unseen hand laid it gently on his shoulders; it was
the hand of his love, his guardian angel. She
took her place beside him, and for the present they
were happy; for the Indian has a heart to love, and
in this pride he is as noble as in his own freedom,
which makes him the child of the forest. As the
legend runs, a large white-bear, thinking, perhaps,
that polar snows and dismal winter weather extended
everywhere, took up his journey southward. He
at length approached the northern shore of the lake
which now bears his name, walked down the bank and
made his way noiselessly through the deep heavy snow
toward the island. It was the same spring ensuing
that the lovers met. They had left their first
retreat, and were now seated among the branches of
a large elm which hung far over the lake. (The same
tree is still standing, and excites universal curiosity
and interest.) For fear of being detected, they talked
almost in a whisper, and now, that they might get
back to camp in good time and thereby avoid suspicion,
they were just rising to return, when the maiden uttered
a shriek which was heard at the camp, and bounding
toward the young brave, she caught his blanket, but
missed the direction of her foot and fell, bearing
the blanket with her into the great arms of the ferocious
monster. Instantly every man, woman, and child
of the band were upon the bank, but all unarmed.
Cries and wailings went up from every mouth.
What was to be done’? In the meantime this
white and savage beast held the breathless maiden
in his huge grasp, and fondled with his precious prey
as if he were used to scenes like this. One
deafening yell from the lover warrior is heard above
the cries of hundreds of his tribe, and dashing away
to his wigwam he grasps his faithful knife, returns
almost at a single bound to the scene of fear and
fright, rushes out along the leaning tree to the spot
where his treasure fell, and springing with the fury
of a mad panther, pounced upon his prey. The animal
turned, and with one stroke of his huge paw brought
the lovers heart to heart, but the next moment the
warrior, with one plunge of the blade of his knife,
opened the crimson sluices of death, and the dying
bear relaxed his hold.
That night there was no more sleep for the band or the lovers, and as the young and the old danced about the carcass of the dead monster, the gallant warrior was presented with another plume, and ere another moon had set he had a living treasure added to his heart. Their children for many years played upon the skin of the white-bear—from which the lake derives its name—and the maiden and the brave remembered long the fearful scene and rescue that made them one, for Kis-se-me-pa and Ka-go-ka could never forget their fearful encounter with the huge monster that came so near sending them to the happy hunting-ground.