by Jane Yolen
As the grandmother had plucked out the three golden hairs, and the three questions were answered, she let the old Devil alone, and he slept until daybreak.
When the Devil had gone out again the old woman took the ant out of the folds of her dress, and gave the child of good fortune his human shape again. “There are the three golden hairs for you,” said she. “What the Devil said to your three questions, I suppose you heard?”
“Yes,” answered he, “I heard, and will take care to remember.”
“You have what you want,” said she, “and now you can go your way.”
He thanked the old woman for helping him in his need, and left Hell well content that everything had turned out so fortunately.
When he came to the ferryman he was expected to give the promised answer. “Ferry me across first,” said the child of good fortune, “and then I will tell you how you can be set free,” and when he had reached the opposite shore, he gave him the Devil’s advice: “Next time anyone comes who wants to be ferried over, just put the oar in his hand.”
He went on and came to the town wherein stood the unfruitful tree, and there too the watchman wanted an answer. So he told him what he had heard from the Devil: “Kill the mouse which is gnawing at its root, and it will again bear golden apples.” Then the watchman thanked him, and gave him as a reward two asses laden with gold, which followed him.
Finally, he came to the town whose well was dry. He told the watchman what the Devil had said: “A toad is in the well beneath a stone; you must find it and kill it, and the well will again give wine in plenty.” The watchman thanked him, and also gave him two asses laden with gold.
At last the child of good fortune got home to his wife, who was heartily glad to see him again and to hear how well he had prospered in everything. To the king he took what he had asked for, the Devil’s three golden hairs, and when the king saw the four asses laden with gold he was quite content, and said, “Now all the conditions are fulfilled, and you can keep my daughter. But tell me, dear son-in-law, where did all that gold come from? This is tremendous wealth!”
“I was rowed across a river,” answered he, “and got it there. It lies on the shore instead of sand.”
“Can I too fetch some of it?” said the king, and he was quite eager about it.
“As much as you like,” answered he. “There is a ferryman on the river; let him ferry you over, and you can fill your sacks on the other side.”
The greedy king set out in all haste, and when he came to the river he beckoned to the ferryman to put him across. The ferryman came and bade him get in, and when they got to the other shore he put the oar in his hand and sprang out. But from this time forth the king had to ferry as a punishment for his sins. Perhaps he is ferrying still? If he is, it is because no one has taken the oar from him.
THE LONGWITTON DRAGON
England
In a wood not far from the village of Longwitton are three wells which have been famous for many years. Long ago people used to travel from far and near to drink the water from the wells, for it was as sweet as wine and had great healing powers. Many a shepherd whose bones ached after the long, wet winter on the hills came to drink and ease his pains, and many a sickly child found new health there. The people of Longwitton were justly proud of their wells, for there seemed to be magic in them.
One day, however, a plowman, going to quench his thirst, was alarmed to find a huge dragon there. It had coiled its tail round one of the trees, and pushed its long black tongue into the well, and was lapping the water like a dog. When it heard him approach it vanished; but the plowman knew that it had only made itself invisible, for he heard its claws in the dead leaves, and felt its hot breath on his face. He fled from it in terror, and only escaped by zigzagging through the trees.
From that day no pilgrim dared visit the magic wells, for the dragon haunted them. It was a fearsome monster, with a skin as warty as a toad’s and a long tail like a big lizard’s. It tore up the ground with its claws, and scraped the bark from the trees as it brushed past them. But few people caught sight of it, for when anyone drew near it made itself invisible, and nothing could be seen except the leaves trembling before its breath and the flowers being crushed beneath its feet. It did little harm, and seemed content to live alone in the wood and drink from the wells; but whenever the men of Longwitton set out to attack it, it was infuriated, and the trees shook round about it as if a whirlwind had suddenly struck the wood. It seemed to have claimed the wells and would not give them up to anyone. The wells grew overgrown and untidy, while the shepherds had to nurse their aches as best they could.
But one day there came riding by Longwitton a knight in search of adventure.
“We have here a jealous dragon, sir,” said the people of Longwitton to him, “which we would gladly be rid of, but it has the power of making itself invisible, and no man can get near enough to strike a blow at it.”
“I will overcome that difficulty,” said the knight. “I will stay here tonight, and give battle to the dragon tomorrow.”
So the next morning he annointed his eyes with a magic ointment which he had been given on his travels, and rode to the wood. The dragon was lying sleeping near one of the wells, but when it heard the sound of the horse’s hoofs in the dry leaves its ears pricked up, and the spines on its back rose. Then, trusting to its invisibility, it charged. The knight was ready. The dragon, overcareless, struck wildly with its claws, and the knight plunged his sword into its side. The dragon roared with pain, for the wound was severe, but it backed quickly, until it stood defending the well, and prepared to attack again. But no matter how dreadful a wound the knight inflicted, the dragon seemed to keep its strength, and the wounds healed as quickly as they were received. For hours they fought, the dragon with its clumsy movements being no match for the nimbler man; but at last the knight, worn out and arm-weary, rode away.
He was almost ashamed to confess his failure to the villagers, but he was not easily dismayed.
“I will fight the dragon again tomorrow,” he said.
But the next day, although he delivered enough blows to kill a thousand dragons, the beast was as strong at the end of the day as at the beginning, and the knight was forced to retire again.
“I will try a third time,” he said. “This dragon must possess some other magical power which I have not noticed. Tomorrow I will use my eyes more and my arm less.”
So he went out the third day, and for the third time attacked the dragon. But this time, as he laid about him, he kept his eyes wide open, and at last he noticed that, no matter how fiercely he drove against the dragon, it would not stir from the well; and then looking more clearly he observed that it always lay so that the tip of its tail dipped into the water.
“Ah! That is the secret,” he said. And he dismounted from his horse, and led it a little into the wood. Then he approached the dragon on foot, and pierced it lightly here and there till, enraged, it roared wildly and leapt at him. Then he retreated, fighting faintly and deluding the monster into thinking that he was exhausted and beaten. Step by step he fell back until he had lured it from the well. Then, suddenly leaping onto his horse, he rode round the dragon, and placed himself between it and the well. The dragon, perceiving how it had been tricked, roared like a mad bull and fought desperately to get back to the well. But this knight, knowing now that he had mastered it, dealt it blow on blow, and this time every wound weakened it more and more. The blood dripped from its side and burned the grass beneath it; it grew feebler and feebler until it fell heavily and lay still.
The next day the people of Longwitton buried it. Then they tidied the wells, and sent out news that the monster was dead, and there was rejoicing that night in every cottage for twenty miles round.
THE ORPHAN BOY AND THE ELK DOG
American Indian (Blackfoot)
In the days when people had only dogs to carry their bundles, two orphan children, a boy and his sister, were having a hard time. The boy was deaf,
and because he could not understand what people said, they thought him foolish and dull-witted. Even his relatives wanted nothing to do with him. The name he had been given at birth, while his parents still lived, was Long Arrow. Now he was like a beaten, mangy dog, the kind who hungrily roams outside a camp, circling it from afar, smelling the good meat boiling in the kettles but never coming close for fear of being kicked. Only his sister, who was bright and beautiful, loved him.
Then the sister was adopted by a family from another camp, people who were attracted by her good looks and pleasing ways. Though they wanted her for a daughter, they certainly did not want the awkward, stupid boy. And so they took away the only person who cared about him, and the orphan boy was left to fend for himself. He lived on scraps thrown to the dogs and things he found on the refuse heaps. He dressed in remnants of skins and frayed robes discarded by the poorest people. At night he bedded down in a grass-lined dugout, like an animal in its den.
Eventually the game was hunted out near the camp that the boy regarded as his, and the people decided to move. The lodges were taken down, belongings were packed into rawhide bags and put on dog travois, and the village departed. “Stay here,” they told the boy. “We don’t want your kind coming with us.”
For two or three days the boy fed on scraps the people had left behind, but he knew he would starve if he stayed. He had to join his people, whether they liked it or not. He followed their tracks, frantic that he would lose them, and crying at the same time. Soon the sweat was running down his skinny body. As he was stumbling, running, panting, something suddenly snapped in his left ear with a sound like a small crack, and a wormlike substance came out of that ear. All at once on his left side he could hear birdsongs for the first time. He took this wormlike thing in his left hand and hurried on. Then there was a snap in his right ear and a wormlike thing came out of it, and on his right side he could hear the rushing waters of a stream. His hearing was restored! And it was razor-sharp—he could make out the rustling of a tiny mouse in dry leaves a good distance away. The orphan boy laughed and was happy for the first time in his life. With renewed courage he followed the trail his people had made.
In the meantime the village had settled into its new place. Men were already out hunting. Thus the boy came upon Good Running, a kindly old chief, butchering a fat buffalo cow he had just killed. When the chief saw the boy, he said to himself, “Here comes that poor good-for-nothing boy. It was wrong to abandon him.” To the boy Good Running said “Rest here, grandson, you’re sweaty and covered with dust. Here, have some tripe.”
The boy wolfed down the meat. He was not used to hearing and talking yet, but his eyes were alert and Good Running also noticed a change in his manner. “This boy,” the chief said to himself, “is neither stupid nor crazy.” He gave the orphan a piece of the hump meat, then a piece of liver, then a piece of raw kidney, and at last the very best kind of meat—a slice of tongue. The more the old man looked at the boy, the more he liked him. On the spur of the moment he said, “Grandson, I’m going to adopt you; there’s a place for you in my tipi. And I’m going to make you into a good hunter and warrior.” The boy wept, this time for joy. Good Running said, “They called you a stupid, crazy boy, but now that I think of it, the name you were given at birth is Long Arrow. I’ll see that people call you by your right name. Now come along.”
The chief’s wife was not pleased. “Why do you put this burden on me,” she said, “bringing into our lodge this good-for-nothing, this slow-witted crazy boy? Maybe you’re a little slow-witted and crazy yourself!”
“Woman, keep talking like that and I’ll beat you! This boy isn’t slow or crazy; he’s a good boy, and I have taken him for my grandson. Look—he’s barefooted. Hurry up, and make a pair of moccasins for him, and if you don’t do it well I’ll take a stick to you.”
Good Running’s wife grumbled but did as she was told. Her husband was a kind man, but when aroused, his anger was great.
So a new life began for Long Arrow. He had to learn to speak and to understand well, and to catch up on all the things a boy should know. He was a fast learner and soon surpassed other boys his age in knowledge and skills. At last even Good Running’s wife accepted him.
He grew up into a fine young hunter, tall and good-looking in the quilled buckskin outfit the chief’s wife made for him. He helped his grandfather in everything and became a staff for Good Running to lean on. But he was lonely, for most people in the camp could not forget that Long Arrow had once been an outcast. “Grandfather,” he said one day, “I want to do something to make you proud and show people that you were wise to adopt me. What can I do?”
Good Running answered, “Someday you will be a chief and do great things.”
“But what’s a great thing I could do now, Grandfather?”
The chief thought for a long time. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this,” he said. “I love you and don’t want to lose you. But on winter nights, men talk of powerful spirit people living at the bottom of a faraway lake. Down in that lake the spirit people keep mystery animals who do their work for them. These animals are larger than a great elk, but they carry the burdens of the spirit people like dogs. So they’re called Pono-Kamita—Elk Dogs. They are said to be swift, strong, gentle, and beautiful beyond imagination. Every fourth generation, one of our young warriors has gone to find these spirit folk and bring back an Elk Dog for us. But none of our brave young men has ever returned.”
“Grandfather, I’m not afraid. I’ll go and find the Elk Dog.”
“Grandson, first learn to be a man. Learn the right prayers and ceremonies. Be brave. Be generous and open-handed. Pity the old and the fatherless, and let the holy men of the tribe find a medicine for you which will protect you on your dangerous journey. We will begin by purifying you in the sweat bath.”
So Long Arrow was purified with the white steam of the sweat lodge. He was taught how to use the pipe, and how to pray to the Great Mystery Power. The tribe’s holy men gave him a medicine and made for him a shield with designs on it to ward off danger.
Then one morning, without telling anybody, Good Running loaded his best travois dog with all the things Long Arrow would need for traveling. The chief gave him his medicine, his shield, and his own fine bow and, just as the sun came up, went with his grandson to the edge of the camp to purify him with sweet-smelling cedar smoke. Long Arrow left unheard and unseen by anyone else. After a while some people noticed that he was gone, but no one except his grandfather knew where and for what purpose.
Following Good Running’s advice, Long Arrow wandered southward. On the fourth day of his journey he came to a small pond, where a strange man was standing as if waiting for him. “Why have you come here?” the stranger asked.
“I have come to find the mysterious Elk Dog.”
“Ah, there I cannot help you,” said the man, who was the spirit of the pond. “But if you travel further south, four-times-four days, you might chance upon a bigger lake and there meet one of my uncles. Possibly he might talk to you; then again, he might not. That’s all I can tell you.”
Long Arrow thanked the man, who went down to the bottom of the pond, where he lived.
Long Arrow wandered on, walking for long hours and taking little time for rest. Through deep canyons and over high mountains he went, wearing out his moccasins and enduring cold and heat, hunger and thirst.
Finally Long Arrow approached a big lake surrounded by steep pine-covered hills. There he came face to face with a tall man, fierce and scowling and twice the height of most humans. This stranger carried a long lance with a heavy spearpoint made of shining flint. “Young one,” he growled, “why did you come here?”
“I came to find the mysterious Elk Dog.”
The stranger, who was the spirit of the lake, stuck his face right into Long Arrow’s and shook his mighty lance. “Little one, aren’t you afraid of me?” he snarled.
“No, I am not,” answered Long Arrow, smiling.
The tal
l spirit man gave a hideous grin, which was his way of being friendly. “I like small humans who aren’t afraid,” he said, “but I can’t help you. Perhaps our grandfather will take the trouble to listen to you. More likely he won’t. Walk south for four-times-four days, and maybe you’ll find him. But probably you won’t.” With that the tall spirit turned his back on Long Arrow and went to the bottom of the lake, where he lived.
Long Arrow walked on for another four-times-four days, sleeping and resting little. By now he staggered and stumbled in his weakness, and his dog was not much better off. At last he came to the biggest lake he had ever seen, surrounded by towering snow-capped peaks and waterfalls of ice. This time there was nobody to receive him. As a matter of fact, there seemed to be no living thing around. “This must be the Great Mystery Lake,” thought Long Arrow. Exhausted, he fell down upon the shortgrass meadow by the lake, fell down among the wild flowers, and went to sleep with his tired dog curled up at his feet.
When Long Arrow awoke, the sun was already high. He opened his eyes and saw a beautiful child standing before him, a boy in a dazzling white buckskin robe decorated with porcupine quills of many colors. The boy said, “We have been expecting you for a long time. My grandfather invites you to his lodge. Follow me.”
Telling his dog to wait, Long Arrow took his medicine shield and his grandfather’s bow and went with the wonderful child. They came to the edge of the lake. The spirit boy pointed to the water and said, “My grandfather’s lodge is down there. Come!” The child turned himself into a kingfisher and dove straight to the bottom.
Afraid, Long Arrow thought, “How can I follow him and not be drowned?” But then he said to himself, “I knew all the time that this would not be easy. In setting out to find the Elk Dog, I already threw my life away.” And he boldly jumped into the water. To his surprise, he found it did not make him wet, that it parted before him, that he could breathe and see. He touched the lake’s sandy bottom. It sloped down, down toward a center point.
