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“The only remedy for the pestilence is for every woman to knock down the man who is nearest her.”

The women began to knock down, and the first to fall was the too familiar old bachelor. So the Mischief Maker waited no longer than to see the whole town in one general and bitter fight, tooth and nail, tomahawk and scalper, and then ran at the top of his speed far away and fleet, to find another village. Then the people, finding they had been tricked, said, as people generally do on such occasions, “If we had that fellow here, wouldn’t we pay him up for this?”

The Mischief Maker was greatly pleased at his success. It was nearly dark when he stopped, and said, “I will not enter the next village to-night; I will camp here in the woods.” So he had piled up logs for a fire, and was just about to strike a light, when he saw a stranger approaching. “Camp with me here over night,” said the Mischief Maker, “and we will go to the village in the morning.”

So they ate and smoked their pipes, and told stories till it was very late. But the stranger did not seem to tire; nay, he even proposed to tell stories all night long. The Mischief Maker looked at him aslant.

“My friend,” he said, “can you tell me of what wood my back-log is?”

“Hickory?” inquired the stranger.

“No, not hickory.”

“Maple?”

“No, not maple.”

“White oak?”

“No, not white oak.”

“Black walnut?”

“No, not black walnut.”

“Moosewood?”

“No, not moosewood.”

“Ash?”

“No, not ash.”

“Pine?”

“No, not pine.”

“Cedar?”

“No, not cedar.”

“Birch?”

The stranger began to yawn, but he kept on guessing. Then his head nodded. By the time he had found out that it was slippery elm he was sound asleep.

“This fellow deserves punishment,” remarked the Mischief Maker. “He is an enemy to mankind.” Here he adroitly put some sticky clay on the sleeper’s eyes, and departed. When the stranger awoke he thought himself still fast asleep in darkness, and then that he was blind.

“If ever I meet with that fellow again,” he said, “I’ll punish him!”

The Mischief Maker played so many pranks that all the tribes sent out runners to catch him. He heard their whoops in every forest. He knew that he was being hunted down. He hurried on, and once at night hid in a cave under a rock. The runners did not quite overtake him, but they saw that his tracks were fresh, and thought they might catch him in the morning. In the morning he was up and far away long before they awoke. The next night he hid again in a hollow log. In the middle of the afternoon of the next day he heard the whoops of the pursuers very near, and knew that they were gaining fast on him. He climbed a thickly limbed tree, and hid in the top. Here the runners lost his track, because he had broken the weeds and bushes down beyond the tree, as if he had gone further on. They ran for a long distance. Then they returned, and camped and built a fire under the tree.

The smoke crept up among the branches and curled above, and rose in a straight column to the sky. The fugitive sailed away on the smoke, going up and up,–past beautiful lakes and hunting-grounds stocked with deer, large fields of corn and beans, tobacco and squashes; past great companies of handsome Indians, whose wigwams were hung full of dried venison and bear’s meat. And so he went on and up to the wig-wam of the Great Chief.

Here he rested. He remained for a hundred moons observing the customs of the people and learning their language. One morning the Great Chief told him that he must return to his own people. He disliked to do this, for he was very happy in the new place. The Chief said, “These are the happy hunting grounds. We have admitted you that you may know how and what to teach your people, that they may get here. Go, and if you do what I tell you, you may return to remain forever. You have not been allowed to come here to remain, but only to observe. When you come again, you shall join us in all things. You shall hunt and fish then, and have whatever you wish. But return now, and teach what you have learned here.”