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

by Theodore Goodridge Roberts

During the night snow began to fall. In the morning the sky was still gray with it; and all day it continued to weave its gray curtains in the windless air. So little Flying Plover stayed indoors most of the day, cutting and gouging at the block of wood which he hopefully believed would soon resemble a caribou, and watching old Squat-by-the-fire at her medicine-work. The old woman did not talk much while she was mixing and attending to the pots, of steeping herbs; but by mid-afternoon she was ready to go on with the telling of her story. Her voice sounded quite natural again, and the little boy wondered that the skin had grown on it so quickly. But he said nothing about his wonderment, for he did not want to divert her from the story.

"When Porcupine Killer felt the burn of the fire on his hand he was frightened at first," said the old woman, "but he soon recovered from his fright, and began to study the blazing sticks and red coals very attentively. He held out his hand, feeling the pleasant warmth. He advanced it closer and closer to the flames, noticing that the warmth increased and still increased the nearer he went, until at last it hurt. Then he touched a red coal with his finger—and that made him hop. He sucked his finger, and thought very hard. 'It stings when you touch it,' he said, 'but if you do not touch it, it gives you warmth, like the sun in summer. If I take a stick in my hand, at the end where this wonder-creature is not eating, and thrust it against my enemy, then, without hurting me, it will sting my enemy.'

"'Yes,' said the squaw. 'But look, it has eaten nearly all the wood, and is falling smaller and smaller, like a snowdrift in May,' she added.

"Porcupine Killer thought of a dry, dead spruce tree that lay near the mouth of his cave, flat along the ground where a great wind had thrown it a year before. But he was afraid to go out, unprotected, to break branches from this tree and drag them back to the cave. It was not yet night, and the giant beasts would be waiting for him. He saw one long stick in the fire that was burning for only half its length and, heeding a voice within him that told him to trust in the new gift of the gods, he took up the stick by the unscorched end, crawled through the mouth of the cave, and ran to the fallen tree. As he ran—'twas only the distance of a dozen strides—he waved the long stick around his head. It was twined 'round with red and yellow flames, and smoke and sparks flew upward from it. He saw two great wolves spring out of the forest on his left, glare at him with glowing eyes and gaping jaws, turn and flee back into the forest. He saw a fox (as big as a wolf of to-day) slink out of his path. Then he knew that this new and wonderful thing was as surely a terror to the beasts as it was a joy to him. They did not even wait for its sting. They fled, like hunted hares, at the sight of it! And he knew that this terror of it must have been born in the wolves and foxes even as the joy in it, and love of it, had been born in him. He leaned the burning stick against the trunk of the fallen tree and quickly tore off an armful of the dry branches. Leaving the flaming stick behind him, he ran back to the cave and quickly replenished the fire. Again he returned to the tree and loaded his arms. Three times he made the short journey, swiftly, but without much fear of the beasts. He knew that many fierce animals were watching him; but his faith in their terror of the burning stick was great. When he crawled from the cave to get the fourth load of wood, a wonderful sight met his eyes. The flames from the stick had leapt into the dry branches of the tree and cloaked them in red and yellow. Swiftly it leapt from branch to branch until, in a twinkling, the tree was blazing along its whole length, from roots to crown. It made a loud crackling noise and a roaring like the voices of wind and water. Smoke and sparks flew upward in clouds.

"He waved the long stick around his head"

"For a few minutes Porcupine Killer stood just outside the mouth of his cave and gazed at the wonderful sight with awe. The first thin darkness was creeping over the world, and in the gloom the flames and sparks and smoke made a terrible picture for eyes that had never seen such a thing before. But the little chill of fear quickly left his heart as soon as he began to reason with his brain. This creature—one moment so small, and suddenly so great—was his friend and the friend of all mankind. It was a wonderful gift that had been given to him in a beautiful dream. So he ran forward and stood as close to the fire as he could. The heat of it was very great—and the roaring of the flames and the crackling of the dry wood was loud in his ears. He knew that many eyes must now be staring at the great sight in fear and astonishment and wonder—eyes of his fierce enemies and eyes of his hunted, starving people. Many caves were in the same rocky hillside as his own. With his back to the noise and the leaping flames, he stood tall and brave against the terrible red light and waved his arms high above his head.

"'Come to me, my people!' he cried, with all the strength of his voice. 'Come to me, and this magic thing will protect you from your enemies.'

"Broken Arrow was the first to find courage to leave his cave and draw near to the fire. He was closely followed by Winter Morning, the chief. Porcupine Killer told them in a few words of his dream and how he had made the fire in his cave; of its comforting warmth; of its sting; and how the animals feared the sight of it. Soon a dozen men and boys stood near the blazing tree.