But Waso answered: “Wait only, oh my father, until evening, and when the sun goes down I shall return to your fireside.”
So the chieftain went home alone.
At sunset the strange brave returned and appeared once more at Waso’s tent. For the last time they fought. Steadily Waso gained and finally the stranger sank weakly to his knees. He arose again, and once more Waso put forth all his strength and threw his foe to earth. The stranger murmured faintly: “Your promise—remember,” and spoke no more.
Gently, tenderly, with tears streaming down his cheeks, Waso obeyed the instructions. Drawing off the beautiful green and yellow garments, he buried his strange friend in the soft black soil. Then he returned to his father’s home. But every day he visited the lonely grave far away at the edge of the forest. Carefully he pulled away the weeds and in the dry season he carried water in gourds to keep the earth soft and moist. Then one day, to his joy, he saw that the green plumes of the stranger’s head-dress were pushing through the soil. His friend was coming back to him.
All this time Waso had kept these things a secret, but as the summer drew to a close, he led his father to the distant grave. He told the chieftain the strange story, and, when he had finished, pointed to where there rose from the center of the stranger’s grave a plant whose like had never been seen before by the chieftain. As tall as a man it stood, straight and green, with broad shining leaves waving in the autumn breeze, topped by silky bright brown hair and nodding green plumes. From either side grew long green husks full of pearly white grains, sweet and juicy to the taste.
HE CARRIED WATER IN GOURDS
“It is my friend come back to me,” cried Waso. “It is Mandowmin, the Indian corn. It is the gift of the Great Spirit, and so long as we renew it from year to year, and watch and tend it, we need never fear the famine.”
That night, round the grave of Mandowmin, the members of the tribe held a feast and thanked the Great Spirit for his goodness.