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.
"Hello, 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.
"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 scraps, 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."