The Magic Speech Flower Part 14

That ended the fun. As they saw the Red Fox every rabbit sprang to his feet, and with a hop, skip, and jump went over the fence and out of the clover field. And little Luke saw them no more that night.

XXVIII. WHY THE WILD FOLK NO LONGER TALK THE MAN-TALK

Now in his talks with his wild friends little Luke noticed that they used many Indian words such as he had learned from Old John the Indian.

"Why is it," said he, one day to Wa-poose, "that you wild folk use so many of the Red Men's words?"

"Well," said the old rabbit, "that is a long story. But if you will sit down here beside me, I will tell you about it."

"In the first days," said Wa-poose, "when the world was new, the men and the wild folk were much alike. They all spoke one language.

"In those days it was always summer. All the year round the gra.s.s was green and the flowers bloomed. Twelve times a year the vines and bushes and trees bore fresh blossoms, and twelve times a year they were loaded with ripe berries, fruits, and nuts.

"In those times there was no hunting and no killing. All the wild kindreds lived in peace with each other and with the Red Men, who then dwelt in this land. You see there was plenty to eat and the weather was so warm and pleasant that the Red Men did not need the skins of their wild brothers to keep them from the cold.

"But after a while a change came. Pe-boan the dreadful Winter King came down from the North and made war upon Ni-pon the Queen of Summer. After many battles peace was made and the year was divided; half the year was ruled by the Queen of Summer, and half by the Winter King.

"Now it came to pa.s.s that after the war was over the vines and bushes and trees put forth their buds and blossomed and bore fruit but once a year. The Red Men and the wild kindreds suffered dreadfully from hunger, and their hearts became hard and cruel. Then the hunting and the killing began. The Red Men hunted many of the wild kindreds for their flesh and their fur, and the wild kindreds began to kill and devour each other.

And so it has been since that day.

"In those times the Wa-poose folk were much larger than they are now, even as large as Mo-ween the Bear. But they refused to take part in the killing and flesh eating, and so they suffered more from hunger than some of the wild kindreds. Year by year, on account of the scarcity of food, the Wa-poose folk became smaller until they were as you see them now.

"In the beginning, as I have said, the Red Men and the wild kindreds spoke one language. Even to this day, the Red hunters have kept many of the watchwords of the wild folk, and by means of them are able to deceive and kill them.

"Now by reason of the great slaughter that was made by the Red Men, the wild kindreds gathered themselves together in a great council to discuss their condition. After much talk they decided to ask help of the Master of Life.

"'There is but one way,' said he, when he had heard their story, 'you must change your speech. Then the Red Men will no longer be able to deceive you so easily and slay so many of you.'

"The wild folk did as the Master of Life told them to do. They changed their language, and refused to speak any longer with the Red Men. But some of the Red Men's words they have kept to this day, and that is why you hear us use them."

XXIX. THE TALE OF SUN-KA THE WISE DOG

One day Old John the Indian came down the trail to the farmhouse. He was on his way to town to sell some baskets. As Uncle Mark was going to town with the team, he invited him to ride. Since the town was several miles away, the old Indian gladly accepted the invitation, leaving Ke-ha-ga his old hound at the farmhouse.

In the afternoon little Luke was sitting on the fence when old Ke-ha-ga came over to him. Putting his front paws on top of the fence, he licked the little boy's hand.

"h.e.l.lo, Ke-ha-ga," said little Luke, "so you have come out to see me, have you? Can't you tell me a story?" he added as he gently patted the old hound's head.

"What kind of a story do you want?" asked the old dog.

"Oh, most any kind will do," said the boy. "Tell me a story about some dog of the olden, days,--the days before the white men came to this country."

"Very well," said Ke-ha-ga, "I'll tell you a legend that my grandfather told to me when I was a puppy." And he began the following tale.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Many winters ago there was a wise dog whose name was Sun-ka. He lived with an old Indian woman. Now Sun-ka was a good hunter, and often brought home to the lodge rabbits and other small animals which he had hunted and caught by himself.

"But his mistress was a bad, greedy old woman. She took all the game which he brought, and used it for herself. What she could not eat at once, she dried and put away for another time. To Sun-ka she gave only the bones and other poor sc.r.a.ps, so that most of the time he was half starved.

"At last there came a season when game was very scarce. The old woman, it is true, had plenty of dried meat in her wigwam, but she gave none of it to Sun-ka. He almost died of starvation.

"At last he said to himself, 'Why should that old woman have plenty to eat, and I scarcely anything at all? Most of the meat which she has hidden in her lodge, I caught for her myself. It is as much mine as it is hers. Since she will not give me my share of it, I'll just take it without asking her.'

"But the old woman was very watchful. When Sun-ka tried to get the meat, she beat him over the head with a club until he ran away yelping with pain.

"The next morning one of his dog friends came to visit him. 'Good morning, Sun-ka,' said he, but Sun-ka made no reply. Indeed, his head was so swelled from the blows he had received, that he could hardly open his mouth.

"'Well, well,' said his friend, after looking him over carefully, 'you seem to be in a sad case. What has happened to you?'

"'Oh,' replied Sun-ka, speaking with difficulty, 'I tried to get my share of the meat, which my mistress has in her lodge, and she beat me for it. She beat me till I am stiff and sore, and can scarcely move.'

"'Well,' said his friend, 'I wouldn't stand it if I were you. The meat is just as much yours as it is hers. You caught most of it yourself and you helped her to catch the rest of it, I'll tell you what we'll do; well pay her off for it. I'll go and call our friends; I'll call Rainmaker, Stillbiter, Strongneck, and Sharptooth.' And so he did.

"Rainmaker caused it to rain, and it rained all the day through until dark, and when it was dark it was very dark. Then Stillbiter crept up softly to the lodge and bit off all the thongs which fastened the covering to the lodge poles.

"When this was done, Strongneck crept in and seized the meat and carried it away. Then Sharptooth ripped open the bag which held the meat, and before morning the six dogs ate it all up.

"When the meat was all gone, Sun-ka ran away and became a wild dog. What became of the old Indian woman I do not know."

"Served her right," said the little boy. "If she hadn't been so stingy with her meat, she wouldn't have lost it. And Sun-ka would have stayed with her to help catch more."

x.x.x. HOW THE DOG'S TONGUE BECAME LONG

It was hot. Little Luke sat on the doorstep in the shade. Over in the pasture Old Boze the Hound gave tongue. He was at his favorite sport of trailing rabbits all by himself. He really didn't have any spite against the rabbits, but when he struck a fresh trail, he felt that he just must follow it. And when he had puzzled out a balk or break in the trait, he couldn't for the life of him keep still.

But it was really too hot for trailing, especially when there was nothing in it but fun. The old hound would have stuck to it longer if Sam the hired man had been around somewhere, hiding behind the bushes with his thundering fire-stick. Old Boze wasn't afraid of the fire-stick. He liked to hear it roar, and see the poor rabbits fall before its deadly breath.

Well, after a while he gave it up and came back to the house. Going around to the doorstep, he lay down on the cool porch with his head close to the little boy's shoulder. He was tired, and his dripping tongue hung far out from his open mouth. The little boy looked at it.

"Old Boze," said he, "what a long tongue you have. Why is it that dogs have such long tongues?"

Old Boze shifted his eves uneasily and looked the other way, but said nothing.