Some time after he observed, “I will get some of the black rock;” the West said, “Far be it from you; do not so, my son.”  He still persisted.  “Well,” said the father, “I will also get the bulrush root.”  Hiawatha immediately cried out, “Do not—­do not,” affecting as before, to be in great dread of it, but really wishing, by this course, to urge on the West to procure it, that he might draw him into combat.  He went out and got a large piece of the black rock, and brought it home.  The West also took care to bring the dreaded root.

In the course of conversation he asked his father whether he had been the cause of his mother’s death.  The answer was “Yes!” He then took up the rock and struck him.  Blow led to blow, and here commenced an obstinate and furious combat, which continued several days.  Fragments of the rock, broken off under Hiawatha’s blows, can be seen in various places to this day.  The root did not prove as mortal a weapon as his well-acted fears had led his father to expect, although he suffered severely from the blows.  This battle commenced on the mountains.  The West was forced to give ground.  Hiawatha drove him across rivers, and over mountains and lakes, and at last he came to the brink of this world.

“Hold!” cried he, “my son; you know my power, and that it is impossible to kill me.  Desist, and I will also portion you out with as much power as your brothers.  The four quarters of the globe are already occupied; but you can go and do a great deal of good to the people of this earth, which is infested with large serpents, beasts, and monsters, who make great [Blank Page] havoc among the inhabitants.  Go and do good.  You have the power now to do so, and your fame with the beings of this earth will last forever.  When you have finished your work, I will have a place provided for you.  You will then go and sit with your brother in the north.”

[Illustration:  FROM THE “COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE” BY PERMISSION.

HIAWATHA IN HIS CANOE.]

Hiawatha was pacified.  He returned to his lodge, where he was confined by the wounds he had received.  But owing to his grandmother’s skill in medicine he was soon recovered.  She told him that his grandfather, who had come to the earth in search of her, had been killed by Meg-gis-sog-won, who lived on the opposite side of the great lake.  “When he was alive,” she continued, “I was never without oil to put on my head, but now my hair is fast falling off for the want of it.”

“Well!” said he, “Noko, get cedar bark and make me a line, while I make a canoe.”  When all was ready, he went out to the middle of the lake to fish.  He put his line down, saying, “Me-she-nah-ma-gwai (the name of the kingfish), take hold of my bait.”  He kept repeating this for some time.  At last the king of the fishes said, “Hiawatha troubles me.  Here, Trout, take hold of his line,” which was very heavy, so that his canoe stood nearly perpendicular; but he kept crying out, “Wha-ee-he! wha-ee-he!” till he could see the trout.  As soon as he saw him, he spoke to him.  “Why did you take hold of my hook?  Shame, shame you ugly fish.”  The trout, being thus rebuked, let go.