Flying Plover

HIS STORIES, TOLD HIM BY SQUAT-BY-THE-FIRE

BY

G. E. THEODORE ROBERTS

Author of "The Red Feathers," "Hemming, the Adventurer," "Captain Love," etc.

ILLUSTRATED & DECORATED BY CHARLES LIVINGSTON BULL

L. C. Page & Company BOSTON * MDCCCCIX

Copyright, 1909, BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (INCORPORATED)

All rights reserved

First impression, June, 1909

THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.

CONTENTS

I. The Mountaineer People

II. The Bear, The Moose, and the Walrus

III. Adventures of King Bear Continued

IV. How Fire came to the Mountaineers

V. How Porcupine Killer learned still more about the Wonderful Fire

VI. Why Old King Walrus went away from the Mountaineers' Country

VII. Another Story of Gluskap and his People

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"It was not safe for a warrior to so much as show his nose outside of his hiding-place" (See page 45) .... Frontispiece

"He left his hiding-place and chased the bear"

"'Here come a few of them now,' said the crow"

"He waved the long stick around his head"

"Away they ran, howling and roaring"

"Suddenly the great bear appeared, galloping heavily"

FLYING PLOVER

I THE MOUNTAINEER PEOPLE

Both of Flying Plover's parents had died when he was a little baby, and ever since—for six long years—he had lived with his grandmother. The old woman's name was Squat-by-the-fire. She was the wisest person in the tribe, in spite of the fact that an old man who lived in another village said that he knew twice as much as anybody else in the whole world. She was deep in medicine and history and story-telling. She could paint fine pictures on bark and cured skins, and was skilful in the carving of wonderful little figures in wood and bone and walrus ivory. She knew so much, and looked so wise, and had such bright eyes, that many of the tribesmen believed that she was a magician.

The tribe that Flying Plover and his grandmother belonged to lived far north, in that bleak and unexplored country called Labrador. They spent the summer months near the coast, where they fished in the great bays for cod and seals, and in the rivers for salmon and trout. They traded with the few white settlers and missionaries, and with the Eskimo people. At the approach of winter they traveled inland, with the great herds of caribou, into the sheltered valleys of the mountains. As the winter is a much longer season than the summer, in that country, these people spent the greater part of every year in the mountain forests—and so they are called the Mountaineer Indians, or the Mountaineers. But this book is not about the tribe, but is full of the stories that old Squat-by-the-fire told to little Flying Plover, in the long winter evenings.

You can not sit by the old woman's fire, and smell the herbs she was always steeping, and play with the little figures which she carved so cleverly, as Flying Plover could; yet I hope you will like her stories, for all that.

II THE BEAR, THE MOOSE, AND THE WALRUS

The other children of the village were afraid of Flying Plover's grandmother, because of her bent back, and wrinkled face, and bright dark eyes. Though she had never so much as said a harsh word to any one of them, and though her medicines had saved the lives of many of them, yet they would never follow Flying Plover into the big lodge where she sat all day by the fire, steeping her fragrant herbs and thinking of all manner of wonderful things. They said that she could turn a little boy, or a little girl, into any kind of animal or bird in the world, without any more trouble than snapping her fingers. That was nonsense; but some of the men and women believed it, too. Magicians were not very rare things in that region (at least to people who believed in them) and you were just as likely as not to think that you saw one every time you went out for a walk. But Squat-by-the-fire was not a magician, and could not have turned a little boy, or a little girl, into a bird or a four-legged animal if she had snapped her fingers for fifty years. She was just an old, good, and very

clever woman; and though she loved little children and was glad to be able to make medicines for them, she really was not sorry that they did not all run in and out of her lodge, with the freedom of her grandson. Flying Plover had learned her ways and wishes and never disturbed the pots by the fire or the big jars in the corner; but she knew that the other children, once they felt at home, would knock things about at a terrible rate. And she was far too old and busy to begin to teach deportment to all the children of the village. But Flying Plover never caused her any trouble, and was not in the least afraid of her.

One evening, when the raw-hide door of the lodge was fastened tight, and the fire burned cheerily and smokily on the earthen floor, and the wind moaned outside, the old medicine woman asked, "What games did you play to-day, little son of Swift Runner?"

"We played at battles," replied Flying Plover; "and they put me on the Eskimo side, and so I was taken prisoner, and fastened to a tree. I did not see much fun in that; so I made up another game, something like deer-hunting, and we played that until it got dark. But I like battles best, except when I am an Eskimo. Do the Eskimos always get beaten in the real battles?"

"Our people have not been at war with the fat blubber-eaters for a long, long time," replied the old woman. "We used to battle with them every summer; but it was a foolish thing to do, and brought a great deal of sorrow and suffering to both peoples. When my father was a young man, our warriors used to chase the Eskimo warriors as the timber wolves chase the young caribou. But the missionaries have taught us that killing and robbing are terrible sins—and I think people should have known that before. So now, when we want sealskins and fish, we do not fight and rob, but we trade instead. That is better, for it does not call for the shedding of blood, the burning of lodges, and torture and starvation, as of old. Now the blubber-eaters are a weak people; but hundreds and hundreds of seasons ago they were a great nation. But that was far beyond the reach of my father's memory. They were a mighty people though, once upon a time; and then our nation was nothing more than a few weak villages. We were afraid of the blubber-eaters then, and never went down from the

mountains. The Eskimo warriors chased our warriors then, when they saw them, even as the timber wolves chase the young caribou. So it is with men and tribes and nations, little son of a chief. I have seen something of it, even with my own eyes. The Eskimo people were the great people; and next the Mountaineers were mighty in battle; and now both the fat men of the ice and the hunters of the mountains know that the white missionaries and the white traders are their masters."

"That is very strange," remarked Flying Plover. "The white men do not look like great warriors, and they are very few in number."

"It is the mind," said old Squat-by-the-fire, touching her wrinkled forehead with a gnarled finger. "'T is the light inside the skull that gives the mastery; though to listen to the story tellers, one would believe that all the power lies in the biggest club and the straightest arrow. The minds of the white men are full of knowledge, and caution, and courage. That is why they are now the great people."

"They feed their brains with fine sweet puddings. I think that is why they are able to talk to our people so big and make the little Eskimo boys go to school," said Flying Plover.

The old woman laughed; but it was not at her grandson's remark. She was thinking of the oldest story she had ever heard.

"There was a time, more than ten thousand summers ago, I should think, when men were such weak, dull-witted creatures that they had no mastery over anything but the smallest animals and birds," she said. "Oh, yes, that was a very long time ago, ages and ages before the white man had ever been heard of. The animals were the masters, in those days, and it is a wonder that the poor, frightened creatures that ran on two legs, and hid in caves and holes, kept alive at all. Then, the wolves were as big as black bears, and the bears stood as high as caribou, and the foxes were as big as timber wolves. When a hunter saw a fox, in those days, he was glad to climb a tree; and he was lucky if a caribou did not come along and knock the tree over with its head. Or may be an eagle would catch sight of the man, and swoop down and pick him out of the tree with its claws, as if he weighed no more than a little brook trout."

"I am glad I did not live in those days," said Flying Plover. "If all the beasts were too big to kill, and there were no white men to buy blankets from, what did people do for clothes to wear?"

"There were the hares," replied the old woman. "They were six times as large as they are now, but not much more dangerous unless they were cornered. And sometimes the bravest hunters managed to kill a beaver or a musquash. Even the mice were well worth hunting in those days, and one fat mouse made a very good dinner for a small family. Oh, it was a queer world, you may be sure!"

Old Squat-by-the-fire ceased her talk for a little while and opened a leathern bag at her belt. From it she drew a wooden pipe, a knife, and a plug of dark-brown trade tobacco. Soon the pipe was filled and lit, and the blue smoke curling about her head.

"Did they have any tobacco in those days?" asked Flying Plover.

"No—nor fire to light it with," replied his grandmother.

The little boy was greatly astonished at that, and could not think how people warmed themselves in winter, or cooked their dinner. He was just opening his mouth to ask about a dozen questions, when the old medicine-woman, noticing it, hurried on with her talk.

"He left his hiding-place and chased the bear"

"The king of the frozen north was a great walrus. His tusks were as long as a canoe paddle and his head as big as this lodge. He lived in a house built of icebergs, and was not afraid of anything in the world. This country had two kings. One was a white bear, as big as a trading schooner, and the other was a bull moose as tall as the highest spruce tree in the forest. When the moose was without his horns he went far away to the westward and hid himself in a deep valley—and then the white bear was king of all this country. But every year, as soon as the moose felt that his horns were full-grown again, he left his hiding-place and chased the bear hundreds of miles out of his kingdom. So they went on, year after year, until, at last, King Walrus heard about it. Being a walrus he did not like white bears. The dislike was born in him, for, of course, he had never had any trouble with bears himself.

"'I have no doubt that the moose is the rightful ruler of that country,' he said. 'I'll just make a journey into that region and set the matter right.'

"Of course what he really meant was that he would take the country for himself. He was growing ambitious. He felt that such a mighty chief should rule the whole world. So one fine day in winter, just after King Bear had sent King Moose trotting westward to his hidden valley to grow a new pair of horns, up waddled King Walrus. The bear was five times as large as white bears are now; but old King Walrus was ten times the size of the walruses of to-day. King Bear saw at a glance that he was not big enough to fight with his unexpected visitor. Knowing that all walruses are the enemies of all bears, he did not have to think very hard to find a reason for the northern king's visit. His eyes grew red as the fire with the anger that burned in his brain; but what he said was, 'I am highly honored and unspeakably delighted at seeing you in my poor country.'

"'Hump,' grunted King Walrus,—for his manners were no better than the manners of any other walrus, and, into the bargain, he was quite short of breath from his overland journey in from the coast. King Bear saw that his only chance of keeping things pleasant was in being polite. He would give his visitor some valuable gifts, too.

"'This is an unexpected pleasure,' he continued. 'I was never so honored before in all my life. I am deeply moved by your condescension.'

"By this time King Walrus had recovered enough breath to talk with. 'You will be moved still farther before very long,' he said. Then he laughed roaringly, for he had a very coarse sense of humor and enjoyed nobody's jokes but his own. The bear was bright enough, you may be sure, and usually approved of jokes, but he did not laugh that time. He became so angry that he forgot all his caution.

"'What are you bellowing about, old blubber-sides?' he snarled.

"'Hey! What was that you called me?' roared King Walrus, changing his tune very quickly.

"'You may bellow as loud as you choose,' replied the bear, 'but you can't frighten me with noise.'

"He was so angry that he was utterly reckless. White bears have very hot tempers, as you know.

"'I called you old blubber-sides,' he continued. 'I'll call you worse names than that, if you don't go away from my country. You smell like rotten fish! Go away! Go away!'

"King Walrus was far too angry to reply to these insults in words. His great sides shook with anger as the sea shakes with storm. Like a mountain lurching from its place, he floundered after King Bear at the top of his speed, bellowing all the while like summer thunder. The earth groaned and trembled—and King Bear ran like a frightened hare. He ran all day and all night; and not until then did the bellowing of old King Walrus fall to silence behind him. Then he sat down and growled and groaned and snarled, so enraged was he at finding himself an outcast from his own country. At last he became quieter and began to use his wits.

"'Old blubber-sides is too big for me,' he said—'and I think the Moose will find the same trouble, when he gets back. But here is a country that does not look as if anyone governed it. I'll be king of this country.'

"It was a very dreary looking land in which the big white bear now found himself. He had never seen it before; and he had run so fast and so blindly that he really did not know by what course he had come or in what part of the world he was. He went to the top of a hill and looked all around him. Nowhere was there any sign of woods or water or sea-ice. On every side, and right away to the edge of the sky, lay rounded, treeless hills and wide, dreary barrens all covered with snow. The sight made the bear feel dreadfully grumpy, for nowhere could be seen any movement of life—any promise of dinner. And he was so hungry, after his long run, that his stomach felt as if it contained a lump of ice."

III ADVENTURES OF KING BEAR CONTINUED

Old Squat-by-the-fire ceased her talking and, with tender care, knocked the ashes out of her pipe into the palm of her left hand. She gazed narrowly at the ashes, before blowing them into the fire.

"That was good tobacco," she said. "Every little bit of it turned into smoke. Indian tobacco was not so good; but just to think that there once was a time when people didn't have any fire, even to light their pipes and warm their bones at. That must have been much worse than not having any tobacco."

"Or to cook their dinners at," said little Flying Plover. The old woman nodded. Her bright eyes were on the fire, and she was deep in meditation. Flying Plover watched her in silence for fully two minutes. Then he said, "I think King Bear was in King Walrus's country."

"You are wrong. But it is time for you to go to bed," said Squat-by-the-fire.

"I am not sleepy. Please tell me some more about King Bear," begged the little boy.

"Well," said the old woman, "he stood on the top of the hill and growled and roared, just as loud as he could, to see if anything would hear him and come to find out his trouble. Presently a crow appeared out of the gray sky, and alighted on the snow.

"'You are making a horrible noise,' said the crow. 'What's the matter with you?'

"'I am hungry,' replied the bear. 'Who is king of this country?'

"'We have no king. This country is ruled by the people,' said the bird.

"'Oh!' remarked King Bear, and scratched his ear. He had never in all his life heard of a country without a chief or a king. 'It looks like a poor sort of place. Where are the people?'

"'Here come a few of them now,' said the crow, turning his head over his shoulder. Sure enough, there were six wolves and two black bears approaching the hill at a fast run.

"'Here come a few of them now,' said the crow"

"'They don't seem to be at all afraid of me,' said King Bear, gruffly. 'And yet I am big enough to kill them all with one of my paws.'

"'You are very big,' admitted the crow. 'You are the biggest bear I ever saw—and you seem to be colored wrong, too. But that is neither here nor there. We do not think much of size in this country.'

"'Oh, don't you?' snarled King Bear. 'Well, perhaps you'll change your views before very long. And what do you mean by saying I am colored wrong?'

"'Black and brown are the correct colors for bears,' said the crow. 'Dirty white looks both foolish and untidy.'

"Just then the six wolves and the two black bears reached the bottom of the hill. There they halted, and one of the wolves cried out, 'What are you doing here, big stranger?'

"'I am sitting on the top of a hill, admiring your beautiful country,' replied the white bear, in a snarly voice.

"'What do you want?' asked the wolf.

"'Something to eat,' said the white bear.

"'Where did you come from?' asked the wolf.

"'You miserable creature, I came from my own country where I am king,' roared the bear. 'And I want you to know that I did not come here to answer your questions! Bring me something to eat—a fat caribou, or a couple of seals—or I'll try my teeth on you!'

"'Your talk is as big as your body; but neither big words nor big bodies are much thought of in this country,' replied the wolf.

"King Bear was astonished at the wolf's daring in speaking to him so impudently. He had never been spoken to in that way before by any common animal or bird. Of course King Moose, his rival, had said rude things to him every year; but that was to be expected and was between kings. But it made his blood bubble in his brain to hear such words from that ordinary wolf, and to see the other common creatures, and the crow grinning at the talk. He was so angry that he almost forgot the hungry-pain in his stomach.

"'I am a great king,' he roared, and got to his feet, ready to destroy the six wolves and the two black bears with one sweep of his mighty right paw. But he did not do it! He saw something running on the snow, so fast that he could not make out what it was—and suddenly it stopped close under his great nose and he saw that it was a slim young man. He was so astonished that he squatted back on his haunches.

"'I have been listening to you,' said the young man, 'and I do not like your talk. Also, I do not like your looks. You are too big and too bold to be a safe companion for my people.'

"King Bear could do nothing but stare.

"'I am Gluskap,' continued the young man, 'and all the men and animals in this land, for seven times as far as you can see in every direction, are in my care.'

"'I never heard of you,' said the big white bear.

"The young man smiled at that. Then he pointed his finger at the stranger and gazed at him very hard with his bright eyes.

"'I feel queer. My head spins 'round and 'round,' said the bear. He began to sway from side to side. He stood on his four strong legs; but still he swayed and swayed, and his mouth hung open and he breathed very hard.

"'What—are—you—doing—to—me?' he gasped.

"'I am reducing you,' replied the young man.