The days lengthened into moons until a year had passed. And then
the maiden arose. In her hands were beautiful articles of
clothing, enough for three men. There were three pairs of
moccasins, three pairs of leggings, three belts, three shirts,
three head dresses with beautiful feathers, and sweet smelling
tobacco.

"Make a new canoe of bark," she said, which was made for her.

Into the canoe she stepped and floated slowly down the river toward
the great fish.

"Come back my daughter," her mother cried in agony. "Come back.
The great fish will eat you."

She answered nothing. Her canoe came to the place where the great
fin arose and stopped, its prow grating on the monster's back. The
maiden stepped out boldly. One by one she laid her presents on the
fish's back, scattering the feathers and tobacco over his broad
spine.

"Oh, fish," she cried, "Oh, fish, you who were my lover, I shall
not forget you. Because you were lost for love of me, I shall
never marry. All my life I shall remain a widow. Take these
presents. And now leave the river, and let the waters run free, so
my people may once more descend in their canoes."

She stepped into her canoe and waited. Slowly the great fish sank,
his broad fin disappeared, and the waters of the St. Croix