Part 2

A line of fires was kept burning around the camp. This protected the Red Children from the wild animals, for all animals fear fire, and are charmed by it. They might prowl and howl all night long outside the fire ring, but never would they attempt to come within that ring. There the Indians could sleep in peace, guarded by the spirits of the fire.

The Indian that could make fire first became a chief and leader. When it was decided to camp at a certain place, a signal would be given. At this the young braves would leap into the woods, to see which one first could bring back fire. Each had his own secret way of making it. Usually a bowstring was twisted about a fire stick, and the stick was turned rapidly in a groove. In a few seconds, smoke would rise from the sawdust that formed. After a little fanning a flame would leap forth.

The Indian whose brain and hand worked swiftest and surest was the smartest and best man. He became a Firemaker, and was made a chief of the tribe. He could do something that the rest could not,—at least he had proved himself to be more skillful. Such a man, it was thought, had a better understanding of all things, and therefore could tell the rest of the tribe what ought to be done.

He no longer was just a man who ate and slept, walked and ran. He was a man with a mind. He could think and could do things. So he became a Firemaker chief, and he helped the tribe to think and do.

The Iroquois Red Children believe that there are three kinds of men: those that use the body only; those that use body and mind; and those that use body, mind, and spirit.

Now it happened that sometimes an Indian grew to be so kind and so great, that he could not only strike the fire we see, but the fire we do not see,—the fire of love that burns in the hearts of people.

When an Indian could strike this kind of fire, and warm the hearts not only of his own tribe but of all tribes, so that they came to love one another, he was a great chief, a Peacemaker chief. Such a man would go from tribe to tribe, teaching the people how they should do, so that all might live in peace and plenty, like brothers.

To be a Peacemaker was the highest seat an Indian could take. Few Indians became Peacemaker chiefs, and they were the great men of the tribe.

Indian women also might become Peacemakers. At one time the Iroquois had a Peace Wigwam, where all disputes and quarrels were settled.

The most beautiful, just, and fair-minded woman of all the tribes was chosen to sit in this wigwam. It was her duty to tend the Peace fire, and to see that it never went out. She also kept a pot of hominy always steaming over the fire.

If two Indians had a dispute, it was the custom for them to run to the Peacemaker's wigwam. They entered from opposite sides. Inside the wigwam, a deerskin curtain separated them from each other.

The Peacemaker would listen to the grievance of the one and then to that of the other. Then she would draw aside the curtain, get the enemies together, and settle the dispute with justice.

The two would then eat of the hominy, and depart in peace,—no longer enemies, but friends.

No nation could fight another nation without the consent of the Peacemaker. Because the peacewomen were wise, and just, and kind, and taught men to love, not fight each other, the Iroquois were for many years at peace.

But one day, it is said, a Peacewoman proved untrue to her trust. She thought more of her own happiness than that of the nation.

This woman was very beautiful, and the people loved her. For some time she sat in the Peace Wigwam, and tended faithfully the Peace fire.

One day an Oneida and a Cayuga chief fell to quarreling. They sought the Peace Wigwam. As they entered and saw the young Peacewoman tending the fire, each thought he had never seen a woman so beautiful.

Into the heart of each there leaped the desire that she might tend his wigwam fire.

The Peacemaker listened to the quarrel of the young chiefs and settled it justly. Then each tried to persuade her to leave the Peace fire and return with him to his lodge. But the Peacemaker said, "No, I must tend the fire, it must be kept burning." The chiefs departed with heavy hearts.

But the Oneida chief could not forget the beautiful woman. When a moon had passed, he returned to the Peace Wigwam. This time he persuaded the Peacemaker to leave her fire and return with him to sit at his wigwam door.

The Peace fire flickered and went out. The Iroquois again went on the warpath, and for many, many moons, they fought and suffered and died.

IROQUOIS WONDER STORIES

HOW THE WHITE MAN CAME

Long, long before Columbus came to America, the Red Children were here. They were the first and only real Americans.

From the Big Sea Water on the east to the Big Sea Water on the west, ranged these Children of the Sun, as they called themselves.

Happy and free as the sunlight and air about them, they ran through wide forests all their own, or plied their bark canoes up and down the streams.

Then the Indian had a dream. This was long before Columbus dreamed his dream of the Western World.

In his dream the Indian saw a great White Bird coming out of the east. Its wings were stretched wide to the north and south. With great strength and speed, it swept toward the setting sun.

In fear and wonder the Indian watched this giant White Bird appear and disappear. He knew its meaning, and the Indian's heart was sad.

Then the White man came. From the Big Sea Water on the east he came, in his great white-winged canoe. With one hand pointing to the Great Spirit, and with the other extended to the Red man he came. He asked for a small seat. A seat the size of a buffalo skin would be quite large enough for him, he said.

In the name of the Great Spirit, the Red Children greeted the White man, and called him "brother." They gave him the seat he asked. They gave him a large buffalo skin also, and showed him where he could spread it by their council fire.

The White man took the buffalo skin. He thanked his Red brother in the name of the Great Spirit. Then he began to cut the skin into many, many small strips.

When the whole buffalo skin had been cut into narrow strips, he tied the strips together. They made a long cord that would reach over a long trail.

In amazement the Indians watched the White man while he measured off a seat as long and as broad as this cord would reach around. The "small seat," the size of a buffalo skin, became a tract of land.

Soon the White man asked for another seat. This time his seat took in the Indians' lodges and camp fire. He asked the Indians if they would move on a few arrow flights. This they did.

Then the White man wanted another seat. Each time it took a larger skin for him to sit upon. This time the skin stretched so far that it covered a part of the Indians' hunting and fishing grounds.

Again the Indians moved on. Again the White man followed. Each time his seat grew larger, until the Indian had a place but the size of a buffalo skin on which to sit.

Thus it was that the White man came. Like a great White Bird that swept from the Big Sea Water on the east to the Big Sea Water on the west, the White man came; and he drove the Indian from the rising to the setting sun.

WHY THE EAGLE DEFENDS AMERICANS

Many, many moons before the White man came, a little Indian boy was left in the woods. It was in the days when animals and men understood each other better than they do now.

An old mother bear found the little Indian boy.

She felt very sorry for him. She told the little boy not to cry, for she would take him home with her; she had a nice wigwam in the hollow of a big tree.

Old Mother Bear had two cubs of her own, but she had a place between her great paws for a third. She took the little papoose, and she hugged him warm and close. She fed him as she did her own little cubs.

The boy grew strong. He was very happy with his adopted mother and brothers. They had a warm lodge in the hollow of the great tree. As they grew older, Mother Bear found for them all the honey and nuts that they could eat.

From sunrise to sunset, the little Indian boy played with his cub brothers. He did not know that he was different from them. He thought he was a little bear, too. All day long, the boy and the little bears played and had a good time. They rolled, and tumbled, and wrestled in the forest leaves. They chased one another up and down the bear tree.

Sometimes they had a matched game of hug, for every little bear must learn to hug. The one who could hug the longest and the tightest won the game.

Old Mother Bear watched her three dear children at their play. She would have been content and happy, but for one thing. She was afraid some harm would come to the boy. Never could she quite forget the bear hunters. Several times they had scented her tree, but the wind had thrown them off the trail.

Once, from her bear-tree window, she had thrown out rabbit hairs as she saw them coming. The wind had blown the rabbit hairs toward the hunters. As they fell near the hunters, they had suddenly changed into rabbits and the hunters had given chase.

At another time, Mother Bear tossed some partridge feathers to the wind as the hunters drew near her tree. A flock of partridges went whirring into the woods with a great noise, and the hunters ran after them.

But on this day, Mother Bear's heart was heavy. She knew that now the big bear hunters were coming. No rabbits or partridges could lead these hunters from the bear trail, for they had dogs with four eyes. (Foxhounds have a yellow spot over each eye which makes them seem double-eyed.) These dogs were never known to miss a bear tree. Sooner or later they would scent it.

Mother Bear thought she might be able to save herself and her cubs. But what would become of the boy? She loved him too well to let the bear hunters kill him.

Just then the porcupine, the Chief of the animals, passed by the bear tree. Mother Bear saw him. She put her head out the bear-tree window and called to him. He came and sat under the bear-tree window, and listened to Mother Bear's story of her fears for the boy.

When she had finished, Chief Porcupine said he would call a council of the animals, and see if they could not save the boy.

Now the Chief had a big voice. As soon as he raised his voice, even the animals away on the longest trails heard. They ran at once and gathered under the council tree. There was a loud roar, and a great flapping of wings, for the birds came, too.

Chief Porcupine told them about the fears of Mother Bear, and of the danger to the boy.

"Now," said the Chief, "which one of you will take the boy, and save him from the bear hunters?"

It happened that some animals were present that were jealous of man. These animals had held more than one secret council, to plan how they could do away with him. They said he was becoming too powerful. He knew all they knew,—and more.

The beaver did not like man, because men could build better houses than he.

The fox said that man had stolen his cunning, and could now outwit him.

The wolf and the panther objected to man, because he could conceal himself and spring with greater surety than they.

The raccoon said that man was more daring, and could climb higher than he.

The deer complained that man could outrun him.

So when Chief Porcupine asked who would take the boy and care for him, each of these animals in turn said that he would gladly do so.

Mother Bear sat by and listened as each offered to care for the boy. She did not say anything, but she was thinking hard,—for a bear. At last she spoke.

To the beaver she said, "You cannot take the boy; you will drown him on the way to your lodge."

To the fox she said, "You cannot take him; you would teach him to cheat and steal, while pretending to be a friend; neither can the wolf or the panther have him, for they are counting on having something good to eat.

"You, deer, lost your upper teeth for eating human flesh. And, too, you have no home, you are a tramp.

"And you, raccoon, I cannot trust, for you would coax him to climb so high that he would fall and die.

"No, none of you can have the boy."

Now a great bird that lives in the sky had flown into the council tree, while the animals were speaking. But they had not seen him.

When Mother Bear had spoken, this wise old eagle flew down, and said, "Give the boy to me, Mother Bear. No bird is so swift and strong as the eagle. I will protect him. On my great wings I will bear him far away from the bear hunters.

"I will take him to the wigwam of an Indian friend, where a little Indian boy is wanted."

Mother Bear looked into the eagle's keen eyes. She saw that he could see far.

Then she said, "Take him, eagle, I trust him to you. I know you will protect the boy."

The eagle spread wide his great wings. Mother Bear placed the boy on his back, and away they soared, far from the council woods.

The eagle left the boy, as he had promised, at the door of a wigwam where a little Indian boy was wanted.

This was the first young American to be saved by an American eagle.

The boy grew to be a noble chief and a great hunter. No hunter could hit a bear trail so soon as he, for he knew just where and how to find the bear trees. But never was he known to cut down a bear tree, or to kill a bear.

However, many were the wolf, panther, and deerskins that hung in his lodge. The hunter's wife sat and made warm coats from the fox and beaver skins which the hunter father brought in from the chase. But never was the hunter, his wife, or his children seen to wear a bear-skin coat.

HOW THE TURKEY BUZZARD GOT HIS SUIT

It was a long, long time ago, when the earth was very young. Trees and flowers were growing everywhere, but there were no birds. One morning the Great Spirit drew back the blanket from the door of his wigwam in the sky. He looked upon the earth and smiled, for he saw that his work was good.

"Today," thought he, "I will make big butterflies, to fly in and out among the beautiful trees and flowers of the earth. They shall sing as they fly."

Then the Great Spirit spoke, and the tree tops were full of birds,—but they had no feathers.

All day he watched them fly and listened to their songs. But their naked bodies and long legs did not please him. Before the sun had set he had made feathered suits, of every size and color, to cover them.

That night, as the birds hid their heads under their wings, the Great Spirit spoke to them. He told about the feathered suits he had made for them, and where these suits could be found.

A council was called next day by the birds. They chose Gah gah go wah, the Turkey Buzzard, to get the suits. He could fly over a long trail and not be tired.

The birds told him that if he would go, he might have the first choice of the suits of feathers, but he must try on no suit more than once.

Turkey Buzzard promised and set out toward the setting sun. Twice the sun set, and three times it rose, before he found the feathered suits. There were many of them, and they were very beautiful. He could not make up his mind which one he would like best to wear.

Then he remembered that he could try on each suit of feathers once. So he began to put them on.

The feathers of the first suit were too long. They trailed on the ground as he walked. Neither could he fly well in them. Turkey Buzzard laid that suit aside.

The next suit shone like gold. The feathers were a beautiful yellow. Turkey Buzzard put it on and strutted up and down the forest.

"Oh, how handsome I am!" he said. "But I must not keep this, for if I did, I should shine so like the face of the Great Spirit, that all the other birds would see me."

And he slipped off the suit of yellow feathers as quickly as possible.

A third suit was of pure white feathers. Turkey Buzzard thought it looked very beautiful. It was a perfect fit.

"But it will get dirty too soon," he said. "I will not choose this."

And this, too, was laid aside.

There were not enough feathers in the fourth suit. Turkey Buzzard shivered with cold. It was not warm enough. He would not have it.

There were too many feathers, and too many pieces, in the fifth suit. It took too much time to put it on. Turkey Buzzard did not want that.

So he went from one suit to another, trying on and taking off. Always he had some new fault to find. Something was wrong with each one. Nothing quite pleased him. No suit was just right.

At last there was but one suit left. It was not pretty. It was a plain, dull color,—and very short of feathers at the neck and head. Turkey Buzzard put it on. He did not like it. It did not fit him well: it was cut too low in the neck. Turkey Buzzard thought it was the homeliest suit of all. But it was the last suit, so he kept it on.

Then Gah gah go wah, the Turkey Buzzard, gathered up the suits and flew back to the bird lodge. He still wore the plain, dull-colored suit.

The birds again called a council. Each was told to select a suit from those that Gah gah go wah had brought, and put it on. This they did.

Then the birds in their beautiful feathered suits began to walk and fly about the Turkey Buzzard, and to make fun of his plain, dull dress.

But Gah gah go wah held his head high. He walked proudly about among the birds. He looked with scorn on their beautiful suits. After a time he spoke.

He said, "Gah gah go wah, the Turkey Buzzard, does not want your suits. He had the pick of them all. He likes his own suit best."

Adapted from Erminie Smith's Myths of the Iroquois.

WHY THE PARTRIDGE DRUMS

It was after the Great Spirit had made all the beautiful birds, that the Evil Spirit came along. He saw the beautiful birds and heard their beautiful songs. He saw that the earth people liked the birds and liked to hear them sing.

Now the Evil Spirit did not wish people to be happy, so he said, "I will make a bird that will make people afraid. I will make a big bird that will not sing, but will make a great noise."

So the Evil Spirit went to work. In a short time he had made a big bird, that could not sing, but could drum.

The big bird flew away into the wood. That night a drumming noise was heard in the wood. The people were afraid. They could not sleep, because of the noise.