which it had killed. He made his supper from the flesh of this second deer, and then, being fatigued with his long march, he lay down and went to sleep again.

He did the same the third day and the fourth day. His arrows were then all expended. On the fifth day he wandered about without any food, and not knowing what to do. At last he became exhausted with hunger and fatigue. He sank down upon the ground, and thought that he should die.

While he was thus lying upon the ground in despair, he heard a strange sound approaching him, and raising his eyes he saw a well beaten path leading from the margin of some water to a cabin which was very near him, and which he had not observed before, and up this path a strange looking old woman was coming, thumping her stick upon the ground as she came. She wore a sort of cloak, which was made of the scalps of women, and to the top of her staff a number of birds were fastened by means of strings tied to their feet. These birds fluttered over the old woman's head as she walked along, and continued singing all the time.

The woman went into her cabin and took off her cloak. As she took it off she shook it, and as she did so sounds of loud and continued laughter came from the scalps of which it was made. These sounds continued until she had put the cloak away.

The old woman then came out of the cabin and advanced to the place where the boy was lying. She accosted him kindly, and raising him up, led him into her cabin and gave him some food.

Encouraged by her kindness the boy told her his story. He gave her an account of what had taken place in his father's lodge, of his father's cutting sarcasm, and of his having left home on account of it.

She listened attentively, and when he had finished she told him that he must not take what his father had said to him too much to heart.

"Be of good cheer,' said she. "You shall kill old Red Head, and I will show you how to do it."

So she made the dress of a girl for him, and fashioned him a great many beautiful ornaments. She put the dress upon him and also the ornaments. There were feathers for his hair and bracelets for his arms, and a necklace of beads and a girdle. In the girdle she place a blade of grass of a certain kind, which was pretty broad and stiff, and sharp at the edges.

"Now," said the old woman when the boy was ready, "you look like a beautiful girl.' So she directed him which way to go, and told him that he must journey on by that way until he came to the shore of Red Head's lake, opposite the island.

"There," said she, "you will find a great many young men, who will fall in love with you , and want to marry you. But you must tell them that you are determined not to marry anybody but Red Head himself, and that if he will not come for you in his canoe, and take you to his island, you will go back again to your home.

When this was made known to Red Head he determined to come to the shore for the girl. So he caused his boat to be brought out. The frame of this boat was made of living rattlesnakes, and they, by some sort of magic, were endowed with the power of knowing when anybody came into the boat with any evil or treacherous designs against their master, and of signifying it by hisses and contortions.

Accordingly, when the pretended girl embarked on board the boat, they began all to hiss, and to write and twist about in the most horrible manner. But Red Head was so captivated with the beauty of his prize that he would not heed their warnings. He went on with the boy to his island.

There, after meeting with various adventures and several narrow escapes from detection which cannot here be detailed, the boy succeeded in dissipating all Red Head's suspicions, if he ever had any, and the marriage ceremony was performed. A great concourse of people came to attend the wedding. Immediately afterward, or as soon as the new married pair were alone, the boy took Old Red Head's head in his lap, as he reclined on the ground by his side, and drawing out the sharp-edged blade of grass from his girdle, he cut it off by a single stroke.

He then made his escape, taking the head with him. He carried it first to the old woman's cabin to show it to her, and then went with it home to his father's - his heart filled with pride and exultation.

He was received with every mark of consideration and honor by his family and tribe, and continued to enjoy great renown as long as he lived as the slayer of Old Red Head.

How Algon Gained His Wife

Algon was a very brave and handsome young hunter. One day when he was roaming over the plains in search of game he suddenly came to a well-worn circular track in the grass, with no path leading to it from any quarter.

This seemed to him a strange sight. How could such a track be made without people to make it? And how could people come to make it without leaving any signs of a path, or even of footsteps, in the grass where they came?

While he was pondering on this mystery he heard a rushing sound in the air, as of a great bird flying, and looking up he saw a large wicker basket descending, with twelve beautiful maidens in it. He stepped back into the thicket, where he could conceal himself from sight, and remained there watching. The basket or car containing the twelve girls came gently descending toward the ground, being let down by cords from above. As soon as it reached the ground the girls leaped out, and all immediately went to the ring and began dancing about it in a charming manner.

Algon watched them as they danced, and finally fixed his eyes and his heart upon the youngest of them, who seemed to him to be the most beautiful of them all. He came forth from his thicket intending to seize her, but as soon as the maidens saw him they seemed exceedingly terrified. They all with one accord sprang for the basket, and, climbing into it as nimbly as possible, they were drawn up again into the sky and disappeared.

The next day Algon went again to the place where he had seen the ring, in order to watch for the coming of the girls - expecting to see them descend, as on the preceding day, from the sky.

This time, however, instead of going in his own proper form, he changed himself into an opossum, a very curious and artful animal which hides cunningly among the branches of a tree. In this guise he took his place in a tree near the ring. Before long he saw the basket coming down out of the sky. When it reached the earth the girls descended from it and began to dance again, but before Algon had time to come down from his tree and go toward them the youngest of the girls spied him and gave the alarm, and the whole bevy immediately sprang to their basket, climbed into it as nimbly as they had done before, and went drawn up into the sky again.

The next day Algon determined to go once more, but now he concluded to change into a smaller animal than the opossum, in order the more easily to escape observation. This time he resolved to be a mouse.

So when he reached the place where the ring was formed, he looked about in the thickets near, and presently found a piece of the hollow root of a tree lying upon the ground, with a nest of mice in it. He took up the piece of root, nest, mice and all, and carried it out of the thicket to the ring, and there laid it down upon the grass near the outside of the ring. Then he changed himself into a mouse, and took his place with the others in the nest.

He had not been there long before he saw the basket coming down out of the sky as before. The girls stepped out of it and came toward the ring. One of them saw the fragment of the root upon the ground.

"Ah!" said she, "what is this? This was not here before." So they all stopped and looked at the root, and then began to pull it to pieces. At this the mice all came out of the nest, and ran about upon the ground, The girls immediately began to kill them. At last they killed all but Algon. He, in order to save himself, turned back into a man.

The girls, when they saw one of the mice expanding and assuming the form of a man, screamed and fled. In the meantime Algon's transformation was complete, and he sprang after them. He succeeded in seizing the youngest, his beloved, and in holding her, notwithstanding her struggles, until the others had reached the basket, and had gone off again into the sky.

Being thus made captive the girl soon concluded to resist Algon's love no longer, but became his wife, and the wedded pair lived for a long time together in peace and happiness.

A great many other narratives of this kind might be given, but these will be sufficient. They are pretty fair specimens of the tales and traditions which are related by parents to children around the wigwam fires, and so handed down from generation to generation.