Wonder Tales from Many Lands 8

Wonder Tales from Many Lands 8

Well, the rabbit was willing to do that, so he got upon the turtle’s

back, and the turtle swam up and up with him through the sea.

 

As soon as they reached the shore the rabbit leaped from the turtle’s

back, and away he went up the hill as fast as he could scamper, and

he was glad enough to be out of that scrape, I can tell you. But the

turtle waited, and he waited, and he waited, but the rabbit never did

come back, and at last the turtle was obliged to go home without him.

 

As for the king of the fishes, if he ever got well, it was not the eye

of a live rabbit that cured him; of that you may be sure.

 

 

 

 

MUDJEE MONEDO

 

AN AMERICAN INDIAN TALE

 

 

UPON the banks of the broad Ogechee River there once stood a little

Indian village. The people who lived there were prosperous and happy.

There were fish in the river and game in the forest, and no one lacked

for anything.

 

But after a time a terrible misfortune fell upon the people. An ogre

named Mudjee Monedo came to live near them. Upon an open plain he laid

out a racecourse, and it was his amusement to challenge the young men

of the village to race with him there. None dared to refuse, for the

ogre was cruel and revengeful, and they feared what he might do to the

old men and children if they should refuse; and yet to race with him

meant death.

 

“Life against life,” the ogre would cry, laying his hand on the

goal-post. “My life in wager against yours. This post is the goal,

yonder charred stump the turning-point. The loser pays the forfeit with

his life.”

 

But none of the Indian warriors ever could win in that race with

Mudjee Monedo. The ogre had the power to turn himself at will into

any four-footed animal that he might choose. If he found he was being

outstripped in the race he would change himself into a wolf, a deer, or

a buffalo, and so easily win the race against the swiftest runner of

them all. So, one after another, the finest young men of the village

were slain at the goal-post.

 

A deep gloom settled over those who were still left alive. They would

have taken their wives and children and gone elsewhere to live, but

they knew the ogre would follow on their tracks. Their only hope was

that some time a warrior might rise among them who would be able to

outwit the ogre and win the race.

 

Somewhat away from the other lodges, and in the shadow of the forest,

lived a widow with a daughter and a young son. This son was a boy of

twelve named Manedowa. The widow’s husband and her ten eldest sons had

all raced with the ogre at one time or another, and all had paid the

forfeit with their lives. Now Manedowa was fast growing tall and manly.

Instead of being glad of this the widow was terrified. She dreaded the

time when the ogre might think the boy old enough to race with him.

Already Mudjee Monedo had his eye upon him. Often he would make some

excuse to come to the lodge when the boy was busy there. Then the ogre

would look him up and down.

 

“You are growing fast,” he would say. “You will make a famous runner.

Some time you must come and look at my racecourse. Perhaps we may even

run a friendly race together—though I am growing too old and stiff to

have any chance against young limbs like yours.”

 

Then the widow would shudder and make some excuse to send the boy away

out of sight. She knew that when he was fully grown it would not be for

long that the ogre would spare him.

 

One day the boy was away fishing and the widow and her daughter were

busy in the lodge together. Suddenly a shadow fell across the floor.

They looked up in terror, expecting to see the ogre peering in.

Instead, a handsome young warrior stood there in the doorway. He was a

stranger. They had never seen him before. The sunshine played upon his

shining limbs like fire. His eyes were bright and piercing, and above

his forehead waved a plume of gorgeous feathers. For a moment he stood

looking in upon them. Then he laid a deer down upon the threshold, and

silently turned and disappeared in the green depths of the forest.

 

Wondering, the mother and her daughter stared after him. They did not

know who he could be. They waited for some time, and then, as he did

not return, they cut up the deer and hung it up to dry.

 

Two days after this the stranger again came to the lodge. As silently

as before he laid a bear down before them, and again disappeared among

the thickets; but that night they heard the sound of his pipe not far

from the lodge; it was a love song to the girl that he was playing.

 

The next evening he came again, bringing more game, but this time he

entered and sat down. After that he stayed in the widow’s lodge, and

the girl became his wife. She was very happy, for no other hunter

brought home such fine game as he, and no other was as handsome and as

noble-looking.

 

Every morning he went away, gliding off silently into the depths of the

forest and disappearing from their sight. Where he went they did not

know, but every night he came again, bringing to them the choicest of

game and fish. The plume above his forehead shone with strange colours,

and sometimes it seemed as though the light about him came from

himself, and not from the sunshine or the firelight. Neither the girl

nor her mother dared to question him as to who he was or whence he came.

 

With so much game hanging about the lodge it was not long before Mudjee

Monedo grew suspicious. He suspected that some warrior had come to

live with the widow and her daughter and that they were hiding it from

him. Often he stole up silently to the lodge hoping to find the hunter

there, but he never saw him. At last he questioned the widow openly.

 

“All this game,” he said, trying to smile at her pleasantly, “where

does it come from?”

 

The widow began to tremble. “My son—” she began.

 

“Your son!” interrupted the Magician. “Do you mean to tell me that your

son could shoot a bear or a buffalo such as I have seen here?”

 

“He is very large and strong for his age,” said the poor widow.

 

“If he is old enough to shoot such game he is old enough to race with

me,” cried the ogre. “I will come again when he is at home, and he and

I will talk of it.”

 

The Mudjee Monedo turned on his heel and strode away through the

forest, breaking the young trees and muttering to himself as he went.

 

The widow and her daughter were almost dead with fright. If they told

the ogre of the strange warrior who had come to live in their lodge he

would without doubt challenge the stranger to race with him. If they

did not, it would be the boy who would be slain.

 

That night when the hunter returned as usual with his game the widow

told him of all that had happened—of how Mudjee Monedo had come to the

lodge and questioned her, of how she had pretended it was her son who

had shot the game, and of the threat that the ogre had used.

 

The warrior listened to all she had to say in silence. When she had

ended he answered calmly, “It is well. I will run a race with this

Mudjee Monedo. To-morrow he will come this way again. Then ask him to

stop and eat with you, and I too will be here.”

 

His wife and her mother began to beg and implore him not to let the

Magician see him, but he silenced them. “Let it be as I say,” said he.

“To-morrow do you put corn meal and herbs in a pot to cook, and add to

it three birch buds. Mudjee Monedo and I will eat of it together.”

 

The next morning very early the ogre appeared at the lodge door, but

the stranger had already gone into the forest. Mudjee Monedo looked

about him and saw all the fresh meat. “Truly your son has become a

mighty hunter,” he sneered.

 

“No, Mudjee Monedo,” answered the widow. “I knew it was useless to try

to deceive you. It is not my son, but my son-in-law, who has shot all

this game. He is a mighty warrior. He will soon return from the forest.

Sit down, and when he comes you can eat together.”

 

“Did I not know it?” cried the ogre triumphantly. “No one may hope to

deceive Mudjee Monedo for long.”

 

He entered the lodge and sat down. He had not been there long before

the stranger appeared in the doorway. The brave was in the full dress

of a warrior. Across his forehead was a broad band of red paint, and

the feathers above his forehead were red and blue. The ogre’s eyes

glistened at the sight of him. The hunter greeted Mudjee Monedo, and

sat down not far from him.

 

Presently, while his wife and mother-in-law made ready the food, he and

the ogre talked. Soon Mudjee Monedo asked the warrior whether he would

not run a race with him upon his racecourse.

 

Calmly the stranger agreed.

 

“But I am growing old,” said Mudjee Monedo slyly. “I am not strong and

tireless as I was once. Because of that, if I race with you you must

let me set the wager.”

 

To this, also, the stranger agreed. Then the food was ready, and he

courteously asked Mudjee Monedo to eat with him. The ogre could not

refuse, but when he saw the dish that was set before them he became

very uneasy. Well he knew that for him there was evil in that food.

The strange warrior, however, took no notice of his confusion. He

dipped into the dish and ate of it, and Mudjee Monedo was obliged to do

likewise, though the herbs that were in it tickled his throat and set

him coughing.

 

Finally the warrior lifted the dish, drank deep of it, and handed it to

the other. The ogre hesitated a moment. The broth was hateful to him,

but he was afraid to refuse. In haste to be done with it he raised it

to his mouth and swallowed what was left of it at one gulp.

 

Suddenly he coughed and choked. One of the birch buds at the bottom of

the pot had lodged in his windpipe. His face turned purple and his eyes

seemed starting from their sockets. He got to his feet and staggered

out into the open air. A moment he turned and tried to speak, but a

violent fit of coughing stopped him, and he hurried away through the

thickets, still wheezing and choking as he went.

 

By the next day the news had gone through the village that a strange

warrior was to run a race with Mudjee Monedo, and a great crowd

gathered on the hills near by to see the race.

 

When the stranger appeared upon the course a murmur of wonder arose.

Never had the people seen such a warrior before. He was taller by a

head than the tallest youth in the village, and his feet scarce seemed

to touch the earth, so lightly did he walk. Then hope sprang up in the

people’s hearts. Might it not be that this wondrous stranger would in

some way win the race and free them from the power of the ogre.

 

Mudjee Monedo looked about him at the waiting people, and seemed to

read what was in their hearts. His lips drew back in a cruel smile.

Then he laid his hand upon the goal-post.

 

“You have let me choose my own wager,” he cried aloud, so that all

might hear what he said to the stranger. “It is this: life against

life; my life against yours. This post is the goal, yonder charred

stump the turning-point. The loser pays the forfeit.”

 

“So be it,” answered the stranger in a clear ringing voice. “I will

abide by the wager, as must you.”

 

At a signal he and the ogre sprang forward on the course. Mudjee Monedo

ran well, but the stranger soon outstripped him. So swiftly he ran his

feet scarce seemed to touch the ground. The light played about him, and

his feathers streamed behind him in the wind. Never had the ogre been

so easily outrun. Sooner than usual he was obliged to turn himself into

a wolf or he would have been left too far behind. In that shape he tore

past the warrior, but as he passed the stranger heard a wheezing in his

throat and knew that the birch bud was still there.

 

A low moan sounded from the crowd of watching Indians on the hill-side

as they saw the grey wolf leading in the race. But the next moment, the

moan changed to a shout of surprise. The strange warrior had changed

himself into a partridge; he rose swiftly in the air, flew past over

Mudjee Monedo, and lighted on the course far ahead of him. Then he

resumed his natural form and again ran forward.

 

The ogre did not know what had happened. He heard the shout and the

whirr of wings above him, and now he saw the stranger far ahead. He was

very much surprised, but again he used his magic and turned himself

into a deer. With long leaps and bounds he overtook and passed beyond

the running warrior.

 

Again there was a whirr of wings. The partridge flew past overhead, and

a mocking voice cried in the ogre’s ear, “Mudjee Monedo, is this the

best you can do?” A moment later the ogre saw the stranger once more

far ahead, and running as lightly and gracefully as ever.

 

The charred stump was passed and Mudjee Monedo’s heart began to beat

hard against his sides. Never had he had to strive so hard. For the

third time he used his magic, and turned himself into his third and

last form, that of a buffalo. It was in this shape that he generally

won the race. With his great shaggy head down, his eyes as red as blood

and his tongue lolling from his mouth, the ogre thundered past the

stranger.

 

Once again there was a whirr of wings. The partridge rose from the

ground and flew past over the head of the straining buffalo. “Mudjee

Monedo,” he called from above, “is this the best you can do? I fear you

will lose the wager.”

 

With despair the ogre saw that the stranger had once more flown far

ahead of him, and was now almost within reach of the goal-post.

Suddenly stopping, Mudjee Monedo resumed his natural form. “Hold!

hold!” he called to the warrior. “A word with you.”

 

The stranger gave a mocking laugh. Springing forward he laid his hand

upon the goal-post, and a mighty shout burst from the watching people

on the hill. Then a stillness fell upon them. In silence they watched

the ogre as he slowly went forward toward the goal-post.

 

As he drew near the stranger Mudjee Monedo tried to smile, but his pale

lips trembled. “It was all a joke,” he muttered. “You will spare my

life, as I would have spared yours. You run well and we must have many

races together.”

 

“Wretch!” cried the stranger. “What was the wager? Life against life;

the loser pays the forfeit.”

 

Swift as lightning he caught up the club that hung from the goal-post,

and with one blow he struck the ogre to the earth. Then again a great

shout arose from the people, and like a stream they flowed down from

the hill-side and gathered around the warrior.

 

For a time there was great rejoicing. Fires were lighted and a great

feast made. When night came and the stranger went back to his lodge a

vast crowd followed him. It was growing dark, but suddenly a pale light

shone about the warrior. He turned to them, and as they looked at his

face they suddenly knew it was no human warrior who stood before them,

but the Good Genius, Minno Monedo. Silent and in awe they drew back

from him. He motioned them to leave him, and they obeyed him, still in

awe and silence.

 

After they had all gone Minno Monedo turned to his wife and took her by

the hand. “The time has now come,” he said, “when I must return to the

Spirit-land. It is for you to choose whether you will come with me or

stay here with your own people. Which shall it be?”

 

“I will go with you,” answered the wife.

 

So it was; she and the Good Genius disappeared from the earth, and her

tribe saw them no more.

 

For a while her mother grieved for her, but Manedowa grew up strong and

brave, and in time brought home a wife who bore him many children.

 

Grass grew over the course where the ogre had run his races; his lodge

fell into ruins, but still around the camp-fires the Indians tell the

story of Minno Monedo, and of how he came to save their tribe from

Mudjee Monedo.

 

 

 

 

DAPPLEGRIM

 

A TALE ADAPTED FROM THE NORSE

 

 

THERE was once a rich man who had seven sons, and they were all stout,

well-grown lads.

 

When the man’s time came to die he called his sons about him that he

might divide his goods among them. He asked each one, beginning at the

eldest, what he wished to have left to him. One said one thing, and one

another; one wanted the house, and one the land; one wanted gold, and

one the flocks and herds. At last it came the turn of the youngest,

who was called Boots, to say what he wished to have. But by this time

nothing was left to choose but seven wild mares that ran about free on

one of the farther hills. All the other things had been promised to his

brothers.

 

“Very well,” said Boots; “I am satisfied. The seven mares will do for

me. When they have colts, I will leave the colts with their mothers

until they are big enough and then I will sell them, and so I will have

enough to live upon.”

 

The six older sons thought Boots a great simpleton to be satisfied

with so little, but since he was content, it was not for them to

quarrel over it.

 

Soon afterward the man died, and the six older brothers divided his

riches among them in very friendly fashion.

 

As for Boots, he asked for nothing, but he took his staff in his hand,

and set out for the farther hill to look at his seven wild mares. It

was half a day’s journey to the hill, but Boots thought nothing of

that. He reached it before his shoes were worn out, and there were the

seven wild mares grazing hither and thither, and each one had a foal

with her. They were fat and well-grown foals, but beside the seven

there was another colt there on the hill, and he was a wonder. His coat

was a beautiful dappled grey, and shone like silk; and he was more than

twice the size of any of the other foals.

 

“Now in all my life never have I seen a colt like that colt,” cried

Boots. “The other seven foals I will leave here with their mothers, but

this one I will take out into the world with me, for already he is big

enough and stout enough for me to ride him.”

 

“Nay, Master,” answered the colt; “that is not what you should do. Do

you leave me here for another year to run free and grow, and it will

be well worth your while. But as for the other seven foals, take them

to the market and sell them, and with the money you receive buy me

fodder. Store the fodder in yonder old ruined building and leave the

door open, so that I can go in and out and eat at will, and by next

year I will be better fit for riding.”

 

Boots was willing to do this, so he gathered the seven foals together

and drove them away to market. There he sold them as the dappled colt

had bade him and bought fodder, and this fodder he stored in the old

ruined building for the colt to feed upon at will. Then the lad went

away to a city near-by and took service to wait until the year was up.

 

At the end of the year, to a day, Boots came back again to the hill,

and there were the seven wild mares at graze, and again each had a

well-grown foal beside her. But as for the dappled colt, it was a

wonder. It was twice as large as before, and if before its coat had

been like silk, now it was like satin, it shone so.

 

Boots looked and wondered and wondered and looked. “Well it is,” he

said, “that I left you here a year longer. But now you must go with

me, for with such a horse as you to ride upon, the king of the country

himself will be glad to take me into his service.”

 

“Nay, Master,” answered the foal, “the time is not yet. Let me run free

for still another year, but take the seven mares and their foals to

market, and sell them for what you can get. With the money buy fodder

and place it where you did before, and if you do this thing you will

never regret it.”

 

Well, Boots was willing to do that too. He drove the mares and their

foals to market, and sold them and bought fodder with the money. Then

he went away to the city again and took service for another twelve

months.

 

At the end of the year, to a day, Boots came back to the hill to look

at his dappled colt, but before he reached there he saw a light in the

sky and heard a sound as of thunder. The sound drew nearer and nearer,

and then Boots saw the colt coming to meet him, and the noise was made

by its hoofs, for it was so huge that the earth trembled under it as

it came; and if its coat had been like satin before, now it shone like

glass, so that the light was reflected all about it, and that was what

Boots had seen.

 

“By my faith,” cried Boots, “never have I beheld such a horse before.

The King himself hath not another like it.”

 

“That is true,” answered the steed. “And now, Master, the time has come

for you to ride me out into the world, and together we will make your

fortune.”

 

Then Boots tried to mount, but Dapplegrim (for so Boots named the

horse) was so huge that he was obliged to lie down before his master could get upon his back.