"And," he went on, "when it comes at last, then the Manitous will have to die, and so the Indians know that their hour has struck when these great stone needles fall."
"Why, we have made a legend," she exclaimed with wonder.
They stretched out on their backs along the slope, and stared up at the newly dignified Manitous in delicious silence.
"There was a legend once, you remember?" he began hesitatingly, "the first day we were on the Rock together. It was about a Spirit Mountain."
"Yes, I remember, the day we saw the Shadow."
"You said you'd tell it to me some time."
"Why, yes, I suppose so," she assented, after a pause. "It isn't much of a legend though." She clasped her hands back of her head. "It goes like this," she began comfortably:
"Once upon a time, when the world was very young, there was an evil Manitou named _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_. He was a very wicked Manitou, but he was also very accomplished, for he could change himself into any shape he wished to assume, and he could travel swifter than the wind. But he was also very wicked. In old times the centres of all the trees were fat, and people could get food from them, but _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_ walked through the forest and pushed his staff down through the middle of the trunks, and that is why the cores of the trees are dark-coloured. Maple sap used to be pure sirup once, too, but _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_ diluted it with rain water just out of spite. But there was one peculiar thing about _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_. He could not cross a vein of gold or of silver. There was some sort of magic in them that turned him back--repelled him.
"Now, one day two lovers were wandering about on the prairie away east of here. One of them was named _Mon-e-dowa_, or the Bird Lover, and the other was _Muj-e-ah-je-wan_, or Rippling Water. And as these two walked over the plains talking together, along came the evil spirit, _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_, and as soon as he saw them he chased them, intending to kill them and drink their blood, as was his custom.
"They fled far over the prairie. Everywhere that _Muj-e-ah-je-wan_ stepped, prairie violets grew up; and everywhere that _Mon-e-dowa_ stepped, a lark sprang up and began to sing. But the wicked _Ne-naw-bo-shoo_ gained on them fast, for he could run very swiftly.