Flying Plover: His stories, told him by Squat-by-the-fire

by Theodore Goodridge Roberts

"'Perhaps you shall soon see. Have patience,' he replied. The poor woman thought that hunger and despair had weakened his mind. But she stopped her weeping and drew near to him, the better to see what he was about. Having fixed a short bow to suit him, he broke across his knee many of the sticks and slabs of seasoned wood, from which he had intended to make such fine arrows. Across the flat side of one of these pieces he scraped a shallow groove with his stone knife. When that was done, he collected ten handfuls of dry moss and grass from his bed. Some of this he powdered between his hands, as he had seen the strange, naked man do in his dream. Then, when all was ready, he sat on the cold floor of the cave and began to draw the cord of the bow swiftly back and forth across the flat piece of wood, just as the black man had done. He worked and worked—and at last his nose caught the smell of the blue mist, though he could not see the mist because of the darkness of the cave. But he saw beautiful, bright sparks darting along the groove in the wood. By that time, his right arm ached as if it had been twisted and beaten with a club; but he kept the bow flying, and began to sprinkle the powdered grass with his left hand. Then (as he had seen in his dream) the small creature of magic life—the bright, yellow thing that ate the powdered grass and sprang upward for more—flashed into being on the slab of wood between his knees. The squaw uttered a low cry of wonder; but Porcupine Killer said not a word. He fed dry moss and grass to the wonderful thing—and it grew, and flashed with a redder color. Then, doing what he had seen the naked, black man do, he slipped it from the wood to the heap of dry stuff at his side. The bright tongues leapt upward, throwing a beautiful light into every corner of the cave. The mist, which seemed to be its breath, streamed along the top of the cave and floated out through a hole in the rocky roof. The man heaped fragments of seasoned wood upon it, one by one. Then he felt the heat on his face and hands, and all through the chilly cave, like summer.

"'Come close,' he said to the woman. 'It is warm as the sun when the willows have their leaves and the yellow butterflies swarm on the sand by the river.'

"'What is it? What is this strange thing that you have made with your hands?' whispered the woman.

"'Nay, I did not make it. It is the gift of some kind god, bestowed on me while I dreamed,' replied Porcupine Killer. 'Come close, and feel the comfort of it Do not fear it, for I am sure it is good. If it is not good, then why does the sight of it awaken joy in my heart?'

"The woman drew near, with her baby in her arms; and now, for the first time in her life, she felt the warmth of fire.

"'It is like the sun in the spring time,' she said. 'It melts the chill of the frost out of my bones, and gladdens my eyes.'

"But Porcupine Killer did not answer, for he was busy feeding the new fire with all the wood he could find in the cave; and, of course, the fire grew and grew, and sent showers of sparks flying along the roof.

"'It grows too fast,' cried the woman. 'You feed it with too much dry wood. It may eat up the stone walls of the cave, if it grows any larger.'

"Just then, a spark dropped on the bed of grass and moss and leaves and, in a moment, a little flame began leaping here and there. But Porcupine Killer, who had a bright mind, saw the danger. He snatched up the burning stuff in his hands and threw it upon the big fire. The little flame touched his fingers. He cried out, with pain and surprise.

"'What is the matter?' asked the woman.