In a large village there lived a noted belle, or Ma-mon-d?go-Kwa,who was the admiration of all the young hunters and warriors. Shewas particularly admired by a young man who, from his good figureand the care he took in his dress, was called the Beau-Man, orMa-mon-d?gin-in-e. This young man had a friend and companion whomhe made his confidant.
"Come," said he one day, in a sportive mood, "let us go a-courting toher who is so handsome, perhaps she may fancy one of us."
She would, however, listen to neither of them; and when the handsomeyoung man rallied her on the coldness of her air, and made an effortto overcome her indifference, she repulsed him with the greatestcontempt, and the young man retired confused and abashed. His sense ofpride was deeply wounded, and he was the more piqued because he hadbeen thus treated in the presence of others, and this affair had beennoised about in the village, and became the talk of every lodgecircle. He was, besides, a very sensitive man, and the incident sopreyed upon him that he became moody and at last took to his bed. Fordays he would lie without uttering a word, with his eyes fixed onvacancy, and taking little or no food. From this state no effortscould rouse him. He felt abashed and dishonoured even in the presenceof his own relatives, and no persuasions could induce him to rise, sothat when the family prepared to take down the lodge to remove hestill kept his bed, and they were compelled to lift it from above hishead and leave him upon his skin couch. It was a time of generalremoval and breaking up of the camp, for it was only a winterhunting-camp, and as the season of the hunt was now over, and springbegan to appear, his friends all moved off as by one impulse to theplace of their summer village, and in a short time all were gone, andhe was left alone. The last person to leave him was his boon companionand cousin, who had been, like him, an admirer of the forest belle.The hunter disregarded even his voice, and as soon as his steps diedaway on the creaking snow the stillness and solitude of the wildernessreigned around.
As soon as all were gone, and he could no longer, by listening, hearthe remotest sound of the departing camp, the Beau-Man arose.
Now this young man had for a friend a powerful guardian spirit orpersonal manito, and he resolved, with this spirit's aid, to use hisutmost power to punish and humble the girl, for she was noted in hertribe for her coquetry, and had treated many young men, who wereevery way her equals, as she had treated this lover. He resolved on asingular stratagem by way of revenge.
He walked over the deserted camp and gathered up all the cast-off bitsof soiled cloth, clippings of finery, and old clothing and ornaments,which had either been left there as not worth carrying away, orforgotten. These he carefully picked out of the snow, into which someof them had been trodden, and collected in one place. These gaudy andsoiled stuffs he restored to their original beauty, and made of them acoat and leggings, which he trimmed with beads, and finished anddecorated after the best fashion of his tribe. He then made a pair ofmoccasins and garnished them with beads, a bow and arrows, and afrontlet and feathers for the head. Having done this he searched aboutfor cast-out bones of animals, pieces of skin, clippings of driedmeat, and even dirt. Having cemented all this together he filled theclothes with it, pressed the mass firmly in, and fashioned it,externally, in all respects like a tall and well-shaped man. He put abow and arrows in its hands, and the frontlet on its head. Havingfinished it he brought it to life, and the image stood forth in themost favoured lineaments of his fellows. Such was the origin ofMoowis, or the Dirt-and-Rag Man.
"Follow me," said the Beau-Man, "and I will direct you how you shallact."
Moowis was, indeed, a very sightly person, and as the Beau-Man led himinto the new encampment where the girl dwelt, the many colours of hisclothes, the profusion of his ornaments, his manly deportment, hisanimated countenance, drew all eyes to him. He was hospitablyreceived, both old and young showing him great attention. The chiefinvited him to his lodge, and he was there treated to the moose's humpand the finest venison.
No one was better pleased with the handsome stranger thanMa-mon-d?go-Kwa. She fell in love with him at first sight, and he wasan invited guest at the lodge of her mother the very first evening ofhis arrival. The Beau-Man went with him, for it was under hispatronage that he had been introduced, and, in truth, he had anothermotive in accompanying him, for he had not yet wholly subdued hisfeelings of admiration for the object against whom he had,nevertheless, exerted all his necromantic power, and he held himselfready to take advantage of any favourable turn which he secretly hopedthe visit might take in relation to himself. No such opportunity,however, arose. Moowis attracted the chief attention, every eye andheart was alert to entertain him. In this effort on the part of hisentertainers they had well-nigh brought about his destruction bydissolving him into his original elements of rags, snow, and dirt, forhe was assigned the most prominent place near the fire, where he wasexposed to a heat that he could by no means endure. However, he wardedthis calamity off by placing a boy between him and the fire; heshifted his position frequently, and evaded, by dexterous manoeuvresand timely remarks, the pressing invitation of his host to sit andenjoy the warmth. He so managed these excuses as not only to concealhis dread of immediate dissolution, but to secure the furtherapprobation of the fair forest girl, who was filled with admiration ofone who had so brave a spirit to endure the paralysing effects ofcold.
The visit proved that the rejected lover had well calculated theeffects of his plan. He withdrew from the lodge, and Moowis triumphed.Before the Beau-Man left he saw him cross the lodge to the covetedabinos, or bridegroom's seat. The dart which Ma-mon-d?go-Kwa had sooften delighted in sending to the hearts of her admirers she was atlength fated to receive. She had married an image.
As the morning began to break the stranger arose, adjusted hiswarrior's plumes, and took his forest weapons to depart.
"I must go," said he, "for I have important work to do, and there aremany hills and streams between me and the object of my journey."
"I will go with you," said Ma-mon-d?go-Kwa.
"The journey is too long," replied her husband, "and you are ill ableto encounter the perils of the way."
"It is not so long but that I will go," answered his wife, "and thereare no dangers I will not share with you."
Moowis returned to the lodge of his master, and told him what hadoccurred. For a moment pity took possession of the young man's heart.He regretted that she whom he so loved should thus have thrownherself away upon an image, a shadow, when she might have been themistress of the best lodge in the camp.
"It is her own folly," he said; "she has turned a deaf ear to thecounsels of prudence. She must submit to her fate."
The same morning Moowis set forth, and his wife followed him at adistance. The way was rough and intricate, and she found that shecould not keep up with him, he walked so quickly. She struggled hardand obstinately to overtake him, but Moowis had been for some time outof sight when the sun rose and commenced upon his snow-formed body thework of dissolution. He began to melt away and fall to pieces. AsMa-mon-d?go-Kwa followed in his track she found piece after piece ofhis clothing in the path. She first found his mittens, then hismoccasins, then his leggings, then his coat, and after that otherparts of his garments. As the heat unbound them the clothes alsoreturned to their filthy condition. Over rocks, through wind-falls,across marshes, Ma-mon-d?go-Kwa pursued him she loved. The pathturned aside in all directions. Rags, bones, leather, beads, feathers,and soiled ribbons she found, but caught no sight of Moowis. She spentthe day in wandering, and when evening came she was still alone. Thesnow having now melted, she had completely lost her husband's track,and she wandered about uncertain which way to go and in a state ofperfect despair. At length with bitter cries she lamented her fate.
"Moowis, Moowis," she cried, "nin ge won e win ig, ne won e winig!"--"Moowis, Moowis, you have led me astray, you are leading meastray!"
With this cry she wandered in the woods.
The cry of the lost Ma-mon-d?go-Kwa is sometimes repeated by thevillage girls who have made of it a song--
Moowis! Moowis! Forest rover, Where art thou? Ah! my bravest, gayest lover, Guide me now.
Moowis! Moowis! Ah! believe me, List my moan: Do not, do not, brave heart, leave me All alone.
Moowis! Moowis! Footprints vanished! Whither wend I? Fated, lost, detested, banished Must I die!
Moowis! Moowis! Whither goest thou, Eye-bright lover? Ah! thou ravenous bird that knowest, I see thee hover,
Circling, circling As I wander, And at last When I fall thou then wilt come And feed upon my breast.