Indian Boyhood [52]
not hear anything," resumed my uncle. "She took some leaves of the wintergreen and chewed them to calm herself. She did not forget to throw in passing a pinch of pulverized tobacco and paint into the spring for Manitou, the spirit.
"Among the twinkling leaves of the birch her eye was caught by a moving form, and then an- other. She stood motionless, grasping her heavy bow. The moose, not suspecting any danger, walked leisurely toward the spring. One was a large female moose; the other a yearling.
As they passed Manitoshaw, moving so nat- urally and looking so harmless, she almost forgot to let fly an arrow. The mother moose seemed to look in her direction, but did not see her. They had fairly passed her hiding-place when she stepped forth and sent a swift arrow into the side of the larger moose. Both dashed into the thick woods, but it was too late. The Cree maiden had already loosened her second arrow. Both fell dead before reaching the shore."
"Uncle, she must have had a splendid aim, for in the woods the many little twigs make an arrow bound off to one side," I interrupted in great ex- citement.
"Yes, but you must remember she was very near the moose."
"It seems to me, then, uncle, that they must have scented her, for you have told me that they possess the keenest nose of any animal," I per- sisted.
"Doubtless the wind was blowing the other way. But, nephew, you must let me finish my story.
"Ovedoyed by her success, the maiden has- tened back to Nawakawee, but she was gone! The ponies were gone, too, and the wigwam of branches had been demolished. While Manito- shaw stood there, frightened and undecided what to do, a soft voice came from behind a neighbor- ing thicket:
"'Manitoshaw! Manitoshaw! I am here!'
She at once recognized, the voice and found it to be Nawakeewee, who told a strange story. That morning a canoe had crossed the Wanagiska carrying two men. They were Sioux. The old grandmother had seen them coming, and to de- ceive them she at once pulled down her temporary wigwam, and drove the ponies off toward home. Then she hid herself in the bushes near by, for she knew that Manitoshaw must return there.
"'Come, my granddaughter, we must hasten home by another way,' cried the old woman.
"But the maiden said, 'No, let us go first to my two moose that I killed this morning and take some meat with us.'
"'No, no, my child; the Sioux are cruel. They have killed many of our people. If we stay here they will find us. I fear, I fear them, Manitoshaw!'
"At last the brave maid convinced her grand- mother, and the more easily as she too was hun- gry for meat. They went to where the big game lay among the bushes, and began to dress the moose."
"I think, if I were they, I would hide all day. I would wait until the Sioux had gone; then I would go back to my moose," I interrupted for the third time.
"I will finish the story first; then you may tell us what you would do," said my uncle reprov- ingly.
"The two Sioux were father and son. They too had come to the lake for moose; but as the game usually retreated to the island, Chatansapa had landed his son Kangiska to hunt them on the shore while he returned in his canoe to intercept their flight. The young man sped along the sandy beach and soon discovered their tracks. He followed them up and found blood on the trail. This astonished him. Cautiously he followed on until he found them both lying dead. He exam- ined them and found that in each moose there was a single Cree arrow. Wishing to surprise the hunter if possible, Kangiska lay hidden in the bushes.
"After a little while the two women returned to the spot. They passed him as close as the moose had passed the maiden in the morning. He saw at once that the maiden had arrows in her quiver like those that had slain the big moose. He lay still.
"Kangiska looked upon the beautiful Cree maiden and loved her. Finally he forgot himself and made a slight motion. Manitoshaw's quick eye caught the little stir among the bushes, but she immediately looked
"Among the twinkling leaves of the birch her eye was caught by a moving form, and then an- other. She stood motionless, grasping her heavy bow. The moose, not suspecting any danger, walked leisurely toward the spring. One was a large female moose; the other a yearling.
As they passed Manitoshaw, moving so nat- urally and looking so harmless, she almost forgot to let fly an arrow. The mother moose seemed to look in her direction, but did not see her. They had fairly passed her hiding-place when she stepped forth and sent a swift arrow into the side of the larger moose. Both dashed into the thick woods, but it was too late. The Cree maiden had already loosened her second arrow. Both fell dead before reaching the shore."
"Uncle, she must have had a splendid aim, for in the woods the many little twigs make an arrow bound off to one side," I interrupted in great ex- citement.
"Yes, but you must remember she was very near the moose."
"It seems to me, then, uncle, that they must have scented her, for you have told me that they possess the keenest nose of any animal," I per- sisted.
"Doubtless the wind was blowing the other way. But, nephew, you must let me finish my story.
"Ovedoyed by her success, the maiden has- tened back to Nawakawee, but she was gone! The ponies were gone, too, and the wigwam of branches had been demolished. While Manito- shaw stood there, frightened and undecided what to do, a soft voice came from behind a neighbor- ing thicket:
"'Manitoshaw! Manitoshaw! I am here!'
She at once recognized, the voice and found it to be Nawakeewee, who told a strange story. That morning a canoe had crossed the Wanagiska carrying two men. They were Sioux. The old grandmother had seen them coming, and to de- ceive them she at once pulled down her temporary wigwam, and drove the ponies off toward home. Then she hid herself in the bushes near by, for she knew that Manitoshaw must return there.
"'Come, my granddaughter, we must hasten home by another way,' cried the old woman.
"But the maiden said, 'No, let us go first to my two moose that I killed this morning and take some meat with us.'
"'No, no, my child; the Sioux are cruel. They have killed many of our people. If we stay here they will find us. I fear, I fear them, Manitoshaw!'
"At last the brave maid convinced her grand- mother, and the more easily as she too was hun- gry for meat. They went to where the big game lay among the bushes, and began to dress the moose."
"I think, if I were they, I would hide all day. I would wait until the Sioux had gone; then I would go back to my moose," I interrupted for the third time.
"I will finish the story first; then you may tell us what you would do," said my uncle reprov- ingly.
"The two Sioux were father and son. They too had come to the lake for moose; but as the game usually retreated to the island, Chatansapa had landed his son Kangiska to hunt them on the shore while he returned in his canoe to intercept their flight. The young man sped along the sandy beach and soon discovered their tracks. He followed them up and found blood on the trail. This astonished him. Cautiously he followed on until he found them both lying dead. He exam- ined them and found that in each moose there was a single Cree arrow. Wishing to surprise the hunter if possible, Kangiska lay hidden in the bushes.
"After a little while the two women returned to the spot. They passed him as close as the moose had passed the maiden in the morning. He saw at once that the maiden had arrows in her quiver like those that had slain the big moose. He lay still.
"Kangiska looked upon the beautiful Cree maiden and loved her. Finally he forgot himself and made a slight motion. Manitoshaw's quick eye caught the little stir among the bushes, but she immediately looked