“You are a good wife,” he said, “but make haste—we still have far to go,” and he ran the canoe close to the shore.
Before the keel had even grated on the pebbles, like the swift-footed deer for whom she was named, the Indian maid had sprung ashore and darted up the bank into the forest. She was soon out of sight speeding like an arrow through the woods, back to her mother, her brother, and her home.
The Crow gave a harsh cry, which resembled a caw, as he saw her go, and began screaming at the top of his voice: “Stop—stop—I’ll bring you back, and punish you for this.”
But he could not free himself to follow her. Deerfoot had fastened his tail too securely to the crossbar for him to loosen it easily. It took him nearly an hour to untie the last knot, for it was no easy task to reach around behind his back, and, by the sense of touch alone, pick out countless knots tied in wet leather.
By the time the Crow had untied all the thongs that held him. Deerfoot was far away in the forest, so he sunk his canoe, resumed his bird shape once more and flew off screeching as he went: “Again I have tricked my enemy—man.”
Mandowmin of the Maize
AS TALL AS A MAN IT STOOD (See Page [55])
Mandowmin of the Maize
IN the history of the Pilgrims and their early struggles on the bleak shores of New England, it is told how they were taught by the friendly Indians, Samoset and Squanto, to plant Indian corn, which soon became one of the principal articles of food on their tables. And even now, after nearly three hundred years, there is scarcely any food we think of as more truly American, than corn meal mush, or piping hot corn cakes.