rpose as that which
now prompts you, but they never returned. Be careful, and if your
guardian spirits are powerful you may succeed. This Red Swan you are
following is the daughter of a magician who has abundance of every
thing, but only this one child, whom he values more than the sacred
arrows. In former times he wore a cap of wampum, which was attached to
his scalp; but powerful Indians, warriors of a distant chief, came and
told him that their chief's daughter was on the brink of the grave, and
that she herself requested his wampum-cap, which she was confident would
save her life. 'If I can only see it,' she said, 'I will recover.' It
was for this cap they had come, and after long solicitation the magician
at length consented to part with it, in the hope that it would restore
to health the dying maiden, although when he took it off to hand it to
the messengers it left the crown of his head bare and bloody. Years have
passed since, and it has not healed. The coming of the warriors to
procure it for the sick maiden was a cheat, and they are now constantly
making sport of the unhappy scalp--dancing it about from village to
village--and on every insult it receives the poor old chief to whom it
belongs groans with pain. Those who hold it are too powerful for the
magician, and many have sacrificed themselves to recover it for him, but
without success. The Red Swan has enticed many a young man, as she has
you, to enlist them to procure the scalp, and whoever is so fortunate as
to succeed, it is understood, will receive the Red Swan as his reward.
In the morning you will proceed on your way, and toward evening you will
come to this magician's lodge. You will know it by the groans which you
will hear far over the prairie as you approach. He will ask you in. You
will see no one but himself. He will question you much as to your dreams
and the strength of your guardian spirits. If he is satisfied with your
answers, he will urge you to attempt the recovery of his scalp. He will
show you the course to take, and if you feel inclined, as I see that
you do, go forward, my son, with a strong heart; persevere, and I have a
presentiment that you will succeed."

Maidwa answered, "I will try."

Betimes in the morning, after having eaten from the magic kettle, which
sung a sort of farewell chant on its way from the fire-place to its
station in the corner, he set off on his journey.

Toward evening, Maidwa, as he crossed a prairie, heard