"
"I am not afraid of anything," said the Indian.
"Not of me?"
"Not of you nor of Mitche-hant, the devil himself."
"If you dare take me by my horns and scrape somewhat from one of them
with your knife," said the monster, "you may have your wish."
Now this Indian was indeed as savage and brave as the devil; and he had
need to be so to do this, for the Weewillmekq' looked his very worst.
But the man drew his knife and scraped from the horn till he was told
that he had enough.
"Go to your camp," said the Worm. "Put half the scrapings into a cup of
water. Make your brother drink it."
"And the other half?" asked the Indian.
"Give it to the girl who made all this trouble. She needs medicine,
too."
He returned to camp, and gave the drink to his brother, who recovered.
When the hunt was at an end they went home.
They arrived at night. There was an immense lodge in the town, and a
dance was going on. The younger brother had prepared a cool drink,--
sweet with maple-sugar, fragrant with herbs,--and in it was the powder
of the horn of the Weewillmekq'. The witch, warm and very thirsty from
dancing, came to the door. He offered her the cup. Without heeding who
gave it, she drank it dry, and, turning to her partner, went on in the
dance.
And then a strange thing happened. For at every turn of the dance she
grew a year older.
Pages:
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356