You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis,

He, the handsome Yenadizze,

Whom the people called the Storm-Fool,

Vexed the village with disturbance;

You shall hear of all his mischief,

And his flight from Hiawatha,

And his wondrous transmigrations,

And the end of his adventures.

On the shores of Gitche Gumee,

On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo,

By the shining Big-Sea-Water

Stood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Keewis.

It was he who in his frenzy

Whirled these drifting sands together,

On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo,

When, among the guests assembled,

He so merrily and madly

Danced at Hiawatha's wedding,

Danced the Beggar's Dance to please them.

Now, in search of new adventures,

From his lodge went Pau-Puk-Keewis,

Came with speed into the village,

Found the young men all assembled

In the lodge of old Iagoo,

Listening to his monstrous stories,

To his wonderful adventures.

He was telling them the story

Of Ojeeg, the Summer-Maker,

How he made a hole in heaven,

How he climbed up into heaven,

And let out the summer-weather,

The perpetual, pleasant Summer;

How the Otter first essayed it;

How the Beaver, Lynx, and Badger

Tried in turn the great achievement,

From the summit of the mountain

Smote their fists against the heavens,

Smote against the sky their foreheads,

Cracked the sky, but could not break it;

How the Wolverine, uprising,

Made him ready for the encounter,

Bent his knees down, like a squirrel,

Drew his arms back, like a cricket.

"Once he leaped," said old Iagoo,

"Once he leaped, and lo! above him

Bent the sky, as ice in rivers

When the waters rise beneath it;

Twice he leaped, and lo! above him

Cracked the sky, as ice in rivers

When the freshet is at highest!

Thrice he leaped, and lo! above him

Broke the shattered sky asunder,

And he disappeared within it,

And Ojeeg, the Fisher Weasel,

With a bound went in behind him!"

"Hark you!" shouted Pau-Puk-Keewis

As he entered at the doorway;

"I am tired of all this talking,

Tired of old Iagoo's stories,

Tired of Hiawatha's wisdom.

Here is something to amuse you,

Better than this endless talking."

Then from out his pouch of wolf-skin

Forth he drew, with solemn manner,

All the game of Bowl and Counters,

Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces.

White on one side were they painted,

And vermilion on the other;

Two Kenabeeks or great serpents,

Two Ininewug or wedge-men,

One great war-club, Pugamaugun,

And one slender fish, the Keego,

Four round pieces, Ozawabeeks,

And three Sheshebwug or ducklings.

All were made of bone and painted,

All except the Ozawabeeks;

These were brass, on one side burnished,

And were black upon the other.

In a wooden bowl he placed them,

Shook and jostled them together,

Threw them on the ground before him,

Thus exclaiming and explaining:

"Red side up are all the pieces,

And one great Kenabeek standing

On the bright side of a brass piece,

On a burnished Ozawabeek;

Thirteen tens and eight are counted."

Then again he shook the pieces,

Shook and jostled them together,

Threw them on the ground before him,

Still exclaiming and explaining:

"White are both the great Kenabeeks,

White the Ininewug, the wedge-men,

Red are all the other pieces;

Five tens and an eight are counted."

Thus he taught the game of hazard,

Thus displayed it and explained it,

Running through its various chances,

Various changes, various meanings:

Twenty curious eyes stared at him,

Full of eagerness stared at him.

"Many games," said old Iagoo,

"Many games of skill and hazard

Have I seen in different nations,

Have I played in different countries.

He who plays with old Iagoo

Must have very nimble fingers;

Though you think yourself so skilful,

I can beat you, Pau-Puk-Keewis,

I can even give you lessons

In your game of Bowl and Counters!"

So they sat and played together,

All the old men and the young men,

Played for dresses, weapons, wampum,

Played till midnight, played till morning,

Played until the Yenadizze,

Till the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis,

Of their treasures had despoiled them,

Of the best of all their dresses,

Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine,

Belts of wampum, crests of feathers,

Warlike weapons, pipes and pouches.

Twenty eyes glared wildly at him,

Like the eyes of wolves glared at him.

Said the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis:

"In my wigwam I am lonely,

In my wanderings and adventures

I have need of a companion,

Fain would have a Meshinauwa,

An attendant and pipe-bearer.

I will venture all these winnings,

All these garments heaped about me,

All this wampum, all these feathers,

On a single throw will venture

All against the young man yonder!"

`T was a youth of sixteen summers,

`T was a nephew of Iagoo;

Face-in-a-Mist, the people called him.

As the fire burns in a pipe-head

Dusky red beneath the ashes,

So beneath his shaggy eyebrows

Glowed the eyes of old Iagoo.

"Ugh!" he answered very fiercely;

"Ugh!" they answered all and each one.

Seized the wooden bowl the old man,

Closely in his bony fingers

Clutched the fatal bowl, Onagon,

Shook it fiercely and with fury,

Made the pieces ring together

As he threw them down before him.

Red were both the great Kenabeeks,

Red the Ininewug, the wedge-men,

Red the Sheshebwug, the ducklings,

Black the four brass Ozawabeeks,

White alone the fish, the Keego;

Only five the pieces counted!

Then the smiling Pau-Puk-Keewis

Shook the bowl and threw the pieces;

Lightly in the air he tossed them,

And they fell about him scattered;

Dark and bright the Ozawabeeks,

Red and white the other pieces,

And upright among the others

One Ininewug was standing,

Even as crafty Pau-Puk-Keewis

Stood alone among the players,

Saying, "Five tens! mine the game is,"

Twenty eyes glared at him fiercely,

Like the eyes of wolves glared at him,

As he turned and left the wigwam,

Followed by his Meshinauwa,

By the nephew of Iagoo,

By the tall and graceful stripling,

Bearing in his arms the winnings,

Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine,

Belts of wampum, pipes and weapons.

"Carry them," said Pau-Puk-Keewis,

Pointing with his fan of feathers,

"To my wigwam far to eastward,

On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo!"

Hot and red with smoke and gambling

Were the eyes of Pau-Puk-Keewis

As he came forth to the freshness

Of the pleasant Summer morning.

All the birds were singing gayly,

All the streamlets flowing swiftly,

And the heart of Pau-Puk-Keewis

Sang with pleasure as the birds sing,

Beat with triumph like the streamlets,

As he wandered through the village,

In the early gray of morning,

With his fan of turkey-feathers,

With his plumes and tufts of swan's down,

Till he reached the farthest wigwam,

Reached the lodge of Hiawatha.

Silent was it and deserted;

No one met him at the doorway,

No one came to bid him welcome;

But the birds were singing round it,

In and out and round the doorway,

Hopping, singing, fluttering, feeding,

And aloft upon the ridge-pole

Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens,

Sat with fiery eyes, and, screaming,

Flapped his wings at Pau-Puk-Keewis.

"All are gone! the lodge Is empty!"

Thus it was spake Pau-Puk-Keewis,

In his heart resolving mischief

"Gone is wary Hiawatha,

Gone the silly Laughing Water,

Gone Nokomis, the old woman,

And the lodge is left unguarded!"

By the neck he seized the raven,

Whirled it round him like a rattle,

Like a medicine-pouch he shook it,

Strangled Kahgahgee, the raven,

From the ridge-pole of the wigwam

Left its lifeless body hanging,

As an insult to its master,

As a taunt to Hiawatha.

With a stealthy step he entered,

Round the lodge in wild disorder

Threw the household things about him,

Piled together in confusion

Bowls of wood and earthen kettles,

Robes of buffalo and beaver,

Skins of otter, lynx, and ermine,

As an insult to Nokomis,

As a taunt to Minnehaha.

Then departed Pau-Puk-Keewis,

Whistling, singing through the forest,

Whistling gayly to the squirrels,

Who from hollow boughs above him

Dropped their acorn-shells upon him,

Singing gayly to the wood birds,

Who from out the leafy darkness

Answered with a song as merry.

Then he climbed the rocky headlands,

Looking o'er the Gitche Gumee,

Perched himself upon their summit,

Waiting full of mirth and mischief

The return of Hiawatha.

Stretched upon his back he lay there;

Far below him splashed the waters,

Plashed and washed the dreamy waters;

Far above him swam the heavens,

Swam the dizzy, dreamy heavens;

Round him hovered, fluttered, rustled

Hiawatha's mountain chickens,

Flock-wise swept and wheeled about him,

Almost brushed him with their pinions.

And he killed them as he lay there,

Slaughtered them by tens and twenties,

Threw their bodies down the headland,

Threw them on the beach below him,

Till at length Kayoshk, the sea-gull,

Perched upon a crag above them,

Shouted: "It is Pau-Puk-Keewis!

He is slaying us by hundreds!

Send a message to our brother,

Tidings send to Hiawatha!"

Full of wrath was Hiawatha

When he came into the village,

Found the people in confusion,

Heard of all the misdemeanors,

All the malice and the mischief,

Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis.

Hard his breath came through his nostrils,

Through his teeth he buzzed and muttered

Words of anger and resentment,

Hot and humming, like a hornet.

"I will slay this Pau-Puk-Keewis,

Slay this mischief-maker!" said he.

"Not so long and wide the world is,

Not so rude and rough the way is,

That my wrath shall not attain him,

That my vengeance shall not reach him!"

Then in swift pursuit departed

Hiawatha and the hunters

On the trail of Pau-Puk-Keewis,

Through the forest, where he passed it,

To the headlands where he rested;

But they found not Pau-Puk-Keewis,

Only in the trampled grasses,

In the whortleberry-bushes,

Found the couch where he had rested,

Found the impress of his body.

From the lowlands far beneath them,

From the Muskoday, the meadow,

Pau-Puk-Keewis, turning backward,

Made a gesture of defiance,

Made a gesture of derision;

And aloud cried Hiawatha,

From the summit of the mountains:

"Not so long and wide the world is,

Not so rude and rough the way is,

But my wrath shall overtake you,

And my vengeance shall attain you!"

Over rock and over river,

Through bush, and brake, and forest,

Ran the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis;

Like an antelope he bounded,

Till he came unto a streamlet

In the middle of the forest,

To a streamlet still and tranquil,

That had overflowed its margin,

To a dam made by the beavers,

To a pond of quiet water,

Where knee-deep the trees were standing,

Where the water lilies floated,

Where the rushes waved and whispered.

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis,

On the dam of trunks and branches,

Through whose chinks the water spouted,

O'er whose summit flowed the streamlet.

From the bottom rose the beaver,

Looked with two great eyes of wonder,

Eyes that seemed to ask a question,

At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis.

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis,

O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet,

Flowed the bright and silvery water,

And he spake unto the beaver,

With a smile he spake in this wise:

"O my friend Ahmeek, the beaver,

Cool and pleasant Is the water;

Let me dive into the water,

Let me rest there in your lodges;

Change me, too, into a beaver!"

Cautiously replied the beaver,

With reserve he thus made answer:

"Let me first consult the others,

Let me ask the other beavers."

Down he sank into the water,

Heavily sank he, as a stone sinks,

Down among the leaves and branches,

Brown and matted at the bottom.

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis,

O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet,

Spouted through the chinks below him,

Dashed upon the stones beneath him,

Spread serene and calm before him,

And the sunshine and the shadows

Fell in flecks and gleams upon him,

Fell in little shining patches,

Through the waving, rustling branches.

From the bottom rose the beavers,

Silently above the surface

Rose one head and then another,

Till the pond seemed full of beavers,

Full of black and shining faces.

To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis

Spake entreating, said in this wise:

"Very pleasant Is your dwelling,

O my friends! and safe from danger;

Can you not, with all your cunning,

All your wisdom and contrivance,

Change me, too, into a beaver?"

"Yes!" replied Ahmeek, the beaver,

He the King of all the beavers,

"Let yourself slide down among us,

Down into the tranquil water."

Down into the pond among them

Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis;

Black became his shirt of deer-skin,

Black his moccasins and leggings,

In a broad black tail behind him

Spread his fox-tails and his fringes;

He was changed into a beaver.

"Make me large," said Pau-Puk-Keewis,

"Make me large and make me larger,

Larger than the other beavers."

"Yes," the beaver chief responded,

"When our lodge below you enter,

In our wigwam we will make you

Ten times larger than the others."

Thus into the clear, brown water

Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis:

Found the bottom covered over

With the trunks of trees and branches,

Hoards of food against the winter,

Piles and heaps against the famine;

Found the lodge with arching doorway,

Leading into spacious chambers.

Here they made him large and larger,

Made him largest of the beavers,

Ten times larger than the others.

"You shall be our ruler," said they;

"Chief and King of all the beavers."

But not long had Pau-Puk-Keewis

Sat in state among the beavers,

When there came a voice, of warning

From the watchman at his station

In the water-flags and lilies,

Saying, "Here Is Hiawatha!

Hiawatha with his hunters!"

Then they heard a cry above them,

Heard a shouting and a tramping,

Heard a crashing and a rushing,

And the water round and o'er them

Sank and sucked away in eddies,

And they knew their dam was broken.

On the lodge's roof the hunters

Leaped, and broke it all asunder;

Streamed the sunshine through the crevice,

Sprang the beavers through the doorway,

Hid themselves in deeper water,

In the channel of the streamlet;

But the mighty Pau-Puk-Keewis

Could not pass beneath the doorway;

He was puffed with pride and feeding,

He was swollen like a bladder.

Through the roof looked Hiawatha,

Cried aloud, "O Pau-Puk-Keewis

Vain are all your craft and cunning,

Vain your manifold disguises!

Well I know you, Pau-Puk-Keewis!"

With their clubs they beat and bruised him,

Beat to death poor Pau-Puk-Keewis,

Pounded him as maize is pounded,

Till his skull was crushed to pieces.

Six tall hunters, lithe and limber,

Bore him home on poles and branches,

Bore the body of the beaver;

But the ghost, the Jeebi in him,

Thought and felt as Pau-Puk-Keewis,

Still lived on as Pau-Puk-Keewis.

And it fluttered, strove, and struggled,

Waving hither, waving thither,

As the curtains of a wigwam

Struggle with their thongs of deer-skin,

When the wintry wind is blowing;

Till it drew itself together,

Till it rose up from the body,

Till it took the form and features

Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis

Vanishing into the forest.

But the wary Hiawatha

Saw the figure ere it vanished,

Saw the form of Pau-Puk-Keewis

Glide into the soft blue shadow

Of the pine-trees of the forest;

Toward the squares of white beyond it,

Toward an opening in the forest.

Like a wind it rushed and panted,

Bending all the boughs before it,

And behind it, as the rain comes,

Came the steps of Hiawatha.

To a lake with many islands

Came the breathless Pau-Puk-Keewis,

Where among the water-lilies

Pishnekuh, the brant, were sailing;

Through the tufts of rushes floating,

Steering through the reedy Islands.

Now their broad black beaks they lifted,

Now they plunged beneath the water,

Now they darkened in the shadow,

Now they brightened in the sunshine.

"Pishnekuh!" cried Pau-Puk-Keewis,

"Pishnekuh! my brothers!" said he,

"Change me to a brant with plumage,

With a shining neck and feathers,

Make me large, and make me larger,

Ten times larger than the others."

Straightway to a brant they changed him,

With two huge and dusky pinions,

With a bosom smooth and rounded,

With a bill like two great paddles,

Made him larger than the others,

Ten times larger than the largest,

Just as, shouting from the forest,

On the shore stood Hiawatha.

Up they rose with cry and clamor,

With a whir and beat of pinions,

Rose up from the reedy Islands,

From the water-flags and lilies.

And they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis:

"In your flying, look not downward,

Take good heed and look not downward,

Lest some strange mischance should happen,

Lest some great mishap befall you!"

Fast and far they fled to northward,

Fast and far through mist and sunshine,

Fed among the moors and fen-lands,

Slept among the reeds and rushes.

On the morrow as they journeyed,

Buoyed and lifted by the South-wind,

Wafted onward by the South-wind,

Blowing fresh and strong behind them,

Rose a sound of human voices,

Rose a clamor from beneath them,

From the lodges of a village,

From the people miles beneath them.

For the people of the village

Saw the flock of brant with wonder,

Saw the wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis

Flapping far up in the ether,

Broader than two doorway curtains.

Pau-Puk-Keewis heard the shouting,

Knew the voice of Hiawatha,

Knew the outcry of Iagoo,

And, forgetful of the warning,

Drew his neck in, and looked downward,

And the wind that blew behind him

Caught his mighty fan of feathers,

Sent him wheeling, whirling downward!

All in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis