d into the forest.

[Illustration]

Only the wary Hiawatha saw the figure as it disappeared and followed in
hot pursuit. Hard pressed, Pau-Puk-Keewis reached the edge of the lake
and besought a brant (or wild goose) to change him into one of
themselves, and to make him ten times larger than the others.
Straightway they changed him into an enormous brant, and, with a whirr
of wings, the whole flock rose in the air and flew northward. "Take good
heed and look not downward, lest some great mishap befall you," cried
the other birds to Pau-Puk-Keewis, and he heeded their words. But on the
morrow, as they continued their flight, Pau-Puk-Keewis heard a great
shouting in the village beneath and knew the voices of Hiawatha and
Iagoo. Forgetful of his warning, he looked downward, and the wind caught
his plumage and sent him whirling towards the earth. In vain he
struggled to regain his balance--he fell heavily to the ground and lay
dead with broken pinions. But his spirit was still alive, and, taking
its human form, again fled from Hiawatha. This time Hiawatha pursued his
cunning foe so closely that he could almost touch him, but
Pau-Puk-Keewis changed himself into a serpent and glided into a tree.
While Hiawatha was groping in the hollow trunk, the mischief-maker once
more took his human shape and sped away until he came to the sandstone
rocks overlooking the Big Lake; and the Old Man of the Mountain opened
his rocky doorway and gave Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter. Hiawatha stood
without and battered against the caverns shouting, "Open! I am
Hiawatha!" But the Old Man of the Mountain neither opened nor made
answer. Then Hiawatha raised his hands to heaven and called the thunder
and lightning to his aid. Stronger than any mortal power, the tempest
smote the rocks till they fell to fragments, and there beneath the crags
lay Pau-Puk-Keewis dead in his own human form.

This was Hiawatha's last victory--grief and loss were now to be his
portion. The death of his two friends, Chibiabos and Kwasind, weighed on
his mind, and, hardest of all, a long and dreary winter, bringing the
specters of famine and fever in its train, came upon the land and robbed
Hiawatha of his dearest treasure, his beautiful young wife.

Clad in her richest garments, Minnehaha was laid to rest deep beneath
the snow, and, as Hiawatha watched the fire which was kindled at night
on her grave, his heart grew less heavy, for he felt that their parting
was not for long. Th