never
that hunter would see a moose, the moose--instead of trying to
escape--would indifferently bark at him, and even follow him back close
to camp; and when that hunter would go out again, other moose would do
the very same thing. Moreover, the hunter was afraid to kill any moose
that acted that way, for he well knew that the animal was simply
warning him of some great danger that was surely going to befall him.
So, in the end, the hunter fretted himself to death. Therefore every
hunter should take great care to burn all the bones of a moose's head
and never on any account allow a woman to eat thereof or to feed it to
the dogs. In burning the head, the hunter was merely paying the homage
due to so noble a creature.

Again, a hunter might find that though he had formerly been a good
moose hunter, and had always observed every custom, yet he now utterly
failed to secure a moose at all. He might come upon plenty of tracks,
but the moose would always escape, and prove the efforts of an
experienced moose hunter of no more avail than those of a greenhorn.
In such a case, there was but one thing to do, and that was to secure
the whole skin--head, legs, and all--of a fawn, stuff it into its
natural shape, set it up in the woods, wait till the new moon was in
the first crescent, and then, just after sundown, engage a young girl
to shoot five arrows at it from the regular hunting distance. If she
missed, it was proof that the spirit had rejected the girl, and that
another would have to be secured to do the shooting. If success were
then attained, the hunter might go upon his hunt, well knowing he would
soon be rewarded by bringing down a moose. Of course such ideas seem
strange to us, but, after all, are we in a position to ridicule the
Indians' belief? I think not, if we but recall the weird ideas our
ancestors held.

The Indian, like the white man, has many superstitions, some ugly, and
some beautiful, and of the latter class, I quote one: he believes that
the spirits of still-born children or very young infants take flight,
when they die, and enter the bodies of birds. A delightful
thought--especially for the mother. For as Kingsley says of St.
Francis, "perfectly sure that he himself was a spiritual being, he
thought it at least possible that birds might be spiritual beings
likewise, incarnate like himself in mortal flesh; and saw no
degradation to the dignity of human nature in claiming kindred
lovingly, with