Indian Why Stories [20]
Wren, when he suddenly came to a park along a river's side. In this park were a hundred lodges of our people, and before a fine lodge there sat the daughter of the chief. It was growing dark and chilly, but still she sat there looking at the river. The Sparrow-hawk was striking at the Wren with his beak and talons, when the Wren saw the young-woman and flew straight to her. So swift he flew that the young-woman didn't see him at all, but she felt something strike her hand, and when she looked she saw a bone ring on her finger. This frightened her, and she ran inside the lodge, where the fire kept the shadows from coming. OLD- man had changed into the ring, of course, and the Sparrow-hawk didn't dare to go into the lodge; so he stopped outside and listened. This is what he heard OLD-man say:
"'Don't be frightened, young-woman, I am neither a Wren nor a ring. I am OLD-man and that Sparrow-hawk has chased me all the day and for nothing. I have never done him harm, and he bothers me without reason.'
"'Liar--forked-tongue,' cried the Sparrow- hawk. 'Believe him not, young-woman. He has done wrong. He is wicked and I am not a Sparrow-hawk, but conscience. Like an ar- row I travel, straight and fast. When he lies or steals from his friends I follow him. I talk all the time and he hears me, but lies to himself, and says he does not hear. You know who I am, young-woman, I am what talks inside a person.'
"OLD-man heard what the Sparrow-hawk said, and he was ashamed for once in his life. He crawled out of the lodge. Into the shadows he ran away--away into the night, and the darkness--away from himself!
"You see," said War Eagle, as he reached for his pipe," OLD-man knew that he had done wrong, and his heart troubled him, just as yours will bother you if you do not listen to the voice that speaks within yourselves. When- ever that voice says a thing is wicked, it is wicked--no matter who says it is not. Yes --it is very hard for a man to hide from him- self. Ho!"
OLD-MAN'S TREACHERY
The next afternoon Muskrat and Fine Bow went hunting. They hid them- selves in some brush which grew beside an old game trail that followed the river, and there waited for a chance deer.
Chickadees hopped and called, "chick-a-de- de-de" in the willows and wild-rose bushes that grew near their hiding-place; and the gentle little birds with their pretty coats were often within a few inches of the hands of the young hunters. In perfect silence they watched and admired these little friends, while glance or smile conveyed their appreciation of the bird- visits to each other.
The wind was coming down the stream, and therefore the eyes of the boys seldom left the trail in that direction; for from that quarter an approaching deer would be unwarned by the ever-busy breeze. A rabbit came hopping down the game trail in believed perfect se- curity, passing so close to Fine Bow that he could not resist the desire to strike at him with an arrow. Both boys were obliged to cover their mouths with their open hands to keep from laughing aloud at the surprise and speed shown by the frightened bunny, as he scurried around a bend in the trail, with his white, pudgy tail bobbing rapidly. They had scarcely regained their compo- sure and silence when, "snap!" went a dry stick. The sharp sound sent a thrill through the hearts of the boys, and instantly they became rigidly watchful. Not a leaf could move on the ground now--not a bush might bend or a bird pass and escape being seen by the four sharp eyes that peered from the brush in the direction indicated by the sound of the breaking stick. Two hearts beat loudly as Fine Bow fitted his arrow to the bowstring. Tense and expectant they waited--yes, it was a deer--a buck, too, and he was coming down the trail, alert and watchful--down the trail that he had often travelled and knew so well. Yes, he had followed his mother along that trail when he was but a spotted fawn--now he wore antlers, and was master of his own ways. On he came--nearly to the brush that hid the hunters,
"'Don't be frightened, young-woman, I am neither a Wren nor a ring. I am OLD-man and that Sparrow-hawk has chased me all the day and for nothing. I have never done him harm, and he bothers me without reason.'
"'Liar--forked-tongue,' cried the Sparrow- hawk. 'Believe him not, young-woman. He has done wrong. He is wicked and I am not a Sparrow-hawk, but conscience. Like an ar- row I travel, straight and fast. When he lies or steals from his friends I follow him. I talk all the time and he hears me, but lies to himself, and says he does not hear. You know who I am, young-woman, I am what talks inside a person.'
"OLD-man heard what the Sparrow-hawk said, and he was ashamed for once in his life. He crawled out of the lodge. Into the shadows he ran away--away into the night, and the darkness--away from himself!
"You see," said War Eagle, as he reached for his pipe," OLD-man knew that he had done wrong, and his heart troubled him, just as yours will bother you if you do not listen to the voice that speaks within yourselves. When- ever that voice says a thing is wicked, it is wicked--no matter who says it is not. Yes --it is very hard for a man to hide from him- self. Ho!"
OLD-MAN'S TREACHERY
The next afternoon Muskrat and Fine Bow went hunting. They hid them- selves in some brush which grew beside an old game trail that followed the river, and there waited for a chance deer.
Chickadees hopped and called, "chick-a-de- de-de" in the willows and wild-rose bushes that grew near their hiding-place; and the gentle little birds with their pretty coats were often within a few inches of the hands of the young hunters. In perfect silence they watched and admired these little friends, while glance or smile conveyed their appreciation of the bird- visits to each other.
The wind was coming down the stream, and therefore the eyes of the boys seldom left the trail in that direction; for from that quarter an approaching deer would be unwarned by the ever-busy breeze. A rabbit came hopping down the game trail in believed perfect se- curity, passing so close to Fine Bow that he could not resist the desire to strike at him with an arrow. Both boys were obliged to cover their mouths with their open hands to keep from laughing aloud at the surprise and speed shown by the frightened bunny, as he scurried around a bend in the trail, with his white, pudgy tail bobbing rapidly. They had scarcely regained their compo- sure and silence when, "snap!" went a dry stick. The sharp sound sent a thrill through the hearts of the boys, and instantly they became rigidly watchful. Not a leaf could move on the ground now--not a bush might bend or a bird pass and escape being seen by the four sharp eyes that peered from the brush in the direction indicated by the sound of the breaking stick. Two hearts beat loudly as Fine Bow fitted his arrow to the bowstring. Tense and expectant they waited--yes, it was a deer--a buck, too, and he was coming down the trail, alert and watchful--down the trail that he had often travelled and knew so well. Yes, he had followed his mother along that trail when he was but a spotted fawn--now he wore antlers, and was master of his own ways. On he came--nearly to the brush that hid the hunters,