Skilled in the craft of Indian hunters, and all the lore the wise men of his tribe could teach him, Hiawatha grew from childhood into manhood, and by much questioning learned from old Nokomis the story of his mother's cruel desertion. Full of wrath, he determined to be revenged on his father, Mudjekeewis, and in spite of his grandmother's warnings, the youth set out on his long journey. Wearing his magic moccasins (or deerskin shoes), with which he measured a mile every stride, Hiawatha journeyed westward, ever westward, until at length he reached the kingdom of Mudjekeewis, ruler of all the winds of heaven, who joyfully welcomed the handsome youth. But anger rose in the heart of Hiawatha, and, rending asunder a huge rock with his magic mittens, he flung the fragments full at Mudjekeewis. For three days a terrible fight raged between the two warriors, till at last Mudjekeewis cried: "Hold, my son, it is impossible to kill me for I am immortal; I did but fight with you to test your valor. Go back now to your people; live with them, work with them, and free the land from all monsters and giants. And when Death at last lays his icy hand upon you, you shall share my kingdom and be ruler of the Northwest-Wind." Then all anger departed from Hiawatha and he went on his homeward way; only once did he turn aside, to buy arrow-heads from the ancient arrow-maker in the land of a neighboring Indian tribe. But do you not think that arrow-heads could equally well have been bought in his own village? It was to see the arrow-maker's dark-eyed daughter, Minnehaha, that Hiawatha halted in the land of the Dacotahs, and when he reached home he told Nokomis of the meeting with his father and the great fight, but not a word did he say of arrows or of the maiden. Hiawatha had two beloved friends, the sweet-voiced singer, Chibiabos, and Kwasind, strongest of all men. Even the birds could not sing so sweetly or the brooks murmur so gently as Chibiabos, and all the hearts of men were softened by the pathos of his music. But dear as he was to Hiawatha, no less dear was Kwasind. Idle and dreamy was Kwasind so that even his mother taunted him. "Lazy Kwasind," said she one winter's day, "you never help me in my work. The fishing nets are hanging at the door, dripping, freezing with the water--go and wring them out for me!" Slowly Kwasind rose from his seat, and going to the doorway did as she bade him, but, to his mother's dismay, the nets broke beneath his powerful fingers as if they were wisps of straw! Sometimes Kwasind used his vast strength to good purpose; for instance, when Hiawatha built himself a swift canoe, Kwasind dived into the water and cleared the whole river-bed of sunken logs and sandbars in order to insure a safe passage for his friend. [Illustration]