Old Indian Legends

toward the green dance house.

Here seated in a large circle, the people were assembled, the proud chieftain rose with the little baby in his arms. The noisy hum of voices was hushed. Not a tinkling of a metal fringe broke the silence. The crier came forward to greet the chieftain, then bent attentively over the small babe, listening to the words of the chieftain. When he paused the crier spoke aloud to the people:

“This woodland child is adopted by the chieftain’s eldest daughter. His name is Chaske. He wears the title of the eldest son. In honor of Chaske the chieftain gives this feast and dance! These are the words of him you see holding a baby in his arms.”

“Yes! Yes! Hinnu! How!” came from the circle. At once the drummers beat softly and slowly their drum while the chosen singers hummed together to find the common pitch. The beat of the drum grew louder and faster. The singers burst forth in a lively tune. Then the drumbeats subsided and faintly marked the rhythm of the singing. Here and there bounced up men and women, both young and old. They danced and sang with merry light hearts. Then came the hour of feasting.

Late into the night the air of the campground was alive with the laughing voices of women and the singing in unison of young men. Within her father’s teepee sat the chieftain’s daughter. Proud of her little one, she watched over him asleep in her lap.

Gradually a deep quiet stole over the campground, as one by one the people fell into pleasant dreams. Now all the village was still. Alone sat the beautiful young mother watching the babe in her lap, asleep with a gaping little mouth. Amid the quiet of the night, her ear heard the far-off hum of many voices. The faint sound of murmuring people was in the air. Upward she glanced at the smoke hole of the wigwam and saw a bright star peeping down upon her. “Spirits in the air above?” she wondered. Yet there was no sign to tell her of their nearness. The fine small sound of voices grew larger and nearer.

“Father! rise! I hear the coming of some tribe. Hostile or friendly⁠—I cannot tell. Rise and see!” whispered the young woman.

“Yes, my daughter!” answered the chieftain, springing to his feet.

Though asleep, his ear was ever alert. Thus rushing out into the open, he listened for strange sounds. With an eagle eye he scanned the campground for some sign.

Returning he said: “My daughter, I hear nothing and see no sign of evil nigh.”

“Oh! the sound of many voices comes up from the earth about me!” exclaimed the young mother.

Bending low over her babe she gave ear to the ground. Horrified was she to find the mysterious sound came out of the open mouth of her sleeping child!

“Why so unlike other babes!” she cried within her heart as she slipped him gently from her lap to the ground. “Mother, listen and tell me if this child is an evil spirit come to destroy our camp!” she whispered loud.

Placing an ear close to the open baby mouth, the chieftain and his wife, each in turn heard the voices of a great camp. The singing of men and women, the beating of the drum, the rattling of deer-hoofs strung like bells on a string, these were the sounds they heard.

“We must go away,” said the chieftain, leading them into the night. Out in the open he whispered to the frightened young woman: “Iya, the camp-eater, has come in the guise of a babe. Had you gone to sleep, he would have jumped out into his own shape and would have devoured our camp. He is a giant with spindling legs. He cannot fight, for he cannot run. He is powerful only in the night with his tricks. We are safe as soon as day breaks.” Then moving closer to the woman, he whispered: “If he wakes now, he will swallow the whole tribe with one hideous gulp! Come, we must flee with our people.”

Thus creeping from teepee to teepee a secret alarm signal was given. At midnight the teepees were gone and there was left no sign of the village save heaps of dead ashes. So quietly had the people folded their wigwams and bundled their tent poles that they slipped away unheard by the sleeping Iya babe.

When the morning sun arose, the babe awoke. Seeing himself deserted, he threw off his baby form in a hot rage.

Wearing his own ugly shape, his huge body toppled to and fro, from side to side, on a pair of thin legs far too small for their burden. Though with every move he came dangerously nigh to falling, he followed in the trail of the fleeing people.

“I shall eat you in the sight of a noonday sun!” cried Iya in his vain rage, when he spied them encamped beyond a river.

By some unknown cunning he swam the river and sought his way toward the teepees.

“Hin! hin!” he grunted and growled. With perspiration beading his brow he strove to wiggle his slender legs beneath his giant form.

“Ha! ha!” laughed all the village people to see Iya made foolish with anger. “Such spindle legs cannot stand to fight by daylight!” shouted the brave ones who were terror-struck the night before by the name “Iya.”

Warriors with long knives rushed forth and slew the camp-eater.

Lo! there rose out of the giant a whole Indian tribe: their campground, their teepees in a large circle, and the people laughing and dancing.

“We are glad to be free!” said these strange people.

Thus Iya was killed; and no more are the campgrounds in danger of being swallowed up in a single night time.

Manštin, the Rabbit

Manštin was an adventurous brave, but very kindhearted. Stamping a moccasined foot as he drew on his buckskin leggins, he said: “Grandmother, beware of Iktomi! Do not let him lure you into some cunning trap. I am