re each a sharp spear of terrible proportions, and his tongue was an
immense arrow. His eyes were bright as the sun, and each much larger;
his hair was very long, and swept the earth, and he wore a great white
hat[B]. Each of his feet was larger than the lake Caddoque. He spoke
to the dreamer in his lowest whisper, which, nevertheless, was louder
than the loudest thunder, and his words were these:--

[Footnote A: See this superstition in the last tale.]

[Footnote B: The Indians always give a corporeal form to the Supreme
Being, and, in every instance that I have heard of, when supposing him
to have a human form, imagine him with some kind of covering upon his
head. Since their introduction to the white people, they have
invariably supposed this covering to be a hat.]

"Sakechak!"

The hunter replied, "I hear."

"The world is getting very wicked, Sakechak."

"I know it," answered the hunter.

"I hear no longer the voices of men supplicating me for
favours--soliciting my lightnings to cool the air, nor my rains to
refresh the earth, nor my suns to ripen the harvest. They no longer
thank me for the fat bears, and mooses, and deer, and bisons, which I
send to their hunting-grounds, nor the salmon, and other juicy fish,
which I bid to their waters, nor the corn which I command to grow tall
and sweet for their use, nor the rich grapes which I make to bow their
vines to the earth. I must sweep, and wash, and purify, the earth; I
must destroy all living creatures from off the face of it."

Then Sakechak said, "What have I done, Master of Life! that I should
be involved in this general destruction? Have I not offered thee the
best of my spoils?--Have I ever neglected to solicit thy favour upon
my labours, or to thank thee for the rich gifts thou hast showered
upon me and my family--health, plenty, and cheerful hearts?"

The Master answered, "No, Sakechak, thou hast indeed been a good
servant; it hath never been my purpose to destroy thee; I will except
thee from the general doom: but I will thee to assist in the
destruction of thy brethren. Listen!

"Go now, and cut thee a young hemlock, from the spot which my
lightnings struck in the last Fever-Moon. Let it be not more than ten
seasons old--straight, well-grown, a finely-proportioned trunk, with
thriving branches, full of cones, and with leaves of dark green. Knock
off the cones, and bring them, together with the trunk and leaves, to
the bottom of the hill Wechegan