Legends of the Northwest Part 2

We are sons of Heyoka. The Giant commands In the boiling water to thrust our hands; And the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire Heyoka will crown with his hearts desire."

They thrust their hands in the boiling pot; They swallow the bison meat steaming hot, Not a wince on their stoical faces bold.

For the meat and the water, they say, are cold, And great is Heyoka and wonderful wise; He floats on the flood and he walks in the skies, And ever appears in a strange disguise; But he loves the brave and their sacrifice; And the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire Heyoka will crown with his heart's desire.

Proud was the chief of his warriors proud, The sinewy sons of the Giant's race; But the bravest of all was the tall Red Cloud; The eyes of the panther were set in his face; He strode like a stag and he stood like a pine; Ten feathers he wore at the great Wanmdee; [13]

With crimsoned quills of the porcupine His leggins were worked to his brawny knee.

Blood-red were the stripes on his swarthy cheek, And the necklace that girdled his brawny neck Was the polished claws of the great Mato [14]

He grappled and slew in the northern snow.

Proud Red Cloud turned to the braves and said, As he shook the plumes on his haughty head:

"Ho! the warrior that scorneth the foe and fire Heyoka will crown with his heart's desire!"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed from the embers a red-hot brand, And held it aloft in his naked hand.

He stood like a statue in bronze or stone,-- Not a muscle moved, and the braves looked on.

He turned to the chieftain,--"I scorn the fire,-- Ten feathers I wear of the great Wanmdee; Then grant me, Wakawa, my heart's desire; Let the sunlight s.h.i.+ne in my lonely tee. [19]

I laugh at red death and I laugh at red fire; Brave Red Cloud is only afraid of fear; But Wiwaste is fair to his heart and dear; Then grant him, Wakawa, his heart's desire."

The warriors applauded with loud "Ho! Ho!" [24]

And he flung the brand to the drifting snow.

Three times Wakawa puffed forth the smoke From his silent lips; then he slowly spoke: "Mahpiya is strong as the stout-armed oak That stands on the bluff by the windy plain, And laughs at the roar of the hurricane.

He has slain the foe and the great Mato With his hissing arrow and deadly stroke.

My heart is swift but my tongue is slow.

Let the warrior come to my lodge and smoke; He may bring the gifts; [25] but the timid doe May fly from the hunter and say him no."

Wiwaste sat late in the lodge alone, Her dark eyes bent on the glowing fire.

She heard not the wild winds shrill and moan; She heard not the tall elms toss and groan; Her face was lit like the harvest moon; For her thoughts flew far to her heart's desire.

Far away in the land of the Hohe [15] dwelt The warrior she held in her secret heart; But little he dreamed of the pain she felt, For she hid her love with a maiden's art.

Not a tear she shed, not a word she said, When the fair young chief from the lodge departed; But she sat on the mound when the day was dead, And gazed at the full moon mellow hearted.

Fair was the chief as the morning-star; His eyes were mild and his words were low, But his heart was stouter than lance or bow; And her young heart flew to her love afar O'er his trail long covered with drifted snow.

But she heard a warrior's stealthy tread, And the tall Wakawa appeared, and said-- "Is Wiwaste afraid of the spirit dread That fires the sky in the fatal north? [26]

Behold the mysterious lights. Come forth Some evil threatens,--some danger nears, For the skies are pierced with the burning spears."

The warriors rally beneath the moon; They shoot their shafts at the evil spirit.

The spirit is slain and the flame is gone, And his blood lies red on the snow fields near it.

But again from the dead will the spirit rise, And flash his spears in the northern skies.

Then the chief and the queenly Wiwaste stood Alone in the moon-lit solitude, And she was silent and he was grave.

"And fears not my daughter the evil spirit?

The strongest warriors and bravest fear it The burning spears are an evil omen; They threaten the wrath of a wicked woman, Or a treacherous foe; but my warriors brave, When danger nears, or the foe appears, Are a cloud of arrows,--a grove of spears."

"My Father," she said, and her words were low, "Why should I fear? for I soon will go To the broad, blue lodge in the Spirit land, Where my dark eyed mother went long ago, And my dear twin sisters walk hand in hand.

My Father, listen,--my words are true,"

And sad was her voice as the whippowil When she mourns her mate by the moon-lit rill, "Wiwaste lingers alone with you, The rest are sleeping on yonder hill,-- Save one--and he an undutiful son,-- And you, my Father, will sit alone When Sisoka [27] sings and the snow is gone.

I sat, when the maple leaves were red, By the foaming falls of the haunted river; The night sun was walking above my head, And the arrows shone in his burnished quiver; And the winds were hushed and the hour was dread With the walking ghosts of the silent dead.

I heard the voice of the Water-Fairy; [28]

I saw her form in the moon-lit mist, As she sat on a stone with her burden weary, By the foaming eddies of amethyst.

And robed in her mantle of mist the sprite Her low wail poured on the silent night.

Then the spirit spake, and the floods were still-- They hushed and listened to what she said, And hushed was the plaint of the whippowil In the silver-birches above her head: 'Wiwaste,--the prairies are green and fair, When the robin sings and the whippowil; But the land of the Spirits is fairer still, For the winds of winter blow never there; And forever the songs of the whippowils And the robins are heard on the leafy hills.

Thy mother looks from her lodge above,-- Her fair face s.h.i.+nes in the sky afar, And the eyes of thy sisters are bright with love, As they peep from the tee of the mother-star.

To her happy lodge in the spirit-land She beckons Wiwaste with s.h.i.+ning hand.'

"My Father,--my Father, her words were true; And the death of Wiwaste will rest on you.

You have pledged me as wife to the tall Red Cloud; You will take the gifts of the warrior proud; But I, Wakawa,--I answer--never!

I will stain your knife in my heart's red blood, I will plunge and sink in the sullen river, Ere I will be wife to the fierce Red Cloud!"

"Wiwaste," he said, and his voice was low, "Let it be as you will, for Wakawa's tongue Has spoken no promise;--his lips are slow, And the love of a father is deep and strong.

Be happy, Micunksee [29], the flames are gone,-- They flash no more in the Northern sky.

See the smile on the face of the watching moon; No more will the fatal red arrows fly; For the singing shafts of my warriors sped To the bad spirit's bosom and laid him dead, And his blood on the snow of the North lies red.

Go,--sleep in the robe that you won to-day, And dream of your hunter--the brave Chaske."

Light was her heart as she turned away; It sang like the lark in the skies of May.

The round moon laughed, but a lone red star, [30]

As she turned to the teepee and entered in, Fell flas.h.i.+ng and swift in the sky afar, Like the polished point of a javelin.

Nor chief nor daughter the shadow saw Of the crouching listener--Harpstina.

Wiwaste, wrapped in her robe and sleep Heard not the storm-sprites wail and weep, As they rode on the winds in the frosty air; But she heard the voice of her hunter fair; For a shadowy spirit with fairy fingers The curtains drew from the land of dreams; And lo in her teepee her lover lingers; The light of love in his dark eye beams, And his voice is the music of mountain streams.

And then with her round, brown arms she pressed His phantom form to her throbbing breast, And whispered the name, in her happy sleep, Of her Hohe hunter so fair and far.

And then she saw in her dreams the deep Where the spirit wailed, and a falling star; Then stealthily crouching under the trees, By the light of the moon, the Kan-o-ti-dan, [31]

The little, wizened, mysterious man, With his long locks tossed by the moaning breeze.

Then a flap of wings, like a thunder-bird, [32]

And a wailing spirit the sleeper heard; And lo, through the mists of the moon, she saw The hateful visage of Harpstina.

But waking she murmured--"And what are these-- The flap of wings and the falling star, The wailing spirit that's never at ease, The little man crouching under the trees, And the hateful visage of Harpstina?

My dreams are like feathers that float on the breeze, And none can tell what the omens are-- Save the beautiful dream of my love afar In the happy land of the tall Hohe [15]-- My beautiful hunter--my brave Chaske."

"Ta-tanka! Ta-tanka!" [33] the hunters cried, With a joyous shout at the break of dawn; And darkly lined on the white hill-side, A herd of bison went marching on Through the drifted snow like a caravan.

Swift to their ponies the hunters sped, And dashed away on the hurried chase.

The wild steeds scented the game ahead, And sprang like hounds to the eager race.

But the brawny bulls in the swarthy van Turned their polished horns to the charging foes, And reckless rider and fleet foot-man Were held at bay in the drifted snows, While the bellowing herd o'er the hill-tops ran, Like the frightened beasts of a caravan On the Sahara's sands when the simoon blows.

Sharp were the tw.a.n.gs of the hunters' bows, And swift and humming the arrows sped, Till ten huge bulls on the b.l.o.o.d.y snows Lay pierced with arrows and dumb and dead.

But the chief with the flankers had gained the rear, And flew on the trail of the flying herd.

The shouts of the riders rang loud and clear, As their frothing steeds to the chase they spurred.

And now like the roar of an avalanche Rolls the sullen wrath of the maddened bulls.

They charge on the riders and runners stanch, And a dying steed in the snow-drift rolls, While the rider, flung to the frozen ground Escapes the horns by a panther's bound.

But the raging monsters are held at bay, While the flankers dash on the swarthy rout.

With lance and arrow they slay and slay; And the welkin rings to the gladsome shout-- To the loud Inas and the wild Ihos, [34]-- And dark and dead, on the b.l.o.o.d.y snows, Lie the swarthy heaps of the buffaloes.

All snug in the teepee Wiwaste lay, All wrapped in her robe, at the dawn of day,-- All snug and warm from the wind and snow, While the hunters followed the buffalo.

Her dreams and her slumber their wild shouts broke; The chase was afoot when the maid awoke; She heard the tw.a.n.gs of the hunter's bows, And the bellowing bulls and the loud Ihos, And she murmured--"My hunter is far away In the happy land of the tall Hohe-- My beautiful hunter, my brave Chaske; But the robins will come and my warrior too, And Wiwaste will find her a way to woo."

And long she lay in a reverie, And dreamed, wide-awake, of her brave Chaske, Till a trampling of feet on the crispy snow She heard, and the murmur of voices low;-- Then the hunters' greeting--Iho! Iho!

And behold, in the blaze of the risen day, With the hunters that followed the buffalo,-- Came her beautiful hunter--her brave Chaske.

Far south has he followed the bison-trail With his band of warriors so brave and true.

Right glad is Wakawa his friend to hail, And Wiwaste will find her a way to woo.

Tall and straight as the larch tree stood The manly form of the brave young chief, And fair as the larch in its vernal leaf, When the red fawn bleats in the feathering wood.

Mild was his face as the morning skies, And friends.h.i.+p shone in his laughing eyes; But swift were his feet o'er the drifted snow On the trail of the elk or the buffalo; And his heart was stouter than lance or bow, When he heard the whoop of his enemies.

Five feathers he wore of the great Wanmdee, And each for the scalp of a warrior slain, When down on his camp from the northern plain, With their murder cries rode the b.l.o.o.d.y Cree. [35]